Sorry LJ-Cut doesn't seem to work on this chaper!


Chapter TenJust as a Tiger searches for and uses your weaknesses against you, you must find and use his against him. Exploiting a weakness can make the difference between victory and defeat. I spent the next day, Friday, on the phone. Royce called me. Richard did, too. I told Richard to die and go to everlasting hell. I hung up on Royce without a word. He called me back, and I said, "Nice photo of you with Gwendolyn. Your non-girlfriend. Did you ask her to marry you, too?" He laughed. Actually laughed. "She's a friend, nothing more. We do the charity circuit together. I'd love for you to be my date from now on. Are you interested?" He sounded so sincere, but then, Richard had always sounded sincere as well. I told Royce, "No thanks," and ended the call, not knowing what to think. Should I believe him? And why the hell was I so concerned? We weren't in a relationship—I'd made sure of that. I avoided my mom's "did you find anything" call. I avoided Jonathan's "how do you feel" call. I did answer Jennifer's "would you like to go on a date" call and explained the kiss I'd planted on her. She took it well. Through it all, my BlueJay never shut up. It continued to beep and beep and beep. Finally I drop-kicked the little bastard out the window, taking immense satisfaction when I heard it shatter. Feeling better, I dialed every number on Jonathan's cell-phone bill, giving everyone the same story. "Your number was on my caller ID. Who are you and why did you call this number?" The responses were wide and varying. Only two disturbed me, however. Jonathan had called Nora Hallsbrook, his secretary, numerous times during the middle of the night. He'd also phoned a local beauty salon six times. Body Electric. That meant only one thing: the lying little prick was having phone sex with his slutty secretary, then paying for her beauty appointments. How cliché . How infuriating! I knew he hadn't called the salon to book an appointment for my mom. She wouldn't have been able to talk about anything else. As mad as I was at my step dad, though, I was also deeply hurt and feeling unbelievably betrayed. He was supposed to be different than my father. He was supposed to guard our family unit. He was supposed to love my mom, cherish her. He was supposed to love me. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I would have liked a copy of Johnnie's Visa bill to see exactly what he'd purchased for Nora. Tanning? Laser body hair removal? Total body rub to assuage the guilt she felt for helping destroy a marriage? I'd seen Nora on numerous occasions. She was a semi-attractive woman in her early forties with big, ratted hair and lots of makeup, but she wasn't the woman I'd seen in those photos, the young woman with the child. Could Jonathan be seeing two women on the side? It wasn't too far-fetched. Richard, may he fall into the ocean and be torn apart by a pack of wild, vicious, man-hungry sharks, had had booty available in every apartment building and housing unit in every city in the United States. God, what was I going to tell my mom? Nothing, I decided in the next flash. Not yet. I shouldn't go to her without concrete proof. Otherwise, she might blow off everything I said. Make excuses for Jonathan and wallow in disbelief. Like I had done for so many years. Like she had done before. Jumping up, I raced to my kitchen and grabbed my phone book. Proof. Oh yeah, I'd get her proof. I looked up the address for both Nora and the salon. Just as I finished writing them down, my phone rang. Caller ID showed Powell, Royce. I grabbed the phone and barked, "What?" "I've decided whether or not you go with me, I'm not going to escort Gwen to any more events. I only want to go with you." My skin tingled at the sound of that rich, husky promise. His words shouldn't matter, but they did. I might be an idiot (again), but I believed him (kind of).Dumb ass , my Tigress said. Was I just like my mom? "Are you hungry?" he asked. "No, sorry," I said, regret pounding through me. "I'm busy." "Doing what? Working on my mother's party?" "Actually, no. Now isn't a good time to talk. I'm on my way out." "Where's your BlueJay ? I programmed a meeting today and it should have been beeping all morning. You should be on your way to my office." "Hmm, well, I haven't heard a thing." A knock sounded at my door. I pushed out a frustrated sigh, hating to end the conversation, but knowing I needed to, and walked into the living room. "I'll talk to you later. We need to discuss tomorrow's trip to Colorado and the fact that I still don't want to go." I hung up before he could utter a single protest and tossed the phone on my couch. From the coffee table, I snatched up my keys and purse—I had yet to replace the stolen one, so I had to make do with this old, ugly white one. Right now I wore brown pants and a white top. Brown sandals, perfect for the two-mile walk ahead. My hair was in its usual twist. Hopefully I presented a completely unnoticeable and unmemorable package. Without stopping to check who wanted to visit with me, I jerked open my door, ready to send whoever it was scurrying. I stopped dead in my tracks instead. Royce smiled down at me. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt. The material clung deliciously to his biceps and pecs , outlining every ridge and peak. I'd never seen him dressed so casually, and the sight made my mouth water. My nipples immediately took notice, jumping up to say, Hi, Royce. We love you and really want to introduce ourselves to you properly . "I worked late last night, and I took the day off because I'd planned to meet with you today," he said, pocketing his cell. Still smiling—perhaps because he'd caught a glimpse of my naughty nipples—he said, "I'm going with you, wherever it is you're going in such a hurry." I fought a shiver of anticipation. The thought of spending the day with him appealed to me in so many ways. I'd get to hear his voice, feel his warmth, even stare at him if I wanted. I'd also get a distraction that I, Detective Delacroix, couldn't afford. "No, you're not." I scooted around him, doing my best not to touch him, and locked the door. Not sparing him a glance, I stalked toward the main lobby. I loved having a bottom-level apartment. No stairs or elevators for me, thank you. "Where we going?" He was barely a step behind me. As I