Private Pleasures

Chapter Two

Standing in the lobby of the huge glass-and-chrome building where Grey's company, Nichols' Security Systems, had its offices, Mariah waited for one of the three elevators to make its way back to the main floor. It was after five on a Wednesday, and except for the guard on duty and an occasional business-suited man, the lobby seemed deserted. She would have preferred a swarm of people and a fast elevator to keep her mind off her final mission to sever all ties with Grey.

Pulling in a deep calming breath, she replayed the pep talk her sister had given her over breakfast. While Jade had eaten two bowls of cereal, a muffin and half a grapefruit, she'd counseled Mariah on how to finalize her split with Grey and get on with her life. At the time her advice sounded so simple and easy to execute. Now she wanted to hightail it out of there, go home, curl up in her ratty old robe-not the new satin-and-lace one Jade had coerced her into buying-and eat a bowl of frozen grapes.

Ping. The elevator doors opened with a soft, welcoming whoosh. Butterflies swarmed in her empty stomach, increasing her nervousness about seeing Grey again after two weeks apart. Two weeks of pure torture-no appetite, sleepless nights and a continual ache near the vicinity of her heart. God, she didn't think the horrible pain would ever ease.

Blinking back a surge of tears, she clutched a 4 X 6 gift-wrapped package in one hand and a paper sack in the other and stepped into the elevator. She pressed the button for the fourteenth floor before she could change her mind. The doors closed silently, cocooning her in the mirrored cubicle.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror across from her. The woman reflected back was still a virtual stranger to Mariah, but she was slowly growing accustomed to her new look. And liking it. With Jade and Pierre's coaxing, she'd allowed the master hairdresser to shear her hair into a sleek, shoulder-length bob that curled under at the ends and softened her features. Wispy bangs flattered the simple style and drew attention to her wide blue eyes and the high cheekbones her sister seemed to envy.

She wondered what Grey would think of her new look and the radical change in her choice of clothing. Not that she cared, she resolutely reminded herself.

The elevator stopped on the seventh floor to pick up an executive who rode the lift to the tenth floor and exited, leaving Mariah alone once again. This time when she caught her reflection, a memory leapt into her mind, vivid and provocative. She'd been alone with Grey in this very elevator, on their way to the ground level after spending a few hours in his office discussing color schemes for the library in his new house. At the ninth floor he'd punched the stop button, bringing the elevator to a whining halt.

Mariah closed her eyes against the erotic recollection, but her mind ruthlessly brought that encounter into sharp focus. In her mind's eye she could see Grey moving toward her, a shameless, sexy gleam in his gaze. He'd pressed her against the mirrored wall and skimmed her skirt up her thighs to her hips, then hooked his fingers into the top of her pantyhose.

She'd gasped as he peeled her pantyhose and panties down her legs in one smooth motion. "Grey, what are you doing?" she asked, even as she obediently stepped from her shoes and lingerie for him.

He tossed the intimate apparel aside, his smile wicked. Unclasping her hair, he dropped the pearl clip onto the plush carpeting and threaded his fingers through the strands, arranging the wavy ends over her shoulders. "I want you."

Her body swelled with heat and desire, but what little modesty Grey hadn't stripped her of kept her from completely surrendering. "We can't do this in here!"

Her shocked tone seemed to amuse him and fire his own passion. He pressed his hips to hers, his erection rock hard and insistent between them. "Sure we can, sweetheart." He brought his mouth to her ear, his tongue touching the sensitive shell as he whispered, "It's late, and there are two other elevators. No one will miss this one for a little while. We don't even have to get undressed all the way."

His hands explored beneath her skirt again, and he touched her intimately, his fingers finding her wet, sleek and ready for him. He groaned into the side of her neck.

"Oh, Grey!" Her knees buckled, but the weight of his body held her upright. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He stroked her, and she rewarded him with a whimper and a plea. He lifted his head, his eyes dark as he watched her changing expression. "This is a fantasy I've had about you a million times. Every time I ride alone in these elevators I think of being in here with you. Alone. Like this. Indulge me."

She had. He'd unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the cups of her bra down, so her breasts sprang free for his pleasure.

