Animal Instincts (4 page)

“I dumped him. He kept asking to borrow my panties.” She shook her head, blond hair dancing with the movement. “It wouldn’t have been so bad, except he wanted them so
he
could wear them.”

Nose crinkled, Kera wiggled until her legs were folded under her. “I never liked him. He was too…funky.”

“What kind of name is Harry Johnson, anyway?” Mel said. “What could I use as an endearment? Woody?”

“I think Harry Johnson is a great name,” I said,
deadpan. “As long as he’s got a father named Peter and a brother named Dick.”

Mel chuckled. “Let’s not talk about Harry, Harry, the Panty Wearer, okay?”

“I’d rather talk about our list.” Propping her elbows on the tabletop, Kera regarded us with expectation. “I want to make one with our top ten requirements for Mr. Right.”

“That sounds fun,” Mel replied dryly. She clapped her hands with mock excitement.

“A Mr. Right list has been done by every woman in America and they all say the same thing,” I said, then rattled off the usual handsome, charming, blah, blah, blah. “What we need is a list for Mr. Wrong.”

Silence.

“Like how to spot a loser….” Mel nodded, getting into the game. “I love it. Let’s do it!”

Kera said, “We all know how much you like to make lists, Naomi, so you’re in charge of writing everything down.”

Getting into the spirit of things myself, I stood, gathered a sheet of paper and a pencil and plopped back down at the table. “Ready.”

“I know what number one should be,” Kera said. “Unemployed.”

“That’s so cliché.” Pensive, Mel tapped a finger on her chin. “We have to think creatively.” Pause. Gasp. “Number one should be a man who says we’d look great in our clothes if we’d just lose ten pounds.”

“Bastard,” I growled. I’d heard the opposite from Richard, but I completely understood the sentiment.
You’d look great if you’d just put on some weight, Naomi. Have you ever considered a boob job, Naomi? Your ass bone is killing me, Naomi, maybe you should get off my lap and sit over there.
“That’s perfect.”

“The man I dated before Harry had a lazy eye,” Mel said. She licked her lips, snagging a bagel crumb. “Make that number two. A man with a lazy eye.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a lazy eye,” I said, meeting her gaze.

“There is when one eye stares at your boobs and the other at your crotch.”

“Okay, okay.” Kera uttered a chuckle. “Number three. A man who thinks quality time is a quickie during commercials.”

I lifted my orange juice in salute. “Hear, hear.”

“Number four.” Mel folded her arms over her stomach. “A man who tells you he can’t go out in daylight with you because he’s too sensitive to the sunlight, but later you find out he only said that because he’s married with four children and—”

“Whoa, there. Rein it in,” I said on a laugh. She was growling with the force of her increasing fury. I eased back in my seat and propped the notepad in my lap. “I think
lying bastard
will cover number four.”

She drew in a deep breath, then another. More calmly, she said, “With this year’s crop, I think we need to add men who belch and scratch in public. And never shave! I hate the way beard stubble burns my cheeks.”

“Excellent,” I said, writing in her requirements. But I have to admit, I kind of like the feel of beard
stubble. Okay, I
really
like to feel a man’s stubble. It makes for some delicious friction. Maybe I’d cross that one out when I was alone.

“What about a man who can’t listen?” Kera glanced around the table, waiting for nods of approval.

“That works for me,” Mel said. “I once dated a man who fell asleep every time I opened my mouth. Well, unless I was using my mouth to—”

“We get the picture, and it’s a bit too vivid.” Kera shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Mel shrugged. “Your loss. What number are we on?”

My gaze scrolled down the list. “Seven. I’ve got it covered, though. A man who thinks the perfect birthday present is allowing you to put the dishes off for a day.”

Both women stared over at me with wide eyes. A tinkling laugh escaped from Mel’s lips. How could such an angelic sound come from such a devilish woman? “You’re kidding, right?” she demanded.

“I wish.”

“Did Richard the Bastard give you that extra special gem of a gift?”

“On more than one birthday.”

“How has that man’s karma not killed him?” Scowling, she pounded her fist on the tabletop, causing glasses to shake and juice to splatter. “In Naomi’s honor, I say we add any man whose name begins with
R.
”

That eliminated Royce, I thought happily. I was
not
upset. Really. “I second that,” I said, adding it to the list, circling it and putting three stars beside it.

