Private Pleasures Page 4

  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."

  Chapter Three

  "Christ, Grey, you look like hell."

  Grey glanced up as his good friend Mark Davis slid onto the vacant barstool next to him. "Par for the course," he muttered, taking a gulp of his second scotch of the evening. "I feel like hell."

  Monday had always been designated boys' night out at Bruno's Pub, where he met Mark and a few other colleagues for a drink and to shoot the bull. Today Grey just wanted to be left alone. While Mark appeared tanned and too energetic, Grey felt like he'd been through the wringer over the endlessly long, lonely weekend. Even work, which had always been his refuge, hadn't distracted him from thoughts of Mariah, her short skirts and sassy hair and the guy she was supposedly dating.

  Mark grinned and signaled the bartender. "Hey, Bruno, I'll take a Bud and a bowl of your warmed peanuts." He glanced at Grey. "Uh-oh. Straight scotch?"

  The only time he drank straight scotch was when he was in a rotten mood. The liquor hit him hard and fast, obliterating all thought and reason. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd get so inebriated he wouldn't dream of Mariah tonight.

  Bruno delivered Mark's beer and the peanuts.

  Mark thanked him and gestured to Grey. "Better give this poor man a refill, Bruno."

  Grey rattled the ice cubes in his empty glass. "Make it a double."

  Bruno lifted a dark, bushy brow but said nothing as he grabbed the bottle of scotch and put a double shot into Grey's glass.

  "Looks like I'm gonna be the designated driver tonight," Mark said, snatching Grey's car keys from the bar top and putting them out of his reach. "But I suppose the favor is long overdue, considering how many times you've bailed me out of this place at closing time."

  "Yeah, well, if I start singing or something, knuckle me alongside the head, will you?"

  "Will do." Saluting him with his beer bottle, Mark took a drink.

  Grey reached for a peanut and cracked open the shell, then tossed the warm morsel into his mouth. He and Mark had met at the University of Southern California during their junior year in college. Their similar interests and wild life-styles-that had included partying and lots of women-had bonded them on a masculine level. They'd become fast friends and had remained close over the years. Grey had seen Mark through one marriage and an ensuing nasty divorce with his two little boys caught in the middle.

  In Grey's opinion, Mark's crumbled marriage was another prime example of how overrated wedding nuptials really were. Statistics and his own experience with his parents proved that wedded bliss rarely existed. He plowed his fingers through his hair. Why couldn't Mariah understand that?

  Mark whistled low and gave Grey a friendly slap on the back. "Man, you got it bad for her, don't you?"

  Grey's reply was distinctly profane.

  Mark chuckled, unoffended. "Yes, indeed, my friend, you're as good as gone."

  Grey didn't care for the sound of that. He'd always been able to walk away from other relationships unscathed, so why couldn't he shake Mariah? Thing was, he didn't want to forget her.

  "It's hell getting dumped, isn't it?"

  Maybe that's what was wrong, Grey thought, staring at the tawny liquid swirling in his glass. In all his dating years, going all the way back to high school, no one had ever dumped him. He'd always been the one to walk away from relationships before they got too intense, breaking more hearts and enduring the wrath of more women than he cared to recall.

  No one had ever walked away from him.

  He frowned. Although Mariah's rejection stung his pride and bruised his ego, there was a deeper level to his depression he didn't understand. Without her his life just wasn't the same. And when he rambled around that huge, empty house of his, he'd find himself listening for her voice or her sweet, lilting laughter. But there was no trace of her anywhere. No cosmetics cluttering his bathroom, no scent of her in his bed, no French vanilla coffee in the kitchen cupboard and no butter pecan ice cream in the freezer.

  When had those things started to matter?

  "Man, have you seen her lately, Grey?" Mark was saying as he scooped up a handful of peanuts and began shelling them. "She's got this great new haircut, and she's traded in her suits for these short little skirts and tight pants. She's got a great…uh, pair of legs."

  Grey glared. They're mine.

  As if reading his friend's thoughts and realizing how far he'd gone, Mark held up his hands, palms out. "Hey, I wasn't the only one looking, Grey."

