Animal Instincts (3 page)

“Yes,” he conceded, but didn’t rescind his request.

Make that Triple C slash Single B. Bastard. “I promise you, I’m quite capable of handling several functions at once.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“Never have I allowed one event to overshadow another.” Not that I’d ever had enough events at one time to worry about it.

“I don’t doubt your ability.”

I nearly stomped my foot in vexation as he waited patiently for my agreement. “If you’re going to insist on this—”

“I am.”

“—then I suppose I’m forced to accept.” I truly hoped one day soon someone would put Royce Powell in his place. Under a woman’s three-inch spiked heel!

As if he read my thoughts, he flashed me a not-in-this-lifetime grin.

My blood instinct must have finally kicked in because my palm itched to slap it right off him. Jonathan, my stepdad, would have told me this rare bout of violence was because my teenage need to rebel was resurfacing, or something equally stupid.

“So we have a deal?” Royce asked.

“First, I have a stipulation of my own,” I said. “I expect dou—triple my normal fee because I’ll be turning clients away. It’s only fair.”

“Of course.”

He wasn’t balking? Why wasn’t he balking? His easy acquiescence shocked me and nearly toppled me out of my chair. Maybe I should have asked for more. “So I’m officially hired, without having faxed an estimate and at triple my normal fee?”

“Yes. Don’t forget, I have your first invoice.” He waved the paper I’d given him. “Shall we triple it now or later?”

“Later is fine.” I almost hugged him. Almost. “Whenever you’re free, give me a call. There are certain details we’ll need to go over before I can begin preparations.” With nothing left to say, I stood.

He ran a finger over the calendar on his desk and frowned. “Well, damn. For the next two weeks, I’m booked. I’ll be in Arizona acquiring a Piper Dakota—
an airplane,” he explained, “and I can’t reschedule. How about Tuesday, the sixteenth? Twelve o’clock?”

When I nodded, he added, “We’ll have lunch at Mykal’s.”

“That’s fine,” I said, not the least surprised he could get a reservation at the famous Italian restaurant on such short notice. It usually took two months for the little people, if they got in at all. I should know.

He rose and stepped around the desk, holding out his hand, intending to shake.

Forgetting I now wore flats, I attempted to take the steps that brought us together. Only, the heel of one shoe knocked the toe of the other. Without warning, I stumbled straight into him.

Not again!
My momentum pushed him back against his desk. I landed with both hands clutching the hard muscles of his thighs, my head perilously close to his crotch.

His arms wrapped around my waist to steady me. I should have jumped away, but I didn’t. I lingered…and lingered. My gaze remained glued on the center of his pants, widening as he—no, surely not. He was
not
getting an erection. His slacks were
not
inching toward my face.

With a gentle tug, he forced me to stand, though he didn’t completely release me. His hands tarried on my arms, warm and callused and oh, so delicious. The scent of unadulterated sin enveloped me. His eyebrows furrowed together and I could tell he didn’t know quite what to do with me.

As reality settled in, I jolted away from him. Holy Mother of God, what was wrong with me? I’d come so close to making this man—this ultra-rich, ultra-sexy man with lots of influential friends—a eunuch. And I’d enjoyed it. I needed to be committed.

“I’m so sorry.” When I noticed the papers that had been neatly stacked upon his desk were now scattered across the floor, my mortification increased. Only me. This would only happen to me.

I placed my briefcase aside and crouched down, gathering the papers and photos. All of the pictures were of women, and strangely, every woman wore green—or nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry,” I told him again, chin canting to the side. Was that woman slathered in green pudding? And was she actually licking her own arm? What kind of kinky shit was this man into? “I didn’t—”

“It’s all right,” he said, his tone pleasant, not the least put out.

I relaxed the tense grip I had on the stack of papers/porn. “Did I damage anything important?” My god, that woman was bending over and eating from a box of Lucky Charms.

“No.” He chuckled. “The most important item is still intact.”

I felt a blush creep from my forehead to collarbone. I forgot Royce’s implication, though, when I spotted the photo of the woman naked and spread-eagle on a lush pile of leaves.

“Here. No reason for you to do that,” he said. He
bent and gently swiped the items from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. “I’ll get those later.”

His touch startled me. Electrified me. I jolted away from him for the second time as if he were some type of radioactive waste.
Turkey on rye. Turkey on rye.
My hands shook as I picked up one of the photos still lying on the floor. In it, a female crouched on all fours, a pair of green cat ears peeking from her blond hair.

“It’s my fault,” I said, staring at the photo, “so I’ll help pick up.” What would I find next? Naked green mud wrestling?

“No. I mean it. That’s not necessary.” This time his answer was curt, almost angry sounding, and he ripped the picture away from my grip.

