Animal Instincts (9 page)

“You’re willing to put my life at risk just so I can look at a stupid cabin?”

“Yes. We leave on Saturday. Six sharp. I expect you to be ready.”

Triple Cs needed to rot in hell for all eternity. “How long will we be gone?” I ground out.

“One night.” He grinned, and that single action was loaded with all kinds of sensual meaning. “Two if you insist.”

One night.

With Royce.

In a cabin.

Alone? Together?

I shivered. If I survived the plane crash I knew was coming, I’d never be able to resist him. He’d try to kiss me, judging by that wicked twinkle, and I’d offer my
lips on a bed of silk, judging by the ache between my legs, and then we’d tear each other’s clothes off and do all kinds of naughty things to each other. I bet he’d even bring a wall harness and try to tie me up like the kinky little sex puppet I suspected he was.

What woman could truly say no to that?

His gaze raked over me. “Why do you still look so pale? Are you going to be sick?”

Deep breath in. Slowly let it out. I needed to find a calm center, my meadow of happiness. No, I needed my inner Tigress. Where the hell was she? This entire situation could be resolved with a little of her clawing, growling and screaming. Was the bitch taking a nap?

“I’ll need my own room in the cabin,” I said.

“Of course.” He worked a hand over his jaw. “But that’s not what has you worried. I’ve never seen you so pale. Besides being afraid of how I make you feel, you wouldn’t happen to be afraid of flying, would you?”

My entire body stiffened. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Okay, so you’re afraid of flying.” He shrugged. “Why?”

“I’m not afraid,” I insisted. “It’s just that flying is for birds, angels and drug users.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you. If I thought for a second that it was dangerous, I wouldn’t let you step foot inside a plane. They’re safer than cars, honey.”

“I’d still prefer to drive.”

“No, I’m going to prove to you just how safe planes really are.”

Asshole.

“Before I forget,” he said, “here are the names and addresses of the party guests, as you requested.” He handed me a stack of papers.

Fifty to two hundred guests turned out to be 375.

“Do you really want to fly this many people to another state?” I held up the list as if it were exhibit A. “You need to rethink this trip.”

“No, I don’t, and yes, I will fly that many people to another state if I want,” he said, silencing my protest. “I don’t want to hear anything else about it. I’ll pick you up at six and you’ll be ready just like a good little girl. I’ve already programmed this into your BlueJay.”

Scowling, I stuffed the stupid list in my briefcase. “My fee increases every time I get on an airplane. Did I forget to mention that fact?”

“Yes, you did.” A lazy, crooked smile slanted his lips. “But it’s not a problem.”

“Do you ever have a problem?” I grumbled.

“Actually, yes. Failure to comply with my orders is a major problem.”

Typical of a Triple C.

I shook my head in exasperation and lifted a large book from my case. I wanted to change the subject before I really did throw up. “I have a book of sample invitations for you to go over.” As I spoke, I flipped through the tract, revealing page after page of invitations. “As you can see, there are many colors and fonts to pick from, as well as designs.”

He groaned. “Can’t
you
pick something? I know nothing about fonts and colors and designs unless they come with propellers or a jet engine.”

I liked, really liked, damn it, that this gorgeous, put-together man so easily admitted he lacked knowledge about something. My ex—may he soon discover tiny worms have invaded his body and are slowly eating him alive—once told me God made men so perfect because He’d wanted to make up for the inadequacies of women.

Richard the Bastard had said this the day after our divorce had been finalized, and I’d fallen on my knees in thanks that I’d gotten out of that living hell when I had. I’m pretty sure my real dad said something similar to my mom. Many times. While cheating on her. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what was worse. Richard’s cheating, or my dad’s. To both men, family had meant nothing.

“What if I make the wrong choices, Royce? Linda is your mother. I don’t know her, therefore I don’t know her tastes.”

“I trust you.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I’ll love your choices, I swear.”

“But will Linda? I mean—”

“Naomi,” he said, beseeching.

I sighed. “All right.”