  "Where have you seen Mariah?" Where in the hell had she gone in her short skirts and tight pants?

  "I've seen her a couple of times at Roxy's Nightclub." Mark shrugged. "She was there Saturday night."

  "Roxy's?" His stomach felt as though someone had just put it through the spin cycle. "That place is a meat market."

  Mark grinned wolfishly. "Yeah, grade-A quality."

  Grey gulped the last of his scotch, and the liquor went down like a blazing inferno. "Who was Mariah with?"

  "Jade."

  "Figures," he muttered. "Anyone else?"

  "Just the eight or ten guys who were trying to hit on her." Mark took another swig of beer. "I have to tell you, Grey, she looked hot."

  Great. Just what he wanted to hear. "Did she dance with anyone?" And why was he torturing himself with all these questions when he really didn't want to know the answers?

  "No, but not for a lack of being asked."

  Gray scrubbed a hand over his jaw and swore.

  "I went up to her and said hi, and we talked for a while until some guy she knew arrived."

  Grey hung his head. "Must've been the guy she said she was dating."

  "From what Jade told me, he's a lawyer."

  "Did she dance with him?" Tell me no, because I can't stand the thought of her body being pressed against another man's.

  "No," Mark said.

  Grey closed his eyes and blew out a relieved breath.

  "But she did leave with him."

  Groaning at the intimate images that bit of news provoked, Grey patted his pockets for his Turns and filched two of the chalky tablets. They didn't mix well with the liquor in his belly.

  "I've never seen you so torn up over a woman before." Mark's voice was concerned.

  Mariah wasn't just any woman. She was, well, everything he'd ever wanted, but hadn't known he needed until she was gone. And he did need her, in ways he'd never experienced, and in ways he didn't understand. "Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything."

  "Well, get over it." Mark nudged him good-naturedly. "There are other fish in that great big sea of women out there, or at least that's what you told me after Sheila and I divorced." He leaned closer. "That brunette sitting all alone in that corner over there is eyeing you. I'd bet if you gave her the slightest indicati
on you're interested she'd be on her way over."

  Grey glanced at the woman in question. She was a looker, with a voluptuous body squeezed into a tight, short denim dress. Long legs, blatantly sexy and wavy hair as long as Mariah's had been. He waited for a tug of sexual attraction. Not even a glimmer of appeal, and it had nothing to do with the liquor he'd consumed, but everything to do with wanting only one woman.

  Man, he did have it bad for her.

  "I'm not interested. She's all yours." Dismissing the other woman, Grey poked at an ice cube, trying to wade his way through his fuzzy thoughts. "I just don't understand what went wrong with me and Mariah. It was good between us. Nearly perfect." He shook his head.

  "The spark must be gone."

  Grey cast him a narrowed-eyed glance. "The spark?"

  "Yeah, you know how women like that spark of excitement they feel when you first start dating. It must be gone for the two of you."

  Grey thought the best he could on that one. Sparks between him and Mariah had never been a problem. He could just look at her a certain way and generate enough excitement to keep them on edge until they were alone. "I don't think that's it."

  "Sure it is," Mark said confidently. "Trust me on this one."

  Abrupt laughter escaped Grey. "Why should I trust you when your relationships fizzle faster than a sparkler on the Fourth of July?"

  "But it's good while it lasts," Mark said, laughing. "I'll bet you guys settled into a nice, comfortable routine, right?"

  He'd been real comfortable with Mariah. More than anyone in his entire life. She'd been his lover and his best friend. That's why he'd wanted her to move in with him. "Yeah, I guess so,"

  "That's usually a sign that the romance is gone from the relationship," Mark said, swiping condensation from his beer bottle. "And when the romance is gone, a woman starts looking for deeper stuff. Usually a ring or a forever kind of commitment. That's usually the time to cut loose and bail or reevaluate the relationship."

  He didn't want to cut her loose, so maybe he needed to reevaluate what they'd shared. He'd never considered himself romantic. He was a down-to-earth, no-frills kind of guy. And Mariah had never been one for flowers and candy. Then again, he'd never spontaneously, just-for-the-heck-of-it, given her those things.