Mariah took a bite of the raspberry crème brûlée Grey fed to her and moaned in appreciation as the sinfully rich dessert filled her mouth. She sat next to Grey in a cozy, intimate booth at the back of an elegant, expensive restaurant overlooking Lake Arrowhead. A taper candle burned in the center of their table, casting a warm, golden hue around them. They were surrounded by dining couples, but catching the wicked, I-want-to-eat-yow-up-for-dessert look in Grey's eyes, she wished they were back at the cabin alone.

"This wasn't necessary, you know. Dinner at an exclusive restaurant, a new dress, the roses," she said, still reeling from his very spontaneous suggestion to eat out, and the mini shopping spree he'd taken her on to dress for the occasion. But then again, since their escapade down at the dock two days ago, he'd been full of wonderful surprises.

"Trust me," he said, a lopsided grin canting his mouth as he watched her take another spoonful of brûlée. "It was very necessary. I'm tired of frozen meals and deli food. Roses make you smile. And you look better than a dream in that dress." His gaze roved over the garment in question, a form-fitting, pink cashmere sheath that dipped low in the back and ended midthigh. "What I'd like to know is, what are you wearing underneath that dress? Or rather, what aren't you wearing?" Boldly, he skimmed a hand over her hip, up the side of her ribs until his fingers brushed the curve of her breast.

She sucked in a breath, shocked that he'd be so brazen, though they sat at such an angle the other nearby patrons couldn't see what he'd just done. Her breasts instantly swelled, and her nipples peaked and pushed against the soft material.

"You're not wearing a bra, are you?" His voice was a soft, accusing murmur that slid down her spine like a languid caress.

Feeling reckless enough to join in the game of seduction he'd been playing all week, she dipped her finger in the dessert and brought it to his mouth. "The dress is made to be worn without one," she said, painting his bottom lip with the decadent dessert. "Are you curious about what else I might not be wearing underneath the dress?"

His gaze darkened, and he grasped her wrist before she could pull her hand away. Slowly sucking her finger into his mouth, he swirled his tongue over the tip. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his free hand flattened on her knee and began a leisurely journey upward, disappearing beneath the hem of her dress.

His fingers grazed the lace band of the stockings she'd bought for herself at the boutique in town, then brushed the inside of her thigh, gently coaxing them apart. And damned if her body didn't respond. "Grey…" She wasn't sure if his name was a warning or a whispered plea.

A wicked smile curved his mouth, and he leaned closer, blocking everyone and everything from her view but the heat and desire in his eyes. "I could find out right here, right now, exactly what you are or aren't wearing beneath this dress." His voice had changed, grown husky and enticing. There was a tension in his body, a restless sexual energy that brought her to full awareness of him and only him.

Remembering the way he'd so easily seduced her out on the terrace at her father's party, she didn't doubt that Grey would make good on his promise now, despite where they were. A week of being around him and sharing an emotional closeness they'd never had before, sleeping with him but not making love, was taking its toll on both of them.

His finger traced the elastic band of her panties along her hip, then dipped lower, following the barrier to the crease between her thighs. "Umm, you are wearing panties, but that's hardly a deterrent." To prove his point, he stroked along the silky material covering her mound, rubbing her intimately, making her quiver and ache for the exquisite, erotic sensations she knew he could evoke.

She bit her bottom lip to keep back a groan, and he smiled, a slow, cocky, satisfied grin. Horrified that she was on the brink of succumbing to him once again, she clamped her legs together, trapping his hand between her thighs.

"Can I get you two anything else?"

Mariah's started at the sound of their waiter's voice from behind Grey's shoulder. Her heart thundered in her chest and her face burned in pure mortification, though Grey was positioned in front of her in such a way that it appeared as if they were having an intimate, private conversation and nothing more. But she knew better, because Grey was enough of a scoundrel to remind her by lightly skimming his thumb along the bare skin between the band of her stocking and her panties.

He glanced over his shoulder at the young man. "Just the check, but feel free to take your time about it," he said pleasantly. "My girlfriend and I are in the middle of a very intriguing conversation."

