Smiling, Grey turned his Jeep Cherokee onto the narrow street that wound its way up to the cabin. He'd slipped out almost two hours earlier to get dinner while Mariah had been napping-a well-earned rest after an afternoon of the most emotionally and physically satisfying lovemaking he'd ever experienced. He'd intended to pick up a quick bite at a deli in the village and return before she woke, but as he'd passed that jewelry store they'd seen last weekend, he'd stopped and made an impulsive purchase certain to convey the feelings in his heart.
Lave. As he reflected on the course of his relationship with Mariah, he realized that he'd loved her almost from the beginning. His heart had known, but his mind had refused to acknowledge all the obvious signs. As a direct result of Mariah's determination to make him face past resentments and see his emotions for what they were, his heart and mind were finally in harmony.
And the knowledge scared the hell out of him.
Braking to a stop in front of the cabin, he killed the engine and stared at the darkened structure. Despite the fact that he admitted to loving Mariah, he couldn't help but wonder how long this wonderful feeling would last. Another week? Another month? A year or two? How long would it be before Mariah realized he truly wasn't the marriageable type? That he wasn't the kind of man to love and nurture children? His edges were too rough, his soul too jaded to think he was equipped to handle a child's needs.
He had no ready answers for any of the questions he'd asked himself. All he knew was that for now, he wanted to savor and enjoy the precious commodity he'd found in Mariah. He wanted to share time with her, love her, and when it ended, part as friends and have no regrets. It was as much as he was willing to give, for her sake as much as his own. Certainly after their week together and everything they'd shared, she understood the reasons why he couldn't give her marriage and a family.
But he was willing to offer her the strongest commitment he knew, one that came straight from his heart and soul. After the closeness they'd established, and the love he was willing to declare, he was confident she would say yes this time to his proposal.
Grabbing their dinner, he slid from the vehicle and headed up the walkway. It was dark inside the cabin, but he smiled when he heard the shower running. He debated on joining Mariah, but decided they'd never eat if he offered to scrub her back. Considering they hadn't had a meal since breakfast, they needed nourishment.
In the kitchen, he unpacked their dinner, a small feast of large peeled shrimp, cocktail sauce, fresh croissants and pasta salad. He set one place setting, then lit the votive candle he'd found in the cupboard and placed it in the center of the table. Slipping his surprise beneath a paper napkin just to the side of the one plate, he turned off the light, settled in the high-back wooden chair and waited…
Less than ten minutes later, he heard Mariah come out of the bathroom and call out tentatively. "Grey?"
"In the kitchen," he said, and drew a deep breath that caught in his throat when she glided through the door.
Dressed in scarlet red silk and lace that revealed more than it covered, and bathed in candlelight, Mariah was a vision of temptation. Floral, see-through lace shaped her breasts and swept in a diagonal slash to her left hip. Silky material draped to her ankles in soft cascading folds, but it was the thigh-high slit that captured his attention and made him wonder if she was wearing any panties.
She wasn't supposed to have found the negligee he'd purchased on a whim, but he was glad as hell she had. Swallowing hard, he managed a strangled, "Hi."
"Hi, yourself," she said, her voice husky. She moved toward him, hips swaying, the creamy expanse of thigh peeking and retreating enticingly through that wicked slit.
Blood pooled low in his lap and his body tightened in a subtle, but unmistakable way. She looked sexy, feminine and more provocative than a dream. The hair piled on top of her head in a loose knot made his fingers itch to pull out the pins and run his fingers through the silky strands.
"I was putting away our clothes and came across this gown," she said, stopping just beyond his reach. She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue and ran a finger lightly down the sheer, scalloped lace outlining her full breasts that nearly spilled from the bodice. "Unless you have a fetish I don't know about, I'm assuming you bought it for me?"
"Yes." He watched her breasts swell from her touch, and her nipples thrust against the lace. His mouth watered. "You fill it out much better than I ever could."
She smiled, tracing that same wicked finger along the strip of lace slashing to her hip. "Did you buy it when you bought me that peach chemise?"
A loaded question. He remembered that she'd expected a nightgown like this one from him that first night, and although he'd given her the conservative chemise, his thoughts had been on the red, racy number. "Guilty as charged."
She tsk-tsked him, and touching the thigh exposed by the slit, she trailed her fingers upward. His anxious gaze followed. "You're a bad boy, Grey Nichols."
"Very bad," he agreed. And feeling more naughty with each passing second. The things he wanted to do to her went beyond illicit and carnal…and she seemed more than willing.
She attempted to look thoughtful, but came across as a sultry vixen instead. "I'll have to think of a fitting punishment."
His heart leapt in anticipation, that wild, tempestuous feeling called love swirling within him. "Trust me, sweetheart, just looking at you in that scrap of nothing is pure torment."
"Good," she purred. "Then all you get to do is look."
His brows rose. She had to be kidding.
She wasn't. Closing the distance between them, she draped herself across his lap. He groaned as her soft fanny nestled against his straining erection, and he automatically caressed his fingers up that tempting, silken thigh.
"No touching," she said, promptly removing his wandering hand, "until I tell you you can."
He gave her a pained look, certain he would never survive her hands-off policy.
She looked over the feast displayed on the table. Dipping a shrimp in cocktail sauce, she lifted it to his lips. "How repentant are you?"
"Very." He took the shrimp into his mouth, then caught her wrist when she would have gone back for another, intent on showing her just how contrite he was. His tongue curled around each finger and lapped the sensitive skin in between, licking away any traces of the sauce. And he took his time doing so, until her eyes grew dark and smoky with arousal, and her breathing became ragged.
He smiled, and nibbled the tip of her finger. "I'm suffering like I've never suffered before."
"Umm." She wiggled on his lap, her lashes falling to a drowsy, sensual half-mast at the proof of his suffering. "I believe you, and because you're so obviously in anguish over your naughty behavior, I'll grant you one touch."
Taking his hand, she settled it on her knee, then guided his flattened palm along the opening in the slit. Her legs parted and her body strained toward the fingers inching along, luxuriating in the pleasure of her soft, bare skin and…no panties. His fingers slid intimately, deeply.
They groaned and shuddered at the same moment-she in pleasure, he in excitement.
"You're very good, Grey," she said huskily.
The double entendre wasn't lost on him. "Let me show you how good," he murmured.
Lifting his hand, he gently cupped her cheek in his palm then slowly stroked down her throat and over her shoulder. He held her sexy-soft gaze as he slipped his fingers beneath the wispy strap holding up the bodice of her gown and pushed it down her arm. One lacy cup fell away from the full weight of her breast, and he covered the mound with his palm, plumping the firm flesh, manipulating the nipple into a tight bead he ached to flick with his tongue, draw deeply into his mouth…