"This is…" Her breath caught as his lips closed over a swollen nipple.

"Decadent? Erotic?" he said in between kisses and long, slow laps of his tongue.

"Yes," she hissed, unable to ignore the thrill of excitement his seduction evoked. Letting her head fall back and her body melt for him, she tangled her fingers in his hair. When he finally knelt in front of her, she trembled in anticipation.

"It's gonna get a whole lot better," he promised huskily. His mouth, warm and damp, skimmed the inside of her thigh. "Watch in the mirrors before they start to steam."

She had, and the things he'd done to her had taken her beyond anything she'd ever experienced. They'd made love in the elevator not once, but twice, each time wild and searing in its intensity.

Mariah groaned, remembering every erotic word he'd whispered, the slide of his mouth and hands on her body and the desperate way she'd clung to him when he'd finally thrust deep inside her…

"Ms. Stevens? Are you okay?" a distant, feminine voice queried. "Ms. Stevens?"

Mariah blinked her eyes open, horrified to find the elevator doors wide-open to the reception area and Grey's secretary, Jeanie, looking at her oddly. The other woman held an attache case in one hand and her purse slung over her shoulder as if she were leaving for the evening.

The elevator doors started to close and Jeanie stopped them with a quick hand. "Ms. Stevens?"

Mariah snapped out of her haze with a firm mental shake. "I'm sorry, Jeanie, I must have been daydreaming." Stepping from the lift, she held up the paper bag and package in her hands. After that arousing trip down memory lane she just wanted to leave Grey's things at the front desk and bolt. She was certain she couldn't face him without falling apart or throwing herself at him. "I just wanted to drop off a few things of Grey's."

Jeanie hurried to the receptionist's desk and set her attache down. "Let me ring Grey." She reached for the phone.

"That's not necessary, Jeanie," Mariah hastened to assure her. "I'll just leave these things here at the front desk, and you can give them to him after I leave."

Jeanie shook her head adamantly. "He'd be upset with me if I didn't tell him you were here, and it takes very little to set him off these days. He's been such a grouch lately," she confided in a low voice. But there was affection for her boss in her tone, and understanding, too. "I have strict instructions to notify him immediately if you call, so I'm sure the same applies if you stop by."

Mariah liked Jeanie, and she certainly didn't want to put the woman's job in jeopardy. Grey was fair to a fault, but she'd seen his temper once with an obnoxious subcontractor and didn't want to be responsible for Jeanie having to face his wrath for disobeying his orders.

So she waited anxiously as Jeanie picked up the receiver and pressed the intercom button.

"Grey, Ms. Stevens is here." She paused, then said, "No, I don't mind staying until you receive the call from Frank Weisman. I'll send her on back."

Jeanie hung up the phone and gave Mariah an apologetic look. "You know the way."

Mariah nodded and forced herself down the long blue carpeted corridor to Grey's office. With every step she took her nerves increased. Her palms grew damp and her heart pounded in her chest. Stopping at the thick double doors to his office, she dragged in a fortifying breath, determined to get through this visit as quickly as possible and leave with her pride and emotions intact.

She entered the large, spacious room and Grey immediately stood from behind a desk cluttered with papers, files and a computer screen reflecting an estimate spreadsheet.

"You haven't returned my calls," he blurted accusingly.

She cringed guiltily. Stopping just inside the office, her heart gave a giant, yearning leap. He looked awful, she thought, unable to recall a time she'd seen him so weary and worn-out. His dark hair was mussed as if it had been repeatedly finger-combed and his face looked gaunt. Shadows of exhaustion lined his eyes. He wore a pair of navy slacks and a beige shirt with navy pinstripes, the sleeves cuffed to expose his strong forearms.

Resisting the urge to go to him, to help chase away the misery in his golden brown eyes, she set the bag on the chair in front of his desk, and rested the wrapped package against a small end table.

"I didn't return your calls because I knew I was going to see you in person." Why had that sounded so much better when Jade had coached her?

