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.

Her breath caught in her throat. Grasping his wrist, she pulled his hand away. "Grey, stop."

"Why? It's the truth." He was wearing down her resistance, could see her fighting against what she truly wanted. Pressing on before he lost his advantage, he stepped closer until their clothes brushed. She tried to take a step back, but a wingback chair stopped her retreat. He didn't touch her, but he planned to…

In a low, husky voice, he continued. "Every night I go to bed thinking of you. I dream of you. And when I wake up in the morning I'm hard and aching. I always reach for you but you're not there anymore."

The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered, and when she breathed in, the swell of her breasts quivered. "Being apart is just as difficult for me."

"Is it?" Bracing his hand on either side of the chair behind her, he trapped her within his arms. He wasn't taking any chances of her bolting before he was done. "Do you wake up the same way? Wanting me?" Her darkening gaze said what her mouth wouldn't. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips against her ear and continued the mutual torment. "And when you realize I'm not there, do you close your eyes and imagine my hands and mouth on you, touching and stroking you in that special way that makes you come apart for me?"

A tiny groan escaped her, and she pressed her hands to his chest. Her touch seared him, aroused him, thrilled him. The front of his slacks grew uncomfortably snug, but he kept a tight rein on his needs.

"You don't play fair, Nichols," she said on a wispy catch of breath.

He was ruthless when it came to what he wanted, in business, in pleasure and now with Mariah. Inhaling deeply her sweet, feminine scent, he pulled back and met her gaze. She looked dazed, flushed and achingly beautiful. Under different circumstances he would have taken her right then and there. Under different circumstances she would be begging him to. But he was close to getting what he wanted…her complete surrender, body and soul.

"My offer still stands," he said.

A little frown marred her brows, and the passionate haze cleared from her eyes. "To move in with you?"

"Yes."

She made a sound of disgust and gave him a shove, hard enough for him to take a step back and for her to slip out from between him and the chair. "Then my answer is the same."

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, his voice rising in frustration. "We were perfectly happy until…" Clamping his teeth, he shoved his hands into his pockets and fiddled with the roll of antacids.

"Until what?" She ran a hand through her short hair, and the silky strands bobbed back into place. "Until I realized you didn't and couldn't love me? Until marriage was mentioned and I realized we were looking at our relationship from two different perspectives?" Angry hurt filled her expression. "I can't just make my feelings about getting married and having a family go away, Grey. I want the security of a lifelong commitment with a man who loves me as much as I love him, and I want babies before I'm too old to enjoy them. And I don't want to waste another year or two loving you when I know I'll eventually have to move on."

Her argument was solid. As solid and impenetrable as a brick wall. But with enough patience and persistence, could it be torn down? Grey wondered. Persistence was the reason he was a successful businessman with a mul-timillion dollar corporation. However, patience wasn't one of his strong suits. But for her, he'd discipline himself.

"I don't ever remember you being so stubborn before," he said, forcing a teasing tone when he felt jagged and torn inside. "Jade got anything to do with that?"

She laughed, the sound strained. "No, I've always been stubborn when it comes to something I believe in. Besides, you're just as stubborn when it comes to your own beliefs about marriage and love."

"With good reason." He strolled to the windows and stared out at the smog hovering over the tall buildings dominating the city. Grey had witnessed his father hurl insults at his mother and had been the focus of many verbal attacks himself. The man had blamed a mere child for trapping him in a loveless marriage. All of these things had left a lasting impression on Grey.

The lessons he'd learned had proved invaluable through the years, in dealing with the many stepfathers who'd traipsed through his life, in business and his personal life. He'd always steered clear of forming emotional attachments and instead focused on work and the acceptance of his colleagues. In business, at least, he'd gained the respect he'd never received from his father.

"I have no idea what those reasons are," she said from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. "I've spent eight months with you, and I don't even really know you."

He turned back around. "You know me better than anyone."

"In some ways, yes," she said, strolling around his office and looking at the plaques and awards mounted on the wall. "Physically and on a business level, but emotionally, I'm not quite sure what makes Grey Nichols tick. I know little to nothing about your family, your childhood, what makes you the person you are or why you can't, or won't, commit yourself to marriage and a family." She stopped her wandering and tilted her head at him, regarding him speculatively. "I've learned you're a driven man, but I haven't quite figured out what drives you. I know you built this company from scratch, with no help from anyone. Not because you told me, but because I read it here," she said, pointing to an article from a prestigious business magazine he'd had framed. "Where did that drive come from?"

The answers jammed in his throat, right along with bitter resentments he'd kept buried for years. What Mariah didn't realize is that she knew more about him than he'd ever let any woman close enough to learn. That in itself scared him on an emotional level.

She sighed and propped a hip against the edge of his desk, letting a long, shapely leg dangle. "How can we build a secure relationship when you can't even trust me or talk to me?"

He bristled, feeling raw. "We talk."

"Always about me and my family and my business. We never share things about your life. Or rather, your past." She glanced down at the hands in her lap. Her nails, he noticed, were painted a spring pink color instead of her normal clear polish. "I guess that's why it came as such a shock to learn that you don't believe in love, and you never want to get married. Especially when that's all I've ever wanted."

He smiled, though his heart wasn't in it. "They say opposites attract."

"I hardly think a drastic difference in values is what that quote means."

His fingers curled tight around the pack of Turns. "Then I guess this leaves us at a stalemate, huh?"

Sliding gracefully off his desk, she moved toward the chairs. "How about being friends?"

He figured if that was the only way he could see her, and possibly change her mind about them, then he'd agree to just about anything. "Friends it is," he said, his mood lightening a little. "How about a kiss to seal the pact?"

"How about a gift, instead?" Picking up the large flat package wrapped in burgundy plaid paper, she handed it to him, careful not to let their fingers brush, or anything else for that matter.

"What's this for?" he asked, eyeing the package curiously.

"For you." Her eyes had regained that enthusiastic sparkle he loved. "I bought it when we went to San Francisco two months ago."

He smiled, remembering how he'd surprised her one weekend with plane rickets and reservations at a five-star hotel in San Francisco. "We had a good time, didn't we?"