Janelle Denison - Private Pleasures

Her face was fuller than he remembered, but no less beautiful. His gaze traveled lower, following the collar of her pale pink blouse to the generous swell of breasts at least a size larger than engraved in his memory. The blouse flared slightly at the waist and settled against a rounded belly too firm to be excess fat.

She was undoubtedly pregnant.

The savage pain and jealousy that lanced through him was near unbearable. His heart hurt. His mind reeled. More confusing was the brief thought that he wished the child was his. He swore bluntly.

"If you two will excuse us," Grey said tightly, glancing from Sam to Jade and giving them a look sure to quell any argument. "I'd like to talk to Mariah privately for a few minutes."

Mariah gave Jade a look of sheer desperation, but her sister only said, "You need to tell him."

Tell him what? Grey wondered. That she'd found another man willing to give her everything he couldn't?

Sam, taking his cue from Jade, nodded and stepped her way. "What do you say I buy you a drink?"

Grinning wryly, Jade hooked her arm through the one Sam offered. "Yeah, I think I could use a peach daiquiri."

Grey could have used a drink, too, but instead he gave the impatiently waiting hostess a tight smile and asked her to hold Mariah's reservation.

The hostess returned to her post and called another party, leaving Mariah and Grey in the midst of patrons coming and going from the restaurant. The spot wasn't ideal for a private conversation, but at this point Grey wasn't going to be picky, and he didn't think Mariah would agree to someplace secluded.

Mariah nervously dragged her tongue across her bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably. Finally, she spoke. "How are you?"

"Just dandy," he drawled sarcastically. "And you?"

She looked everywhere but at him. "Fine."

Despite being torn up inside, he wanted to touch her so badly his fingers tingled. But she wasn't his to touch any longer. No, judging by her condition, she belonged to another man.

That thought put a bitter taste in his mouth. "I see you didn't waste much time starting a family. Who's the lucky guy? Richard?"

Her gaze jerked back to his. A flash of hurt entered her eyes, then she quickly glanced away again. "It doesn't matter, Grey," she said softly.

"It sure as hell does," he bit out. The hostess looked their way, and he tried keeping his temper, and his voice, at a reasonable level. "We've been split up for, what, a whole five months now and you've managed to find yourself a new husband-"

"It could have been you, Grey," she said in response.

His jaw tightened. Silently he admitted that's what galled him the most. The pure, undiluted regret he lived with every day. He hadn't been able to offer her what she wanted, but that selfish, aching part of him didn't want anyone else to have her, either.

"So, you just happened to fall in love with someone else?" That selfish part of him lashed out, wanting to hurt her as much as he hurt. Love, he was quickly learning, wasn't always a pretty emotion. "That's pretty damned convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Her face flushed and she suddenly looked every bit as furious as he was. And deeper, he saw the hurt. Curiously it gave him little satisfaction.

"I didn't fall in love with anyone else." Her voice was low and modulated.

He laughed, a mocking sound. "I guess that just goes to show you that you don't always need love to get married, do you?"

"I'm not married," she snapped, then gasped in shock at her confession.

He blinked, and like a cold dose of reality, her words seeped through the haze of anger blinding him to all the obvious signs. His gaze narrowed, and he took a closer look at Mariah and the changes in her body. He knew little to nothing about pregnant women, but gut instinct gnawed at him. Apprehension and fear mingled, along with a greater emotion he couldn't put a name to.

She placed a possessive hand on her stomach, her expression reflecting her panic. "Grey, I have to go," she said abruptly, and turned toward the bar to retrieve her sister.

Without a thought he grabbed her arm, stalling her. His heart pounded so hard he could hear each drumming pulse in his ears.

She tugged on her arm, but his grasp was strong. "Let me go."

"Whose baby is it?" he asked, his voice as tight as the pressure banding his chest.

"Mine," she said fiercely.

He ground his teeth. "Dammit, Mariah, who is the father?"

"It's none of your business!"

He leaned close. "I'm making it my business!"

Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. With great effort he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, comfort her and apologize for his callous behavior.

He wasn't sorry. And he wanted answers. He didn't question why the need was so strong, only knew that he couldn't let her go without knowing the truth.

"Mariah," he said, his low voice vibrating with warning. "There are tests to prove paternity."

Dismay flitted across her face and shimmered in her gaze. "Why do you care?" she cried.

Because I love you. That's the only explanation his heart and mind would allow, and he didn't fight it. "Answer me," he said harshly.

She closed her eyes, and when they opened again he saw, as well as felt, her defeat. "You, Grey," she whispered in a choked voice as a single tear trickled down her cheek. "You're the baby's father."

Stunned, he let go of her arm and felt himself sway backward. He tried to drag a breath of air into his lungs, but oxygen suddenly seemed in short supply.

You, Grey. You're the baby's father. Her words reached him on some distant plane. He was going to be a dad. He gave his head a shake, and attempted to push aside the terror crashing over him. Oh, God, he couldn't be a dad. He didn't know how to be a dad. What if he failed? What if he was as rotten as his own father had been? The prospect was so frightening, so overwhelming in its capacity, that he felt ill.

Mariah pushed past him and out the door, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. He went after her, catching her halfway down the walkway leading to the parking lot. "Dammit, Mariah," he said, standing in front of her and forcing her to stop- "I'm not done talking to you!"