"Dammit, Mariah, this is crazy. I was hoping you'd come to your senses about us, but…" He frowned at her, then a horrified expression twisted his features. He shot around the desk so fast she didn't have a chance to react before he stood in front of her, gaping. "What in the hell did you do to your hair?" His voice was a small roar.

Self-consciously she touched the bobbed ends, trying to dismiss the momentary pang of regret she felt. She couldn't live her life for Grey when he was no longer a part of it, she reminded herself.

She squared her shoulders. "I cut it." She sounded strong and self-assured, like a woman in control. So why didn't she feel that way?

"Obviously," he said dryly.

He was looking at her hair like she'd cut off an arm instead. All at once she remembered the way he used to wind the long strands in his fists and gently tug her head back for his kiss, or the way he'd go wild when her hair would cascade over his body whenever he urged her to be the aggressor.

Meeting his smoldering gaze, she realized he was thinking the same things. She bit her bottom lip and looked away. Jade had promised her today's final goodbye would be a "piece of cake." Her sister had lied. Seeing him again and knowing she could never have him hurt worse than the original breakup.

Grey swore beneath his breath, trying to figure out why she'd shear her long, silky hair when she knew how much he loved it. To spite him? No, she wasn't the type. And then it dawned on him.

His gaze narrowed. "Jade had something to do with your hair, didn't she?"

Her mouth pursed in irritation. "Of course not."

Liar, he thought, absorbing other changes he hadn't noticed when she'd first walked in; he'd been too caught up in venting his frustration that she'd been avoiding him for two weeks.

His gaze zeroed in on the cleavage showing where the buttons on her silky white blouse stopped. Mariah's breasts were a generous handful but she'd never been one to display them to their full advantage, choosing instead to wear blouses that adequately covered her or buttoned to the throat. Only he'd known how full and perfect those breasts were, and he'd liked it that way.

Through the thin material of her blouse he glimpsed something lacy that shaped her breasts and disappeared into the waistband of her skirt. One of those teddy things, he guessed, his blood heating at the thought of Mariah trading in her practical underwear for sexy stuff-the kind that incited a man's imagination when they realized a woman was wearing it. The kind that men would spend an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about unwrapping, layer by layer, to discover all the secrets that lay beneath.

He dropped his gaze lower, and his jaw tightened right along with the rest of his body. Her skirt was at least four inches shorter than her normal knee-length. Usually she reserved black stockings for special occasions, yet had donned them with her casual outfit. As a whole, she appeared subdued, sophisticated and damned sexy.

"I don't think I've ever seen you wear a miniskirt before." He would have remembered. Oh, man, would he have. Raw possessiveness ripped through him, and he had the barbaric inclination to nail any man who dared ogle her…like he was.

She shrugged, obviously having no idea what wearing a short skirt that flirted so enticingly around her thighs could do to a man's mental health. And those heels… Christ, they made her legs seem endless. His temperature spiked ten degrees, and a hundred erotic fantasies sprang to mind.

She had no right to look so fresh and sassy, not when he felt and looked like death warmed over. The aggravation of the past fourteen days came to a head. "This new 'look' of yours was Jade's idea, wasn't it? The hair, your clothes," he said, gesturing to each. "Next time I see you your eyes will be purple!"

She sighed and moved away, toward the bank of windows overlooking Century City. "I didn't come here to discuss my sister, my haircut or my choice of clothes."

"Or lack thereof," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. "Grey, please don't make this any more difficult than it already is. I don't want to fight. In fact, I'd like us to be…friends."

"Friends?" He stared incredulously. Dammit, he didn't want a casual, platonic relationship with her! Not after experiencing how good it could be between them. She complemented him so perfectly, and he'd given her more than he'd ever given any woman.

Everything except the two things she claimed to need and he'd never put much faith in: love and marriage. It was a destructive combination he had no desire to be a part of.

He shoved that thought from his mind. "After everything we've meant to each other, everything we've done and shared, you want to revert to being friends?"

"Yes. I'd like to think we're adult enough to maintain a friendship."

"I don't want to be just your friend, Mariah." He strode toward her and grasped her hands, looking deeply into her eyes. "I want to be your lover. I want it to be the way it was between us."

"And I want marriage and babies."

