He stared, momentarily speechless. Damn. Mariah knew how to please him well and good in bed, turning him on with her sensual responses and her eagerness to discover different variations of making love. She'd initiated sex plenty of times, but he couldn't recall her ever being so assertive, so sexually persuasive in her pursuit of what she wanted.
And what she wanted was his love.
He shook his head, confusion swirling with the drugging lure of desire. "Mariah, baby…"
She gently pushed him backward, until his shoulders pressed against the wall beside the hearth. Before he could issue another word her mouth covered his and she gave him the silkiest, sexiest French kiss he'd ever tasted. Denying his need for her became a distant thought.
Shrugging out of his shirt, he pulled her body tight against his and ran his hands over whatever bare, warm flesh he could. He came up against the barrier of her panties and growled impatiently, though his fingers managed to find their way under the elastic band and skim over a soft thatch of damp curls.
She broke their kiss and pushed away his hands, her breathing ragged. "Not yet, Grey. I'm not through with you."
"Not through?" The question wheezed out of him. What else did she intend to do to him?
She shook her head and smiled softly. "I don't think you quite understand just how much I love you. I want to give you all the love I feel for you in my heart. I want to give you all the love you've never had."
And in that moment, he wanted it, too.
"Let me love you." She placed lingering kisses along his shoulder and lower, where her tongue swirled around his nipple. She whispered in the shadowed room, "You taste so good," before sinking to her knees in front of him.
His breath left him in a tight whoosh of air, deflating his lungs. She pressed her mouth to the taut muscles rippling in his belly, then tossed her head back and held his gaze while she worked his belt loose and lowered his zipper. She pulled his slacks and briefs down, and he sprang free, fully, painfully erect. She swept the garments off, along with his shoes and socks, and tossed them aside, leaving him completely naked and more restlessly inflamed than he'd ever been before.
Her hands skimmed up his tense thighs and over his hips, her thumbs grazing that jutting, masculine part of him that wanted her touch more than he wanted his next breath.
His wish became reality. Her fingers circled his swollen shaft and stroked him. Closing his eyes, he tangled his fingers in her silky hair, groaning at the pleasure consuming him.
She wasn't done driving him insane. The wet heat of her mouth enveloped him, velvet soft and wicked as sin. He gritted his teeth, his body jerking and shuddering in warning.
He swore bluntly. "Stop," he rasped, pulling her back up the length of him. Framing her face in his hands, he kissed her while backing her toward the rug before the fire. Finally he released her, watching as she lowered herself to the floor and lay back, then lifted her hips to remove her panties. She dropped the flimsy piece of material onto the floor, then parted her legs, still clad in those sexy stockings, to make room for him in between. The firelight made her skin golden, made her eyes fever bright with emotion. He'd never seen such an enticing, erotic vision, and his body responded with a demanding, powerful surge of need.
She touched the swell of her breast, ran her fingers lightly over her belly. "Love me, Grey," she whispered huskily.
Oh, man, how could he not? The thought came up out of nowhere, startling him. But it felt good and right, and he didn't fight it. For the moment, for the night, he'd give her anything she asked.
Settling himself over her, he locked their hands at the side of her head. "Tell me you're still on the Pill," he said desperately, his body quaking with a need he'd be hard-pressed to deny. "Because I didn't bring any condoms with me."
She curled her legs around the back of his thighs and urged him forward, where she was hot and wet and ready for him. "It's safe," she whispered.
His body shuddered in relief. Staring into her dark blue eyes, he slowly pushed into her tight, welcoming sheath. They shared a mutual groan of pleasure, and she arched with a sharp gasp and raised her knees around his waist, taking him deeper and deeper still with every measured stroke.
Despite how many times he'd made love with her, he suddenly couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get deep enough inside her. He wanted to be a part of her, in every elemental way that mattered. Heart, body and soul.
Love. Oh, God, no.
The awesome emotions within him unraveled, breaking on a wave so powerful his body shuddered. He thrust hard and fast, triggering a breathless cry from Mariah as they both reached the peak and soared over the crest together.
When he regained a normal breathing pattern he moved off Mariah and pulled her close to his side, cradling her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and let out a long, content sigh.
"I love you," she murmured.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, afraid to speak the words she longed to hear.
Chapter Nine
HE LOVED HER.
Mariah made good on her promise to eliminate any lingering doubts from his mind. For the next two days Grey had denied the inevitable. Then he'd come to terms with the fact that the emotions he felt for Mariah were exactly what she'd labeled them. Love. What else could explain the heart-pounding thrill when he was with her, the frenzy of emotions when she looked at him in that soft way of hers or the huge ache of missing her when they were apart for the shortest amount of time?
No other woman had ever evoked such a myriad of emotions from him, but then he'd never remained with one woman long enough to allow anything stronger than a physical attraction to develop. But Mariah… Well, from the very first he'd seen something different in her, a special, caring quality that had drawn and captivated him. Since her, he'd found no other woman could compare in strength, intelligence, beauty and stubbornness.
