He tossed the intimate apparel aside, his smile wicked. Unclasping her hair, he dropped the pearl clip onto the plush carpeting and threaded his fingers through the strands, arranging the wavy ends over her shoulders. "I want you."

Her body swelled with heat and desire, but what little modesty Grey hadn't stripped her of kept her from completely surrendering. "We can't do this in here!"

Her shocked tone seemed to amuse him and fire his own passion. He pressed his hips to hers, his erection rock hard and insistent between them. "Sure we can, sweetheart." He brought his mouth to her ear, his tongue touching the sensitive shell as he whispered, "It's late, and there are two other elevators. No one will miss this one for a little while. We don't even have to get undressed all the way."

His hands explored beneath her skirt again, and he touched her intimately, his fingers finding her wet, sleek and ready for him. He groaned into the side of her neck.

"Oh, Grey!" Her knees buckled, but the weight of his body held her upright. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He stroked her, and she rewarded him with a whimper and a plea. He lifted his head, his eyes dark as he watched her changing expression. "This is a fantasy I've had about you a million times. Every time I ride alone in these elevators I think of being in here with you. Alone. Like this. Indulge me."

She had. He'd unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the cups of her bra down, so her breasts sprang free for his pleasure.

"This is…" Her breath caught as his lips closed over a swollen nipple.

"Decadent? Erotic?" he said in between kisses and long, slow laps of his tongue.

"Yes," she hissed, unable to ignore the thrill of excitement his seduction evoked. Letting her head fall back and her body melt for him, she tangled her fingers in his hair. When he finally knelt in front of her, she trembled in anticipation.

"It's gonna get a whole lot better," he promised huskily. His mouth, warm and damp, skimmed the inside of her thigh. "Watch in the mirrors before they start to steam."

She had, and the things he'd done to her had taken her beyond anything she'd ever experienced. They'd made love in the elevator not once, but twice, each time wild and searing in its intensity.

Mariah groaned, remembering every erotic word he'd whispered, the slide of his mouth and hands on her body and the desperate way she'd clung to him when he'd finally thrust deep inside her…

"Ms. Stevens? Are you okay?" a distant, feminine voice queried. "Ms. Stevens?"

Mariah blinked her eyes open, horrified to find the elevator doors wide-open to the reception area and Grey's secretary, Jeanie, looking at her oddly. The other woman held an attache case in one hand and her purse slung over her shoulder as if she were leaving for the evening.

The elevator doors started to close and Jeanie stopped them with a quick hand. "Ms. Stevens?"

Mariah snapped out of her haze with a firm mental shake. "I'm sorry, Jeanie, I must have been daydreaming." Stepping from the lift, she held up the paper bag and package in her hands. After that arousing trip down memory lane she just wanted to leave Grey's things at the front desk and bolt. She was certain she couldn't face him without falling apart or throwing herself at him. "I just wanted to drop off a few things of Grey's."

Jeanie hurried to the receptionist's desk and set her attache down. "Let me ring Grey." She reached for the phone.

"That's not necessary, Jeanie," Mariah hastened to assure her. "I'll just leave these things here at the front desk, and you can give them to him after I leave."

Jeanie shook her head adamantly. "He'd be upset with me if I didn't tell him you were here, and it takes very little to set him off these days. He's been such a grouch lately," she confided in a low voice. But there was affection for her boss in her tone, and understanding, too. "I have strict instructions to notify him immediately if you call, so I'm sure the same applies if you stop by."

Mariah liked Jeanie, and she certainly didn't want to put the woman's job in jeopardy. Grey was fair to a fault, but she'd seen his temper once with an obnoxious subcontractor and didn't want to be responsible for Jeanie having to face his wrath for disobeying his orders.

So she waited anxiously as Jeanie picked up the receiver and pressed the intercom button.

"Grey, Ms. Stevens is here." She paused, then said, "No, I don't mind staying until you receive the call from Frank Weisman. I'll send her on back."

Jeanie hung up the phone and gave Mariah an apologetic look. "You know the way."

Mariah nodded and forced herself down the long blue carpeted corridor to Grey's office. With every step she took her nerves increased. Her palms grew damp and her heart pounded in her chest. Stopping at the thick double doors to his office, she dragged in a fortifying breath, determined to get through this visit as quickly as possible and leave with her pride and emotions intact.

She entered the large, spacious room and Grey immediately stood from behind a desk cluttered with papers, files and a computer screen reflecting an estimate spreadsheet.

"You haven't returned my calls," he blurted accusingly.

She cringed guiltily. Stopping just inside the office, her heart gave a giant, yearning leap. He looked awful, she thought, unable to recall a time she'd seen him so weary and worn-out. His dark hair was mussed as if it had been repeatedly finger-combed and his face looked gaunt. Shadows of exhaustion lined his eyes. He wore a pair of navy slacks and a beige shirt with navy pinstripes, the sleeves cuffed to expose his strong forearms.

Resisting the urge to go to him, to help chase away the misery in his golden brown eyes, she set the bag on the chair in front of his desk, and rested the wrapped package against a small end table.

"I didn't return your calls because I knew I was going to see you in person." Why had that sounded so much better when Jade had coached her?

"Dammit, Mariah, this is crazy. I was hoping you'd come to your senses about us, but…" He frowned at her, then a horrified expression twisted his features. He shot around the desk so fast she didn't have a chance to react before he stood in front of her, gaping. "What in the hell did you do to your hair?" His voice was a small roar.

Self-consciously she touched the bobbed ends, trying to dismiss the momentary pang of regret she felt. She couldn't live her life for Grey when he was no longer a part of it, she reminded herself.

She squared her shoulders. "I cut it." She sounded strong and self-assured, like a woman in control. So why didn't she feel that way?

"Obviously," he said dryly.

He was looking at her hair like she'd cut off an arm instead. All at once she remembered the way he used to wind the long strands in his fists and gently tug her head back for his kiss, or the way he'd go wild when her hair would cascade over his body whenever he urged her to be the aggressor.

Meeting his smoldering gaze, she realized he was thinking the same things. She bit her bottom lip and looked away. Jade had promised her today's final goodbye would be a "piece of cake." Her sister had lied. Seeing him again and knowing she could never have him hurt worse than the original breakup.

Grey swore beneath his breath, trying to figure out why she'd shear her long, silky hair when she knew how much he loved it. To spite him? No, she wasn't the type. And then it dawned on him.

His gaze narrowed. "Jade had something to do with your hair, didn't she?"

Her mouth pursed in irritation. "Of course not."

Liar, he thought, absorbing other changes he hadn't noticed when she'd first walked in; he'd been too caught up in venting his frustration that she'd been avoiding him for two weeks.

His gaze zeroed in on the cleavage showing where the buttons on her silky white blouse stopped. Mariah's breasts were a generous handful but she'd never been one to display them to their full advantage, choosing instead to wear blouses that adequately covered her or buttoned to the throat. Only he'd known how full and perfect those breasts were, and he'd liked it that way.

Through the thin material of her blouse he glimpsed something lacy that shaped her breasts and disappeared into the waistband of her skirt. One of those teddy things, he guessed, his blood heating at the thought of Mariah trading in her practical underwear for sexy stuff-the kind that incited a man's imagination when they realized a woman was wearing it. The kind that men would spend an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about unwrapping, layer by layer, to discover all the secrets that lay beneath.

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.