“I third.” Kera tapped her chin with a manicured finger. “I also say we add a man who refuses to wear a condom because it inhibits his pleasure.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.” I gave the list another glance. “Okay,” I said, “we need one more requirement, then we’ll have ten.” When no one answered, I said, “What’s it gonna be, girls?”

Mel jumped up. I could practically see the light-bulb shining over her head. “I know! A man who leaves you unsatisfied in bed, concerned only with his own orgasm.”

I smiled. “Well, I do believe we’ve just eliminated every man on the planet earth.”

T
HE RESONANT VIBRATO
of the doorbell sounded, capturing my attention.

Who could that be? Because I’d agreed not to take on any new clients, I had nothing to do for the rest of the day and had decided to work out to my favorite
T-Tapp
DVD (I hoped to build some muscle tone), so was dressed in cutoff shorts and a sports bra.

Frowning, I padded across the shiny wood floor. I didn’t want to deal with guests.

The bell sounded again. And again. And again. My
frown became a scowl. Did people really think ringing the bell over and over like that would make me open the door faster? All it did was irritate the hell out of me.

I glanced through the peephole. When I saw who stood in the hallway, the breath caught in my lungs. I froze. Shit.
Shit!
Royce Powell was here. Visiting me.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped out, hand tightening on the doorknob. What was he doing here? I looked horrible. No makeup. Hair a wreck. “Shit.”

He rang the doorbell again, but I didn’t open the door. I’d let him think I was gone. Yes, I decided, nodding. That was a good plan. He’d go away.

“I know you’re there, Naomi,” he said on a laugh. “Open the door, you little potty mouth.”

I ducked away from the peephole, realized what I’d done and straightened. He could hear me, but he couldn’t see me. I gazed through the hole again and gulped. Had he appeared so rugged and sexy the last time I’d seen him?

A shiver stole over me, and I forced myself to think of a turkey-and-cheese on rye. My diversion tactic didn’t work. A hard knot formed in my throat, even as a delicious warmth spread through my stomach.

How pathetic was I? Acting like a sex-starved…Hey! I
was
a sex-starved woman and he was total eye candy, so I had every right to lust after him. All it meant was that I was a normal, healthy woman. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to get in a panic over. I straightened my shoulders. What did it matter if he saw me looking my worst? Seeing disgust in his
eyes as he looked at me might do me some good, help rid me of my growing obsession with him. At least I didn’t have dirt on my face this time.

I pasted on a false smile and opened the door. The scent of man and sandalwood instantly wafted to my nostrils. My eyes gobbled him up. Royce wore a dark blue suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. No predictable tie hung from his neck. Instead, the top two buttons of his shirt were open, revealing a small patch of dark, bronzed skin.

A casual appearance, really, on any man except Royce.

His midnight brows winged in amusement. “Do I pass inspection?”

That hard knot of embarrassment fell from my throat and into my stomach, obliterating all hint of tingling warmth. “I wasn’t staring at you,” I said, scouring my mind for a plausible explanation. “I was lost in thought about something completely unrelated to you.”
Genius, Naomi. You idiot.

His eyes gleamed bright and he coughed. Hoping to cover a laugh? “I see.”

I scowled. “How did you get my address? And what are you doing here? Our meeting isn’t today.”

His gave a casual shrug. “It’s not hard to find someone these days, and my schedule cleared. I’m not due back in the office until tomorrow and thought we could spend the day together, as promised. Talk business.” With a pointed stare, he asked, “Are you going to invite me in?”

Royce. Inside my home. Alone. With me. A re
sounding
No!
almost roared past my lips. I bit it back. There wasn’t a polite way to refuse him.

Damn it.

“Fine. Whatever.” I sighed, letting him know—discreetly, of course—that I wasn’t exactly pleased with the idea.

A wide smile lit his face. “Well, which is it? Your tone says no but your lips say yes.”

It didn’t bode well for either of us that I wanted to strangle him and de-pants him at the same time. In lieu of an answer, I stepped back, allowing him to breeze past me. It was only then, as his body brushed innocently against mine, that I realized my nipples were hard. Really hard. As in, could-poke-his-eyes-out hard. And because of my sports bra, he would have to be blind not to notice.

Royce wasn’t blind.