The mere words made him cringe, which he knew she saw.

Regret clouded her expression and she withdrew her hands from his. "I want you to know I'm seeing someone else."

The thought of another man touching her made him feel violent. "Great," he muttered. "Just great." Stomach churning, he fished into his pocket for the roll of antacid that had become his constant companion the past two weeks. He popped two into his mouth and ground them with his teeth.

"I think you should, too."

He laughed harshly. "How can I when every woman I look at doesn't even come close to comparing to you? Dammit, Mariah, I miss you."

Reciprocating words leapt into her gaze but she said nothing. He silently cursed her willpower while he had absolutely none when it came to her.

He paced the carpet in front of the windows. "I can't sleep at night, can't concentrate during the day and I eat antacids by the case and I hate the damned things! I've been a bear to be around, too. Just ask Jeanie."

She folded her arms over her chest, drawing his gaze to the cleavage spilling from the opening in her blouse. Damn. He resisted the impulse to unbutton her blouse and discover exactly what she was wearing beneath.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Stopping abruptly in front of her, he dragged his eyes back to her face. "You should be. It's your fault, you know. I can't let you go. You're with me every second of the day, and at night…" He touched her cheek, letting her imagination take over.

Her breath caught in her throat. Grasping his wrist, she pulled his hand away. "Grey, stop."

"Why? It's the truth." He was wearing down her resistance, could see her fighting against what she truly wanted. Pressing on before he lost his advantage, he stepped closer until their clothes brushed. She tried to take a step back, but a wingback chair stopped her retreat. He didn't touch her, but he planned to…

In a low, husky voice, he continued. "Every night I go to bed thinking of you. I dream of you. And when I wake up in the morning I'm hard and aching. I always reach for you but you're not there anymore."

The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered, and when she breathed in, the swell of her breasts quivered. "Being apart is just as difficult for me."

"Is it?" Bracing his hand on either side of the chair behind her, he trapped her within his arms. He wasn't taking any chances of her bolting before he was done. "Do you wake up the same way? Wanting me?" Her darkening gaze said what her mouth wouldn't. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips against her ear and continued the mutual torment. "And when you realize I'm not there, do you close your eyes and imagine my hands and mouth on you, touching and stroking you in that special way that makes you come apart for me?"

A tiny groan escaped her, and she pressed her hands to his chest. Her touch seared him, aroused him, thrilled him. The front of his slacks grew uncomfortably snug, but he kept a tight rein on his needs.

"You don't play fair, Nichols," she said on a wispy catch of breath.

He was ruthless when it came to what he wanted, in business, in pleasure and now with Mariah. Inhaling deeply her sweet, feminine scent, he pulled back and met her gaze. She looked dazed, flushed and achingly beautiful. Under different circumstances he would have taken her right then and there. Under different circumstances she would be begging him to. But he was close to getting what he wanted…her complete surrender, body and soul.

"My offer still stands," he said.

A little frown marred her brows, and the passionate haze cleared from her eyes. "To move in with you?"

"Yes."

She made a sound of disgust and gave him a shove, hard enough for him to take a step back and for her to slip out from between him and the chair. "Then my answer is the same."

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, his voice rising in frustration. "We were perfectly happy until…" Clamping his teeth, he shoved his hands into his pockets and fiddled with the roll of antacids.

"Until what?" She ran a hand through her short hair, and the silky strands bobbed back into place. "Until I realized you didn't and couldn't love me? Until marriage was mentioned and I realized we were looking at our relationship from two different perspectives?" Angry hurt filled her expression. "I can't just make my feelings about getting married and having a family go away, Grey. I want the security of a lifelong commitment with a man who loves me as much as I love him, and I want babies before I'm too old to enjoy them. And I don't want to waste another year or two loving you when I know I'll eventually have to move on."

Her argument was solid. As solid and impenetrable as a brick wall. But with enough patience and persistence, could it be torn down? Grey wondered. Persistence was the reason he was a successful businessman with a mul-timillion dollar corporation. However, patience wasn't one of his strong suits. But for her, he'd discipline himself.

