"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?"
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-l-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-l-G-H with a double-letter score.
"You catch on quick," she said wryly, and took a drink of her wine. Studying the board, she added A-S-T below the £ 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.