"You were an innocent child, Grey!"
He gave a shrug suffer than the casual, who-gives-a-damn gesture he'd been striving for. "Aaron Nichols was a cold, heartless bastard, and to this day I don't understand what my mother saw in him or how she could supposedly love someone so cruel. I swear, it was a blessing in disguise when he died in a car accident."
Except his mother hadn't learned a thing. After a brief grieving period she'd gone on with her quest to find love and acceptance, looking for it in all the wrong places and latching on to any man who seemed the least bit interested in her. Many had used her, a few had married her, but none had loved her the way she was searching for. Unconditionally. Faithfully. Forever.
Grey didn't think there was any such thing.
"Do you still talk to your mother?" Mariah asked quietly.
He went back to poking the logs, just to rid himself of some of his restless energy. "Three times a year," he said emotionlessly, because that's how he felt inside. Empty and hollow. "Her birthday, mine and Christmas. We never seem to have much to say to one another. She's got her life and I have mine."
He heard her sigh regretfully from behind him. "Grey-"
He turned around, his grip tightening on the metal rod in his hand. "My childhood wasn't exactly ideal, was it?" he interrupted, not wanting any of the sympathy she'd been about to offer. He'd come to terms with the reality of his harsh and undesirable childhood long ago. His mother's weaknesses had taught him to be a stronger person, and his father's disregard and vicious insults had made him more determined to be successful in life, even if his achievements hadn't made up for the tiny bit of recognition Grey had sought, and never received as a child.
"No, your childhood was far from ideal," she agreed, an ache in her voice. An ache that matched the one in his chest.
"And it certainly wasn't a great training ground for future fatherhood," he returned. "I have no idea how to act around kids, and I fumble with babies." Returning the poker to its stand, he braced his forearm on the brick mantel. He stared into the crackling fire, gathering the courage to speak his greatest fears aloud. "Do you remember the day in my office when you said that being a parent is a scary proposition?"
"Yes," she said softly, and with tremendous patience.
"Well, you're right about that." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her questioning gaze. "Just the thought of raising a child scares the hell out of me." What if he screwed up? What if he was more like his father than he knew?
She gave him a gentle smile, throwing him totally off balance. "I'm sure you'd feel differently with your own."
He jammed his fists into the front pockets of his shorts, his jaw hard. Anger and the need to believe her statement fought a battle within him. "How can you be so certain?"
Uncurling her legs from beneath her, she stood and approached him. Understanding and a deeper emotion shone in her gaze. "Because I know you're kind and caring, and that's what makes a parent a good parent. The rest comes naturally."
He shook his head in denial. "I don't think I want to find out. I don't want kids, Mariah. I never want a child to feel the way I did."
Stepping behind him, she pressed herself against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. A warmth more comforting than the fire in the grate surrounded him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and rubbed her palms over his chest and belly. The movement soothed the upheaval tearing him apart inside. "You'd never intentionally hurt a child, Grey."
A lump grew in his throat. Twining his fingers with hers, he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss in her palm, then tugged her around so he held her in his arms. He gazed down at the only woman who'd cared enough about him to search deeper than the surface. He'd given her the hard facts of his childhood and opened up in ways that terrified him. And she'd listened, never once judging him. And even though he still couldn't bring himself to make her any of the promises he knew she wanted to hear, she was looking at him with an adoration that made his heart swell with an overwhelming emotion.
"Thank you," he whispered, the two words inadequate for the foreign feelings he was experiencing.
A pleased, cat-in-cream smile curled her mouth. "No, thank you, for sharing."
He'd fully expected the conversation to put a damper on their evening, but Mariah's eyes had taken on a vivacious sparkle that chased away any gloom that might have lingered.
"Sooo," she purred, a challenging lilt to her voice. She stroked her hands up his chest and around his neck, molding herself intimately to him. "You up for a game of Scrabble? I'm a good teacher and you've always been a quick learner."
He cocked a brow. "I think it's the other way around."
