Animal Instincts (15 page)

My stomach dropped at the word
fiancée
—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, the aromatherapist. 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.

“Snoogie bear,” 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 stepdad 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 BlueJay 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.

Once in the kitchen, I stuffed the BlueJay under a stack of magazines (never to look at it again!) and arranged the orchids in my favorite crystal vase. A fresh, dewy scent washed over me. I closed my eyes and savored it, holding my breath for as long as I could, then releasing it.

I liked that Royce had gone to so much trouble for me. But I hated it, too. I was beginning to feel all mushy inside.

Frowning, I practically shoved the arrangement onto the table as a centerpiece, then moved the pink carnations my stepdad had sent me this morning to the counter. I don’t know why I’d kept them. To remind me he was really a turkey-on-rye sandwich hidden in a Krispy Kreme coating, perhaps. The note attached had congratulated me on landing such a lucrative job and hinted that I needed to fill out an ap
plication for the position of Mrs. Royce Powell. He also apologized for pushing me to get back together with Richard. How could he be so sweet, yet treat my mom so badly?

“Who sent you those?” Royce asked from behind me. He was suddenly so close I could feel the heat of him. His arms reached out and anchored on the counter in front of me, trapping me with his body. Surrounding me.

I swallowed. I shivered.

I licked my lips and perhaps—and this is not a confession—arched my back slightly and allowed the best part of him to rub against the crease of my bottom. Tendrils of desire unfurled, wrapping and winding around me. My defenses were down, and I didn’t know whether it was because I’d been through an emotional wringer the last few days or because I was destined to respond to Royce no matter what. Either way, I wanted him.

Maybe I needed to rethink my sexual time line. Maybe being with him
before
his mom’s party wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Who, uh, sent me what?”

He leaned forward, his sandalwood fragrance wafting around me as surely as his heat. He pointed and said, “Those,” in a tone that reeked of anger and attitude.

What was this? Another bout of jealousy? “None of your business,” I said, turning my head to see how my words affected him. Right before my eyes, Royce’s seemingly casual facade mutated into black fury he couldn’t hide.

“Who’s sending you flowers, Naomi? Are you seeing someone else?”

I studied the hard line of his jaw. He’d been jealous at the thought of me flirting with Colin, but this was different. This was more potent. Raw. Like before, a part of me reveled in the thought that this man, this wonderfully sexy man, felt strongly enough about me to harbor feelings of possessiveness.

Maybe I was playing with fire by goading him, but I kind of liked the thought of being burned. “Like I told you, Royce, it’s none of your business.”

“Who is he? I have a right to know. Are you seeing someone else?”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer. A pulse ticked in Royce’s temple. If his teeth clenched any tighter, I feared his jaw would break. Was it cruel of me to enjoy this so much? My ex—may he become stranded on a deserted island, his only companion a legion of man-hungry bees—had been a jealous man, but it had been an accusing, projecting I-know-you’re-cheating-on-me jealousy, not a possessive one.

Feeling bold and dangerous, I plucked a petal from one of the carnations and breathed in its scent, pretending fascination with the flower. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Royce clasped my arm and spun me all the way around, effectively gaining my undivided attention. The petal floated unheeded to the floor. Heat fairly sparkled in his eyes.

“Are you seeing someone else?” he asked again, each word bit out.

“And if I am? You’ve been seen with Miss Summers.”

“That’s not an answer, and I explained about Gwen. I’ve already called her and told her I won’t be escorting her again. Now, are
you
seeing someone else?”

“No,” I sighed, inexplicably relieved he’d done as promised and told Gwennie goodbye. “Are you happy now?”

He released me, suddenly relaxed and completely at ease. “Who are they from?” he asked curiously, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of eruption.

“My stepdad.”

“Good.” He tucked a stray tendril of dark hair gently behind my ear; his fingers lingered at the rise of my cheek, caressing the skin there. “I refuse to share.” Then, “Get your stuff and we’ll head out.” He didn’t give me time to disagree, he simply exited the kitchen.

He refused to share me.

I gripped the counter behind me and frowned. That was just the kind of thing a domineering Triple C would say. How macho. How revolting.

How sweet.

I heaved a deep exhalation.
You don’t like to share, either, Naomi. Remember? And there will always be other women vying for Royce’s attention. How long do you think he’ll retain this attraction to you and you alone?

My frown deepened into a scowl and I stomped to my room. I shouldn’t want to be with him, not this much, and his legendary conquests shouldn’t matter to me. Again, not this much.

As I gathered my bag and briefcase, a sense of unease stretched and awoke inside me, obliterating all other thoughts. I was about to board a plane, aka a flying instrument of death. My stomach bottomed out, leaving a hollow ache in my side.

A bit shaky, I trudged through the apartment in search of Royce.

He was lounging across the bright red cushions on my couch, looking at home as he waited for me. His expression warmed when he spotted me. “All set?”

I managed a convincing nod. I’d rather face the burning pits of hell than step one foot inside an airplane. Maybe I should have had Jonathan hypnotize me for this. Not that it had ever worked before, but I was desperate.

“You’re going to have fun, I promise,” he said.

With the erratic pounding of my heart, the ride to the airport proved maddening. Royce talked the entire time, asking me about my fears, trying to comfort me with statistics and a list of requirements for all his mechanics and planes. He’d even brought charts for me to view. I didn’t say a word. I was simply too nervous to make conversation.

When we reached our destination, a quiet ring sounded in my ears. I shook my head to clear the noise, but it persistently remained. I hadn’t brought that stupid BlueJay, had I? “What’s that ringing?” I asked raggedly. “Do you hear ringing?”

“No. Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay,” Royce said. “I promise. I hate that you’re so afraid.”

As we walked down a winding corridor hand in
hand—I didn’t even try to pull away—I cast a sidelong glance at his profile. He seemed in perfect control. Our steps echoed throughout the empty hangar. The closer we came to the plane, the stiffer I became. I squeezed his hand, hoping to make him stop, or at the very least, slow him down. I thought I could do this.

I couldn’t.

The ringing in my ears increased in volume, a frantically rising crescendo of string instruments. “Please, Royce. Choose somewhere here in Dallas to host the party.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t pause for that matter, just continued to guide me down the corridor. “We’ve got to conquer this fear of yours. I have to travel, it’s part of my job, and I want you to be able to go with me. Once we’re in the air, you’re going to love it. I know you will.”

“Please,” I repeated, a bit more desperately.

“Sweetheart,” he said, glancing in my direction. “Do you trust me? You have to know I would never let you get hurt.”

“Can’t we drive? I’m sure it won’t take us long.” Sweat beaded on my forehead.

He laughed, a husky laugh he tried to squelch. “That’s a twelve-hour drive. No,” he said, shaking his head, “we’ll fly.” That said, he tossed me a wink.

As if winking at me solved all my problems!