"I don't ever remember you being so stubborn before," he said, forcing a teasing tone when he felt jagged and torn inside. "Jade got anything to do with that?"

She laughed, the sound strained. "No, I've always been stubborn when it comes to something I believe in. Besides, you're just as stubborn when it comes to your own beliefs about marriage and love."

"With good reason." He strolled to the windows and stared out at the smog hovering over the tall buildings dominating the city. Grey had witnessed his father hurl insults at his mother and had been the focus of many verbal attacks himself. The man had blamed a mere child for trapping him in a loveless marriage. All of these things had left a lasting impression on Grey.

The lessons he'd learned had proved invaluable through the years, in dealing with the many stepfathers who'd traipsed through his life, in business and his personal life. He'd always steered clear of forming emotional attachments and instead focused on work and the acceptance of his colleagues. In business, at least, he'd gained the respect he'd never received from his father.

"I have no idea what those reasons are," she said from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. "I've spent eight months with you, and I don't even really know you."

He turned back around. "You know me better than anyone."

"In some ways, yes," she said, strolling around his office and looking at the plaques and awards mounted on the wall. "Physically and on a business level, but emotionally, I'm not quite sure what makes Grey Nichols tick. I know little to nothing about your family, your childhood, what makes you the person you are or why you can't, or won't, commit yourself to marriage and a family." She stopped her wandering and tilted her head at him, regarding him speculatively. "I've learned you're a driven man, but I haven't quite figured out what drives you. I know you built this company from scratch, with no help from anyone. Not because you told me, but because I read it here," she said, pointing to an article from a prestigious business magazine he'd had framed. "Where did that drive come from?"

The answers jammed in his throat, right along with bitter resentments he'd kept buried for years. What Mariah didn't realize is that she knew more about him than he'd ever let any woman close enough to learn. That in itself scared him on an emotional level.

She sighed and propped a hip against the edge of his desk, letting a long, shapely leg dangle. "How can we build a secure relationship when you can't even trust me or talk to me?"

He bristled, feeling raw. "We talk."

"Always about me and my family and my business. We never share things about your life. Or rather, your past." She glanced down at the hands in her lap. Her nails, he noticed, were painted a spring pink color instead of her normal clear polish. "I guess that's why it came as such a shock to learn that you don't believe in love, and you never want to get married. Especially when that's all I've ever wanted."

He smiled, though his heart wasn't in it. "They say opposites attract."

"I hardly think a drastic difference in values is what that quote means."

His fingers curled tight around the pack of Turns. "Then I guess this leaves us at a stalemate, huh?"

Sliding gracefully off his desk, she moved toward the chairs. "How about being friends?"

He figured if that was the only way he could see her, and possibly change her mind about them, then he'd agree to just about anything. "Friends it is," he said, his mood lightening a little. "How about a kiss to seal the pact?"

"How about a gift, instead?" Picking up the large flat package wrapped in burgundy plaid paper, she handed it to him, careful not to let their fingers brush, or anything else for that matter.

"What's this for?" he asked, eyeing the package curiously.

"For you." Her eyes had regained that enthusiastic sparkle he loved. "I bought it when we went to San Francisco two months ago."

He smiled, remembering how he'd surprised her one weekend with plane rickets and reservations at a five-star hotel in San Francisco. "We had a good time, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," she agreed quietly.

He ran a finger along the smooth edge of the present. "There could be more good times."

Her gaze held his steadily. "No, Grey, not for us."

Strike one, he thought, knowing it would take time to convince her that they belonged together. He turned his attention to the wrapped gift. "How did I miss something so big and bulky on the plane trip back home?"

"I had it mailed." She leaned back against his desk, watching him. "Go on and open it."

He ripped the paper off, revealing a beautiful, expensive painting they'd seen in an exclusive gallery in San Francisco. They'd both been drawn to this painting entitled, Lover's Cove. At first glance the picture seemed ordinary; a black, rock-encrusted cove on a secluded stretch of beach, the crystal blue-green water sweeping along the shore. But upon closer observation, and with the gallery owner's shared secret, the shadows on the wall of the cove took the shape of two lovers in an erotic embrace. The painting was beautiful and serene, but intimate for the knowledge of those two lovers who seemed lost in their own private world.