I barely managed to stop myself from cursing. I slapped my hands over my breasts as if the desperate action could make me magically disappear. “I’m not dressed properly.”

It was such an obvious statement, I expected him to give a flippant “no shit” reply.

Instead, he turned and flashed me another wicked grin. “I noticed. Don’t change on my account.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively in a way that would have made me laugh in a different situation. “I like you this way.”

Then his gaze turned bold and assessing, and my heart hammered in my chest as if a little elf had suddenly decided to use the organ for drum practice. Royce didn’t
look disgusted by my appearance as I’d hoped—and dreaded, I admit. No, he truly did look admiring.

My knees almost collapsed. “I’ll just be a moment,” I muttered, pivoting. I paused. With my back to him—I didn’t have the courage to face him again—I motioned to the left with a wave of my hand. “Have a seat in the living room.”

A light pad of footsteps echoed behind me as I stomped to my room. I peeled off the spandex and shorts, letting the ultra-tight material sink to the floor. As fast as my hands could work, I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a tailored white blouse.

I anchored the long length of my dark hair in a tight, no-nonsense twist. As a lowly party planner/former doormat, I wasn’t generally seen as a serious entrepreneur, so I used every trick I knew to make myself appear stern and unbending.

My gaze scanned my room, searching for my black shoes. I only had one pair, and at the moment, they were nowhere to be seen. I darted about, furthering my search. After a few minutes, I gave up. I didn’t like leaving Royce unsupervised, and I refused to wear brown shoes with black pants. A fashion diva I wasn’t, but even I had standards. I’d go barefoot. At least my toes were painted a pretty metallic blue. Yes, blue. I’m not the pink-polish kind of girl.

I headed back into the living room, not ready to face my nemesis but knowing I had no other choice.

“Royce,” I said, my tone just as no-nonsense as my hair. He was seated on the couch, looking decadent against the red satin pillows. I claimed the chair
across from him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you shouldn’t be here. This is my home, not my place of business. Besides, our appointment is scheduled for tomorrow.”

He leaned back in a carefree pose, watching me, studying. “I decided to change it.”

No, no, no,
I thought,
I won’t have any of that Triple C behavior in my house.
“You can’t just change your mind at whim,” I told him, exasperated. “What if I had other plans today?”

“Do you?”

Not wanting to answer, I glanced away. My eyes focused on the Mr. Wrong list sitting mere inches from Royce’s view. Crap! Had he read it? My cheeks heated at the thought.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what?” What I really wanted to say was “If you read that list I’m going to flay the skin from your bones and feed your organs to my neighbor’s cat.”

“Do you have plans today?” he asked again.

“Yes.”
No.

“Try again, T-Tapp. You planned to stay in, admit it.”

I uttered a soft growl. “It doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t. Our appointment is tomorrow.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” His relaxed stance never wavered. He looked as if he had every right to lounge on my couch like a king expecting his every sensual command to be heeded. “I spent the last two weeks trying to work a deal that never panned out, and I’m on edge. I thought spending the day with you would help wind me down.”

Wind him down? What, was I so boring that being with me acted as a sedative? “You could have called first,” I said sweetly. Okay, I had grumbled, and I wasn’t sweet about it. “A little warning would have gone a long way.”

He chuckled. “Your enthusiasm is touching. It really is. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so welcome.”

“I’m sorry,” I said on a sigh. I really needed to show this man I possessed
some
professionalism. So far, he’d only seen my worst.

“You were desperate to go over your list of questions last time we were together, so I assumed you’d be happy to see me.” He rose from the couch, closed the distance between us in three quick strides and knelt at my feet. Suddenly we were eye to eye.

I straightened in my seat. Red alert!
Turkey on rye. Turkey on rye.

He clasped my chin in his deliciously calloused hands and tilted my head up. “Your schedule is clear, Naomi, and so is mine. I didn’t think it would be a problem. If you want me to leave, tell me to leave and I’m gone.”

Up close, he was even more handsome. Bright blue eyes that were flecked with ribbons of darker indigo. Lush, soft lips that would look even better attached to my body. Long, spiky lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks, blending with his slight beard stubble. My defenses melted. Client? Who cared. Triple C? Bring ’em on. Royce just, well, he smelled so good. So masculine.

