A thrill of excitement rippled through her. Oh, she did. Shamelessly.

"Ah, Grey." She sighed. Doing what came naturally, she slipped her arms around his neck. She didn't care who glanced their way, because she knew they looked like a couple in love, even if Grey wouldn't admit to such an emotion. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something," he murmured, wiggling his brows suggestively.


Hands on her hips, Mariah scanned the board games stacked on the top shelf in the entryway closet of Mark's mountain house, searching for a way to pass a few hours until bedtime. As busy and enjoyable her afternoon with Grey had been, she wasn't the least bit tired. If anything, after their talk she felt invigorated and hopeful, and nowhere near ready to end an almost-perfect day.

Hearing Grey pad barefoot into the living room from the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder and watched him set two glasses on the coffee table and pour wine into each. Behind him, a small fire crackled in the hearth, taking the slight mountain chill from the room.

He lifted his head and met her gaze, his mouth quirking in a smile that started a pleasant tickle in the pit of her belly. "What are you doing?"

"I found some games earlier and thought it would be fun for us to play one."

He adjusted the only lamp in the room to low, giving the room an intimate setting. "I vote for strip poker."

She shot him a pointed look. "You know how lousy I am at card games."

"That's what I was counting on," he drawled, a sexy gleam in his eyes.

Shaking her head, but unable to summon any real irritation at his obvious scheme, she glanced back at the flat boxes on the shelf, and spotted one of her favorites. "How about a game of Scrabble?"

He settled himself on the couch. "I've never played before."

"You're kidding?" His serious expression told her he was not. She reached for the game, deciding it was time he learned one of her family's favorite pastimes. "Scrabble is one of those ail-American games that never go out of style. It's right up there with Monopoly."

"I've never played Monopoly, either."

She gaped at him, shocked and amazed that someone had survived childhood without the pleasure, fun and frustration of landing on the square that said, "Do Not Pass GO, Go Directly To Jail. Do Not Collect $200." She approached the couch, board game in hand. "How about backgammon?"

"Nope."

"Yahtzee?"

He gave his head a negative shake.

Setting the Scrabble game on the coffee table, she sat on the cushion next to his. "What games did you play?"

He handed her a glass of wine and took a long swallow of his own. Finally he said, "I was a whiz at solitaire."

She was certain he was teasing, until she saw a flicker of something truthful and raw in his gaze. Solitaire. As in one. As in alone.

She tried to dismiss the swell of compassion filling her chest, knowing he wouldn't want any part of it. "Your parents never played games with you?"

"My mother was too busy trying to please my father to play games with a child," he said blandly, watching the pale gold liquid swirl in his glass. "And my father wasn't exactly the bonding type."

She took a drink of wine, thinking of her own happy childhood, filled with wonderful memories and an abundance of love and laughter. Her parents had always been there for her and Jade, to support them, guide them and give them the best possible childhood they could. The memories of her youth were fond ones, the kind of memories she hoped to pass on to her own children one day.

"Didn't you do anything as a family?" she asked. "Camping? Barbecues? Going to the beach?"

"Nope. I was lucky if my father showed up for dinner at night and cuffed the back of my head in greeting." His lips slashed into a sardonic smile. "My parents didn't exactly marry under traditional circumstances."

She tucked her legs beneath her, settling closer to him. "What do you mean?"

Grey squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head back on the couch. Damn. She was going to make him exhume old memories. But isn't that what he'd promised her he'd try to do? Give her a piece of his past and share the reasons why marriage and children held little appeal for him?

Blinking his lashes open, he released a tight breath and let the truth spill out. "The reason my parents married is because my mother got pregnant with me. My father owned up to his responsibility, but I learned early on that I was more of an inconvenience to Aaron Nichols than anything else. A reminder of the mistake he'd made and the price he'd had to pay for it."

Mariah looked horrified at the prospect. "Surely your father loved you."

Harsh laughter escaped him. "If he did, I never heard it, nor did he show it." His mother hadn't been one for open displays of affection, either, at least not with him. Oh, he was sure in her own way his mother cared for him, but never had she told him, "I love you," and he had never spoken those words. To anyone. How could he when they'd mock everything he'd experienced as a child?

"My father was great at dishing out insults and making me feel worthless," he went on, recounting the events of his childhood. "Like the time I was playing ball with a friend in our front yard and I missed a catch, tripped over my own foot and fell. My father was standing out on the porch watching, waiting for something, anything to give him an excuse to ridicule me. He immediately pounced on my clumsiness and proceeded to bellow out what a clumsy idiot I was for falling on my face and missing such an easy catch. And from there his ranting escalated, as it always did."

Shock transformed Mariah's features and seemed to render her speechless. Well, he wasn't through shocking her yet. Standing, he walked to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and jabbed at the dying embers in the hearth.

"My friend was smart enough to leave, but I had nowhere to go. While the neighborhood watched, my father yelled about how I'd never amount to anything and how miserable I made his life. And while my father humiliated me, my mother cowered on the front porch and watched the whole thing." His stomach churned at the recollection.of his father's verbal abuse, and his mother's weakness and inability to help her child or herself. "Then he grabbed me by the shirt collar and dragged me into the house to dole out more insults."

