Private Pleasures

Chapter Six

"IT'S ABSOLUTELY HUGE!"

Leaning close to Mariah's side, Grey whispered low in her ear, "Do you want it?"

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "It's much too big."

He grinned lazily and stroked a finger over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. She shivered in response. "You've never had a problem handling 'big' before," he murmured.

His innuendo earned him a not-so-subtle jab in the ribs, but the smile in Mariah's eyes soothed his wounded ego. "We aren't talking about your swelled head or that other big part of your anatomy."

He perfected little-boy innocence. "We're not?"

She tapped a finger against the display window outside a jewelry store in the Arrowhead village, indicating the five-carat diamond ring glittering against black velvet. They'd been strolling along the shop fronts after a light breakfast at a gourmet coffee shop when the extravagant piece of jewelry had caught her eye. "That is huge in a way you could never match."

"My family jewels are more impressive than a mere diamond," he said with feigned indignation.

She tilted her head back and laughed-the light, throaty sound warmer than the bright sun overhead. Somewhere between last night's not-so-pleasant parting and this morning, the tension between them had eased. At least the emotional tension, he thought with a grimace, knowing the physical frustration wouldn't abate until he got Mariah back where he wanted her. In his bed. And in his life.

And he had today and tomorrow to sway her to his way of thinking, to convince her that living together was far more practical than marriage.

She slanted him a look of amusement. "I guess you haven't heard that diamonds are a girl's best friend."

Sweeping a splayed hand up her spine, he slid his fingers beneath her silky, shoulder-length hair. Her nape was warm, and he stroked the soft skin there. "Diamonds might be a girl's best friend, but the family jewels are far more valuable."

She lifted a sassy brow. "How do you figure?"

"They're nice to admire, fun to play with and provide hours of pleasure," he said, enjoying their playful, intimate banter.

Her mouth curled into a private smile. "A gift that keeps on giving, hmm?"

"Absolutely."

He glanced back at the ring, impressed how it caught the light in an array of shimmering colors. Even he had to admit that the ring was stunning, in design and size. He'd never given jewelry to any of the women he'd dated before Mariah. That kind of gift seemed too personal and way too intimate. But he wanted to give Mariah this ring she seemed to admire, as a token of his affection for her. A reminder that he cared for her, liked having her in his life and wanted her there for as long as it lasted.

"Do you like it?" he asked casually.

She tilted her head, studying the ring thoughtfully. "It's different. And for as big as it is, it's very elegant."

Pushing his fingers into the front pockets of his navy shorts, he released a breath before saying, "If you want the ring, it's yours." He grimaced at his brusque tone. Way to go, Nichols. That was a real romantic gesture.

She gaped at him. "You're serious?"

As serious as he could be about her and their relationship. "Would I joke about something so obviously expensive?"

"It's a bridal set, Grey," she said wryly. "A wedding ring."

A wedding ring? He blanched, and his stomach rebelled at the thought. He groped for his Turns before remembering he'd purposely left them at home, determined to survive the weekend without them. He should have known better.

He gave a shrug that belied the tension coiling through him. "A ring is a ring. A trinket with only as much sentimental value as a person puts on it."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking mildly irritated. "And you obviously don't put much value on this ring."

"Sure I do," he argued, not liking that she was discussing his feelings for her in terms of diamonds and gold. Now he knew why he'd steered away from giving jewelry to the women he'd dated in the past. "This ring would be a token of how much I care for you. A gift that you'd be able to wear and enjoy and that would remind you of me when you looked at it."

She lifted a brow. "Sort of like a souvenir of our time together?"

A souvenir? He bristled, but held his aggravation in check. Why was she making this so difficult when all he'd wanted to do was give her something that would bring her pleasure? Why did there have to be any excess emotional baggage attached to the gift? "Consider the ring a keepsake." He mentally winced. Damn, that didn't sound right, either.

Her mouth thinned in displeasure. "Like something you'd give a mistress."

Frustration flared within him, needling his temper. "I never said you were my mistress."

"I would be if I accepted that ring under any other terms than what it's meant for," she said passionately. "That ring is supposed to bind two people in love, Grey."