pretended to ignore him, I felt the heat of him all the way to my bones. I stopped before going outside. The scent of sandalwood taunted and teased my nose. "You're not going to get rid of me," he said, before I could tell him to go away. "Royce—" "Naomi. I'm coming. End of conversation." If I didn't invite him to come with me, I realized, he'd follow me and draw all kinds of unwanted attention my way. He was just too damn noticeable with that sexy, recognizable face of his. I'd rather deal with a distraction than the possibility of being spotted by my prey. "Can you be sneaky, Royce? Can you blend into a crowd?" "Yes," he answered, his forehead furrowed in confusion. "Do you have a car with you?" "Yes." "Fine, you can come." Silver lining: I wouldn't have to walk, nor would I have to pay for a cab if I changed my mind about walking. I hated cabs, hated buses more, but I didn't yet have the money to fix my jalopy. "We're going to a salon on Main Street. Body Electric." "The joy in your voice is making me feel all warm inside." "Then my day is complete," I said with a sarcastic edge. He snorted. Lord, he was even sexy when he snorted. I felt myself melting, my bones liquefying in anticipation of a touch. Already my hands itched to explore him. Itched to touch his skin, itched to wrap around his— "What are you having done at the salon? You're perfect just the way you are." I tossed him a frown before pushing open the door. He was doing it again. Being sweet and irresistible, making me go disgustingly gooey inside. "Don't be nice to me, okay?" I'd already established I couldn't resist him physically, but I really needed to resist him emotionally. He made that extremely difficult with his devilish, charming personality. "What?" He gave a choked little laugh. "Why?" "Just because." Bright sunlight and sweltering heat hit me full force, and I was suddenly thankful he'd insisted on coming. I would have hated to spend more than a few seconds in this heat. Beside me, bushes swayed together despite the fact that there was no wind. Odd. But then I spotted the shattered remains of my BlueJay , forgot about the ghost bushes, and steered Royce away, trying to direct his attention somewhere else. "Uh, to answer your first question, I'm not having anything done. I just want to look around. Where's your car?" Without a word, he sauntered to a black stretch limo and opened the passenger door. Such wealth and luxury appeared odd in front of my modest apartment building, with its un-mowed, brittle grass and peeling stucco. Royce waved me inside. "After you." I remained in place, floundering in a puddle of shocked awe. "Are you trying to impress me? Because it's working." "Actually," he said, a sheepish grin on his gorgeous face, "I just wanted my hands free."Yippee, my nipples cried. I hope he plays with us first, my thighs chimed in. "Damn it!" I muttered. I had to get my thoughts under control. I might—might—believe him about Gwendolyn Summers, but I was on a mission to save my mom. Nothing else mattered at the moment, not even pleasure. "What?" Royce asked, all innocence. "You better keep those hands to yourself." I slid inside the car… and felt like all my troubles instantly melted away. Luxurious air-conditioning enveloped me. The seats were so plush and perfect I couldn't help but revel in their delicious decadence. Soft as clouds they were. I could have sunk into a coma of bliss. Royce scooted inside until our shoulders brushed. A shiver rolled down my spine. "Body Electric," he told the driver. Seconds later, the limo eased into motion. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?" he asked me. "You've got shadows under your eyes, and you're unusually pale." I didn't want to talk about my cheating step dad, so I said, "Did you see the article about me in the Tattler ?" "Well, yeah. I think everyone in Dallas saw it." "They called me an alien. I should sue." He uttered a short, booming laugh. "On what grounds?" "I'm sure my attorney could think of something." My head lolled back on the pillow rest. "I'm surprised no one was waiting outside my apartment, snapping pictures of us as we walked out." "They were." I jerked upright and stared wide-eyed at him. "What!" "There was a woman behind the bushes. She had a camera aimed right at us." "And you didn't say anything? Argh . I can't believe this." I slapped his thigh. "You better do something. Pay her to give you the film or threaten to get her fired. Just do something. Anything! I do not need another hideous picture of me circulating. The last one nearly killed my mother." Royce wrapped his fingers around mine and leaned toward me, bringing with him that delicious sandalwood scent. "I'll take care of it, okay?" He kissed my temple before settling back in his seat. "No worries." He didn't release my hand. That single kiss affected me deeply and unequivocally, but the fact that he kept our fingers linked meant more. I yearned to melt into him, to absorb his strength, his complete ease with our being together. But I remained where I was. I would not rely on a man for anything. Especially not comfort. That's where dependency began. I didn't allow myself to consider the fact that I was relying on him to fix the little unwanted photographer problem. "Thank you," I said stiffly. "You're very welcome," he replied, using the same rigid tone. "Now, why don't you tell me why you want to look around this salon." I shrugged. "I want to see what type of services they offer." It was the truth. I didn't tell him that I also wanted to speak with the employees and find out if Nora had visited. "Why?" he persisted. Ignoring his question, I shifted and faced the opposite window. Trees and cars whizzed past. The people in those cars strained, trying to see inside the limo, but the darkened windows blocked us from view. "Do you think you could get me a list of their employees?" If Nora wasn't the other woman, that employee list would give me somewhere else to look. "Absolutely," Royce said. "Just tell me why you want it." "Well," I said, turning to him, a lie forming in my mind, "my mother is a twin, and they were separated at birth. She's been searching for her sister all her life and I suspect one of the employees is that twin. And now, with my mother dying of cancer—" I pretended to wipe away a tear "—I want to give her this gift." "How tragic," Royce said dryly. "Did