What had I done now?

It was then I realized exactly what I’d held. Applications from all of the women who wanted to be Mrs. Powell. No wonder he was trying to get rid of me. He didn’t want me to see the naked candidates.

I uttered a raspy, embarrassed cough. “I guess this is goodbye, then.” Straightening, I spun around and raced for the exit.

“Naomi?”

“Yes?” I stopped, but didn’t turn back. Had he felt the same flare of awareness that had nearly incinerated me? Would he ask me out? I’d have to turn him down, of course. He was a client. Only once before had I dated a client. Richard. The effects of that relationship had taught me three valuable lessons I’d never, ever forget.

One: no sleeping with clients.

Two: no getting naked with clients.

Three: no doing the nasty tango all night long with clients.

Yet I couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure that hit me at the thought that such a magnificent man might be attracted to me. Tense, I gripped the fabric of my skirt and waited for his next words.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

Unexpectedly, my heart sank. I admit it. I’d wanted him to ask me out. Just because I planned to say no didn’t mean an invitation was unwelcome.

“Naomi?” he said again.

I realized I hadn’t answered him. “My favorite color is blue. Why?”

“No reason.” There was an edge of satisfaction in his voice.

I started for the door again.

“Naomi?”

I paused. Anticipation rushed through me. This was it. The next words out of his mouth would be an invitation to dinner. I knew it. I
felt
it. “Yes?” The word emerged as a breathless whisper.

“Don’t forget your briefcase.”

“S
O, WHEN ARE YOU GOING
to make a move on your new boss?”

“Ha, ha,” I said, giving my cousin Kera my best don’t-go-there frown.

My other cousin opened her mouth to say something flippant. I knew Melody’s comment would be flippant because everything out of her mouth was something only a smart-ass would say. I shot her a death-ray glare.

It worked. Actually worked. Tell-it-like-it-is Mel remained silent. Perhaps I really was getting good at that I’ll-eat-you-alive expression.

I eased back in my seat. Sunlight streamed through the pink kitchen curtains, surrounding the table in a haze of warmth. The scent of coffee filled the air. As we did every Monday morning before rushing off to work, or school in Mel’s case, we sat at Kera’s kitchen table, feasting (or gagging) on whatever food she had prepared.

Kera owned a catering business and was trying to put together a cookbook of fresh, exotic recipes. Normally she was an amazing cook, but those “exotic” recipes of hers were pure crap and killed all hint of her talent.

On the Kera Diet, I’d lost eight pounds. And I needed all the pounds I could get. Don’t hate me, but I’m one of those women who really doesn’t have to watch what she eats. I’m thin, too thin if you ask me, and I always have been. There’s a downside, just so you know. Being called Bones. Having small breasts. Looking malnourished. My stepdad actually counseled me on eating disorders once.

This morning we were safe with bagels and blueberry muffins. Store-bought. Kera hadn’t had time to prepare anything exotic, thank God. I don’t think I could have handled another breakfast like last week’s. A strawberry-barbecue-and-blue-cheese ostrich egg omelet. Just the memory upset my stomach.

“Well?” Kera said. “Are you making a move on him or not?”

“I’m not attracted to Royce,” I told her, hoping I sounded convincing. (I didn’t.) “Therefore, I’m not making a move on him. And what’s up with him and his wife applications?”

“He’s eccentric and looking for love,” Kera said, as if that explained everything.

Mel took a sizable bite of her bagel, chewed, swal lowed. “He’s a man. Men like naked photos and will do anything to get them. End of story.”

Now that made sense.

Mel and Kera were identical twins, but they were different in so many ways. Kera had been born with an angel on her shoulder. Mel had been born with the devil on hers.

Mel had thick streaks of bottle-red running throughout her blond hair. She also sported several tattoos and piercings. In contrast, Kera appeared delicate, practically angelic. Both women were five-four with petite bodies and bright blue eyes.

“Did you drool over him during your meeting?” Mel asked.

“No. Of course not.” Did liars go straight to hell or were they granted some sort of immunity? It wasn’t like liars were murderers or anything. “Why would you ask me something so ridiculous?”

Eyes twinkling, Mel slathered cream cheese over her bagel. “You’ve been drooling over his picture all morning.”

I gasped. “That is
sooo
not true.”

“Oh please. I could bathe in the puddle you’ve created. A long, leisurely bath, at that.” She raised our copy of the
Tattler.
“But, if you insist you’re not attracted to him, I’ll just get rid of this.” She cast a meaningful glance at the trash can and eased to her feet.

Quick as a snap, I grabbed her arm and snatched the tabloid. “Give me that.” As if I hadn’t stared at it for the last hour, I studied the large black-and-white photo gracing the front page.