She laughed throatily, the sound thickening his blood and other parts of his anatomy.
He grinned at her playfulness while trying to keep a tight rein on his desire. Damn if she didn't turn him on faster and harder than any carnal fantasy he'd ever had. She was his every fantasy come to life, and he wanted her in the worst way. In every way she could imagine. And then some.
He remembered the second promise he'd made her, and groaned in frustration. "Are you sure I can't talk you into strip poker?"
She shook her head, though he swore he saw a flicker of desire in those bright blue eyes of hers. "Nope."
Slipping from his arms, Mariah grabbed his hand and pulled him down to the rug in front of the fireplace, determined to thoroughly enjoy this simple, uncomplicated time with Grey. Within minutes they sat across from one another with the game board between them. They picked their square tiles, and while she gave him the relatively simple rules to follow he poured them each another glass of wine.
Mariah started the game, displaying the word C-H-l-L-D across the center line of the board. Tallying up her score, she jotted it down on a piece of paper. While she drew five more tile squares he added R-E-N to her word and lengthened it to C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N, giving himself a double-letter score in the process.
"Very clever," she said, scribbling down his higher score. Glancing back at her hand, she chewed on her lower lip, then added I-G-H to the H in CHILDREN to make H-I-G-H.
A slow, sexy grin spread across Grey's face. Without hesitating, he placed a T on top of her HIGH, spelling T-H-l-G-H with a double-letter score.
"You catch on quick," she said wryly, and took a drink of her wine. Studying the board, she added A-S-T below the £ in CHILDREN.
"East," Grey murmured thoughtfully as he scanned his letters. Smirking, he laid down his tiles, placing B-R on top of her EAST and an S on the end to give him a double-word score.
"Breasts?" she asked incredulously.
"Hey, it was all I had," he said, holding his hands up in defense. Then his voice lowered, as did his gaze, right to where the buttons on her blouse ended and the dip of her cleavage began. "Besides, I like the word breasts."
As if on cue, her breasts swelled and her nipples tingled against lace, ruthlessly reminding her how long it had been since she'd felt the stroke of his hands there, the wet heat of his mouth…
"I'm sure you do, not to mention the eighteen extra points you just tacked on to your score," she groused, shaking off the need coiling deep in her belly. She shuffled her letters around on her rack, her brow knit in concentration. With a triumphant smile, she added P-A-R-T-I-N to the G in THIGH.
While she fished out new tiles, he played his hand. O-N-G-U-E after PARTING'S T.
Her gaze shot to his, and she automatically dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. He watched her, his eyes growing dark as molten gold. And as hot as the embers in the hearth. Tongue. The word brought all kinds of sensual images to mind-the silken glide of his tongue along hers, the lap of his tongue along her neck, then flicking over the peaked tips of her breasts. Thighs, breasts, tongues…
She cleared her throat. "What's with all these body parts?"
The wicked smile tipping his mouth spoiled his attempt at innocence. "Is there a rule against using body parts?"
She busied herself switching til
es around on her rack. "Well, no."
He tipped his head curiously. "So, what's the problem?"
Oh, the rogue knew exactly what the problem was. She should have guessed that he'd put a twist on the game-a game he'd never played, no less!-and succeed in arousing her with a few simple words.
She took a gulp of her wine, hoping the alcohol would take the edge off the growing ache settling in her belly and lower. No such luck, it only increased the heat and need within her. "There's no problem," she said, flashing him a sweet smile.
"Good. Your turn."
Drawing a breath to steady her hand, she arranged her next set of letters, L-A-Y, on the board, underneath the P in PARTING, spelling the word P-L-A-Y. Let's see him make a body part out of that, she thought smugly.
He placed F-O-R-E on top of her PLAY.
She gaped at him in disbelief. The man was good. Too good.
He grinned like the bad boy he was. "Not bad, eh? And I even managed to rack up another twenty-one points." He reached for replacement tiles. "I think I like this game."