you know your voice creeps higher when you're lying?" Damn it, my mom had warned me about that betraying fact. I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. "Maybe a better gift for your dying mother would be grandchildren," he suggested. My lashes sprang up and I was given a full-on view of his amusement. "You are so not funny." But I was covered in a cold sweat by the time the limo stopped in front of a white stucco building. "We're here." Royce didn't wait for the driver, but opened the door himself and emerged. He held out a hand for me. The dry heat clamped tight fists around me as I stepped out. "Do we need to be incognito here?" he asked. When my brow crinkled in confusion, he added, "Before we left your apartment, you asked me if I knew how to be sneaky." Oh, yeah. "I don't want them to know my name, but they can know yours." He nodded. "Let me do the talking." We entered side by side. A long desk loomed in front, manned by several young, attractive women. Too young for Johnnie, that was for sure. While he might be willing to destroy his marriage, I didn't think he'd be willing to destroy his practice for an underage hottie . But what did I truly know about men? "How can we help you?" the only blonde asked. "I'm Royce Powell, and I need to speak with the owner." He voice reeked of suave authority. "My fiancé isn't sure which salon she wants to use the day of our wedding. I'm here to see what type of services can be provided so my little sugar bottoms feels extra special that day." My stomach dropped at the word fiancé —then twisted at sugar bottoms . Sugar bottoms, indeed. "Money is not an object," Royce continued. "We'll want the works, of course." I could be mistaken, but I think dollar signs flashed in the blonde's eyes. "Right this way," she said. "Brenda is in her office, and I know she'd love to speak with you." "While my dear, sweet snookie-wookie is busy chatting," I said, "I think I'll have a look-see around, 'kay?" Without waiting for consent, I sailed past the desk and down a long hallway. "I'll come with you," one of the girls said, at my side in the next instant. For the next twenty minutes, I scoped out the entire salon, meeting and speaking with the employees. The masseuse, thearomatherapist . The nail tech, the facial tattoo artist. The tanning specialist. I asked all of them the same question: "Is my Aunt Nora, Nora Hallsbrook , a client here? Because if she's not I want to get her in ASAP. She'd love this place." Confirming all my fears, each one answered, "Yes, she's a regular." Jonathan the Jerk was paying for Nora's days of pampering while he treated his own wife like a bothersome insect. He was going to suffer. I was going to make him suffer. Once I returned from Colorado, I would follow him with a camera and catch him in the act. Then I would help my mom take him for everything he owned. Fucking bastard! When my tour ended, I strode to the front entrance. Royce was waiting at the door, and the pert receptionist was flirting with him, running her fingertip over his arm as she spoke. She was wearing a green bracelet, I noticed with a scowl. To my surprise, Royce discreetly moved his arm. He even stepped away from her. His shoulders were stiff, and he radiated a discomfort that helped extinguish the raging fury in my blood. "Snoogiebear," I called. "I'm back." His gaze snapped up, colliding with mine, and he smiled with relief. "Sugar bottoms. Did you see everything you needed to see?" "Yes." I tried to walk to him, but I suddenly couldn't move my feet. They were frozen in place. As I stood there, my gaze still locked on Royce, something… odd welled up inside me. Something sad and vulnerable. Tears sprang into my eyes. In three quick strides, Royce was at my side, his arm slipping around my waist. I let him wrap himself around me. I hated all men at the moment, but I let him. My Tigress seemed to be on hiatus, and I didn't have the strength to protest or push away his comforting touch. Maybe, deep down, I didn't really want to protest. Royce wasn't like Richard the Bastard. Royce wasn't like Jonathan the Jerk. Royce said sweet things and wanted to be around me. He didn't flirt with pretty receptionists. Royce called me just to hear my voice and made me feel important and needed. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you home." He led me to the limo. We didn't speak the entire drive. I was grateful. I didn't know what was wrong with me, didn't know why my emotions had chosen that moment to overtake me. "We're here, sweetheart." I pushed open the door and tried to step outside, but he stopped me with a hand on my wrist. He held out the list I'd wanted with the other hand. I grabbed it and ran inside the building before I burst into tears. I cried most of the night, and my tears only made me angrier. At Jonathan. At myself. At Royce and Gwendolyn. I believed Royce one moment, I didn't the next. Did that make me as foolish as my mom? Worse, did that make me the same foolish Naomi I'd been before? No, surely not. None of the above meant I trusted Royce completely. Cheating… Why did men do it? Why did any man think it was okay to trample on a woman's heart by lying to her and giving the best of himself to a woman other than his wife? It wasn't okay. It wasn't acceptable. It was disgusting and disrespectful, vile and wretched. When Royce arrived the next morning, my eyes were still red and puffy. I hated that I was leaving town. There was so much I needed to do: follow Nora, take pictures of her with my step dad and, of course, the most important item on my list, kill Jonathan. Maybe I needed this trip, though. Royce always proved a good distraction. Plus, my mom kept calling me, and I kept ignoring her. I'd even turned off the ringer. I couldn't lie to her and tell her I'd found nothing, but I couldn't tell her what I had found. Not yet. Not while she could deny it. I pulled open the front door to see Royce. He held out what must have been four dozen orchids, a mixture of yellow, white, pink and blue petals. Blue? Caught off guard, I was momentarily incapable of speech. "For you," he said. "I know blue is your favorite color, so I had some of the petals dyed." I'm sure my expression was horrified as I accepted the bouquet, holding it in my hands like it was a stink bomb about to go off. Richard the Bastard always brought me flowers—always