"Your mother didn't say anything?" she asked incredulously.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, a sardonic grin on his lips. "She never did."

She gasped, her eyes rounding in astonishment. "Why in the world not?"

"My mother was too damned afraid of losing my father, of making him mad. She never said a word, and she never interfered with my father's tirades, even when they were directed at her." And in the end it hadn't matter that she'd been submissive; Vivian Nichols never gained the love she'd craved from her husband, the kind of attention Grey had so desperately wanted from his mother when he'd been a child.

He tossed another log on the fire and watched the sparks filter up the chimney. "When I was a little boy, all I wanted was to please my father, but I learned early on there was no pleasing Aaron Nichols. He was hell-bent on despising me, and taking his anger and hostility out on me and occasionally on my mother."

"You were an innocent child, Grey!"

He gave a shrug suffer than the casual, who-gives-a-damn gesture he'd been striving for. "Aaron Nichols was a cold, heartless bastard, and to this day I don't understand what my mother saw in him or how she could supposedly love someone so cruel. I swear, it was a blessing in disguise when he died in a car accident."

Except his mother hadn't learned a thing. After a brief grieving period she'd gone on with her quest to find love and acceptance, looking for it in all the wrong places and latching on to any man who seemed the least bit interested in her. Many had used her, a few had married her, but none had loved her the way she was searching for. Unconditionally. Faithfully. Forever.

Grey didn't think there was any such thing.

"Do you still talk to your mother?" Mariah asked quietly.

He went back to poking the logs, just to rid himself of some of his restless energy. "Three times a year," he said emotionlessly, because that's how he felt inside. Empty and hollow. "Her birthday, mine and Christmas. We never seem to have much to say to one another. She's got her life and I have mine."

He heard her sigh regretfully from behind him. "Grey-"

He turned around, his grip tightening on the metal rod in his hand. "My childhood wasn't exactly ideal, was it?" he interrupted, not wanting any of the sympathy she'd been about to offer. He'd come to terms with the reality of his harsh and undesirable childhood long ago. His mother's weaknesses had taught him to be a stronger person, and his father's disregard and vicious insults had made him more determined to be successful in life, even if his achievements hadn't made up for the tiny bit of recognition Grey had sought, and never received as a child.

"No, your childhood was far from ideal," she agreed, an ache in her voice. An ache that matched the one in his chest.

"And it certainly wasn't a great training ground for future fatherhood," he returned. "I have no idea how to act around kids, and I fumble with babies." Returning the poker to its stand, he braced his forearm on the brick mantel. He stared into the crackling fire, gathering the courage to speak his greatest fears aloud. "Do you remember the day in my office when you said that being a parent is a scary proposition?"

"Yes," she said softly, and with tremendous patience.

"Well, you're right about that." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her questioning gaze. "Just the thought of raising a child scares the hell out of me." What if he screwed up? What if he was more like his father than he knew?

She gave him a gentle smile, throwing him totally off balance. "I'm sure you'd feel differently with your own."

He jammed his fists into the front pockets of his shorts, his jaw hard. Anger and the need to believe her statement fought a battle within him. "How can you be so certain?"

Uncurling her legs from beneath her, she stood and approached him. Understanding and a deeper emotion shone in her gaze. "Because I know you're kind and caring, and that's what makes a parent a good parent. The rest comes naturally."

He shook his head in denial. "I don't think I want to find out. I don't want kids, Mariah. I never want a child to feel the way I did."

Stepping behind him, she pressed herself against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. A warmth more comforting than the fire in the grate surrounded him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and rubbed her palms over his chest and belly. The movement soothed the upheaval tearing him apart inside. "You'd never intentionally hurt a child, Grey."

A lump grew in his throat. Twining his fingers with hers, he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss in her palm, then tugged her around so he held her in his arms. He gazed down at the only woman who'd cared enough about him to search deeper than the surface. He'd given her the hard facts of his childhood and opened up in ways that terrified him. And she'd listened, never once judging him. And even though he still couldn't bring himself to make her any of the promises he knew she wanted to hear, she was looking at him with an adoration that made his heart swell with an overwhelming emotion.

"Thank you," he whispered, the two words inadequate for the foreign feelings he was experiencing.

A pleased, cat-in-cream smile curled her mouth. "No, thank you, for sharing."

He'd fully expected the conversation to put a damper on their evening, but Mariah's eyes had taken on a vivacious sparkle that chased away any gloom that might have lingered.

"Sooo," she purred, a challenging lilt to her voice. She stroked her hands up his chest and around his neck, molding herself intimately to him. "You up for a game of Scrabble? I'm a good teacher and you've always been a quick learner."

He cocked a brow. "I think it's the other way around."

She laughed throatily, the sound thickening his blood and other parts of his anatomy.

He grinned at her playfulness while trying to keep a tight rein on his desire. Damn if she didn't turn him on faster and harder than any carnal fantasy he'd ever had. She was his every fantasy come to life, and he wanted her in the worst way. In every way she could imagine. And then some.

He remembered the second promise he'd made her, and groaned in frustration. "Are you sure I can't talk you into strip poker?"