One of his eyebrows quirked in the middle and his grin returned. “All right what? Let me hear the words.”

“All right. I’ll do it.” I uttered another sigh. Giving in did
not
mean I’d reverted to former doormat behavior. I was simply doing something nice for my (sexy) client. “We need to firm up the theme. Jewelry box is first on the list.”

“What else is on the list?”

“Something elegant. Something nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Like what?”

“What if we recaptured her youth with an 1800s setting?”

“That’d be great, except she grew up a hundred years after that.”

“Whatever. I could do the Care Bear party she never had as a child.” If Mrs. Powell had ever been a child, that is. She might have sprung fully formed from the devil’s thigh. “I could do something romantic like
Arabian Nights,
with veils and magic lamps. I could do a jungle theme, even, with animal prints and drums.”

“I like the
Arabian Nights
thing,” he said. “And yes, I’m man enough to say that.”

He was
all
man. “Will your mother like it, though?”

“She’ll love it. That’s the one. It has my approval.”

My heart gave a strange little leap. Already I pictured the scene in my mind, loving the bold colors, the bed of satin floor pillows—with Royce lounging on them, eating grapes from my hand—and the thought of magic at every corner.

“Will the guests have to dress up?” he asked, a hint of something wicked in his eyes.

“As in, formally?” I stared up at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. “Or in costume?”

“Costume.”

I bit my bottom lip, letting it slid from my teeth. “Do you want them to?”

“That depends. Will you come as a belly dancer?”

“No.” I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. I should have known his thoughts were lascivious.

“Then, no,” he said on a sigh. “No costumes.”

My gaze swept over him. Perhaps I’d spoken too hastily. I could very easily see him in a sheik costume, king of the desert. I’d be his harem girl, of course, and he’d command me—
Whoa, girl. Don’t go there. Not here.
I cleared my throat. “Once you decide on a location, I’ll print a sample invitation for your approval.”

“Sounds good.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, right beside my legs. So close I could feel the heat of them. “Now, tell me about the caterer you’ve chosen.”

“Cinderella Catering.” I smiled slowly as an idea formed. I’d forgotten about the caterer. “You should know they’re located solely in Dallas,” I said. “They have no other affiliations and will be unable to work in another area. Especially out of state.”

He covered his mouth with his hand. Hoping to hide his grin? “You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that. But I refuse to be concerned about losing the caterer until that time comes.”

“There may not be another caterer available by the time you decide, and if that happens, I am
not
throwing a few pizzas in the oven and calling it good.”

“Once again, we’ll be concerned about that when and if the time comes.”

Determined, my life at stake, I persisted. “The
longer you wait to choose the party’s location, the harder it will be to hire a new caterer
and
book the site.”

“That’s why we’re leaving this Saturday.”

Damn him! He had an answer for everything. “For the record, I want it noted that I do not agree with this plan of action.”

“So noted,” he said behind his hand. Yep. He was definitely hiding a grin. “Now, that’s enough talk about the birthday party for today.” He cast a glance to the wall clock. He dropped his hand, revealing his lips and a smile, but the smile quickly vanished. “Unfortunately, it’s too late to go to lunch.”

“So eat in.”

“I don’t have time.” He leveled me with a frown and glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

My back tensed and straightened at his I-blame-you tone. “That’s not my fault.”

“It is,” he grumbled, “but I forgive you.”

I choked out a dry laugh. “Gee, thanks, Royce. I wouldn’t have made it through the rest of my day without knowing you forgave me for something that wasn’t my fault.”

He chuckled, his good humor restored for a reason only he understood. “Ah, I love a woman with spirit. What do you have on under that jacket?”

“Excuse me?” The abrupt switch of topics gave me a momentary pause. My fingers sought the lapels of said jacket and drew them tight.

“What do you have on under that jacket?” he repeated.

I frowned and shifted in my seat. “Nothing.”

“Mmm,” he drawled, a teasing light making his eyes sparkle like sapphires. “Very interesting. And unexpected. But I must admit, I like it. There’s something so sexy about a woman daring enough to go in the buff underneath her clothes.”