red roses—when he'd done something wrong. My heart fluttered, though, because this felt different. Royce had gone to so much trouble, had thought about my individual tastes. And he'd done it to make me feel better, I suspected, not to throw me off the scent of his bad behavior. "I had to search the whole damn state for those," he told me. "They're beautiful," I said softly. "Thank you." "If you start crying, I'll be forced to cut out my heart and give it to you. How are you feeling?" "Better." I pushed out a breath and gazed down at the dewy, sweet petals. "Thank you for, well, everything." He grinned, a bit of self-deprecation hanging at the edges of his lips. "I was going to give you a list of to-do chores, but everything on the list was raunchy and I'd rather wait until you're receptive to give you something like that." I laughed; I just couldn't help myself. And it felt good, forgetting my troubles, releasing my tension and simply enjoying him. "Are you going to invite me in?" Royce asked gently. "I have another present for you." "Oh, sure. Come in. What kind of present?" I couldn't hide my excitement. He brushed past me, turned, then placed a brand new Blue-Jay in my free hand. "For you." Damn it all to hell! "I noticed yours had sprouted wings and flown itself out of your window, so I thought you'd like another one." "Gee, thanks." "You ready to go?" "Let me put these in water first." Without a backward glance, I strode away. Royce gave me a slow, wicked grin of agreement and nodded. "Oh, yeah. The wall." "Wait!" I shouted. Had he forgotten? I cast a meaningful glance to the wall. A large floral picture hung in the center. I could almost feel the ridges pressed into my back. Just when I thought I might collapse, I was lifted in his arms and placed on the bed. The soft mattress cushioned my back. He was all over me. I loved every second, every squeeze of his hands, and returned the favor. He was caught in the avalanche of my lust. Again, he didn't seem to mind. His hands sifted through my hair and fisted it before he began working at my bra. Next he tackled my pants. Those, too, pooled at our feet. The lights were on. I tried not to let it bother me. I was so thin. Royce didn't seem to mind, though. We were wild for each other. I couldn't be stopped. He couldn't be stopped. He advanced. I didn't move, just let him come. When he reached me, my head fell backward with the force of his kiss. His tongue dove immediately inside. It was a hard and demanding caress, not meant to be gentle. But then, I didn't crave gentleness. I craved the weight of his body, the sear of his lips, the domination of his hands. "Now," I agreed. "Now," he said. I raced to the bed, trying to shed my top along the way. It took a few minutes for me to notice Royce hadn't followed. I turned and faced him. He had his back to the entrance. He was watching me, a predator-like gleam in his eyes. Without taking his gaze from me, he clicked the lock. We were finally alone. He jabbed the passkey into the electronic box. The green light winked its assent. Royce shoved open the door, hustled me inside and let the heavy wood slam behind him. A shiver of anticipation slipped down my spine. Helpless to do otherwise, I kept moving. Okay, so I nearly beat him to the door. Big deal. It required a conscious effort to tear my mouth from Royce's. He grabbed my hand and dragged me into the hall. "I got the lowest floor I could," he said. A bell sounded. The elevator doors slid open. I almost climaxed right then. No longer concerned about those around me, I raced behind him through the bar, past the reservation desk and into the elevator. Royce quickly punched a button. The doors slid shut. In the next instant, he had me pinned to the corner, plundering my mouth with his tongue, rubbing his erection into the crevice of my legs. A blaze of heat caught fire in his irises, sparking blue flames. Those flames licked at me. His gaze moved over me with blatant possessiveness, and I licked my lips. His nostrils did the flare thing. Royce clasped my hand and jerked me to my feet. I hurriedly buttoned my pants. "I said yes. I'm willing to do it against the wall." He paused, his eyes widening with disbelief. He hadn't expected me to agree. "What did you say?" "All right," I told him, my voice hoarse with longing. "Now. Before the party." I'd die if I didn't experience it. Breathless, I glanced at a wall and pictured exactly what he described. Two naked bodies, straining together, standing up and tangled. My throat constricted. The scene was carnal. Primal. Raw. "I'll press your back against the wall and brace your legs around my waist." Slowly, I shook my head. My experience was limited to the back seat of a Chevy and a cold, forgotten mattress. Don't get me wrong. I've had orgasms and even enjoyed the sex. But this was something altogether more pleasurable. "Have you?" he demanded. He was deliberately being crude, I knew, trying to force me to admit I wanted more than a hard, emotionless screw. It had the opposite effect, however. I ached all over, and hearing him talk like that increased my excitement. Maybe, at heart, I was a bad, dirty girl. A closet sex kitten, like my cousins had said. "Well, I want everything. And I want you against a wall." His fingers began their tormenting search again, this time bolder, moving up and down over the now-damp material. "Have you ever fucked against a wall, Naomi?" "No." I had to stay strong, had to fight my body's needs until he agreed. "I want you. I do. Just—" breathe "—nothing else." His fingers stilled, and I nearly moaned. "Maybe you didn't want a relationship," he said, his expression fierce, "but you're in one, anyway." Now…so tempting. God, I wanted him. I did. I needed him. "I haven't changed my mind about a relationship." Unlike the way men treated women, I didn't want him to misinterpret what was about to happen. "We can sleep together, but that's it. Nothing more." His nostrils flared. "After. Before." Pause. "Now." "I've already decided to sleep with you," I admitted in a whisper. "After the party." "I'll touch you here as well," he said, gently stroking the material. Of their own accord, my hips rocked slightly with his touch. "And you'll beg me to take you over the edge." My breath hitched in my throat as he abandoned my knee and moved his hand to the waist of my pants, unsnapping the