Her Sexiest Mistake (The Sexiest Series Book 1), page 11
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 all-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 really good 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 dig up old memories. But wasn’t that what he’d promised her he’d try to do? Give her a piece of his past and share the reasons 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 yell 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 mattered that she’d been submissive; Vivian Nichols had 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 stiffer 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 has 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 someone a good parent. The rest comes naturally.”
He shook his head in denial. “I don’t know if I believe that, and 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 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?”
She shook her head, though he swore he saw a flicker of desire in those bright blue eyes of hers. “Nope.”
Slipping from his arms, Mariah grabbed his hand and pulled him down to the rug in front of the fireplace, determined to thoroughly enjoy this simple, uncomplicated time with Grey. Within minutes they sat across from one another with the game board between them. They picked their square tiles, and while she gave him the relatively simple rules to follow, he poured them each another glass of wine.
Mariah started the game, displaying the word C-H-I-L-D across the center line of the board. Tallying up her score, she jotted it down on a piece of paper. While she drew five more tile squares, he added R-E-N to her word and lengthened it to C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N, giving himself a double-letter score in the process.
“Very clever,” she said, scribbling down his higher score. Glancing back at her hand, she chewed on her lower lip, then added I-G-H to the H in CHILDREN to make H-I-G-H.
A slow, sexy grin spread across Grey’s face. Without hesitating, he placed a T on top of her HIGH, spelling T-H-I-G-H with a double-letter score.
“You catch on quickly,” she said wryly and took a drink of her wine. Studying the board, she added A-S-T below the E in CHILDREN.
“East,” Grey murmured thoughtfully as he scanned his letters. Smirking, he laid down his tiles, placing B-R on top of her EAST and an S on the end to give him a double-word score.
“Breasts?” she asked incredulously.
“Hey, it was all I had,” he said, holding his hands up in defense. Then his voice lowered, as did his gaze, right to where the buttons on her blouse ended and the dip of her cleavage began. “Besides, I like the word breasts.”
As if on cue, her breasts swelled and her nipples tingled against lace, reminding her how long it had been since she’d felt the stroke of his hands there, the wet heat of his mouth…
“I’m sure you do, not to mention the eighteen extra points you just tacked on to your score,” she groused, shaking off the need coiling deep in her belly. She shuffled her letters around on her rack, her brow knit in concentration. With a triumphant smile, she added P-A-R-T-I-N to the G in THIGH.
While she fished out new tiles, he played his hand. O-N-G-U-E after PARTING’s T.
Her gaze shot to his, and she automatically dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. He watched her, his eyes growing dark as molten gold. And as hot as the embers in the hearth. Tongue. The word brought all kinds of sensual images to mind—the silken glide of his tongue along hers, the lap of his tongue along her neck, then flicking over the peaked tips of her breasts. Thighs, breasts, tongues…
She cleared her throat. “What’s with all these body parts?”
The wicked smile tipping his mouth spoiled his attempt at innocence. “Is there a rule against using body parts?”
She busied herself switching tiles around on her rack. “Well, no.”
He tipped his head curiously. “So, what’s the problem?”
Oh, the jerk knew exactly what the problem was. She should have guessed that he’d put a twist on the game—a game he’d never played, no less!—and succeed in arousing her with a few simple words.
She took a gulp of her wine, hoping the alcohol would take the edge off the growing ache settling in her belly and lower. No such luck; it only increased the heat and need within her. “There’s no problem,” she said, flashing him a sweet smile.
“Good. Your turn.”
Drawing a breath to steady her hand, she arranged her next set of letters, L-A-Y, on the board, underneath the P in PARTING, spelling the word P-L-A-Y. Let’s see him make a body part out of that, she thought smugly.
He placed F-O-R-E on top of her PLAY.
She gaped at him in disbelief. The man was good. Too good.
He grinned like the bad boy he was. “Not bad, eh? And I even managed to rack up another twenty-one points.” He reached for replacement tiles. “I think I like this game.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you sure these tiles aren’t marked somehow?”
Deep laughter rolled from his chest. “Of course they aren’t.”
“Are you cheating?”
He shook his head, not at all offended by her accusation. “You set the game up, sweetheart, not me.”
Taking a deep swallow of wine, she finished what was left in her glass, finally feeling her body relax. “No one can be so lucky to draw all these sexy words,” she complained.
Smothering another grin, he tipped the bottle of wine against her glass and refilled it. “Personally, I think it makes the game more interesting.”
She mimicked him beneath her breath. Thinking to throw him off, she jumped to the other side of the board and added O-C-K to the L in CHILDREN.
He smoothly interjected, adding L-I-P on top of her LOCK.
“Liplock?” A sputter of laughter escaped her. He’d gone too far. “You can’t be serious. Liplock isn’t a word.”
He casually picked up new tile squares. “Sure it is.”
“Prove it. We need a dictionary. I’m issuing a challenge.” She started to her feet, a woman on a mission. No way was she going to let him get away with this one.
He snagged her wrist before she could stand. “I don’t need a dictionary, and I’ll gladly meet your challenge.”
Her pulse raced beneath the thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “You expect me to go on your say-so?” Her voice was breathless. At the moment, she feared she’d believe anything he said.
“Absolutely not.” Purpose glittered in his eyes, primitive and wholly sexual. “You want proof that liplock is a word, then I’ll give it to you.” With a gentle tug on her wrist, he brought her to her hands and knees, the game still between them. Taking advantage of her surprise, he released her wrist and slid his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.
Oh, God. She struggled for strength to stop this madness, damning the wine that had slowed her reflexes. She was in trouble. Big trouble.
Leaning forward, he brought their faces inches apart, his expression full of satisfaction. “Take note. In a second, our lips are gonna lock, sweetheart,” he murmured huskily. Making good on his promise, he settled his mouth firmly over hers, stealing her breath with exquisite mastery and the slow, erotic glide of his tongue past the seam of her lips.
A shudder rocked through her, and she groaned. Tentatively she let their tongues meet, and they tangled and swirled like long-lost lovers reunited. Then deeper strokes. Bolder forays. She returned the kiss like a woman starved for the taste of him, ignoring the warning in her mind to stop, and the melting of her body, priming her for a more intimate act. All that mattered was Grey and the ultimate pleasure of his touch, his kiss.
Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the mindless warmth weakening her limbs. The hand tangled in her hair tightened, and the tenor of the kiss changed from slow seduction to the basic, raw heat of passion. She felt his need, sensed his desire in the sudden, urgent way he slanted his mouth over hers and took complete possession.
Without breaking the hot kiss, he moved closer, hitting the playing board with his knee and scattering the letter tiles. Mariah no longer cared about the game. No longer gave a thought to the silly word that had ignited such a wild hunger in the both of them. All that mattered was the hand he’d fitted so snugly over her breast and the emotion she tasted in Grey’s kiss, the wanting. The pure need.