Royce had his arm around a leggy brunette, a slight smile curling his lips. The caption underneath read, “Son of multimillionaire Elliot Powell caught with Gwendolyn Summers. Has Royce found his bride already?”

The article vaguely mentioned the two were at some sort of charity gala for kids with cancer, and I had to wonder which was the real Royce. The womanizer I suspected him to be—wife applications, for God’s sake—or the Good Samaritan who donated money and time to charity?

I sighed. To my consternation, the last two weeks had passed with amazing speed, and most of my nights had been filled with images of Royce and me cavorting like sex-starved nymphs who had only a few days to live.

I couldn’t banish the man from my mind.

After getting a new driver’s license and finding a new tube of Chocolate Mystique lipstick—which had taken four hours and six different stops—I should have been happy. Instead, I thought of nothing but Royce. And that made me…unhappy.

He’d sent me a check, as promised, with a note attached that said if I had any trouble finding the right lipstick to let him know and he’d have one made. How sweet was that? I wouldn’t have taken him up on it, but still. I was on the road to obsession,
almost to the point where Royce would need a restraining order against me.

I knew better than to let myself desire the man. Yes, Royce was handsome (okay, deliciously gorgeous), but he was a Triple C, just like Richard. Plus, he apparently wanted a wife. I never wanted to get married again.

Did my body care about that? Noooo.

Each evening before I went to bed, I made a list of the reasons why I shouldn’t be attracted to Royce, why I shouldn’t want to rip the clothes from his body and have my wicked way with him. In fact, I’d made several lists.

None of them helped.

“Look, even if I did drool over him,” I told my cousins, “Royce is a man. That means he’s only interested in women who are not boobularly challenged.”

Frowning, Mel brandished the butter knife she held through the air. “Boobs so don’t matter anymore. Flat is in. Flat is the new black.”

My brows arched. “Then why is the implant business booming? Why are push-up bras in such demand?”

She obviously didn’t have an answer, so she shook her head and said, “Forget boobs. You said he kept staring at your lips.”

“I had dirt on them.” I’d noticed the moment I returned home and had almost died of embarrassment. I’d also wished Royce to everlasting hell for not telling me.

“He probably wanted to lick the dirt away. The
fact is, you’ve got yourself a pair of hooker lips. The man wanted them all over his body, is my guess.”

“I’ll concede that he might,
might
have liked my lips, but he couldn’t care less about the rest of me.” He hadn’t even asked me out after I’d fallen into his crotch. Not that I would have said yes, I quickly reminded myself.

“Sure, you’re not pretty in the classic sense, but that doesn’t mean you’re dog food.”

I almost choked on my muffin. When I regained my voice, I said, “Gee, thanks Mel. I feel so much better about myself now. In fact, my self-esteem has suddenly skyrocketed.”

“You’re misunderstanding.” Mel sighed, the breathy sound layered with exasperation. “Your look is fragile, like a cameo. Something most women can never achieve. You’ve got the kind of appeal that forces a man’s protective instincts to surface.”

Kera grinned slowly. “She’s right. And I think you’re a closet sex kitten, Naomi.”

Closet sex kitten. Meeeeoooow. No one had ever accused me of that before. In fact, Richard had accused me of being sexually repressed. This inner Tigress thing must be paying off. “Okay, say a miracle happens and Royce wants me like a sailor on leave. What should I do?”

“Marry him,” Kera said.

“Rock his world,” Mel said, “then toss him out like a piece of rotting, stinking garbage.”

Kera gasped and lost her smile. “One-night stands are stupid, not to mention potentially damaging both physically and emotionally.”

“She’s been free from Richard the Bastard’s clutches for six months now and she hasn’t gone on a single date. We might as well take her to the local shelter and buy her a few cats. She needs to get laid, not wallow in another bad relationship.”

“Hello.” I waved my index finger at them. “Hi. I’m right here. In the room with you.”

They shrugged simultaneously.

“I swear,” I grumbled, “Royce had to be a hemorrhoid in another life because he’s already a pain in my ass. I can answer my question myself, thank you. Royce is a client, and I do not get involved with clients. It’s bad for business.”

Kera, ever the romantic, piped in. “Who cares about business when love is at stake?”

“Who the hell mentioned love?”

She ignored me. “That kind of thought process might just keep you from experiencing something completely wonderful.”

I gagged.

“Love is amazing,” she said defensively. “A gift. I know you think marriage is an institution for the insane, but one day I’m going to willingly commit myself. I’m going to walk down the aisle with a radiant smile. And I’ll be holding flowers, lots and lots of flowers. Silver-tipped roses with pink baby’s breath.”