button. His pushed his hand inside, his fingers making dead-on contact with the lacy fabric of my panties. I almost shouted a string of curses. The fingers covering my thigh inched down my calf, not stopping until they reached bare skin. Those naughty fingers tunneled underneath the flare of my pants, then started going higher. Higher still. The material tightened at my knees, not allowing him to go farther. He came closer to me, his gaze stroking my face like a caress. "I'll touch you here." He palmed one of my breasts through the fabric of my shirt. No. He was wrong. I couldn't let myself want more. "Once we make love, Naomi, you'll only want more," he promised. "Much, much more." My nipples hardened and my heart began a frantic boom-boom rhythm. He nodded. "Oh, yeah." "Do I, uh, have an orgasm every time I scream?" The words escaped on the barest whisper and I was unable to stop them. "I have this fantasy of us in my mind. You ride me and your hair tickles my chest. Your breasts are pushed forward, and you keep screaming my name." I swallowed. Hard. There was a reason I needed to tell him no, to wait until after his mom's party, but at the moment I couldn't think of what that reason was. "We've been building to this point and you know it," he said, getting to the heart of the matter. "Ever since I picked you up this morning, I've wanted to strip you down and taste you. All over." "In the shower." My blood heated, and I so wanted to open my legs and invite him to feel all he wanted. He merely moved those naughty fingers of his higher, to a better place. "Where'd you learn to sing country music like that?" "Thank you." I tried to push his hand away; I didn't push too hard, though. It felt too good. "She's vicious, I know," Royce said, keeping his eyes on me. "You were adorable onstage." The third time, he actually stopped at the table. "She plays with knives," he told Royce before racing away. "Seducing you." The darkened atmosphere and the corner placement of our table guaranteed privacy from everyone except the person walking directly by. Which happened to be Doug. He stumbled past once, twice, staring at me with jaundiced suspicion. "What are you doing?" I asked in a scandalized whisper, looking all around to make sure no one watched us. He grinned slowly. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "That's right." He reached under the tabletop and slowly, oh so softly, grasped my thigh. My anger faded, replaced by dread—and anticipation. I shook my head. "Wait a sec. Getting a room? As in one ?" "I was getting a room. I don't want to make the drive to the cabin tonight." "Where were you?" I demanded. "Five more minutes and I might have had to ask Dougie Boy to be the father of my children in the hopes of scaring him away." He watched Doug race away through litted eyes before sinking back into his seat. Just as Doug cut into my speech to mutter, "Excuse me, I think I see someone I know," Royce returned. "I bet you're wondering why I haven't done it yet. Killed and castrated him, that is. Well, the answer to that is simple, really. First I've got to find the perfect knife. A regular household blade simply won't do. I really hate cheaters, Douglas, and I think—" All color drained from Doug's face. Doug tried to interrupt me, but I kept right on talking. "You're probably thinking that the other cheating bastard in my life is my step dad, and you're right. I do have plans to castrate him, though, don't you worry." I tried not to cringe. Really, there was only one way to get rid of a guy like this. "I'm so glad you came over here, Douglas." I planted my elbows on the table and gazed over at him as if he were the most beautiful sight I'd ever beheld . "I've been dying to talk to someone about all the things that have been going wrong in my life lately. My ex-husband Richard, may he choke on his own tongue, get an STD and win a free one-way ticket to everlasting damnation, called me the other day and asked me to get back together with him. As if I need another cheating bastard in my life. One at a time, thank you very much." "Naaaomi," he said, sounding it out. "Na-oh-me. I'm Doug." He paused. "What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?" "Naomi." I fanned the air in front of my face before I passed out from the fumes. "What's your name?" he asked. My unwanted visitor didn't get the hint. He threw an arm over my stool, as if he had every right to invade my space. I'm surprised he didn't try the yawn-and-grab routine. He gave me a lecherous grin, and I shuddered. There was something black lodged between his front teeth and I really, really hoped it was food. "No, I'm not thirsty," I answered. And neither were my breasts. Actually, I really was parched, but I didn't want to invite this man to stay any longer than necessary. Where the hell was Royce? "Can I buy you a drink?" While he spoke, his gaze locked onto my breasts, small targets though they were. At least he was coherent. Kind of. "Thanks," I said. "Hey, baby." He was in his late thirties or early forties, and smelled like he'd just bathed in Jack Daniel's best for at least an hour. He breezed into Royce's vacant chair. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes glassy and red. "You really rocked onstage. I thought you were a real singer or something." A few minutes later, my shock and anger at Royce's abrupt departure dissolved. I was too busy praying God would make me invisible. A very untidy, very intoxicated man was stumbling my way. "I'll be back in a moment," he said. And before I could protest, he sauntered away. He didn't even send me a backward glance. My lips pursed. How dare that sore loser not lavish me with compliments. Intending to gloat, I descended the stage and strolled to him. When I reached the table, he helped me settle into my chair, but didn't wait around to let me wallow in my victory.My grin became a smirk as I looked to Royce. He saluted me with his wineglass. No more airplane rides! I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at Royce. I'd done it. Really done it. I had won my bet with him. Na, na, na, na, na, na. Take that, Mr. Royce Powell, god of the airplane world and superhero of sexiness. When the end arrived, my voice slowly tapered to quiet. I waited for a reaction. Suddenly applause erupted and loud, buoyant cheers peeled like bells. Catcalls and whistling