She lifted that stubborn chin of hers. Sunlight danced in her soft, silky hair and fire flashed in her eyes. "There's nothing to talk about."

He begged to differ. "Why didn't you tell me about the baby when you found out you were pregnant?" he asked with more calm than he felt.

"Because you were better off not knowing," she said bluntly.

He flinched as if she'd physically slapped him. What kind of monster did she think he was-to think he didn't care about her welfare? "Since I'm the father, I have a responsibility to that child."

"A responsibility you've made more than clear you don't want," she argued heatedly.

His jaw clenched in aggravation. "But mine nonetheless."

"I don't want or expect anything from you. I'm fully prepared to raise this child on my own." She laid a possessive hand over the swell of her belly, a protective instinct as old as time. "I don't want this baby to be some great, noble sacrifice for you. An obligation. I deserve better than that, and so does your child."

Her words felt like a double punch to the stomach. Oh, Lord, she was right. She did deserve better, so much better. And so did their child. The thought made his heart twist peculiarly. But the irrefutable truth was, the baby she carried was better off not having him as a father. He knew nothing but the worst about raising a child and being a dad, and he didn't think there was a sufficient manual on the how-to's of fatherhood for him, either.

A strange sense of despair wrapped around him. Fear clashed with regret, and added to the muddled mess was the deep longing of the confused, mistreated youth he'd been.

But he was a grown man, shaped by his childhood and educated through the school of hard knocks; his teacher a cruel, bitter man who'd taught his son humiliation and the worst kind of degradation.

He gulped in a breath. There was one last selfless act he could do for his child. It killed him to turn and walk away, made a part of his soul shrivel and die, but he did just that.

There was no way he would ever subject a child to the kind of hell he'd been through.

Grey glanced at his watch as he cut through the courtyard located in the center of the Wilshire Plaza, and picked up his step. He was nearly half an hour late for the final fitting appointment with his tailor for the custom-made suits he'd ordered.

His entire life had become a blur since seeing Mariah again. He went through the motions of work and everyday life, but his brain was in a fog, unable to remember something as simple as an appointment or a business meeting. Thank God he had Jeanie to prod his memory and keep him from totally sinking into the depths of his misery.

A baby. They were going to have a baby, or rather, according to Mariah, she was going to have the baby. On her own. Without his help or input. She'd made it clear that she neither expected, nor wanted, anything from him.

And so, without a fight, he'd walked away from Mariah and their child, and had spent every day since convincing himself he'd done the right thing. Both mother and child deserved better than what he could offer them, like emotional stability and a secure family environment filled with happiness and love. How could he give either when all he'd ever experienced was hostility, resentment and neglect? The fear of failing as a husband and father was always at the surface, rearing its ugly head, taunting him with powerful, ugly memories he had no defense against.

So why couldn't he shake the awful feeling that he was making the biggest mistake of his life?

Pushing that haunting question from his mind because he had no logical answer, he rounded a large fountain in the center of the courtyard and focused on the men's department store within sight.

He heard a whimper and a gulping sob, and automatically glanced around the area for the distraught sound while still keeping up his clipped pace. The courtyard was bordered with benches for weary shoppers to rest, and planter boxes with lush green foliage sectioned off individual alcoves. It was early afternoon on a weekday, and there was a sparse number of shoppers around the plaza. In fact, he didn't see anyone in the courtyard.

The pitiful whimpering sobs reached him again, the sound soft, but unmistakable. Frowning, he slowed his steps and glanced in the alcoves as he passed them. When he found the source of the distressing noise, he stopped, but made no move to advance toward the little girl huddled into the corner between the bench and planter box. When she saw him, she pulled her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her knees. She watched him warily, fearfully, as silent tears streamed down her smooth cheeks.

She was a little thing, he thought, with honey brown hair that shimmered to her shoulders and big, watery blue eyes that grabbed at something deep inside him. Judging by her small size, he estimated her age between four and six.

She was obviously lost and scared. At the moment, he could relate. It was akin to how he felt-out of his element and antsy to be on his way.

But as uncomfortable as the situation made him feel, he couldn't walk away and leave the little girl, hoping that whoever she belonged to eventually found her.

He took a tentative step toward the little girl. She shrank from him, her whole body trembling. Her whimpers increased, and his stomach twisted with dread. God, was he that threatening? He supposed to someone a third his size he'd seem like a giant. Or did children have a sixth sense about people who weren't adept with kids?

The thought was disturbing.

Shoving his hands into his slacks' pockets, he glanced around for help, but they were alone. Not a frantic mother in sight, or even a person of the female persuasion who'd know how to handle such a crisis. Since he couldn't leave the little girl alone, he was on his own. He grappled for the appropriate resources in dealing with a lost child, and his mind drew a blank.

"Are you okay, honey?" he asked in a soft, gentle tone. Stupid question, considering the girl was clearly distraught, but it was all he could think of as an icebreaker.

"I want my mom," she whimpered, her chin quivering.

He shifted casually, a subtle move that eased him closer. "Where is your mom?"

"I don't know." She sniffled, her expression bleak. "I only stopped at the toy store to look in the window, and when I looked back up, my mom wasn't there."