I shifted again, becoming more turned on by the second. “I meant I have on nothing that concerns you.”

“Interesting interpretation.”

If I didn’t stop this line of conversation, I’d soon be offering to
show
him what I wore under my jacket. The most daring part of me, a part I hadn’t known existed until he’d entered my life, was responding to his words, making me ache and tingle, begging me to go for it. “We need to keep this meeting strictly professional.”

“Like we can’t be professional naked.”

My lips pursed in pure vexation. He spotted the action, and the teasing light fizzled from his eyes as a hot, blazing fire kindled in their blue depths. “I swear I get hard every time you move your lips.”

I watched, transfixed, mesmerized, as his gaze traveled over my body in a bold assessment, stopping for a long moment at my bare calves. It felt as if his hands rather than his eyes skimmed over me. And I knew what was coming next. Oh, I dreaded, craved and hungered for what was coming next.

“C’mere,” he said, the word a seductive whisper.

Remain strong!
my inner Tigress cried.

Where have you been?
I mentally shouted at her. Everything about Royce, from the look on his face to the way his body leaned forward as if poised to attack, was a guarantee he planned to kiss me senseless. Again.

I might hate myself later, but I couldn’t allow it. Our first (shatteringly exquisite) kiss had been our last. He was too sexy, too potent, and he wanted too much from me. More than that, I wanted him too much.

“I can’t,” I said, trying to impress upon my sex-starved body the importance of those words. “Besides, you don’t have time. Your meeting, remember?”

“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice a throaty, heady murmur that seduced me. Lured me. “And I’ll always make time for this.”

So will I,
I thought, my lids lowering to half-mast.

What are you doing?
my inner Tigress snapped.
Think about the consequences of your actions. Triple Cs are trouble. Pure trouble.

My body said:
I don’t care. Kiss Royce. Pleeeease.

Royce clicked under his tongue. “If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you.” He rose. Before taking the steps that brought us together, however, he strode to the door and clicked the lock in place.

Uh-oh. I gulped.

My mind and body continued their war, and I didn’t know what to do. Well, I knew what I should do. It was just a matter of doing it, of getting my ass out of the office and away from Royce.

“I gave you plenty of time to run,” he said, stalking toward me. “Yet here you remain.”

My eyes followed his every movement with horrified fascination and, seconds later, he was in front of me, reaching down and clasping my hands. In one gentle tug, he pulled me to my feet. Even now, I didn’t try to escape, didn’t utter a protest, but kept my hands cradled in his.

Leap out the window,
my inner Tigress cried.
You aren’t ready to face such a powerful Tiger.

I frowned.
I thought a true Tigress never backed down from a fight.

Don’t you know anything? When she’s in heat, she avoids everything male. Now run!

If only being with him like this didn’t feel so right. If only his hands weren’t so warm, so callused. Did he work on the planes himself? The thought of him dressed as a mechanic, oil streaking his arms and face… Holy Lord, fantasy overload.

“What type of flowers does your mother like best?” I asked in one last desperate attempt to prevent what I knew—and secretly hoped—was coming. I’d already proven I didn’t have the willpower to run. Words were my only hope. “Maybe I’ll scatter petals across the floor and tables.” And maybe he could have sex with me on those petals. I uttered a nervous laugh. “They’ll fragrance the air very nicely.”

“Use orchids.” His voice became a husky whisper, deep, low, seductive. “I finally figured out what you smell like. Orchids and honeysuckle.”

His seduction was melting my resolve, drugging me.
Kiss me,
I beseeched with my eyes.

Stop that, I commanded them. No beseeching!

“Every time I’m near you, I drown in your scent,” he muttered. “But I’ve told you that, haven’t I?”

Lick me.

Shit.

“Did I tell you how sexy your lips are? I can’t keep my eyes off them. I want them all over me.”

Bite me.

Damn it all to hell.

He nuzzled the side of my cheek with his nose. Nipped with his teeth.

Oh, yeah.
He nipped again.
Just…like…that.