abounded. All around, hands clapped to the beat, urging me on. I went for it, giving the performance my all. I'd never admit it aloud, but I had the time of my life on that stage, belting out the lyrics and strutting my stuff. "You can break me anytime," another called. "Oh, yeah," a man yelled. "Give it to me, baby. My heart is hurtin'." That was all it took. But I worked the stage like a pro, flipping my hair, copping an attitude and, at last, someone chuckled. Even the drunk guy stared up at me like I belonged in an institution. Deciding simply to have fun, I assumed a laugh-with-me-not-at-me pose: one hand on my hip, silly grin on my lips. I began to sing. When the first note left my mouth, all movement in the audience stopped. A few seconds later, music blasted from the speakers, penetrating the sudden silence. The sound continued to climb in volume. Words appeared on a screen just in front of me. He offered me a relieved grin. "Never have karaoke night without it." "Do you have 'Achy Breaky Heart'?" Though my hand shook, I took the microphone from the announcer's outstretched hand. "A bet's a bet, and I simply can't let you win." With that, I pivoted on my heel and strolled to the stage, unwinding the twist in my hair and letting the long, dark tendrils cascade down my shoulders and back. His brows rose in mock salute. "Are you sure you want to do this?" A slight brush of Royce's palm against my hip drew my gaze back to him. "What? Wishing you'd kept your mouth closed?" I asked. All at once, the crowd quieted. Every eye in the room found me, riveted by the spectacle I must surely make. My knees began quaking. He was trying to dissuade me, anything to win the bet. I surprised him by pushing to my feet. "I'll do it," I said, loud enough for the man onstage to hear. I made a face at Royce. Ha! I might make a fool of myself, might have to endure jeers and snickers and catcalls, but I'd be damned if I'd leave this bar a loser. "Good luck." He shot a glance through the restless crowd. "This doesn't look like a receptive audience." "You've got a deal," I said. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I held out one hand to shake and seal the bargain. His big hand dwarfed my smaller one and his calluses sparked a delicious friction. I didn't have to think about it. No more plane rides? I almost did a table dance right then and there. He'd chosen the one prize I could never refuse. Was the embarrassment of missing a note, of watching him snicker at my attempt to sing worth it? "Does that appeal to you?" "What if I promised the party won't be held anywhere that requires stepping inside an airplane?" he said. "Try and tempt me. Just try." "Probably nothing." Biggest lie of all. I refilled my glass and sipped at my wine, savoring the robust flavor, relishing the comforting warmth it gave me. And the courage. Royce stroked his jaw with deliberate slowness. "Hmm. What will tempt you, Naomi Delacroix?" "Nope." Bigger lie. "A night of wild sex." I should have expected such a reply. Smiling, I shook my head. "Good try. But that prize doesn't appeal to me." Lie. "Name something else." He held out his arms in invitation. "Me." I tapped a finger on my chin and regarded him intently. "What do I get if I take you up on your dare?" I asked. My own devilish sense of humor—or maybe the simple desire to prove to him that I truly did possess an inner Tigress— rose within me, insisting I leap out of my seat and pole-vault onto that stage. I wasn't someone who usually responded to dares. I mean, who wanted to run outside naked screaming, "The sky is falling?" I also knew Royce didn't think I'd accept his dare. "I dare you." He gave me a devilish smile. I whipped around, staring over at Royce. Surely he'd misspoken. He wouldn't have said— I looked around and noticed that everyone else was doing the same. An instant later, I heard, "I dare you." Silence. "Anyone else. Please," the man onstage begged, an edge of desperation evident in the tense profile of his body. More giggling. One young man stumbled to his feet. His constant swaying and glassy-eyed expression made it obvious he'd had a little too much to drink. "I'll do it." His words were slurred, almost unrecognizable. The girl at his table giggled hysterically, urging him on. "I want to sing a sappy song." "Who's first?" The crowd cheered. Several people even raised their glasses. Loud, raucous laughter suddenly rang out. A thirty-something man with long, wavy brown hair stood onstage, tapping on a microphone. "It's time for the karaoke entertainment hour," he said, his voice booming throughout the bar. "I know we've got some eager beavers out there, dying to get up on this stage and belt out a few tunes. Well, tonight's your lucky night. We've got a great selection." He had an answer for everything. "We'll cut down the list. Make it a small, private gathering." "You can't fit three hundred people in your death trap of a plane." "They'll love being flown in my jet, I promise you. And my mother will adore the clean mountain air." "It is to me. What about flying the guests here?" "That's not a reason." "Three," I said, acting as if he hadn't spoken, "I don't want the party held here." "So we'll make it Arabian Nights meets Urban Cowgirl." "Two," I said, "this is too rustic for our Arabian Nights theme." His levity should have ruffled me. After all, if he truly wanted the party here, I had no other choice but to comply. Instead, I felt strangely at ease. The wine, perhaps? Or the company? "And two?" He tried to cover his smile with his palm, but I caught the action. "This building isn't large enough, for one, and the cabin, which is smaller, won't be, either." "This, I need to hear." I exhaled a relieved breath. "As a matter of fact," I told him, "I have." "Have you already made a list as to why not?" Amusement glinted in his eyes. He wasn't angry, at least. I didn't want to argue with him, but realized I might have no other choice since the information I was about to give him wasn't what he wanted to hear. "As lovely as this place is," I said, "it simply won't do." I regarded him for a moment. We were in a secluded corner of a smoke-filled bar, drinking wine and listening to the hum of a saxophone in the background. The area was dim, lit only by candles. We had finished our tour of the lodge only a short while ago. "So, what do you think?" Royce asked. Jeez, what