After four hard knocks, Royce opened the door. When he spotted me, he smiled that seductive smile of his that drove me wild.
"Come in." He motioned backward with a wave of his hand.
"Thank you." I glided past him. I'd never been here, but I'd wondered about his place of residence. I drank in the details. The walls of the living room were painted in classic ivory. A white Tergal scarf was draped over each of the five windows. At first glance, every piece of furniture appeared to be the same monochrome shade of white. Yet at closer inspection, I saw pillows with cream-colored beaded jackets, wraps with eggshell trimming.
Behind the couch was a long, narrow table of dark wood. A chandelier boasting hundreds of tiny crystal raindrops hung over it. Chinese root tables flanked each side of the couch. It was a room that spoke of wealth, not comfort. I didn't like it.
"Who decorated this place?" I asked, not even trying to hide my distaste. Nothing about the place fit with Royce's open personality.
"My mother."
"It, uh, lacks warmth."
"So does she, for the most part. Fixing the place up made her feel wanted, so I let her do it." He clasped my hand in his. "Come on. I'll show you the rest."
I eagerly followed as he led me through a generously proportioned kitchen. High marble counters were scrubbed clean. No dishes sat in the sink. No pots or pans were out of place. In fact, the area looked as if it had never seen a meal prepared.
Next, he showed me the game room. It was nothing like the rest of the apartment. It had a dark, comfy couch, a large-screen television and more stereo equipment than I'd ever seen in one room. All of those gave it a nice, "lived in" feel. He spent most of his time in here, was my guess, and I doubted his mom had decorated it.
"And this," he said, "is my bedroom."
It, too, suited him, boasting deep blue and gold colors that spoke of warmth and masculinity. The decadent four-poster bed held my attention longest. Glossy wood, rumpled sheets. How I would love rolling naked on those Egyptian cotton sheets.
Sandalwood scented the air. Just the smell of it turned me on.
We strolled back to the living room hand in hand. I loved the feel of my hand in his. Where I was soft and small, he was callused and strong. A delicious contrast.
"Where's my present?" I said. Was I too eager? Too go-get-it-now-or-I'll-die? "You promised to give it to me if I came over."
He grinned. "Give me a minute." He raced away and disappeared into the hall. He soon reappeared holding a medium-sized red box. "For you."
Too large to be a ring. Too small to be… anything else. My hands were shaky as I accepted the box and hesitantly lifted the lid. When I saw what was inside, I gasped. A glass orchid with blue petals sat in the center of pale green foam. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, delicate and almost dreamlike.
"I-I don't know what to say. I love it."
"I had it made for you."
The dainty petals glistened from the overhead light, shining like pearls. As I looked at it, my defenses crumbled faster than I could patch them. I gulped past the lump in my throat and forced myself to look up at him. "I'll, uh, have the party invitations printed and mailed ASAP," I said, bringing us back to the business at hand. I think I was pretty close to bursting into tears.
He drew me into his arms, but I kept the box between us as a shield.
His gaze was heavy-lidded and focused on my mouth. "You're pale all of a sudden. Why?"
My heart was inexplicably in my throat. "I-I have to tell you something."
Something hard and cold flicked in his eyes, followed quickly by determination. He pried the box from my fingers and set it on top of the coffee table. In the next instant, he had me pinned to the wall, his mouth on mine, his tongue taking possession. That's all it took. One touch, one caress and I wanted him with an urgency that never seemed to leave me. My bones began the slow process of liquefaction. Unable to stand on my own, I let him hold me up. Kiss me. Devour me.
A shiver rippled over me as his thighs trapped me further. I breathed in his scent, warm and male and all Royce.
His tongue battled mine. Hard. Quick. I didn't think I'd ever get enough of him.
"Royce," I said.
"No talking." He slowed the kiss down, making it soft and gentle. I pressed deeper into him. His arms braced around me, familiar anchors. He tasted hot, like sunshine and rain mingled together. His fingers cupped my jaw.
"Royce, I-"
"Love you." His lips lowered to mine, still a gentle conqueror, savoring the taste of me, taking time to explore every hollow of my mouth.
I shoved away from him.
"What's wrong?" he said, his expression filled with concern.
Everything! I almost shouted. Absolutely everything. How could I tell him he threatened me in a way no other man had? What a mess I had gotten myself into and now, I realized, it was do or die time. I had climbed out on a limb, and I was holding the saw. I had a choice-cut myself down or continue to dangle there.
The fire in his eyes vanished, leaving only that cold blue shield I'd seen moments ago. "If you're going to do this," he said softly, "you might as well do it while we're comfortable." He pulled me onto the couch.
I dragged in a deep breath and let it out. What the hell was I going to say to him? "I-"
He didn't even let me get the second word out before he said, "Damn it, Naomi. I can't believe you're going to push me away." Jumping up, he paced the room, stalking from one side to the other. "That's what you're about to do, isn't it? Tell me we're over?"
Sweat beaded on my palms. My throat was so constricted I couldn't get a word out. What would my inner Tigress do? What would she say? She'd never let a man tame her, that was for sure.
Marriage doesn't have to be about taming or changing, my mind whispered. It can simply be about love. Some men can remain faithful. Let him try and prove it.
"We belong together," Royce continued, barely sparing me a glance. "You love me. You may not admit it to yourself, but you do. You love me. You don't kiss a man like that unless you care for him."
"I do care for you." There. I'd said something. "I care for you a lot."
He didn't seem to hear me. "I can't believe you're willing to give up what we have because you're afraid. Well, I can't make a guarantee about the future. No one can. But I'm willing to try."
"So am I." The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and there was no taking them back at that point. I wanted him, and if I had to marry him to keep him, I would. Would I regret it later? Maybe. Would I be hurt in the end? Probably.
Did I want to give him up? No.
Relationships were about give and take. I couldn't take everything from him and give nothing in return.
"So am I," I repeated.
He whipped around and pinned me with a wide-eyed stare. "What did you say?"
Gathering my courage and forcing my fear at bay, I smiled shakily. "I'm willing to give it a try."
"What are you willing to try, Naomi?" There was fear in his eyes and a tentative kind of happiness. "Spell it out for me."
"Marriage." I closed my eyes, squeezing the lids tightly shut. "Marriage to you."
He watched me, still not approaching me. "Are you sure that's what you want? That you're not doing it because it's what I want?"
"Yes." No. "I'm sure." Kind of.
Finally he closed the distance between us and bent between my legs. He ran his hands up my thighs. "How long of an engagement do you want?"
"Two years?"
He chuckled. "That's what I'd thought you'd say. That's a point we'll have to negotiate, then, because I want a one-day engagement."
Little flutters of fear and dread mingled in my chest. "No way. I can't plan a wedding in one day." My fingers gripped the fabric of my pants, twisting. "I need at least a year." Yes, a year sounded good. Surely I could conquer my doubts in twelve months.