"Really?" A burst of cynical laughter escaped him, bringing with it an edge of hostility and defensiveness that made his voice rise. "A ring never made my father love my mother, nor did it bind my mother to any of her subsequent four husbands. And I seriously doubt the newest ring she slipped on her finger is going to keep her eternally devoted to my newest stepfather!"

Long moments passed as they stared at one another. Tourists and locals walked past, but Grey paid them no heed. His jaw clenched hard. God, he hated the mixture of incredulity and shock etched on Mariah's face, but she'd wanted honesty. And he'd only given her a small dose of the unattractive truth about his past.

"Your mother has been married five times?" she finally asked, her quiet voice filled with disbelief.

"Yeah," he said roughly, vividly remembering two of those divorces as a youth, and the confusion and resentment that grew with each separation. "And following every breakup, my mother always fell into a deep state of depression, ignoring everything and everyone, including me, to wallow in self-pity until another man came along and gave her the smallest bit of attention. She'd cling, thinking herself in love, wanting that elusive emotion so badly she imagined it even though it wasn't there."

It had been a vicious cycle of men and relationships with his mother, one that Grey had been inevitably thrust into the middle of. And with each new beau of his mother's he'd grown more belligerent and hostile in an effort to hide his pain. His own father hadn't wanted him, had verbally degraded him, and his mother had been so wrapped up in her own search for happiness and acceptance he'd become nothing more than a nuisance, an extra piece of baggage she had to tow along for the ride.

His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Quite a track record in the Nichols family, wouldn't you say?"

She gave her head a brisk shake, compassion softening her features. "It's not your track record, Grey."

"Exactly." Nor would it ever be, he'd vowed long ago. If he didn't get married he wouldn't have to worry about divorce. And if he never had children, there wouldn't be anyone to suffer from his lack of parenting skills, or from his inability to love.

Disgusted with their topic of conversation and how terse he'd been with Mariah, he turned and walked away, his focus on the clear blue lake beyond all the shop fronts.

Mariah started after him, not about to let him take the easy way out. He couldn't make a statement like that then walk away, leaving her teetering on the edge of something far more profound. As difficult as this might be for him, it helped her to understand his reasons for keeping his heart under lock and key. And possibly give her the ammunition to battle his fears.

She halted his stride with a hand on his arm. "Grey, wait." His body stiffened, and when he finally met her gaze, the misery and emotional turmoil reflected in his eyes yanked at her heart.

"Oh, Grey," she whispered, wishing she had the ability to chase away the dark shadows eclipsing his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

His frown deepened. "Why should you be sorry?" he asked, his tone gruff. "My mother's failed relationships aren't your fault."

He'd misunderstood. She was sorry for the young boy who'd seen the worst of relationships and marriages. She was sorry that experience had taught the man he'd become to be wary of commitment. And she was so very sorry he thought of marriage as something distasteful, rather than the joyful union she knew it could be. Her own parents and grandparents were proof that love went a long way in a relationship if two people were willing to work at it.

She'd seen the best of marriage. He'd seen the worst. Could she blame him for being so cynical?

"And it's not your fault, either," she said gently. "You aren't responsible for the choices your mother made."

He averted his gaze, but not before she caught a glimpse of vulnerability. "Maybe not, but my mother's short-lived relationships and my father's resentment of his marriage are proof that love, if such a thing even exists, doesn't last."

She sighed in frustration. A light breeze blew off the lake, ruffling his sable hair across his forehead and flirting with the skirt of the summer culotte outfit Grey had bought for her. She waited for a more significant comment from him, but when it was obvious he had no intention of talking further, she decided it was time to make him listen.

Touching her ringers to his jaw, she turned his face back toward her, ignoring the ominous slant of his brows. "Nobody ever said marriage was easy, Grey. My parents had plenty of disagreements, but they communicated and worked through their problems. That's how you make love last Marriage is a commitment, a pledge to respect one another and compromise when you both want different things. You can't ignore obvious problems or bail out of the relationship at the first sign of trouble."

"You bailed on me," he hastened to point out.

She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips. Only Grey would think of their breakup that way. "That's different. You left me nothing to fight for. If you gave me something, anything worth fighting for, I'd be by your side forever."

He cocked a brow. "Something like marriage?"

She was gratified to see that the mention of marriage hadn't caused him to turn pale this time. Hope bloomed within her. "I'd like your love first."