a sore loser. "Well, just so you know, this is the last time you're getting your way." "I work with you. There's a difference. And just so you know, you're seriously starting to piss me off." "Damn it," he said again. "We'll stop at the lodge." He massaged his neck and gazed up at the car ceiling. "I don't know why the hell I'm putting up with your bossiness. I'm in charge here. You work for me." I wasn't backing down, wasn't going to rescind my request. Silence. "Damn it, Naomi." "I didn't want to fly here, but I did. The least you can do is stop at the lodge." "I do mind." We were safely on the ground and my thoughts were clear, focused. So I wasn't taking his crap. "Still," I said, "I'd like to view the resort first, if you don't mind." Now he frowned. "I prefer the cabin." "Well, the lodge sounds better suited for a party than the cabin does. Let's go there." His eyes narrowed, blocking out the sudden, suspicious darkening, but he answered me anyway. "Yes." "Forget the cabin for a moment and concentrate on the lodge. Does it have any areas designated for large gatherings?" "Hmm." I pictured his guests squeezed inside that amount of space, one standing on top of the other. "Two thousand." "What's the square footage of the cabin?" "Technically, no. It just seems that way at times. It's about a mile from Mountain Lodge. A resort," he clarified when my expression turned questioning. "Is the cabin isolated?" "Ha, ha." Grinning, he shook his head. "We've got a half hour drive ahead of us. The cabin has already been stocked with everything we'll need. All we have to do now is relax." "If I were a masochist," I added. A smug gleam lit his features. "It was quite enjoyable, actually." "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He settled in beside me. With stiff limbs, I stepped out of the death trap and onto the ground. Thank you, God! Royce grabbed my bag, threw it over his shoulder. He shuffled me inside a waiting limousine. Soon afterward, we arrived at a private airstrip on the outskirts of Eagle Airport. Thankfully, the plane landed with no complications. Had anything gone wrong, I felt certain I would have done serious damage to the inside of my cheek instead of simply biting it raw. I think I'd already lost enough blood to warrant a transfusion. I snorted. "Except for the fact that you've almost squeezed my wrist off every time the plane jostled and left me with a bloody stump, you've done great." He was. He was the only name on that list, but he was on it. Not that I'd admit it out loud. "This is a milestone for me, you know. I don't even like to stay in a hotel room that has a balcony. I've never understood my fear of falling, but I've learned to live with it. I'm proud of myself right now. This is the first time I've ever done anything so…scary." His grin became wicked. "I'd rather be on your Must Seduce list." "That might put you on my Must Kill list." A slow grin lifted the corners of his lips. "I might just decide to hold the party in Florida. Then you'd have to go." "No thanks." I meant it with every fiber of my being. "There's a SJ30-2 I've had my eye on. In fact, you can fly to Florida with me at the end of the month and check it out." "Are you purchasing a plane anytime soon?" I asked. No hardship. Yeah, you can bite me. Buyer:(Chuckles) Well, do you take checks ? Seller: Yeah. I paid four mil, but I just don't like the thing anymore . Buyer: You only want a million for the plane ? Yeah. No hardship. I could hear the buyer/seller interaction now: "I always make back double my initial investment, so it's no hardship." "I can't imagine having enough money to buy an entire airplane. A seat belt, maybe, but not much else." "Mostly I buy and sell airplanes. My company also sells parts, does title searches and generates daily aeronautic reports. That kind of thing." "Besides flying planes and bossing people around, what is it that you actually do?" "After my first time in a cockpit, bossing people around stopped being my first priority." "Somehow I'm not surprised," I said dryly, though a chuckle underlined my tone. He shrugged. "At first, it wasn't the planes. I was eight, maybe nine, when my father first took me with him to Powell Aeronautics. I watched the employees jump to do his bidding and knew I'd found my calling. I wanted everyone to take my orders." "What about you?" I asked. "Why fly instruments of death?" "I'm very glad that they did." "I foolishly thought I needed to be available for my husband twenty-four hours a day. Anyway," I said, not wanting to go down that road, "after my divorce, Kera ad taken over the catering business and things just worked themselves out." "Why did you leave?" myself just before I left the business for a few years."I knew he was only trying to distract me, but I was perfectly willing to go along with his plan. "Nothing glamorous," I said. I wiped my sweaty hands on my slacks. "I was never any good at schoolwork. I hated math, hated writing research papers and studying of any kind, but loved all social events. One day I saw an ad in the paper for an assistant planner, and I knew it was the job for me. And since I'd worked at my aunt and uncle's catering business, it was a good fit." I sighed. "I was developing a good name for He chuckled. "While we've got this time to ourselves, why don't you tell me what made you decide to open a party-planning business." "Okay, that's enough," I said, easing back. "I'm cured." I wondered where we were so I could chart a rescue mission in my mind. I didn't ask, too afraid I'd jinx myself. A gasp escaped me and I squeezed my eyes shut. Opened them. Cars lolled along city roads, reminding me of ants meandering atop a hill. Buildings appeared like little more than specks on the horizon. I'd had all the therapy I could take, thank you, but knew he was right. It took five long, agonizing minutes to work up the courage to look down—with my heart pounding sporadically in my chest all the while—but I finally managed to do it. I looked. Royce must have sensed my new state of serenity because he motioned with a tilt of his chin to the window. "Go on," he said. "Take a peek. This will be like therapy for you." After a while, I began to calm down again. Tranquil waters, a happy meadow. I was a strong woman and the plane was gliding smoothly through the air. He did. Probably because I wore an I'll-eat-you-alive-expression. Happy meadow, happy meadow. Where was my freaking happy meadow? I'm not going to die , I chanted. I'm not going to die . I had to kill Jonathan first. Surely God would let me live long enough for that. "Then shut the hell up." "No!" "How can you promise something like that? Are you psychic?" "There's no reason to worry," he said against my ear. "Nothing bad will happen. I promise." "Well, it isn't working now." "This worked before," he said. He nuzzled my neck. I didn't relax this time. I couldn't. Everywhere I looked, I saw my own death. