"He's eccentric and looking for love," Kera said, as if that explained everything.

Mel took a sizable bite of her bagel, chewed, swallowed. "He's a man. Men like naked photos and will do anything to get them. End of story."

Now that made sense.

Mel and Kera were identical twins, but they were different in so many ways. Kera had been born with an angel on her shoulder. Mel had been born with the devil on hers.

Mel had thick streaks of bottle-red running throughout her blond hair. She also sported several tattoos and piercings. In contrast, Kera appeared delicate, practically angelic. Both women were five-four with petite bodies and bright blue eyes.

"Did you drool over him during your meeting?" Mel asked.

"No. Of course not." Did liars go straight to hell or were they granted some sort of immunity? It wasn't like liars were murderers or anything. "Why would you ask me something so ridiculous?"

Eyes twinkling, Mel slathered cream cheese over her bagel. "You've been drooling over his picture all morning."

I gasped. "That is sooo not true."

"Oh please. I could bathe in the puddle you've created. A long, leisurely bath, at that." She raised our copy of the Tattler, "But, if you insist you're not attracted to him, I'll just get rid of this." She cast a meaningful glance at the trash can and eased to her feet.

Quick as a snap, I grabbed her arm and snatched the tabloid. "Give me that." As if I hadn't stared at it for the last hour, I studied the large black-and-white photo gracing the front page.

Royce had his arm around a leggy brunette, a slight smile curling his lips. The caption underneath read, "Son of multimillionaire Elliot Powell caught with Gwendolyn Summers. Has Royce found his bride already?"

The article vaguely mentioned the two were at some sort of charity gala for kids with cancer, and I had to wonder which was the real Royce. The womanizer I suspected him to be-wife applications, for God's sake-or the Good Samaritan who donated money and time to charity?

I sighed. To my consternation, the last two weeks had passed with amazing speed, and most of my nights had been filled with images of Royce and me cavorting like sex-starved nymphs who had only a few days to live.

I couldn't banish the man from my mind.

After getting a new driver's license and finding a new tube of Chocolate Mystique lipstick-which had taken four hours and six different stops-I should have been happy. Instead, I thought of nothing but Royce. And that made me… unhappy.

He'd sent me a check, as promised, with a note attached that said if I had any trouble finding the right lipstick to let him know and he'd have one made. How sweet was that? I wouldn't have taken him up on it, but still. I was on the road to obsession, almost to the point where Royce would need a restraining order against me.

I knew better than to let myself desire the man. Yes, Royce was handsome (okay, deliciously gorgeous), but he was a Triple C, just like Richard. Plus, he apparently wanted a wife. I never wanted to get married again.

Did my body care about that? Noooo.

Each evening before I went to bed, I made a list of the reasons why I shouldn't be attracted to Royce, why I shouldn't want to rip the clothes from his body and have my wicked way with him. In fact, I'd made several lists.

None of them helped.

"Look, even if I did drool over him," I told my cousins, "Royce is a man. That means he's only interested in women who are not boobularly challenged."

Frowning, Mel brandished the butter knife she held through the air. "Boobs so don't matter anymore. Flat is in. Flat is the new black."

My brows arched. "Then why is the implant business booming? Why are push-up bras in such demand?"

She obviously didn't have an answer, so she shook her head and said, "Forget boobs. You said he kept staring at your lips."

"I had dirt on them." I'd noticed the moment I returned home and had almost died of embarrassment. I'd also wished Royce to everlasting hell for not telling me.

"He probably wanted to lick the dirt away. The fact is, you've got yourself a pair of hooker lips. The man wanted them all over his body, is my guess."

"I'll concede that he might, might have liked my lips, but he couldn't care less about the rest of me." He hadn't even asked me out after I'd fallen into his crotch. Not that I would have said yes, I quickly reminded myself.

"Sure, you're not pretty in the classic sense, but that doesn't mean you're dog food."

I almost choked on my muffin. When I regained my voice, I said, "Gee, thanks Mel. I feel so much better about myself now. In fact, my self-esteem has suddenly skyrocketed."

"You're misunderstanding." Mel sighed, the breathy sound layered with exasperation. "Your look is fragile, like a cameo. Something most women can never achieve. You've got the kind of appeal that forces a man's protective instincts to surface."

Kera grinned slowly. "She's right. And I think you're a closet sex kitten, Naomi."

Closet sex kitten. Meeeeoooow. No one had ever accused me of that before. In fact, Richard had accused me of being sexually repressed. This inner Tigress thing must be paying off. "Okay, say a miracle happens and Royce wants me like a sailor on leave. What should I do?"

"Marry him," Kera said.

"Rock his world," Mel said, "then toss him out like a piece of rotting, stinking garbage."

Kera gasped and lost her smile. "One-night stands are stupid, not to mention potentially damaging both physically and emotionally."

"She's been free from Richard the Bastard's clutches for six months now and she hasn't gone on a single date. We might as well take her to the local shelter and buy her a few cats. She needs to get laid, not wallow in another bad relationship."

"Hello." I waved my index finger at them. "Hi. I'm right here. In the room with you."

They shrugged simultaneously.

"I swear," I grumbled, "Royce had to be a hemorrhoid in another life because he's already a pain in my ass. I can answer my question myself, thank you. Royce is a client, and I do not get involved with clients. It's bad for business."

Kera, ever the romantic, piped in. "Who cares about business when love is at stake?"

"Who the hell mentioned love?"

She ignored me. "That kind of thought process might just keep you from experiencing something completely wonderful."

I gagged.

"Love is amazing," she said defensively. "A gift. I know you think marriage is an institution for the insane, but one day I'm going to willingly commit myself. I'm going to walk down the aisle with a radiant smile. And I'll be holding flowers, lots and lots of flowers. Silver-tipped roses with pink baby's breath."

I watched in horror, unable to administer a verbal vaccine as the wedding bug sunk its claws into Kera. Her eyes glazed with dreamy expectation; her lips lifted with longing. I could almost see and hear her thoughts.

Was that a baby crying?

"I wish I were in love right now," she said, confirming my suspicions.

Mel rolled her eyes. "How are we related?"

Still smiling that dreamy smile, Kera propped her elbow on the table and flicked me a glance. "Since Naomi doesn't want to marry Royce, I'm sure she won't mind hearing that I filled out one of his applications."

"What?" I shouted. "When?"

"A few days ago."

"No you did not." Mel leaned back in her chair, her expression one of complete shock. "You did, didn't you? You're not lying. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I knew you'd make fun of me." Kera's grin turned to pure wickedness. "But I couldn't help myself. That man is male perfection, and I know I could fall in love with him."

"Love," I scoffed, but my disdain was more from the image of Royce and Kera living happily ever after than from my hatred of the emotion. I was beginning to believe love had been created by the devil himself. What better way to get people to make fools of themselves?