"I didn't mean to." Slowly he drew her forward, sexual prowess gleaming in his eyes. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared to."
Panic settled in and she swallowed the thickness gathering in her throat. Grey's ploy had worked. The thought of another man touching her made her want to bolt, not that she'd ever intended for her and Richard to become that intimate.
"Richard-" She sucked in a deep breath of dismay as his hands cupped her breasts and groped her.
"You like that?" he said near her ear, obviously mistaking her shock for pleasure. "How about we take a walk around the garden area and find a spot where we can be alone for a while?"
She grimaced, and her stomach lurched at the suggestion. Very calmly she removed his hands from her breasts. "If you don't mind, I think I'm ready to leave."
"Great," he said enthusiastically, while passing a friendly hand over her bottom. He squeezed her fanny, and all but undressed her with his gaze. "My place or yours?"
She squirmed out of his reach. "Mine. I've got a horrendous headache and horrible cramps," she said, effectively dousing the lustful look in his gaze.
Mariah's lungs burned and the muscles in her calves and thighs strained with every stride. The last mile home was always the worst. Normally she had Grey by her side, goading her along to keep her from giving up and collapsing, but those days were a thing of the past. She was on her own, with no weekend running partner.
The thought of Grey, or rather her anger toward him, kept her legs pumping and her mind focused. Grey had always claimed jogging was a therapeutic sport, while she'd thought any form of exercise paralleled physical torture. And in the name of love she'd suffered through a couple of weeks of aching muscles, leg cramps, and bouts of hyperventilation to join Grey on his weekend morning excursion. Before long, running together had become a shared outing, a chance for her to spend quality time with him, even though she'd never learned to enjoy the sport quite as much as he did. However, going home and showering together afterward had been the sweetest incentive to join him.
Following the paved walkway through the park across from her condo, she pulled in an even breath and tried to let go of the tension and fury coiled within her. After Grey's outrageous behavior the night before, her own response to him and Richard's obtuse attitude during the drive back to her place, she wanted nothing more than a little peace and tranquillity in her life.
And no men to complicate it.
Her wish wasn't meant to be. The sound of an approaching jogger slowed by her side. Without looking, she knew who it was, and refused to acknowledge the man responsible for her present black mood and a sleepless night spent cursing his gorgeous head.
Holding tight to her anger she ignored him, which proved a difficult feat considering he kept staring at her and his arm occasionally brushed hers. Her feminine senses had an annoying way of tingling whenever he was near, and she shook the sensation before she did something stupid…such as be nice to him.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed he wore nylon running shorts and a muscle shirt drenched in sweat, and surmised he'd been out jogging for at least half an hour. While she drew in ragged breaths and measured every foot closer to her condo in terms of the finish line, he glided beside her, looking physically fit and ready to tackle the world. He was whistling, for God's sake!
She looked up at him and glared.
He grinned. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said cheerfully.
Go to hell, Nichols. Clenching her teeth, she lengthened her stride.
His long, muscular legs easily and effortlessly kept him by her side. "Beautiful day, don't cha think?"
It was until you snowed up. Taking a quick detour, she jogged up a grassy knoll, leaving him momentarily behind.
Deep laughter rippled along her nerves, men he was beside her again, undaunted by her obvious attempts to elude him. "Can't say I mind being behind every once in a while. The view is quite nice."
He continued to jog beside her and talk to her, heedless of the fact that she wasn't responding. She kept hoping if she ignored him he'd go away.
No such luck. He was in a great mood. They passed an old lady sitting on a bench feeding the pigeons, and Grey winked and wished her a good morning. As they jogged around a man-made lake he picked up a fly-away Frisbee and flicked it back to the little girl who owned it. He was being entirely too nice, and she silently cursed him for making their breakup so difficult. Why couldn't he be a cretin, as she'd learned Richard could be?
Her final date with Richard the previous night had come to a nasty conclusion, with him expecting something a little more than a thank-you for their time together. And when she'd told him she didn't sleep with men she'd only known a few weeks, he'd spouted a few choice words, then had left in a huff.
"You know, I have to say you're getting good, sweetheart," Grey teased. "Usually by now you're passed out on the curbside."
His subtle jibe provoked her. On impulse, she hooked her foot around his ankle and tripped him. He stumbled and fell to the grass with a string of curses.
Grinning and enjoying her small victory, she turned around and jogged backward so she could look at him. In her sweetest voice, she said, "My, Grey, when did you get so clumsy?"
Faster than a lithe panther, he sprang back up. A determined, you're-gonna-pay look glinted in his eyes. Her heart gave a frantic leap of apprehension. Knowing she was in big trouble, she whirled back around and ran as fast as her legs would allow.
She was no match for his speed and agility. He anchored an arm around her waist, throwing her off balance. With a shriek, she twisted and grabbed a handful of Grey's shirt for support. She fell anyway, pulling him down with her. He swore and grappled to cushion her fall. He managed to cradle her head in his hand so it didn't hit the ground, but he ended up sprawled on top of her, their faces inches apart.
Mariah was instantly aware of his hard body, slick with perspiration against her own sun-warmed skin. His chest crushed her breasts beneath her thin tank top, and his musky scent filled every breath she struggled to take. The heat he created threatened to consume her. She squirmed for freedom.
He cocked a brow and kept her pinned. "Clumsy, eh? And when did you get such a smart mouth?"
His gaze focused on the mouth in question, his eyes darkening. Alarm bells went off in her head. If she didn't do something fast he was going to kiss her, and if his lips so much as touched hers she didn't know whether or not she had the strength to stop him. God, did she have no shame when it came to him?
His dark lashes lowered, along with his parted lips. She turned her head just as his mouth landed on her cheek. Except that didn't deter him. His lips slid along her jaw, nuzzled her neck, while his body arched subtly, intimately into hers.
Biting back a groan of pure need, she wound her fingers through his thick, damp hair, and gently but firmly pulled his head back. "I suggest," she began in a voice more steely than she felt, "that you get off me before I scream my head off and have you arrested for assault."
His mouth curled into a smile. "Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" he drawled huskily. "Or just in the wrong bed?"
"Get…off…me." Her low, precise tone held warning.
That dark brow remained cocked but he didn't argue. Slowly-oh, so slowly-he slid off her and stood, then offered her a hand.
Furious with him, she slapped away his help. "You have some nerve!" She gave into the urge and walloped him one in the chest. Her fist bounced off honed muscles and he didn't even flinch. "If you so much as touch me again, I won't be responsible for my actions."
Frowning, he rubbed the spot she'd punched. "You're mad at me."