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God." I couldn't breathe. Wait. Did I smell smoke?Ohmygod, Ohmygod ,Ohmygod . The plane was plummeting and was about to become a fiery ball. I gasped. He zipped his lips, but it was too late. The damage was done. "Safety harness, hmm?" He chuckled. "Naomi, if the plane were to plummet—" I slapped at his wrist. "That will never happen if you don't get your hand off my safety harness." "Getting you comfortable." Panicked, I glued my hand over his. "What are you doing?" "Everything's fine," he said. "We hit an air pocket, that's all." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, but ruined the "calming" action by trying to unbuckle my seat belt. I immediately lost that peaceful center. My eyelids flew open; I gripped Royce's forearm, afraid if I didn't, I would fall out the window and spin out of control as I slid down, down, down to the hard surface of the earth. I forced myself to calm down before I had a major panic attack. I tried to meditate, to imagine a tranquil meadow with lush green foliage, just like Jonathan had taught me. It had never worked before, but this time I actually felt a summer breeze caressing my skin like the brush of a feather. A small measure of peace settled over me—until the aircraft careened and rattled. A loud popping sounded. We were going to die! I just knew it. Big breath in. Big breath out. Big breath in. Big breath out. Dizziness assaulted me. Fear slowly began to take root in my mind again. I couldn't fight it. I was soon squeezing my eyes shut, refusing to look out the windows behind or in front of me. Images of blood and death poured through my mind. I jerked completely upright. We were on a path to certain death. Royce remained stiff at my side. He knew the plane was about to crash, the sick bastard, but didn't know how to tell me. That was why he was still so tense. Unfortunately, we were still on the plane half an hour later. Silence stretched between us. It had been like that since our kiss had ended, and I didn't know why. I didn't know why he had pulled away, why he was now ignoring me. Had I done something wrong? Did he know something about the plane that I didn't? Be aware. Always aware. A Tiger will create a distraction on one side of the jungle to better attack you on the other.Chapter ElevenBe aware. Always aware. A Tiger will create a distraction on one side of the jungle to better attack you on the other. Unfortunately, we were still on the plane half an hour later. Silence stretched between us. It had been like that since our kiss had ended, and I didn't know why. I didn't know why he had pulled away, why he was now ignoring me. Had I done something wrong? Did he know something about the plane that I didn't? Fear slowly began to take root in my mind again. I couldn't fight it. I was soon squeezing my eyes shut, refusing to look out the windows behind or in front of me. Images of blood and death poured through my mind. I jerked completely upright. We were on a path to certain death. Royce remained stiff at my side. He knew the plane was about to crash, the sick bastard, but didn't know how to tell me. That was why he was still so tense. We were going to die! I just knew it. Big breath in. Big breath out. Big breath in. Big breath out. Dizziness assaulted me. I forced myself to calm down before I had a major panic attack. I tried to meditate, to imagine a tranquil meadow with lush green foliage, just like Jonathan had taught me. It had never worked before, but this time I actually felt a summer breeze caressing my skin like the brush of a feather. A small measure of peace settled over me—until the aircraft careened and rattled. A loud popping sounded. I immediately lost that peaceful center. My eyelids flew open; I gripped Royce's forearm, afraid if I didn't, I would fall out the window and spin out of control as I slid down, down, down to the hard surface of the earth. "Everything's fine," he said. "We hit an air pocket, that's all." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, but ruined the "calming" action by trying to unbuckle my seat belt. Panicked, I glued my hand over his. "What are you doing?" "Getting you comfortable." I slapped at his wrist. "That will never happen if you don't get your hand off my safety harness." "Safety harness, hmm?" He chuckled. "Naomi, if the plane were to plummet—" I gasped. He zipped his lips, but it was too late. The damage was done. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God." I couldn't breathe. Wait. Did I smell smoke?Ohmygod, Ohmygod ,Ohmygod . The plane was plummeting and was about to become a fiery ball. He nuzzled my neck. I didn't relax this time. I couldn't. Everywhere I looked, I saw my own death. "This worked before," he said. "Well, it isn't working now." "There's no reason to worry," he said against my ear. "Nothing bad will happen. I promise." "How can you promise something like that? Are you psychic?" "No!" "Then shut the hell up." He did. Probably because I wore an I'll-eat-you-alive-expression. Happy meadow, happy meadow. Where was my freaking happy meadow? I'm not going to die , I chanted. I'm not going to die . I had to kill Jonathan first. Surely God would let me live long enough for that. After a while, I began to calm down again. Tranquil waters, a happy meadow. I was a strong woman and the plane was gliding smoothly through the air. Royce must have sensed my new state of serenity because he motioned with a tilt of his chin to the window. "Go on," he said. "Take a peek. This will be like therapy for you." I'd had all the therapy I could take, thank you, but knew he was right. It took five long, agonizing minutes to work up the courage to look down—with my heart pounding sporadically in my chest all the while—but I finally managed to do it. I looked.