Private Pleasures

Chapter Eight

Mariah took a bite of the raspberry crème brûlée Grey fed to her and moaned in appreciation as the sinfully rich dessert filled her mouth. She sat next to Grey in a cozy, intimate booth at the back of an elegant, expensive restaurant overlooking Lake Arrowhead. A taper candle burned in the center of their table, casting a warm, golden hue around them. They were surrounded by dining couples, but catching the wicked, I-want-to-eat-yow-up-for-dessert look in Grey's eyes, she wished they were back at the cabin alone.

"This wasn't necessary, you know. Dinner at an exclusive restaurant, a new dress, the roses," she said, still reeling from his very spontaneous suggestion to eat out, and the mini shopping spree he'd taken her on to dress for the occasion. But then again, since their escapade down at the dock two days ago, he'd been full of wonderful surprises.

"Trust me," he said, a lopsided grin canting his mouth as he watched her take another spoonful of brûlée. "It was very necessary. I'm tired of frozen meals and deli food. Roses make you smile. And you look better than a dream in that dress." His gaze roved over the garment in question, a form-fitting, pink cashmere sheath that dipped low in the back and ended midthigh. "What I'd like to know is, what are you wearing underneath that dress? Or rather, what aren't you wearing?" Boldly, he skimmed a hand over her hip, up the side of her ribs until his fingers brushed the curve of her breast.

She sucked in a breath, shocked that he'd be so brazen, though they sat at such an angle the other nearby patrons couldn't see what he'd just done. Her breasts instantly swelled, and her nipples peaked and pushed against the soft material.

"You're not wearing a bra, are you?" His voice was a soft, accusing murmur that slid down her spine like a languid caress.

Feeling reckless enough to join in the game of seduction he'd been playing all week, she dipped her finger in the dessert and brought it to his mouth. "The dress is made to be worn without one," she said, painting his bottom lip with the decadent dessert. "Are you curious about what else I might not be wearing underneath the dress?"

His gaze darkened, and he grasped her wrist before she could pull her hand away. Slowly sucking her finger into his mouth, he swirled his tongue over the tip. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his free hand flattened on her knee and began a leisurely journey upward, disappearing beneath the hem of her dress.

His fingers grazed the lace band of the stockings she'd bought for herself at the boutique in town, then brushed the inside of her thigh, gently coaxing them apart. And damned if her body didn't respond. "Grey…" She wasn't sure if his name was a warning or a whispered plea.

A wicked smile curved his mouth, and he leaned closer, blocking everyone and everything from her view but the heat and desire in his eyes. "I could find out right here, right now, exactly what you are or aren't wearing beneath this dress." His voice had changed, grown husky and enticing. There was a tension in his body, a restless sexual energy that brought her to full awareness of him and only him.

Remembering the way he'd so easily seduced her out on the terrace at her father's party, she didn't doubt that Grey would make good on his promise now, despite where they were. A week of being around him and sharing an emotional closeness they'd never had before, sleeping with him but not making love, was taking its toll on both of them.

His finger traced the elastic band of her panties along her hip, then dipped lower, following the barrier to the crease between her thighs. "Umm, you are wearing panties, but that's hardly a deterrent." To prove his point, he stroked along the silky material covering her mound, rubbing her intimately, making her quiver and ache for the exquisite, erotic sensations she knew he could evoke.

She bit her bottom lip to keep back a groan, and he smiled, a slow, cocky, satisfied grin. Horrified that she was on the brink of succumbing to him once again, she clamped her legs together, trapping his hand between her thighs.

"Can I get you two anything else?"

Mariah's started at the sound of their waiter's voice from behind Grey's shoulder. Her heart thundered in her chest and her face burned in pure mortification, though Grey was positioned in front of her in such a way that it appeared as if they were having an intimate, private conversation and nothing more. But she knew better, because Grey was enough of a scoundrel to remind her by lightly skimming his thumb along the bare skin between the band of her stocking and her panties.

He glanced over his shoulder at the young man. "Just the check, but feel free to take your time about it," he said pleasantly. "My girlfriend and I are in the middle of a very intriguing conversation."

With a promise to be back shortly, the waiter left their table to tend to nearby patrons. Grey glanced back at her.

She stared into his golden eyes, shivering at the dare still flickering in their depths. "Remove your hand," she said in a hushed voice.

He blinked lazily and made no move to obey her order. "You started this," he murmured.

"And now I'm ending it."

"My ending would be much more satisfying."

She didn't doubt that. Not for a minute, and not when her body throbbed with a need so fierce she was tempted to let him do whatever he wished.