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. Then he pulled in a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped his flow of words with a hand pressed gently to his warm lips. She didn't know what he'd been about to say, but she didn't want him to shatter this fragile moment with a denial or excuses. That, and she wasn't finished with him.

"Don't say anything, Grey. Just think about everything I've said, okay?" She didn't wait for a response because she didn't need one. "You know how I feel about you and that hasn't changed in the time we've been apart. But I don't want you to tell me you love me because you think it's something I need to hear. When and if you ever say those words I want it to come from your heart."

Removing her hand from his mouth, he pressed her palm onto his chest Beneath his beige knit shirt his heart beat at a rapid pace, almost frantically. "What if that never happens?" he asked uncertainly. "Love, that is."

It would, she thought, if only he'd allow himself to search within his soul for what was already there. An emotion most likely rusty from neglect, but with time and care, his ability to love could be something brand-new and wonderful for him. "If love never happens for you, then I guess we weren't meant to be. And if love does happen, you'll know it without any doubts."

Skepticism shone in his eyes, and his hand tightened over hers. "Dammit, Mariah, I don't want to lose you, and I hate being without you."

She smiled. "That's a real good start to love."

He looked surprised, but not totally adverse to the thought. He drew her closer with a possessive sweep of his hand along her spine. An instantaneous heat flared within her, matching the fire in his eyes.

"I hate it when another man touches you," he growled low and deep in his throat.

She laughed, feeling light inside. "I think that's called jealousy, not love."

"I still hate it," he muttered, his lip puffing out in a boyish pout.

She smoothed a hand along his shirt collar. "You're sharing, Grey, and communicating. That's part of what love is."

A wicked sparkle entered his gaze. "I'll show you some communication." Boldly he stroked a hand over her bottom and squeezed.

"Grey!" Her admonishment attracted the attention of a few people nearby, reminding her they were in a public place. Heart pounding, she pushed away from him, attempting to skirt his advances. It was just like him to take the edge off their serious conversation with playful overtures, but she truly didn't mind.

"I'm talking about the verbal kind of communication," she chastised in a low voice.

He reached for her again and she tried to elude his grasp. But he was agile and quick and she ended up right back where she'd started. In his arms. He gave her a lascivious look that made her toes tingle. "Yeah, you like it when I get verbal, don't you?"

A thrill of excitement rippled through her. Oh, she did. Shamelessly.

"Ah, Grey." She sighed. Doing what came naturally, she slipped her arms around his neck. She didn't care who glanced their way, because she knew they looked like a couple in love, even if Grey wouldn't admit to such an emotion. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something," he murmured, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Hands on her hips, Mariah scanned the board games stacked on the top shelf in the entryway closet of Mark's mountain house, searching for a way to pass a few hours until bedtime. As busy and enjoyable her afternoon with Grey had been, she wasn't the least bit tired. If anything, after their talk she felt invigorated and hopeful, and nowhere near ready to end an almost-perfect day.

Hearing Grey pad barefoot into the living room from the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder and watched him set two glasses on the coffee table and pour wine into each. Behind him, a small fire crackled in the hearth, taking the slight mountain chill from the room.

He lifted his head and met her gaze, his mouth quirking in a smile that started a pleasant tickle in the pit of her belly. "What are you doing?"

"I found some games earlier and thought it would be fun for us to play one."

He adjusted the only lamp in the room to low, giving the room an intimate setting. "I vote for strip poker."

She shot him a pointed look. "You know how lousy I am at card games."

"That's what I was counting on," he drawled, a sexy gleam in his eyes.

Shaking her head, but unable to summon any real irritation at his obvious scheme, she glanced back at the flat boxes on the shelf, and spotted one of her favorites. "How about a game of Scrabble?"

He settled himself on the couch. "I've never played before."

"You're kidding?" His serious expression told her he was not. She reached for the game, deciding it was time he learned one of her family's favorite pastimes. "Scrabble is one of those ail-American games that never go out of style. It's right up there with Monopoly."

"I've never played Monopoly, either."

She gaped at him, shocked and amazed that someone had survived childhood without the pleasure, fun and frustration of landing on the square that said, "Do Not Pass GO, Go Directly To Jail. Do Not Collect $200." She approached the couch, board game in hand. "How about backgammon?"

