"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?
"Sister dear," Mel said, "she's flying to Colorado -with Royce Powell, I might add-not a summit for sexually repressed librarians."
Kera chuckled. "You're right."
"Think ski bunny," Mel said. "Sexy," she continued. "Wild. Uninhibited."
"I'm not trying to seduce him," I told them.
"Oh, please," both said in unison.
"I'm not. Really." How many lies could one woman tell in a single day before God could no longer forgive her? When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me the limit was 490 times a day. I think I was dangerously close to reaching that.
"You may not allow yourself to try," Mel said wickedly, knowingly, "but you want to. Bad."
I didn't try to deny it, but I didn't audibly agree with her, either. She took my silence for refusal.
"I thought you had a brain in that skull of yours," she mumbled. "If you don't want to seduce him, we need to get you a prescription for Viagra for women ASAP."
"Maybe we should take her in for a CAT scan," Kera suggested.
"Guys, I'm a hardened bitch with relationship scars. That's all there is to it." I ran my fingertips down the lapels of a wool jacket. "No amount of drugs or medical testing will change that."
"True." Mel.
"You're right." Kera.
Hey, weren't they supposed to defend my character? Weren't they supposed to assure me that I might have internal scars, but an entry in the Bedroom Olympics would do me some good?
"Still," Mel finally said, "I think the whip and feathers we gave you at your non-party will go a long way towards helping you overcome your bitchiness."
An image of Royce tied facedown to my bed, his naked body bared for my viewing pleasure while I whipped him then soothed the ache with feathers-or my tongue-filled my head. My nipples instantly hardened and the juncture between my thighs ached.
"Well, hello ladies." Mel laughed. "Something I said got through to your hormones." She flicked a pointed glance at my breasts.
Cheeks heating, I quickly covered them with my hands. I should have worn a padded water bra-yes, I owned one and I wasn't ashamed. Small-breasted women had to do what small-breasted women had to do to fill out their shirts properly. That would have kept my traitorous nipples hidden.
"So you aren't as immune to him as you would have us believe." Kera lifted a green floral sundress and held it to her petite frame. "Why else would you have kissed him? Twice."
"Shut up," I said.
"We aren't the Tattler. You don't have to deny, deny, deny with us."