"Open your legs, sweetheart," he said in a husky, coaxing tone.

"Grey!" she hissed in admonishment.

He chuckled, which infuriated her more. "I can't remove my hand when my fingers are trapped between your thighs."

"Oh." Face warming once again, she relaxed her legs and he pulled his hand from beneath her dress. He smoothed the hem down and leaned back to his own side of the booth just as a small band of waiters sauntered up to a nearby table, delivered a small cake and broke out into the "Happy Anniversary" song for the elderly couple sitting there. Once the applause subsided and the waiters dispersed, Mariah took advantage of the distraction and addressed the couple.

"How long have the two of you been married?" she asked.

The older, distinguished-looking man gazed adoringly at his petite and still beautiful wife. "Forty-eight wonderful years."

The woman sitting by his side blushed becomingly. "And I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat."

The man smiled and gave his wife a sweet kiss. "You know I'm going to remind you of that whenever you're mad at me for something."

The woman laughed, a sound of happiness and delight. "You usually do, honey."

"Well, congratulations," Mariah said before returning her attention to Grey, who was watching the exchange with a small frown marring his brow.

Mariah braced her elbows on the table, propped her chin on her laced fingers and sighed. "Isn't that romantic, being in love after all those years?"

Skepticism shone in his eyes. "It's amazing to think that two people can stay together for forty-eight years. But I can hardly believe they're still in love."

"Of course they are," she refuted. She could sense the tension rising in Grey, but she wasn't about to let it dissuade her from pursuing a very important issue. A deep, scarring, emotional issue that could make or break their future. "Why else would they stay married?"

He toyed with the stem of his empty wineglass. "People stay married even though they aren't in love for numerous reasons."

"Such as?" she persisted mildly.

"Obligation. Companionship. I suppose people grow comfortable with one another and know what to expect from the relationship." He glanced at his watch impatiently and muttered, "Where's the damn check?"

Mariah wasn't about to let Grey get out of this one. "You only need to look at that couple to know they're still in love." It showed in every cherished glance, every tender touch. It was what her grandparents and parents shared. It was what she wanted from her own husband. It was what she so desperately wished she could share with the mule-headed man sitting beside her.

Grey narrowed his gaze at the two people across the way. "I have to say I've seen that look on my mother's face with her numerous boyfriends and husbands," he said cynically. He glanced back at her, his expression shrewd. "So tell me, what's the difference between true love and wanting to be loved so badly you see it even when it's not there?"

Mariah heard the hurt and anger in Grey's voice, even though he'd outright deny any of the bitter emotions. "Sometimes people marry for the wrong reasons," she admitted. "Divorce is always possible, but it all depends on the foundation upon which couples marry. There has to be a strong commitment, and the willingness of the couple to make it work."

The check arrived at that moment, and Grey used the interruption to his benefit. He withdrew enough cash from his wallet to pay the bill and leave a substantial tip. Without a word, he slid from the booth, waited for Mariah to proceed him, then ushered her to the entrance of the restaurant with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

Mariah's heart grew heavy on the quiet drive back to the cabin. Grey didn't believe in love because he'd never experienced the emotion. And she was beginning to despair that he'd never open himself to an emotion that would leave him exposed and vulnerable, as he had so many times as a child. He was afraid of being hurt, of being rejected, of giving of himself so completely and then losing in the end.

It was the only way he knew, and it was up to her to show him differently.

By the time they entered the cabin, Mariah had made a very important decision, and could only hope her plan didn't backfire.

Dropping her purse on the couch, she snapped on the lamp, then turned to Grey. "Would you mind making a small fire?" she asked. Although the day had been warm, the evenings in the mountain were cool.

He headed toward the fireplace without comment and began tossing logs onto the grate. He stoked the fire, giving the task more attention than it deserved. She hated the tension between them after how well their retreat had gone, but knew it was going to get a lot more stressful before the evening was over.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she stepped up behind Grey. "You told me your mother has been married numerous times, but isn't it entirely possible that she did, in some way, love every man she married?"

He set the brass poker back in its stand and straightened, facing her. "Yeah, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. Including me, a stupid little kid who wanted a little affection from his mother so badly that he all but begged for it. My mother lived in a fairy-tale world, Mariah, and she was looking for a prince to take her away from the drudgery of everyday life. Any man who paid her the least bit of attention after my father died became her newest knight in shining armor, whether he wanted to be or not. My mother wouldn't know love if it bit her in the ass!"

Mariah calmly stepped out of her sling-back pumps. "Then what is your perception of love?"

He moved to the cabin's small wet bar, grabbed a half-empty bottle of scotch and poured himself a healthy portion. "You know how I feel about love." He lifted the drink to his lips.

