Janelle Denison: Private Pleasures

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.