Smiling, Grey turned his Jeep Cherokee onto the narrow street that wound its way up to the cabin. He'd slipped out almost two hours earlier to get dinner while Mariah had been napping-a well-earned rest after an afternoon of the most emotionally and physically satisfying lovemaking he'd ever experienced. He'd intended to pick up a quick bite at a deli in the village and return before she woke, but as he'd passed that jewelry store they'd seen last weekend, he'd stopped and made an impulsive purchase certain to convey the feelings in his heart.
Lave. As he reflected on the course of his relationship with Mariah, he realized that he'd loved her almost from the beginning. His heart had known, but his mind had refused to acknowledge all the obvious signs. As a direct result of Mariah's determination to make him face past resentments and see his emotions for what they were, his heart and mind were finally in harmony.
And the knowledge scared the hell out of him.
Braking to a stop in front of the cabin, he killed the engine and stared at the darkened structure. Despite the fact that he admitted to loving Mariah, he couldn't help but wonder how long this wonderful feeling would last. Another week? Another month? A year or two? How long would it be before Mariah realized he truly wasn't the marriageable type? That he wasn't the kind of man to love and nurture children? His edges were too rough, his soul too jaded to think he was equipped to handle a child's needs.
He had no ready answers for any of the questions he'd asked himself. All he knew was that for now, he wanted to savor and enjoy the precious commodity he'd found in Mariah. He wanted to share time with her, love her, and when it ended, part as friends and have no regrets. It was as much as he was willing to give, for her sake as much as his own. Certainly after their week together and everything they'd shared, she understood the reasons why he couldn't give her marriage and a family.
But he was willing to offer her the strongest commitment he knew, one that came straight from his heart and soul. After the closeness they'd established, and the love he was willing to declare, he was confident she would say yes this time to his proposal.
Grabbing th
eir dinner, he slid from the vehicle and headed up the walkway. It was dark inside the cabin, but he smiled when he heard the shower running. He debated on joining Mariah, but decided they'd never eat if he offered to scrub her back. Considering they hadn't had a meal since breakfast, they needed nourishment.
In the kitchen, he unpacked their dinner, a small feast of large peeled shrimp, cocktail sauce, fresh croissants and pasta salad. He set one place setting, then lit the votive candle he'd found in the cupboard and placed it in the center of the table. Slipping his surprise beneath a paper napkin just to the side of the one plate, he turned off the light, settled in the high-back wooden chair and waited…
Less than ten minutes later, he heard Mariah come out of the bathroom and call out tentatively. "Grey?"
"In the kitchen," he said, and drew a deep breath that caught in his throat when she glided through the door.
Dressed in scarlet red silk and lace that revealed more than it covered, and bathed in candlelight, Mariah was a vision of temptation. Floral, see-through lace shaped her breasts and swept in a diagonal slash to her left hip. Silky material draped to her ankles in soft cascading folds, but it was the thigh-high slit that captured his attention and made him wonder if she was wearing any panties.
She wasn't supposed to have found the negligee he'd purchased on a whim, but he was glad as hell she had. Swallowing hard, he managed a strangled, "Hi."
"Hi, yourself," she said, her voice husky. She moved toward him, hips swaying, the creamy expanse of thigh peeking and retreating enticingly through that wicked slit.
Blood pooled low in his lap and his body tightened in a subtle, but unmistakable way. She looked sexy, feminine and more provocative than a dream. The hair piled on top of her head in a loose knot made his fingers itch to pull out the pins and run his fingers through the silky strands.
"I was putting away our clothes and came across this gown," she said, stopping just beyond his reach. She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue and ran a finger lightly down the sheer, scalloped lace outlining her full breasts that nearly spilled from the bodice. "Unless you have a fetish I don't know about, I'm assuming you bought it for me?"
"Yes." He watched her breasts swell from her touch, and her nipples thrust against the lace. His mouth watered. "You fill it out much better than I ever could."
She smiled, tracing that same wicked finger along the strip of lace slashing to her hip. "Did you buy it when you bought me that peach chemise?"
A loaded question. He remembered that she'd expected a nightgown like this one from him that first night, and although he'd given her the conservative chemise, his thoughts had been on the red, racy number. "Guilty as charged."
She tsk-tsked him, and touching the thigh exposed by the slit, she trailed her fingers upward. His anxious gaze followed. "You're a bad boy, Grey Nichols."
"Very bad," he agreed. And feeling more naughty with each passing second. The things he wanted to do to her went beyond illicit and carnal…and she seemed more than willing.
She attempted to look thoughtful, but came across as a sultry vixen instead. "I'll have to think of a fitting punishment."
His heart leapt in anticipation, that wild, tempestuous feeling called love swirling within him. "Trust me, sweetheart, just looking at you in that scrap of nothing is pure torment."
"Good," she purred. "Then all you get to do is look."
His brows rose. She had to be kidding.
She wasn't. Closing the distance between them, she draped herself across his lap. He groaned as her soft fanny nestled against his straining erection, and he automatically caressed his fingers up that tempting, silken thigh.
"No touching," she said, promptly removing his wandering hand, "until I tell you you can."
He gave her a pained look, certain he would never survive her hands-off policy.
