"No, thanks." The slightest bit of alcohol always went straight to my head. Probably because of my "delicate bone structure," as my mom would say. Or, as my stepdad would say, because of my "horrendous eating disorder."

"I'll drink yours, then." He gulped back both drinks, slammed the glasses on the bar and bowed his head. He stayed that way, silent, unmoving, for a long while.

"Next time, please tell your assistant I'm expected," I said, just to cut through the tension. I tried for a professional tone, rather than censuring.

"I told her this time," he replied, confused. Still stiff, though.

My eyes narrowed. That bitch! She'd lied to me about not being on the precious list. I should have told Colin to go ahead and fire her.

"I didn't mean to shout at you," Royce said, finally, blessedly relaxing. He sighed and his shoulders slumped slightly. "I… apologize."

The apology sounded strained, a bit forced, but I didn't care. I was surprised he'd even made the effort. Disciples of evil that they were, most men wouldn't have. "Apology accepted."

He pivoted on his heel and stalked to his desk, where he sat on the corner, his gaze locking with mine. I shifted in my seat. His expression was curiously blank, as if masking an emotion he didn't want me to see. Anger? Disinterest? Irritation?

"What do you think of Colin?" he asked mildly. "The man you were flirting with outside my office."

Forget anger, disinterest and irritation. The man was positively livid with jealousy. Jealousy. About me. His eyes blazed with it, the blue irises resembling vivid sapphires. I shook my head in amazement, feeling just a little giddy.

No, not giddy, I told myself sternly. I was angry. Definitely angry. I forced myself to frown as I crossed my legs and folded my arms together. "I wasn't flirting." Did I sound properly offended he'd imply such a thing? "And just so you know, he seems very pleasant."

"Pleasant?" Royce growled. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Pleasant."

"Pleasant agreeable or pleasant I want to go on a date with this man?"

"What does it matter?"

"Answer the damn question."

"I did." Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh. You're pissed, remember? "I said he was pleasant and that's what I meant."

Royce clenched the edge of his desk and his knuckles turned white. "What. Kind. Of. Pleasant? You should know, the man likes women and lots of them."

"That makes him better suited for me than you." My traitorous lips twitched at the corners. This situation called for fury, damn it. I mean, how dare he question me about my intentions toward another man. Royce and I had kissed once. That didn't give him exclusive rights to me.

I still wanted to smile.

"He's never been in a lasting relationship."

"Good for him." I paused, savoring my next words. "I liked him."

"You liked him?" The words left his mouth with so much force I almost flew backward.

"Yes. He was nice. And pleasant."

For a moment, I thought I saw Royce's eyes glow bright red, thought I saw steam coming from his nostrils. Then he scrubbed a hand down his face. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Listen," I said, determined to stop this line of conversation before I started dancing on his desktop. Maybe stripping. "I'm not interested in dating him. Really. But I'm not interested in dating you, either, remember?"

His hands dropped to his side and he frowned. "Why not?"

"We went over this yesterday. You're just not my type, okay?" God, I was such a liar. Lately I lied to everyone. My cousins, Royce. Myself.

"I'm honest, honorable and not looking to simply get laid. When I kiss you, you burn up. What part of that is not your type?"

Yes, Naomi, do tell us the answer to that, my hormones piped in. "There's one quality you didn't mention, and it immediately throws you out of the running."

He crossed his arms over his chest, tightening the fabric of his jacket over his biceps. "And what's that?"

"You have a penis," I said, squirming in my seat. Just saying the word in front of him made me hot.

"A penis? Baby, that's something you should be thanking me for."

Typical male response.

He worried two fingers over his jaw. Yet, even with the movement, there was something so… still about him. "Is this your way of giving me the brush-off?"

"I'm not trying to throw you over for Colin, if that's what you mean. If I was attracted to him, I could have asked him out months ago at his sister's wedding reception." Which I still didn't recall seeing him at. "You attended that party, too, by the way."

He lost his air of irritation and his expression became guarded again.

"Don't worry if you can't remember seeing me there." Bastard. "You were too busy helping your-" whore "-date put the tissue back in her bra."

He almost choked at that bit of information. When he stopped coughing, he said, "I remember you," surprising me.

As if. "You don't have to pretend. It won't hurt my feelings if you don't remember me."

"Ha! Seriously, work on the lying. You suck at it. I remember you, okay?"

My gaze slitted up at him, narrowing my field of vision to him. Only him. "Prove it."

"Okay." His expression darkened in challenge. "You had the saddest eyes I'd ever seen with dark shadows under them. And you kept glancing at the door, as if you couldn't wait to get away from the crowd. You were wearing a light green dress that hit just below your knees. Your hair was pulled back in the same twist you're wearing today. You spent over an hour making sure all the kids were having fun, and you made sure every woman had a dance partner. Every woman but yourself."

My mouth dropped open in shock and I think my heart skipped a beat. He did remember me. The knowledge was astonishing. Surreal. Almost more than I could take in. And so utterly wonderful I couldn't quite catch my breath.

"I nearly approached you that day," he said softly.

My eyes widened. He'd wanted to talk to me? Me? "Did you want to talk to me about…your mom's party?"

"Please." He crossed his ankles, the action casual, but the intense gleam in his eyes was anything but calm. "I wanted to talk to you just to hear your voice. I even took a step toward you, but you saw me coming and bolted."

I gasped. "I did not bolt."

"You did, too." A deep, rumbling laugh escaped him. "I've replayed it in my mind a thousand times."

Those words were familiar. He'd said them to me before…when he'd kissed me, that he'd imagined my lips a thousand times. I gulped. This conversation was having a strange effect on my equilibrium. Had I been standing, I would have collapsed to the floor.

If I wasn't careful, I'd offer this man my life, my heart and my soul on a silver platter, room service available 24-7. He and his confession were that dangerous.

"Were you afraid of me?" he asked. "Is that why you ran?"

"I'm telling you, I did not run."

"Whatever you say, Jackie Joyner," he said, his singsong tone contradicting his words.

I stomped my foot, drawing on frustration and anger to distance myself. To strengthen my resolve. Richard the Bastard had been sweet in the beginning, too, saying all the right things. Remember that.

Royce grinned slowly, smugly. "You want that drink now?"

"You obviously suffer from a severe brain disorder because your memory is warped. I did not run away from you."

"Naomi Delacroix, afraid of me. Then. And now." Features pensive, he tapped his chin with his finger. "I wonder why. Intense attraction? Unquenchable desire?"

If he only knew the truth of those words. I had run from him that night. There. I admit it. I'd seen him walking toward me- though I hadn't thought he actually meant to talk to me-and everything inside me, everything I'd thought bludgeoned to death by Richard the Bastard, had sparked to instant life. Attraction, yes. Desire, most definitely. Both more intense than anything I'd ever known. My mouth had gone dry, my limbs had begun shaking. My blood had heated, swimming through my veins and burning everything it touched.