With a promise to be back shortly, the waiter left their table to tend to nearby patrons. Grey glanced back at her.

She stared into his golden eyes, shivering at the dare still flickering in their depths. "Remove your hand," she said in a hushed voice.

He blinked lazily and made no move to obey her order. "You started this," he murmured.

"And now I'm ending it."

"My ending would be much more satisfying."

She didn't doubt that. Not for a minute, and not when her body throbbed with a need so fierce she was tempted to let him do whatever he wished.

"Open your legs, sweetheart," he said in a husky, coaxing tone.

"Grey!" she hissed in admonishment.

He chuckled, which infuriated her more. "I can't remove my hand when my fingers are trapped between your thighs."

"Oh." Face warming once again, she relaxed her legs and he pulled his hand from beneath her dress. He smoothed the hem down and leaned back to his own side of the booth just as a small band of waiters sauntered up to a nearby table, delivered a small cake and broke out into the "Happy Anniversary" song for the elderly couple sitting there. Once the applause subsided and the waiters dispersed, Mariah took advantage of the distraction and addressed the couple.

"How long have the two of you been married?" she asked.

The older, distinguished-looking man gazed adoringly at his petite and still beautiful wife. "Forty-eight wonderful years."

The woman sitting by his side blushed becomingly. "And I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat."

The man smiled and gave his wife a sweet kiss. "You know I'm going to remind you of that whenever you're mad at me for something."

The woman laughed, a sound of happiness and delight. "You usually do, honey."

"Well, congratulations," Mariah said before returning her attention to Grey, who was watching the exchange with a small frown marring his brow.

Mariah braced her elbows on the table, propped her chin on her laced fingers and sighed. "Isn't that romantic, being in love after all those years?"

Skepticism shone in his eyes. "It's amazing to think that two people can stay together for forty-eight years. But I can hardly believe they're still in love."

"Of course they are," she refuted. She could sense the tension rising in Grey, but she wasn't about to let it dissuade her from pursuing a very important issue. A deep, scarring, emotional issue that could make or break their future. "Why else would they stay married?"

He toyed with the stem of his empty wineglass. "People stay married even though they aren't in love for numerous reasons."

"Such as?" she persisted mildly.

"Obligation. Companionship. I suppose people grow comfortable with one another and know what to expect from the relationship." He glanced at his watch impatiently and muttered, "Where's the damn check?"

Mariah wasn't about to let Grey get out of this one. "You only need to look at that couple to know they're still in love." It showed in every cherished glance, every tender touch. It was what her grandparents and parents shared. It was what she wanted from her own husband. It was what she so desperately wished she could share with the mule-headed man sitting beside her.

Grey narrowed his gaze at the two people across the way. "I have to say I've seen that look on my mother's face with her numerous boyfriends and husbands," he said cynically. He glanced back at her, his expression shrewd. "So tell me, what's the difference between true love and wanting to be loved so badly you see it even when it's not there?"

Mariah heard the hurt and anger in Grey's voice, even though he'd outright deny any of the bitter emotions. "Sometimes people marry for the wrong reasons," she admitted. "Divorce is always possible, but it all depends on the foundation upon which couples marry. There has to be a strong commitment, and the willingness of the couple to make it work."

The check arrived at that moment, and Grey used the interruption to his benefit. He withdrew enough cash from his wallet to pay the bill and leave a substantial tip. Without a word, he slid from the booth, waited for Mariah to proceed him, then ushered her to the entrance of the restaurant with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

Mariah's heart grew heavy on the quiet drive back to the cabin. Grey didn't believe in love because he'd never experienced the emotion. And she was beginning to despair that he'd never open himself to an emotion that would leave him exposed and vulnerable, as he had so many times as a child. He was afraid of being hurt, of being rejected, of giving of himself so completely and then losing in the end.

It was the only way he knew, and it was up to her to show him differently.

By the time they entered the cabin, Mariah had made a very important decision, and could only hope her plan didn't backfire.