She looked over the feast displayed on the table. Dipping a shrimp in cocktail sauce, she lifted it to his lips. "How repentant are you?"
"Very." He took the shrimp into his mouth, then caught her wrist when she would have gone back for another, intent on showing her just how contrite he was. His tongue curled around each finger and lapped the sensitive skin in between, licking away any traces of the sauce. And he took his time doing so, until her eyes grew dark and smoky with arousal, and her breathing became ragged.
He smiled, and nibbled the tip of her finger. "I'm suffering like I've never suffered before."
"Umm." She wiggled on his lap, her lashes falling to a drowsy, sensual half-mast at the proof of his suffering. "I believe you, and because you're so obviously in anguish over your naughty behavior, I'll grant you one touch."
Taking his hand, she settled it on her knee, then guided his flattened palm along the opening in the slit. Her legs parted and her body strained toward the fingers inching along, luxuriating in the pleasure of her soft, bare skin and…no panties. His fingers slid intimately, deeply.
They groaned and shuddered at the same moment-she in pleasure, he in excitement.
"You're very good, Grey," she said huskily.
The double entendre wasn't lost on him. "Let me show you how good," he murmured.
Lifting his hand, he gently cupped her cheek in his palm then slowly stroked down her throat and over her shoulder. He held her sexy-soft gaze as he slipped his fingers beneath the wispy strap holding up the bodice of her gown and pushed it down her arm. One lacy cup fell away from the full weight of her breast, and he covered the mound with his palm, plumping the firm flesh, manipulating the nipple into a tight bead he ached to flick with his tongue, draw deeply into his mouth…
"So good." She sighed. Her head rolled back and she arched into his hand, groaning when he rolled her nipple between his fingers. "So bad…"
He chuckled, the sound as strained as the fly on his shorts. "Am I forgiven?"
Her mouth curled into a shameless grin. "I haven't decided yet."
Oh, man, he loved this woman and knew in his heart he'd never tire of her sass, her fire. Knowing there would never be a more perfect opportunity than this moment to express his feelings, he removed his hand from her breast and lifted the strap back to her shoulder, covering her. She gave him a look full of confusion and unquenched desire, while he withdrew the small, square velvet box he'd hidden beneath the napkin.
Grasping her hand, he pressed it into her palm. "Maybe this will help you decide."
She glanced expectantly from the gift, to him. "What's this for?"
"You."
"Why?" Her tone was as skeptical as her expression. "It's not my birthday."
He settled his arms around her, trying to calm the sudden racing of his heart. Damn, but he was nervous. "Does it need to be your birthday for me to give you something to show you how much…" He cleared his tight throat and tried again. "How much I love you?" The words, spoken for the first time, sounded rusty to his own ears.
She stared in disbelief. "What did you say?"
She was going to make him say it again. He supposed he ought to get used to it. "I said…I love you."
Once her obvious shock wore off, tears of happiness filled her eyes. "Oh, Grey, I knew you did."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "You mean I'm going through all this fanfare for nothing?"
"Oh, no," she assured him with a watery smile. She sniffled and brushed at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. "This is one of the happiest days of my life."
His chest swelled with those strange, tender emotions. She was so easy to please, he thought. And making her happy brought him great satisfaction, like none he'd ever experienced. "Then stop crying and open the box."
Tentatively, she did, and gasped when she saw the ring-a flat band encrusted with rubies and an elegant, one-carat marquis diamond set in the center.
He gently touched her chin, closing the mouth that had dropped open. "I guess the ring speaks for itself, huh?"
"It's absolutely beautiful," she whispered.
Yeah, he thought so, too. The
ring was simple in design and far less extravagant than the one they'd seen displayed in the jewelry store window, but the bright rubies had reminded him of Mariah's fire and spirit.
After their argument last weekend, he'd purposely steered clear of the bridal sets at the jewelry store. He'd wanted something personal and intimate, not necessarily a ring, but the clerk had assured him that a ring such as this one would undoubtedly express his feelings for his girlfriend in a way no bracelet or necklace could. Against his better judgment, he'd given in and purchased the ruby-and-diamond band.
Considering the elation etched on Mariah's face, he gave the clerk credit for knowing her business and the secret desires of women, too.
Taking the band from its nest of crushed black velvet, he took Mariah's left hand and slipped it on her ring finger, marking her as his. The spark of possessiveness he felt at that moment surprised him, but he wasn't about to analyze it. "You make me happy, Mariah. Happier than I've ever been."
She laughed joyfully and hugged him tight, a gesture he returned and savored. Finally she loosened her hold, letting her fingers sift through his hair.
Their gazes locked. "You truly love me?" she asked in awe.
"Didn't you tell me I did that night you seduced me?" he teased.
She gave the hair at the back of his head an affectionate tug. "Yes, you big oaf, but do you really believe it?"
Sensing her need for confirmation, he grew serious. "Yeah, I believe it. Being in love scares the hell out of me, but I'm hoping I'll get used to the feeling."
Her mouth curled into a sultry smile laced with triumph. "You will," she murmured. Sliding a hand around to cup his jaw, she urged his mouth up to hers. "I'll make sure of it."
Private Pleasures Page 14