After a moment's consideration, I scratched out number one. Added it back. Scratched it out again. I should avoid that man like the plague. However, I scowled and picked up the phone, hurriedly dialing his number.
It wasn't like this was a social call. I needed his help and, by God, I wouldn't be afraid to ask. Wouldn't be afraid to hear his voice. I would control my hormones or die trying.
And you know what? As the phone rang, I heard that stupid BlueJay beeping from the trash can. I ignored it. Royce finally answered, his voice scratchy with sleep. A shiver snaked down my spine, and an image of him lying in bed, naked, swept through my mind, his mouth finding my breasts, and his fingers-I growled. Damn hormones.
"Uh, hi Royce. It's Naomi."
"Hey, sweetheart. Something wrong?"
Another shiver. If only he hadn't uttered the endearment with such warmth and tenderness. "Can I borrow one of your cars?"
Pause. "Why?"
"I have to do something."
"What?"
"Can I borrow one of your cars or not?"
Another pause. "With me in it?"
"No."
"With me in it?" he asked again. "And you better answer it right this time, because your answer is the same as mine."
"Yes." Stubborn man. "Do you never have to work? You'll have to take a couple hours off if you go with me, because I need the car this morning."
"I'll call you right back," he said and hung up on me.
Openmouthed, I stared down at the phone. "No you did not," I muttered and redialed his number. He didn't answer. That decroded piece of-
The phone rang. I almost jumped out of my skin. "What?" I barked into the receiver.
"Done. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
My pulse fluttered at the thought of seeing him again. "Bring your camera. And wear a hat. And sunglasses."
"And a fake beard?" he asked on a husky laugh.
"If you have one," I said in all seriousness. "Drive your cheapest, most unnoticeable car. No limo today."
"What's going-"
This time, I hung up on him. I'd clue him in when he got here. Time to get busy. As I strode into my bedroom, I stripped. I belted a pillow over my stomach. The condom incident with Royce had given me an idea for a disguise. Dr. Johnnie would never know the pregnant woman following his every move was actually his stepdaughter, Detective Delacroix.
I slipped the largest dress I owned over my head and shimmied it down the rest of me. The plain, light blue material was tight around my middle, emphasizing my rounded belly. I ran my hands over the pillow and a thought occurred to me: This image might actually become a reality in the coming months. My heart skipped a beat.
Don't think about that, Naomi. For God's sake, don't think about it.
As I slipped into comfortable shoes, I stuffed Mrs. Powell's party invitation in my purse. I twisted the long length of my hair under a hat, then locked up my apartment. Fighting a sense of eagerness, I headed outside to wait for Royce. Thankfully, no Tattler reporters were behind the bushes-I checked-nor was anyone waiting beside the building.
Fifteen minutes later, I was a hot, sweaty mess-and still freaking waiting outside. Did no one believe in timeliness anymore? Royce finally eased his shiny, expensive sedan in the parking slot right in front of me. I would have preferred something less expensive, less noticeable, but this would have to do.
I slid into the passenger seat, sighing as the cool, conditioned and sandalwood-fragranced air washed over me. Lord, he always smelled so good. I slammed the door with a flick of my wrist. When I turned to Royce, I noticed he was staring at my belly in openmouthed astonishment.
As I'd requested, he was wearing a hat, sunglasses and even the fake beard. He was also wearing yellow-pink-and-blue golf pants and a yellow T-shirt. The sight of him made me go all weak and needy inside. He looked so cute, and he'd done this for me. Just because I'd asked. How sweet was that?
"What the hell is going on?" he choked out. "Is that some kind of hint?" He pointed to my puffy belly.
"We're going to follow my stepdad, and I didn't want him to recognize me. Did you bring the camera?"
"It's in back." Brow furrowed, Royce reached under my skirt and smoothed his hand up my calf, my thigh, and onto the pillow.
I gasped at the sudden liquid heat pooling between my legs. Before I begged him to go ahead and give me an orgasm while he had his hand up my skirt, I slapped his arm away. "Stop that."
"I had to feel for myself."
I cleared my throat and pulled at the collar of my dress. "Yes, well, thank you for rearranging your schedule for me, but I wish you'd worn jeans or something. Everyone will notice those pants."
"I had no idea what we were doing. You hung up on me, remember? Besides, the pants go well with the beard and your, uh, belly."
I had to clear my throat again. Shifting in my seat, I rattled off my parents' address. "We need to hurry. Jonathan always leaves the house at eight-thirty."
Minutes later, Royce and I were speeding along the highway.
"I could hire a P.I. to follow him," he suggested, keeping his eyes on the road.
"That's not necessary. I'm perfectly capable of catching him in the act." Plus, it was horrible of me to admit, but I was taking a perverse sort of satisfaction in doing the investigating myself. I hadn't done anything like this with Richard. I hadn't had the courage. So, in a way, this was kind of like therapy for me. And Jonathan was big on therapy.
"Naomi," Royce said, then stopped himself. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and massaged his neck with the other.
"What?" I stiffened. He'd sounded… upset. "Tell me."
"Remember that trip to Florida I mentioned? I'm flying out tomorrow. I'll be gone for a week."
I immediately began to analyze the situation, last night's quiz replaying through my mind. If your man goes out of town, what would you do? Did I want to throw a party? Cry? Or take up a new hobby? I was pretty certain I wanted to go with B, like Kera, and cry like a goddamn infant. I frowned, my lips pulled down so tightly my jaw began to ache.
"You want to come with me?" he asked.
Yes was the answer that first leapt to the surface. "No. No, thank you." I did want to grab him by the shirt and command him to stay. After all, a true Tigress knew how to fight for what she wanted and keep what she won. The thing is, I had never really fought for Royce, which meant I hadn't really won him. I'd all but pushed him away.
What if Royce found another woman in Florida?
What would I do then? The quiz hadn't given simple answers for that question, but I suspected I'd do more than cry. You have told him over and over you want no claims on him. Damn non-relationships. They sucked ass.
Chapter Fourteen
Turn your back, and you will be attacked. Guard yourself constantly. Never relax. Not even while you're alone. At any moment a Tiger, or even another Tigress, could be planning your demise.
Jonathan left the house right on schedule, and Royce and I were right behind him. Mom's eavesdropping proved accurate; he didn't go to his office.
He drove to Nora's.
"That blatant bastard," I growled, reaching for Royce's digital camera.
Nora answered the door wearing jeans and a tank top. Her eighties hair was ratted at her temples, and she wore enough makeup to send a cosmetic company's stock through the roof. She didn't kiss Jonathan when she saw him, but she did hug him and step aside. I snapped a few pictures of Jonathan entering the house.
"That isn't his sister, I take it?" Royce asked.
"His secretary."
"Not all men are like that, you know."
I snorted. "Can you prove that?" Without waiting for his answer, I pushed my way out of the car. I stalked toward the small but well-maintained house. I heard another car door slam, heard Royce mutter under his breath, and knew he was following me. It was a workday, so most of the neighborhood residents were gone. No one was mowing their lawn. In fact, the only person out in the open was a young woman on a morning jog.