"Yes, well, now you know the truth."
"Have you always felt this way?"
"No," I answered, again opting for the truth. "Just the past six months."
"There were no signs. I mean-" he plowed a hand through his hair and glared at me in accusation. "You kissed me. Twice. I thought you liked it. You seemed to like it. It's the blondes, isn't it? The twins in the pictures on your coffee table. I should have guessed. But how could I have known?"
Had we just entered the twilight zone? "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You prefer women to men," he said. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, I just didn't realize. You seemed to like- Oh, shit."
Argh. This was too much. Both of my hands, which were now fisted, went to my waist. He thought I was seeing two women, twins at that. What was it with men and twins? "I'm not gay, Royce. If a woman isn't interested, it doesn't mean she's gay."
A long, protracted silence filled the space between us.
His features gradually relaxed. "So you're not… "
"No."
"Damn it," he said, suddenly losing all traces of relaxation. "You said you wanted nothing to do with men, that men made you sick. Earlier you mentioned hating everything with a penis. What else was I supposed to think?"
"Maybe that I'm not interested in a relationship, like I've been trying to tell you. Or maybe that I want to live alone, without a man's interference. Or maybe I simply want nothing to do with romance. Especially with a Triple C."
A glaze of puzzlement washed over him, halting the tirade I knew was coming. "What the hell is a Triple C?"
"Corporate. Controlling. And completely wrong for me." Okay, so it had been and a total Commando, but this was my phrase and I could change it if I wanted.
His brows arched, almost hitting his hairline. "I'll admit to being corporate. But controlling? Wrong for you? I don't think so. I happen to be a WHP."
I crossed my arms over my chest and rolled my eyes ceilingward. "Explain please."
"Willing. Horny. And Perfect for you."
Not to mention egotistical. "Is that so?"
He crossed his own arms over his chest, mimicking my battle stance. "Yeah, that's so."
"This isn't a game, Royce. I'm truly not out to catch a man. Any man. Even a WHP. That's all there is to it."
His lips lifted in a slow, knowing grin, his eyes sparkling like sapphires. "Now, I happen to know that's a lie." He studied me in an openly assessing way, like he possessed X-ray vision and could see to my very soul.
I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "You keep saying you know when I'm lying," I said, hating how my voice trembled. I knew I was lying, that I wanted him in a very bad way, but there was no way he could know it. Right?
"Your list. I might have forgotten about it for a moment, but now that I've remembered-"
"What list?"
"Do the words what to look for in Mr. Wrong ring a bell? If you're trying to avoid Mr. Wrong, you're trying to find Mr. Right."
Sparks of anger lit inside me, but those sparks died a quick death as amusement grew. I laughed. I just couldn't help myself. The situation was too funny. Too sweet. My gaze zeroed in on his clean-shaven jaw, and I laughed even harder.
"You shaved," I said. The knowledge sent me doubling over as another wave of laughter swept through me. "I get it now. Number four. Mr. Wrong never shaves his beard."
Royce stiffened and his gaze slitted. "What's so funny about that?"
"Nothing, if it were my list."
"Of course it's yours. It was in your home."
"No. Sorry." More laughter. "It belongs to my cousins, Kera and Mel. The blond twins in the photo."
The clock ticked. Four minutes of complete silence passed. Okay, so I was still laughing and the sound of it echoed off the walls. The man had made a sweet, sweet fool of himself. I was entitled to a little amusement.
Royce ran a hand down his face. He pushed out a deep breath and peeked at me over his fingers. "Are you sure that isn't your list?"
"Swear to God."
"But I fit none of the requirements for Mr. Wrong."
"Not my list," I said again, still grinning.
"I can't believe this is happening," he muttered. "Are you absolutely one-hundred-percent positive it isn't yours?"
"Yeah," I answered again.
"But you love lists."
"That's why I was the designated writer. For the twins."
"Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. I stood a chance of winning the list's owner. Now, well- Shit."
In a flash, I froze, losing my burst of humor. What if… No.
I didn't want to contemplate such an event. My mind wouldn't let the thought die, however.
I gulped back the sudden lump in my throat. "Since you're so fascinated with that list," I said, judging my words carefully. I gazed down at my shoes, using one to scrape the toe of the other. "You might be interested in knowing that Kera, one of the twins, sent you an application. She's smart and beautiful and she's looking for love." Rigid with an emotion I didn't want to name, I waited for his reply.
"Sounds great." His tone didn't reveal a hint of his inner thoughts. Nor did his now blank expression. "I'll put hers at the top."
I didn't want to analyze why my heart suddenly squeezed painfully in my chest.
Chapter Eight
Sometimes, to properly stalk her prey and learn its habits, a Tigress must stealthily approach, watch and gauge before exploding into a rush of amazing speed and attacking. With carefully timed maneuvers, she can deliver the killing blow without her prey ever knowing she was there.
"What do you think of this one?"
I glanced up from the rack of black, brown and navy-blue dress suits. All were ankle length, plain and would conceal every inch of skin, protecting it from a man's naughty gaze. When I saw my cousin's selection, I frowned. "I am not wearing that…that…X-rated napkin."
"What's wrong with it?" Mel gave the green minidress she held a once-over, even brushed her fingers down the split bodice.
"The hem won't cover the edge of my panties and the bodice opens to my belly button. You might not know this, but I'm not planning to make a few extra bucks on the side while I'm gone."
It was Wednesday night and we were hitting the bargain department stores instead of the nightclubs-Mel liked penny beer-all for the sake of my upcoming trip to Colorado with Royce. Apparently, a new shipment of green clothes had arrived only the day before. When Mel and Kera learned of this, they had demanded we go shopping. Being the meek, mild woman that I am, I relented. And my capitulation had nothing to do with wanting to look good for Royce. I swear.
Did the old "fingers crossed" thing still work?
"Try it on, at least," Mel persisted just as the BlueJay in my purse erupted in a series of beeps. "And for God's sake, turn that thing off."
"I can't." Scowling, I dug inside my purse and pounded the stupid thing front and back. It beeped every hour, reminding me of my upcoming trip. Royce, the diabolical son of the devil, had programmed it in such a way that I couldn't turn it off or turn down the volume. Too, the screen continued to flash crap like, "You'll have fun on our trip, I promise."
Once the beeping stopped, I surveyed Mel's choice of ho-wear again. "I'd feel better covered in body paint."
"Now there's an idea," she said with a sly grin.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop my own grin. "Even if I was willing to parade around like a living porno ad, I don't want to wear anything green. I'd just look like a lumpy bowl of pea soup. Or worse, an overused snot rag. I don't care how much Royce likes the color. I'm. Not. Wearing. It."
"What about this one?" Kera held up a conservative mint-green pantsuit. "It's fifty percent off."
"And it's still green," I said, my voice heavy with exasperation. Did they never listen to me?