"Nope."

"Yahtzee?"

He gave his head a negative shake.

Setting the Scrabble game on the coffee table, she sat on the cushion next to his. "What games did you play?"

He handed her a glass of wine and took a long swallow of his own. Finally he said, "I was a whiz at solitaire."

She was certain he was teasing, until she saw a flicker of something truthful and raw in his gaze. Solitaire. As in one. As in alone.

She tried to dismiss the swell of compassion filling her chest, knowing he wouldn't want any part of it. "Your parents never played games with you?"

"My mother was too busy trying to please my father to play games with a child," he said blandly, watching the pale gold liquid swirl in his glass. "And my father wasn't exactly the bonding type."

She took a drink of wine, thinking of her own happy childhood, filled with wonderful memories and an abundance of love and laughter. Her parents had always been there for her and Jade, to support them, guide them and give them the best possible childhood they could. The memories of her youth were fond ones, the kind of memories she hoped to pass on to her own children one day.

"Didn't you do anything as a family?" she asked. "Camping? Barbecues? Going to the beach?"

"Nope. I was lucky if my father showed up for dinner at night and cuffed the back of my head in greeting." His lips slashed into a sardonic smile. "My parents didn't exactly marry under traditional circumstances."

She tucked her legs beneath her, settling closer to him. "What do you mean?"

Grey squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head back on the couch. Damn. She was going to make him exhume old memories. But isn't that what he'd promised her he'd try to do? Give her a piece of his past and share the reasons why marriage and children held little appeal for him?

Blinking his lashes open, he released a tight breath and let the truth spill out. "The reason my parents married is because my mother got pregnant with me. My father owned up to his responsibility, but I learned early on that I was more of an inconvenience to Aaron Nichols than anything else. A reminder of the mistake he'd made and the price he'd had to pay for it."

Mariah looked horrified at the prospect. "Surely your father loved you."

Harsh laughter escaped him. "If he did, I never heard it, nor did he show it." His mother hadn't been one for open displays of affection, either, at least not with him. Oh, he was sure in her own way his mother cared for him, but never had she told him, "I love you," and he had never spoken those words. To anyone. How could he when they'd mock everything he'd experienced as a child?

"My father was great at dishing out insults and making me feel worthless," he went on, recounting the events of his childhood. "Like the time I was playing ball with a friend in our front yard and I missed a catch, tripped over my own foot and fell. My father was standing out on the porch watching, waiting for something, anything to give him an excuse to ridicule me. He immediately pounced on my clumsiness and proceeded to bellow out what a clumsy idiot I was for falling on my face and missing such an easy catch. And from there his ranting escalated, as it always did."

Shock transformed Mariah's features and seemed to render her speechless. Well, he wasn't through shocking her yet. Standing, he walked to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and jabbed at the dying embers in the hearth.

"My friend was smart enough to leave, but I had nowhere to go. While the neighborhood watched, my father yelled about how I'd never amount to anything and how miserable I made his life. And while my father humiliated me, my mother cowered on the front porch and watched the whole thing." His stomach churned at the recollection.of his father's verbal abuse, and his mother's weakness and inability to help her child or herself. "Then he grabbed me by the shirt collar and dragged me into the house to dole out more insults."

"Your mother didn't say anything?" she asked incredulously.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, a sardonic grin on his lips. "She never did."

She gasped, her eyes rounding in astonishment. "Why in the world not?"

"My mother was too damned afraid of losing my father, of making him mad. She never said a word, and she never interfered with my father's tirades, even when they were directed at her." And in the end it hadn't matter that she'd been submissive; Vivian Nichols never gained the love she'd craved from her husband, the kind of attention Grey had so desperately wanted from his mother when he'd been a child.

He tossed another log on the fire and watched the sparks filter up the chimney. "When I was a little boy, all I wanted was to please my father, but I learned early on there was no pleasing Aaron Nichols. He was hell-bent on despising me, and taking his anger and hostility out on me and occasionally on my mother."

"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 tiles 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.

Grey remained awake. Stroking Mariah's hair, he reveled in the contentment ribboning through him, a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced. One he'd only shared with Mariah.

One thing was for certain. He never wanted the warm, comforting feeling to end.