I headed back into the living room, not ready to face my nemesis but knowing I had no other choice.

"Royce," I said, my tone just as no-nonsense as my hair. He was seated on the couch, looking decadent against the red satin pillows. I claimed the chair across from him. "I don't mean to be rude, but you shouldn't be here. This is my home, not my place of business. Besides, our appointment is scheduled for tomorrow."

He leaned back in a carefree pose, watching me, studying. "I decided to change it."

No, no, no, I thought, I won't have any of that Triple C behavior in my house. "You can't just change your mind at whim," I told him, exasperated. "What if I had other plans today?"

"Do you?"

Not wanting to answer, I glanced away. My eyes focused on the Mr. Wrong list sitting mere inches from Royce's view. Crap! Had he read it? My cheeks heated at the thought.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?" What I really wanted to say was "If you read that list I'm going to flay the skin from your bones and feed your organs to my neighbor's cat."

"Do you have plans today?" he asked again.

"Yes." No.

"Try again, T-Tapp. You planned to stay in, admit it."

I uttered a soft growl. "It doesn't matter if I did or didn't. Our appointment is tomorrow."

"I know, and I'm sorry." His relaxed stance never wavered. He looked as if he had every right to lounge on my couch like a king expecting his every sensual command to be heeded. "I spent the last two weeks trying to work a deal that never panned out, and I'm on edge. I thought spending the day with you would help wind me down."

Wind him down? What, was I so boring that being with me acted as a sedative? "You could have called first," I said sweetly. Okay, I had grumbled, and I wasn't sweet about it. "A little warning would have gone a long way."

He chuckled. "Your enthusiasm is touching. It really is. I don't think I've ever felt so welcome."

"I'm sorry," I said on a sigh. I really needed to show this man I possessed some professionalism. So far, he'd only seen my worst.

"You were desperate to go over your list of questions last time we were together, so I assumed you'd be happy to see me." He rose from the couch, closed the distance between us in three quick strides and knelt at my feet. Suddenly we were eye to eye.

I straightened in my seat. Red alert! Turkey on rye. Turkey on rye.

He clasped my chin in his deliciously calloused hands and tilted my head up. "Your schedule is clear, Naomi, and so is mine. I didn't think it would be a problem. If you want me to leave, tell me to leave and I'm gone."

Up close, he was even more handsome. Bright blue eyes that were flecked with ribbons of darker indigo. Lush, soft lips that would look even better attached to my body. Long, spiky lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks, blending with his slight beard stubble. My defenses melted. Client? Who cared. Triple C? Bring ' em on. Royce just, well, he smelled so good. So masculine.

A deep, primal part of me responded to him, wanted more of him. A part of me did miss the touch of a man, the kissing and the tasting. The heat and the passion.

No, I didn't want him to leave.

I cleared my throat. "You're the boss, right? If you want to work today, we'll work today." Jerking from his touch before I did something stupid like jump into his arms and demand he find my nearest G-spot, I swiftly maneuvered to my feet.

"Let's go to the kitchen," I said. The dangerously small width of air that separated us wasn't nearly enough for my peace of mind. "Would you like something to drink?" I didn't wait for his answer. I just strode away, forcing him to follow or be left alone.

He followed.

Once the kitchen counter stood between us, I felt myself begin to relax, regain control. Even when he sat at the bar stool, watching me, filling me with an achiness I didn't want to acknowledge, I didn't lose my calm.

I concentrated on rifling through the drawer stuffed with miscellaneous items. When I found a blank notebook, I set it in front of me, almost as a shield.

"As you mentioned, I do have a list of questions-"

He cut me off. "Why don't you sit over here?" He gave the stool beside him a pat. When I didn't move, just blinked over at him, he added, "That way I won't have to strain to hear you."

"Your hearing is fine."

"What was that?" he asked, cupping his hand over his ear.

"I said your hearing is fine."

"Speak a little louder." He was clearly struggling not to grin. "I can't hear you."

I regarded him for a long, silent moment. "You are such a faker," I uttered on a sigh, dragging my feet to the chair, making sure our knees didn't touch. Making sure no part of us touched, for that matter. I scooted back as far as I could go. Why he wanted me to sit by him, I didn't know. Was he just trying to be friendly? Did he hope to relax me? Was he attracted to me?

I cleared my throat. "Question one."

He didn't cut me off this time. Oh no. My words simply tapered off, lingering unfinished in the air as he leaned over, diminishing the distance between us. He sniffed the air at my neck.

"What are you doing?" I asked, hating the breathless quality that had entered my voice.

Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. "What's that smell?"

I froze. What? Did I really smell so distasteful he had only to lean in my direction to catch a putrid whiff of me? I stayed the urge to break his freaking nose for pointing out my stinkiness.

He sniffed again. "I can't place it."

"How bad is it?" I asked, my cheeks heating.

"It's good. Some kind of flower."

My first thought: Hurray! I don't stink.

My second: Ohmygod!

Was he making a pass at me? Cranky, bitter little me? Yes, had to be. Excitement unfurled through my veins-not that I'd acknowledge it. This was shocking, really. Maybe my hooker lips truly were irresistible. Maybe-

Wait. Hold everything. I was studying Royce's features. They were blank, no hint of a leer. No hint of desire. Only curiosity. I must have misread his intentions. My (unacknowledged) excitement died a slow death. According to the Tattler, he might have a girlfriend. Gwendolyn Summers, to be exact. Of course he wasn't hitting on me.

"Does the perfume have a name?" he asked.

"I'm not wearing perfume. You either smell my shampoo or my deodorant." I bit my lip as soon as the last word left my mouth. Maybe saying he smelled my deodorant was tantamount to telling him he smelled my BO.

The notebook balanced on my knees plopped to the ground, providing a much needed distraction. I bent down and picked it up, never once looking at him as I settled back into place. I clutched the notebook to my chest. "Okay, let's get to question one."

"Your eyes are silver," he said suddenly, as if the color were some kind of surprise. "A liquid silver, really."

I gulped, hard. Shook my head. Okay, what the hell was going on here? One minute it seemed like he was hitting on me, the next it didn't and the next it did again. Was he or wasn't he? "They're gray," I finally responded.

"They're beautiful."

"Thank you," I said, my heart skipping a beat. Turkey on rye. "Now, question one. How many guests do you plan to invite to your mother's party?"

He watched me silently for several seconds and must have decided I'd cut off his most precious appendage if he uttered another compliment, because he shrugged and said, "Fifty. Maybe a hundred or two."

"Well, that certainly narrows it down, doesn't it?" I replied dryly, making a notation. "I'll need a list of each individual name and address."

"How soon do you need it?"

"Sometime within the next few days would be great. You know," I said as a thought occurred to me, "once we go over the details, should I call your mom for approval of our choices?"