Her gaze narrowed. "Are you sure these tiles aren't marked somehow?"
Deep laughter rolled from his chest. "Of course they aren't."
"Are you cheating?"
He shook his head, not at all offended by her accusation. "You set the game up, sweetheart, not me."
Taking a deep swallow of wine, she finished what was left in her glass, finally feeling her body relax. "No one can be so lucky to draw all these sexy words," she complained.
Smothering another grin, he tipped the bottle of wine against her glass and refilled it. "Personally, I think it makes the game more interesting."
She mimicked him beneath her breath. Thinking to throw him off, she jumped to the other side of the board and added O-C-K to the I in CHILDREN.
He smoothly interjected, adding L-I-P on top of her LOCK.
"Liplock?" A sputter of laughter escaped her. He'd gone too far. "You can't be serious. Liplock isn't a word."
He casually picked up new tile squares. "Sure it is."
"Prove it. We need a dictionary. I'm issuing a challenge." She started to her feet, a woman on a mission. No way was she going to let him get away with this one.
He snagged her wrist before she could stand. "I don't need a dictionary, and I'll gladly meet your challenge."
Her pulse raced beneath the thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. "You expect me to go on your say-so?" Her voice was breathless. At the moment she feared she'd believe anything he said.
"Absolutely not." Purpose glittered in his eyes, primitive and wholly sexual. "You want proof that liplock is a word, then I'll give it to you." With a gentle tug on her wrist he brought her to her hands and knees, the game still between them. Taking advantage of her surprise, he released her wrist and slid his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.
Oh, God. She struggled for strength to stop this madness, damning the wine that had slowed her reflexes. She was in trouble. Big trouble.
Leaning forward, he brought their faces inches apart, his expression full of satisfaction. "Take note. In a second our lips are gonna lock, sweetheart," he murmured huskily. Making good on his promise, he settled his mouth firmly over hers, stealing her breath with exquisite mastery and the slow, erotic glide of his tongue past the seam of her lips.
A shudder rocked through her, and she groaned. Tentatively she let their tongues meet, and they tangled and swirled like long-lost lovers reunited. Then deeper strokes. Bolder forays. She returned the kiss like a woman starved for the taste of her mate, ignoring the warning in her mind to stop, and the melting of her body, priming her for a more intimate act. All that mattered was Grey and the ultimate pleasure of his touch, his kiss.
Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the mindless warmth weakening her limbs. The hand tangled in her hair tightened and the tenor of the kiss changed from slow seduction to the basic, raw heat of passion. She felt his need, sensed his desire in the sudden, urgent way he slanted his mouth over hers and took complete possession.
Without breaking the hot kiss he moved closer, hitting the playing board with his knee and scattering the letter tiles. Mariah no longer cared about the game. No longer gave a thought to the silly word that had ignited such a wild hunger in the both of them. All that mattered was the hand he'd fitted so snugly over her breast and the emotion she tasted in Grey's kiss, the wanting. The pure need.
Mariah's head spun, and she clutched his shirt, holding on as the dizzying sensation threatened to consume her, right along with Grey's delicious kisses. His fingers fumbled with the burtons on her blouse, and she felt a whisper of cool air on her chest as the material parted. He lifted his head, breaking their kiss, and stared at the breasts nestled in satin-and-lace cups, his hands clenching at his sides. The mounds swelled and her nipples tightened beneath his gaze. For weeks she'd resisted him. After what they'd shared today, she wanted to make love with him.
Slowly she reached up and unsnapped the front hook of her bra.
A blunt curse reached her ears. With an impatient sweep of his arm Grey pushed the game board and pieces out of the way then gently eased her down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. He yanked off his shirt, tossed it aside and followed her down, stretching his body over hers.
"God, what you do to me, Mariah," he groaned helplessly, then fitted his mouth to hers once more while his hands tugged her blouse and the straps of her bra over her shoulders. The material bunched around her upper arms, and he left it there, restricting her reach. She moaned as he rubbed his chest against hers, the friction of hard muscle, a sprinkling of hair, and heat melting the last of her resistance.