"Thank you," he said, awed by her thoughtfulness when he knew how much she'd wanted the picture for her own. Did she realize he'd never be able to look at the painting and not think of her?

Her smile held genuine pleasure. "It's a housewarming gift for your new home."

"You decorated the place," he said. "You deserve to hang the picture. I've got the perfect spot. In my bedroom."

She saw through his ploy. "I think you can handle hanging a picture on your own."

Strike two. She could hardly blame him for trying. "It was worth a shot." He gently set the picture against the chair. "The place looks great, by the way." Big and lonely, too, without you there.

"I'm glad you like it." She looked enormously pleased by his compliment. "If you don't mind, I'd like to send a photographer over to shoot some photos for my portfolio. I'll set up a time when you'll be home."

"That'll be fine." He glanced at his watch. It was nearly six, and he knew he'd never get any work done now. But he didn't want her to leave either. "How about having dinner with me?" he suggested casually. "I can have the Chinese takeout deliver some chow mein and lemon chicken." Her two favorites.

Her gaze glanced off the leather couch against the far wall, then skittered back to him. "You know it would end up being more than just dinner."

True. Every time they'd ever eaten in his office they ended up making love. On the couch. The carpet. His desk. He'd like to think she'd be that weak, but knew better by the determination she'd displayed today.

"I know I'd like for it to be more than that," he admitted with a wicked grin. "But I promise to be on my best behavior."

"You're never on your best behavior." She straightened and smoothed a hand down her very short skirt. "Besides, I can't. I'm meeting someone for dinner at seven."

Jealousy gripped him, demanding another antacid.

She picked up a paper bag and set it on his desk. "Here are the last of your things from my place."

Make that two antacids. "I guess this is it, then, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she whispered, then asked. "Are you still going to my father's sixtieth birthday party?"

"Am I still invited?"

"Of course you are." She picked up her purse and settled the thin strap on her shoulder. "My father has always thought very highly of you."

"Even after our breakup?"

She paused for a moment, as if formulating an adequate response. "Dad was…disappointed to hear we're no longer dating, but he still respects you."

The respect was mutual. He'd met Jim Stevens nearly a year ago, after contracting to install an elaborate security system in the investment firm he owned. Jim was a successful businessman, and it had been obvious that he was very much the family man, as well. He'd boasted about his daughters, and when Grey happened to mention he was building a custom home, Jim had insisted he call his daughter, Mariah, for a consultation on the interior design. Grey had been reluctant-he liked to choose his own women and he certainly didn't like the thought of being "setup"-but in order to maintain Jim's prospering company as one of his accounts, out of courtesy he'd called Mariah. One evening together discussing the design of his house and he'd been a goner.

And now, eight months of bliss was slipping through his fingers. He clung tenaciously to the frayed end of the rope.

"Are we still going to the party together?" That had been the original plan two months ago.

She shook her head. "I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"Why not?"

She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue and looked away. "Because we're not a couple anymore."

The crushing band around his chest tightened. He was feeling desperate…desperate enough to blurt the declaration she thought she needed to hear from him. "Mariah-"

"Grey," Jeanie's voice drifted through the intercom on his desk. "The call from Mr. Weisman that you've been waiting for is on line two."

Damn. He'd forgotten about Weisman. The man was on the verge of signing a two-hundred-thousand-dollar contract, and he was damn hard to get a hold of. "Thank you, Jeanie. I'll take the call and you can leave."

He wanted Mariah to stay, but she was already inching toward the door in those sexy high heels and swaying her skirt enticingly.

"I've got to go, anyway, Grey," she said, gliding across the room, farther and farther away from him. Hand on the doorknob, she paused, blue eyes wide and filled with conflicting emotions. "I guess I'll see you at my father's party."

Two weeks. How was he going to survive another fourteen days without seeing her? Touching her? Talking and laughing with her? Fourteen days of wondering if this other guy she was dating would offer her the two things he couldn't give her.

Any man would be a fool not to.

The roll of Turns snapped in half between his fingers. "Yeah, I'll see you there."