Janelle Denison: Private Pleasures

Her heart skipped a beat. His words were the most intimate declaration he'd ever given her. She'd often wondered about fitting into his life, considering the unconventional way their relationship had evolved-quickly, and with a fiery passion that had both terrified and thrilled her. Grey was like no other man she'd ever known.

He'd pursued her with a single-mindedness, an l-want-you-in-my-bed kind of single-mindedness. And still, knowing his intentions, she'd fallen hard for him and his seduction of flowers, dinners and drugging kisses. Then came that fateful night in his office when a kiss had led to a touch, a touch to intimate caresses, shed clothing and wicked promises. When he'd gently pressed her onto his leather couch and followed her down, she'd lost her heart. Although he'd made her none of the promises she'd longed to hear, she'd been more than willing to make love with him.

Much to her surprise, he hadn't dropped her for another conquest, as was his reputation, she'd learned from a few male colleagues. She didn't know what made her different from all his other brief affairs, but it had never mattered. Being deliriously in love with someone tended to obliterate all reason.

They were good together and very compatible in bed-especially in bed, she thought with a private smile-in business and on a personal level, though she occasionally felt he kept a part of himself distanced from her. A part of his past he'd never shared before. Something emotional and painful. She'd granted him that privacy, hoping in time he'd come to trust her enough to confide in her.

Grey pushed the collar of his shirt off her shoulder, baring her breasts and bringing Mariah back to the present. Dark eyes watched her nipples grow taut in the cool night air. "I hate it when you leave in the middle of the night."

She loved that boyish pout of his. Smiling, she pressed her hands lightly against his chest, reveling in the feel of firm muscle and crisp, curly hair. "I can't help it."

He dragged his gaze back to hers. His serious expression tightened the lines around his eyes and mouth. "I want to wake up to you every day."

She searched his face, seeing a vulnerability that touched a tender chord in her and sped up her pulse. "What are you saying, Grey?"

He pulled in a deep breath. "You know I'll be moving into my new house next week."

"Yes." His "new" house was a breathtaking five-thousand-square-foot custom-built home that sat on a hill overlooking Malibu Beach. She'd spent the past six months consulting with Grey over tile squares, carpet samples, fabric swatches and wallpaper samples, along with selecting all new furnishings for each room. "The decorating was finalized two days ago and furniture should be delivered the beginning of the week. You should be able to move in by Friday. I'd be more than happy to help you box stuff and move it-"

He pressed two fingers against her lips to stop her babbling. "Mariah, there's something very important I want to ask you."

Her stomach flip-flopped, then a batch of butterflies hatched. He looked nervous, more nervous than she'd ever seen him. Beneath her palms, his heart raced. God, she was crazy in love with him, had known after a few months of dating that he was a man she could spend the rest of her life with. She'd been patient with him. Had he finally realized he loved her, too? That marriage was the only logical progression left to their relationship?

She'd waited forever for this moment, when some man would ask her to be his wife. Maybe it sounded a bit corny, but ever since she was a little girl she'd dreamed of getting married and having babies. In all her fantasies, she'd never envisioned Grey proposing in quite this way, but then Grey never did anything conventionally. All at once she was aware of her disheveled state after their evening together, her skin still tingling and glowing from his earlier possession.

She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. "What is it?"

His intense gaze focused on her face. The stubble lining his jaw gave him a dark, dangerous edge. "We've been dating for eight months now," he stated, his tone rough.

She smiled, trying to lighten the moment for him and put him at ease. "Longer than you've been with any woman, I do recall you saying."

"True," he agreed, skimming a hand along the curve of her waist to her hip. "I don't want anyone but you. You're everything I've ever wanted. You're intelligent, beautiful, amusing and sexy as all hell."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Nichols," she teased in a sultry voice. She twined her arms around his neck, feeling languorous and wonderfully exhilarated. "I'm glad you still feel that way."

"I've definitely met my match."

Excitement and anticipation mingled. She shifted restlessly beneath him, wanting to hear those four words that would irrevocably change the direction of her life. "What did you want to ask me, Grey?"

He cleared his throat, hesitated, then, "Will you… I mean, I think we should… Aw, hell," he muttered in frustration.

Seeing how difficult it was for him to propose, she decided to make it easy on him. She placed her hand on his bristly cheek, certain the love she felt for him shone in her eyes. "Yes, Grey," she whispered. "I'll marry you."

He blanched and jerked away from her, a horrified expression transforming his handsome features. "Marry?" The one word choked out of him.

"Yes." She frowned. Had she misunderstood his intentions? More cautiously, she continued. "That is what you were trying to ask me, wasn't it?"

Shaking his head wildly, he moved off the bed faster than a thief escaping a potentially volatile situation. "No!"

Confused, she sat up, pulling the edges of the shirt around her bare breasts. "Then what were you going to ask me?"

He filched the sweatpants she'd taken from his dresser and yanked them on, pulling the drawstring tight around his waist. He paced the floor, his mouth stretched into a grim line.

Feeling foolish that she'd misdiagnosed all the signs pointing toward a marriage proposal, she wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees to hold herself together. "Grey?" Her voice was as tentative as she felt.

Abruptly he stopped a few feet away from her side of the bed. "I…I want you to move into my new house with me."

Her stomach took a dive off a very steep cliff, taking her heart with it. "Move in with you?" she echoed, praying she'd somehow heard him incorrectly.

He pushed his fingers through his thick, sable hair. "It's a practical arrangement, considering how we virtually live together as it is. Most of the time you stay here, but I'm tired of ping-ponging between both of our condos. And with you living with your sister, we rarely have any privacy at your place."

She stared at the man she loved, trying to claw her way out of the numbing shock of disillusionment fogging her mind. "You…you want to live together?"

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "Yes."

She couldn't live with empty promises. Not again. No matter how much she loved him. "No."

He looked taken aback by her reply. "No?"

"No!" Her strength returned on a wave of determination. "I can't live with you, Grey."

"Why not? You know all my bad habits," he said, then added a shrug. "Not that I have many."

She lifted a brow at his arrogant assumption.

"Okay, I have a few habits that are less than desirable," he admitted, "but I'd hardly call squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube a crime. And I know you hate it when I leave my underwear on the floor, but I eventually pick it up."

If they were having this discussion under different circumstances she'd be laughing by now. But that was difficult to do when she felt like crying instead. "This isn't about toothpaste or your underwear, Grey. It's about commitment."