She intercepted the glass before he could taste a drop and set the liquor out of reach. He scowled darkly, but she merely smiled. They'd come too far for her to let him shut her out now, or for him to find comfort in a bottle when she was more than willing to comfort him. Physically and emotionally.

"Humor me," she said, tugging on the knot of the tie he'd bought for dinner until the strip of silk loosened. "If you believed in love, which we both know you don't, what do you imagine that emotion would encompass?"

He jammed his hands on his hips and glowered at her. "I don't want to get all philosophical about this, Mariah."

"Okay," she said easily, and tossed his new tie somewhere over her right shoulder. She undid the first three buttons on his shirt, deciding to broach things in a less threatening way. "Then tell me, what is your opinion of our relationship?"

His gaze narrowed sharply, and he stiffened. "How do you mean?"

"After nine months, why are we still together?" she asked softly. "What is it that attracts you to me and has made our relationship last this long?"

"Mariah-"

Curling an arm around his neck, she rubbed seductively against him, like a cat looking for some attention. "It must be a purely physical thing between us then," she all but purred.

His gaze darkened and he visibly clenched his teeth. Oh, he was attracted on a physical level all right, and getting more aroused with every slow caress of her body along his. "You know that's not the only thing that attracts me to you."

She feigned a pout. "How do I know anything if you won't tell me?"

Grey blew out a stream of breath, unable to think when Mariah was plastered against him so provocatively. Planting his hands firmly on her waist, he stopped the gyrating of her hips. As he stared into soft blue eyes hazy with desire, he realized that he'd never told her just how much she meant to him. Maybe it was something he needed to say, and something she needed to hear.

"I'll make it real simple for you," she said with a slow slide of her tongue across her bottom lip. "What words would you use to describe our relationship?"

He closed his eyes, the words she was asking for jumbling in his mind. He sorted them out, then let his lashes drift open, a peaceful feeling curling through him. Brushing his knuckles along her soft cheek, he gave her the words she sought. "Understanding, caring, respect, trust-" he let a wolfish grin lift his lips "-and a whole lot of lust."

She laughed joyfully. "You love me."

"I didn't say that," he said, his tone cautious.

She smiled knowingly. Triumphantly. "Oh, Grey, you didn't have to. You just described the exact way I feel about you. Those emotions are love."

He wanted to deny her claim, but found he couldn't. Or maybe he didn't want to. Damn. He didn't know anymore.

She grasped his hand and led him back to the rug in front of the fireplace, where a small fire crackled and sent out waves of toasty heat. She left him standing there to turn off the lamp. The soft, warm glow of firelight illuminated the curves of her body wrapped in cashmere and shone off the sassy length of her hair.

Their eyes locked, and he eased out a strangled breath. His hands curled into fists at his side. The smile on her lips was sultry and teasing; the look in her eyes seared his soul. He was bewitched, transfixed and so full of strange emotions he didn't understand. All he understood was the fierce ache to touch her, to ease her to the floor and let his hands and lips worship every inch of her.

Oh, so leisurely, she lifted her hands and pulled down the shoulders of her dress, revealing pale, firm breasts, their centers dark, and her nipples tight. The silky soft material slid down her arms and caught on the swell of her hips. With a slow, provocative shimmy the garment slithered down her long legs and pooled around her feet, leaving her scantily clad in pink lace panties sheerer than a sigh, and those thigh-high opaque stockings he'd discovered earlier, a delicate lace band holding them securely in place.

His heart pounded in his chest and his blood rushed through his veins like liquid fire. Breathing became impossible. He was about to have a heart attack, he was sure.

"Mariah?" Her name escaped on a tight croak. "What about your deal?"

"I'm reneging." She started toward him, her smile as seductive as the sway of her hips. "I'm going to show you what love is, just in case you have any lingering doubts in that mind of yours."

All doubts fled the minute her hands landed on his chest and smoothed aside the open vee of his shirt until it tightened around his biceps. He attempted to reach for her, heard the rip of material as he stretched his arms, and realized that she'd effectively turned the tables on him. He couldn't reach her.

He caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes seconds before she leaned into him, nuzzling her mouth against his neck. He groaned, his body shuddering as her tongue tasted and her teeth scraped along his throat. Her palms were cool against his heated flesh, seeking, searching and finding his nipples, then lower, skimming along the taut flesh of his belly. The buttons on his shirt hindered her exploration, and she let out a frustrated sound. Then, to his dazed amazement, she grabbed the sides of his shirt and yanked, sending the buttons flying across the room.

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.