He gentled the kiss, giving her slow, drugging strokes of his tongue that tapered into playful bites along her damp lower lip. She tried to touch him, but her hands only reached his sides. A frustrated sound escaped her.
"Shh, baby," he murmured, trailing soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck until, finally, his tongue swept over a taut, aching nipple. Then he drew the pearled tip into his mouth and suckled her deeply.
She cried out, straining against the bonds around her arms until her fingers sank into his thick hair. She held him there while he paid equal attention to each breast. Shifting restlessly, she twined her legs over the back of his thighs and urged him forward. He obliged, burying his face in her neck and rocking his hips against her. She welcomed him, complaining of the clothes separating them. He arched rhythmically and groaned, low and deep. She clamped her legs around his waist, tossed her head back, and gave a great big shudder of need.
Grey clenched his jaw, suppressing the instinctive urge to free the erection straining the fly of his shorts, strip off Mariah's clothes and take her, fast and hard. He'd never meant for things to get so out of control. He'd meant to seduce her, yes, but never had he expected her to be so willing, so eager, not after she'd demanded they not make love this weekend.
But that's exactly what she wanted. He could feel it in the softening of her body, hear it in the panting of her breath. He lifted his head and peered at her flushed face. He could see it in her eyes, smoky with passion.
He swore. This wasn't the romantic reunion he'd envisioned for him and Mariah. True, they'd formed a special bond today, and as much as he wanted her, he didn't want to take advantage of the situation and jeopardize their fragile truce. Or have her regret making love later, when desire cleared and reality intruded.
"Grey?" she questioned huskily.
Her dreamy and aroused expression threatened his resistance. "We made a deal, remember?" He choked on the words. Damn, she should be reminding him of that!
She either didn't remember their pact, or she didn't care. Her fingers found the loops in the waistband of his shorts and tugged impatiently. Thank God she couldn't reach the snap and zipper, or he'd be a goner for sure.
Lifting her head, she nuzzled his throat, sank her teeth gently into his neck, then soothed the love bite with her tongue. He sucked
in a quick breath at her brazen display, his heartrate accelerating off the scale. He attempted to move off her, but the fingers caught in his belt loops, the legs tangled around his, held him secure.
A hoarse, helpless laugh erupted from him. "I'm trying real hard to be good here, Mariah, but I need your help."
She whimpered. The softness of want and need in her gaze nearly killed him. He had her right where he'd been trying to get her for over a month. He was a fool to let her go, but he'd be a bigger fool to risk losing her trust. And that meant keeping a promise he'd made. No making love.
He brushed her hair away from her face, feeling the quiver of her body beneath his. A quiver from being strung too tight and needing release. He might not be able to slake his own lust, but that didn't mean he couldn't take the edge off hers.
He skimmed a hand over her hip and along the length of silken thigh. "Let me take care of you," he murmured. He knew all it would take was the intimate glide of his fingers between damp folds of flesh, the heat and touch of his mouth, the soft stroking of his tongue, to give her body the pleasure it sought.
She shook her head and drew a deep breath as if to gather her composure. "No. When we make love, I want you with me all the way."
His pulse stilled. When, not if. Dare he hope?
She touched his jaw lightly, a tremulous smile lifting her lips. "But for tonight, will you just hold me in your arms?"
Turning his head, he placed a kiss in her palm. "Yeah, I'd like that." He certainly didn't want to spend another night alone.
Moving off her, he gave a grimace as he stood, his aroused body screaming with frustration. He helped her up, adjusted her blouse so he wasn't tempted by her lush curves, and let her have the privacy of the bathroom first.
Ten minutes later, after they'd both changed and their earlier passion had time to cool, Mariah climbed into bed beside Grey and snuggled into his embrace. With a deep sigh that feathered across his chest, her arm draped over his waist, she drifted off to sleep.
Private Pleasures Page 11