I watched in horror, unable to administer a verbal vaccine as the wedding bug sunk its claws into Kera. Her eyes glazed with dreamy expectation; her lips lifted with longing. I could almost see and hear her thoughts.

Was that a baby crying?

“I wish I were in love right now,” she said, confirming my suspicions.

Mel rolled her eyes. “How are we related?”

Still smiling that dreamy smile, Kera propped her elbow on the table and flicked me a glance. “Since Naomi doesn’t want to marry Royce, I’m sure she won’t mind hearing that I filled out one of his applications.”

“What?” I shouted. “When?”

“A few days ago.”

“No you did not.” Mel leaned back in her chair, her expression one of complete shock. “You did, didn’t you? You’re not lying. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I knew you’d make fun of me.” Kera’s grin turned to pure wickedness. “But I couldn’t help myself. That man is male perfection, and I know I could fall in love with him.”

“Love,” I scoffed, but my disdain was more from the image of Royce and Kera living happily ever after than from my hatred of the emotion. I was beginning to believe love had been created by the devil himself. What better way to get people to make fools of themselves?

Kera pushed a honey-colored tendril of hair from her forehead. “One day we’ll all find men who love us, who we can trust with our hopes and dreams. Men who—”

My laugh cut her off. “The idea of a loving, caring,
trustworthy
male is too ludicrous to contemplate even for a second.”

“Hear, hear,” Mel seconded. She’d experienced her fair share of broken hearts. In fact, she’d
inflicted
her fair share of broken hearts, but that was beside the point. We were man bashing, not airing our own dirty secrets.

“There’s nothing special about love. It sucks and it’s messy.” I hated to disillusion Kera, but she needed to know the truth. The longer she drifted through life thinking her true love waited just beyond the corner, the more she risked getting hurt.

And, to be honest, I hated the thought of Kera’s sweet-heartedness being obliterated by a walking penis.

“I refuse to believe love means nothing,” she said. “Just because you
thought
you were in love with Richard the Bastard doesn’t mean you had actually found your true love. Your soul mate is out there, Naomi, just waiting for you to find him.”

Lord, I hoped not.

However, a wave of trepidation washed over me as Royce’s perfectly chiseled face filled my mind. I quickly brushed the sensation—and the image—aside. I didn’t believe in soul mates. Not anymore. My mom had thought my real dad was her soul mate the entire ten years they’d been married. That’s why she took him back every time he hit her. Every time he cheated on her. Still, I couldn’t deny that when I’d fallen into Royce’s arms, the contact had been electric; something I’d never experienced before. Not even with my ex.

But that didn’t mean Royce was my soul mate.

“So, when do you see the delectable Mr. Powell again?” Kera asked.

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug, trying to act casual. “Tomorrow.” Oh, God. Tomorrow. I gulped. I wasn’t sure I would survive our next meeting.

Mel nibbled on the edge of her bagel. “Mmm, I’ll want all the delectable details, of course.”

With the word
delectable
ringing in my mind, my gaze strayed once more to the newspaper photo. I just couldn’t help myself. The camera had managed to capture Royce’s raw masculinity, but the film failed to reveal the blatant sexuality that oozed from his every pore.

“I can give you all the details right now,” I told them, using my next words as a vow to myself. “Nothing’s going to happen between Royce and me because I won’t let it.”

Circling a fingertip over the rim of her glass, Mel said, “Whatever you say, you dirty sex kitten.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I wished to God I could add Royce’s name to my To Be Avoided list. He was causing trouble already. Truly, a smart woman would have called him and ended all association. But with my new motto—I’ll Plan a Party in Your Ass if the Price Is Right—I had to stick it out.

“I, for one, am grateful Royce entered your life. He’s causing your sex drive to finally kick into gear.” Mel drained the last of her juice. “About time, too.”

“Hey, did you read this part? I missed it earlier.” Kera suddenly grabbed the paper. She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Royce actually lists the qualities he wants in his wife.”

“I’ve read it.” I grabbed another muffin, mimicking:
“She must share my interest in backgammon. She cannot complain too much. If she doesn’t speak at all, even better. And she absolutely must love the color green.” Disgusted, I shook my head. “That’s either meant to be a joke or the man needs intense psychotherapy.”

“You know,” Kera said, brightening, “we need a list like this.”

“A stupid one?” I asked.

Kera pursed her lips. “No, a list of requirements.”

“What for? Mel’s taken. I’m not looking. And you, well, all you have to do is breathe to gain a man’s attention.” Which was true. She and Mel might be identical, but there was an innocent sensuality to Kera that somehow personified the term
wet dream.
Men went crazy for her.

“Actually, I’m a free woman now,” Mel said, not an ounce of remorse in her tone. “So I’m on the prowl.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “What happened to Harry? Last I heard, you two were hot and heavy.”