A deep, primal part of me responded to him, wanted
more of him. A part of me
did
miss the touch of a man, the kissing and the tasting. The heat and the passion.

No, I didn’t want him to leave.

I cleared my throat. “You’re the boss, right? If you want to work today, we’ll work today.” Jerking from his touch before I did something stupid like jump into his arms and demand he find my nearest G-spot, I swiftly maneuvered to my feet.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” I said. The dangerously small width of air that separated us wasn’t nearly enough for my peace of mind. “Would you like something to drink?” I didn’t wait for his answer. I just strode away, forcing him to follow or be left alone.

He followed.

Once the kitchen counter stood between us, I felt myself begin to relax, regain control. Even when he sat at the bar stool, watching me, filling me with an achiness I didn’t want to acknowledge, I didn’t lose my calm.

I concentrated on rifling through the drawer stuffed with miscellaneous items. When I found a blank notebook, I set it in front of me, almost as a shield.

“As you mentioned, I do have a list of questions—”

He cut me off. “Why don’t you sit over here?” He gave the stool beside him a pat. When I didn’t move, just blinked over at him, he added, “That way I won’t have to strain to hear you.”

“Your hearing is fine.”

“What was that?” he asked, cupping his hand over his ear.

“I said your hearing is fine.”

“Speak a little louder.” He was clearly struggling not to grin. “I can’t hear you.”

I regarded him for a long, silent moment. “You are such a faker,” I uttered on a sigh, dragging my feet to the chair, making sure our knees didn’t touch. Making sure no part of us touched, for that matter. I scooted back as far as I could go. Why he wanted me to sit by him, I didn’t know. Was he just trying to be friendly? Did he hope to relax me? Was he attracted to me?

I cleared my throat. “Question one…”

He didn’t cut me off this time. Oh no. My words simply tapered off, lingering unfinished in the air as he leaned over, diminishing the distance between us. He sniffed the air at my neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hating the breathless quality that had entered my voice.

Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. “What’s that smell?”

I froze. What? Did I really smell so distasteful he had only to lean in my direction to catch a putrid whiff of me? I stayed the urge to break his freaking nose for pointing out my stinkiness.

He sniffed again. “I can’t place it.”

“How bad is it?” I asked, my cheeks heating.

“It’s good. Some kind of flower.”

My first thought: Hurray! I don’t stink.

My second: Ohmygod!

Was he making a pass at me? Cranky, bitter little me? Yes, had to be. Excitement unfurled through my veins—not that I’d acknowledge it. This was
shocking, really. Maybe my hooker lips truly were irresistible. Maybe—

Wait. Hold everything. I was studying Royce’s features. They were blank, no hint of a leer. No hint of desire. Only curiosity. I must have misread his intentions. My (unacknowledged) excitement died a slow death. According to the
Tattler,
he might have a girlfriend. Gwendolyn Summers, to be exact. Of course he wasn’t hitting on me.

“Does the perfume have a name?” he asked.

“I’m not wearing perfume. You either smell my shampoo or my deodorant.” I bit my lip as soon as the last word left my mouth. Maybe saying he smelled my deodorant was tantamount to telling him he smelled my BO.

The notebook balanced on my knees plopped to the ground, providing a much needed distraction. I bent down and picked it up, never once looking at him as I settled back into place. I clutched the notebook to my chest. “Okay, let’s get to question one.”

“Your eyes are silver,” he said suddenly, as if the color were some kind of surprise. “A liquid silver, really.”

I gulped, hard. Shook my head. Okay, what the hell was going on here? One minute it seemed like he was hitting on me, the next it didn’t and the next it did again. Was he or wasn’t he? “They’re gray,” I finally responded.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, my heart skipping a beat.
Turkey on rye.
“Now, question one. How many guests do you plan to invite to your mother’s party?”

He watched me silently for several seconds and must have decided I’d cut off his most precious appendage if he uttered another compliment, because he shrugged and said, “Fifty. Maybe a hundred or two.”

“Well, that certainly narrows it down, doesn’t it?” I replied dryly, making a notation. “I’ll need a list of each individual name and address.”

“How soon do you need it?”

“Sometime within the next few days would be great. You know,” I said as a thought occurred to me, “once we go over the details, should I call your mom for approval of our choices?”

“Absolutely not.” His tone was firm, unbending. “She’ll second-guess everything.”