"We get the picture, and it's a bit too vivid." Kera shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Mel shrugged. "Your loss. What number are we on?"

My gaze scrolled down the list. "Seven. I've got it covered, though. A man who thinks the perfect birthday present is allowing you to put the dishes off for a day."

Both women stared over at me with wide eyes. A tinkling laugh escaped from Mel's lips. How could such an angelic sound come from such a devilish woman? "You're kidding, right?" she demanded.

"I wish."

"Did Richard the Bastard give you that extra special gem of a gift?"

"On more than one birthday."

"How has that man's karma not killed him?" Scowling, she pounded her fist on the tabletop, causing glasses to shake and juice to splatter. "In Naomi's honor, I say we add any man whose name begins with R."

That eliminated Royce, I thought happily. I was not upset. Really. "I second that," I said, adding it to the list, circling it and putting three stars beside it.

"I third." Kera tapped her chin with a manicured finger. "I also say we add a man who refuses to wear a condom because it inhibits his pleasure."

"Oh, that's good. That's very good." I gave the list another glance; "Okay," I said, "we need one more requirement, then we'll have ten." When no one answered, I said, "What's it gonna be, girls?"

Mel jumped up. I could practically see the lightbulb shining over her head. "I know! A man who leaves you unsatisfied in bed, concerned only with his own orgasm."

I smiled. "Well, I do believe we've just eliminated every man on the planet earth."

A Tigress marks her territory and cuts down anyone who dares enter. Poachers must learn the error of their ways or they will continue to enter the forbidden land, hoping to find a wounded cat to enslave. Fight. Never give an inch.

The resonant vibrato of the doorbell sounded, capturing my attention.

Who could that be? Because I'd agreed not to take on any new clients, I had nothing to do for the rest of the day and had decided to work out to my favorite T-Tapp DVD (I hoped to build some muscle tone), so was dressed in cutoff shorts and a sports bra.

Frowning, I padded across the shiny wood floor. I didn't want to deal with guests.

The bell sounded again. And again. And again. My frown became a scowl. Did people really think ringing the bell over and over like that would make me open the door faster? All it did was irritate the hell out of me.

I glanced through the peephole. When I saw who stood in the hallway, the breath caught in my lungs. I froze. Shit. Shit! Royce Powell was here. Visiting me.

"Oh, my God," I gasped out, hand tightening on the doorknob. What was he doing here? I looked horrible. No makeup. Hair a wreck. "Shit."

He rang the doorbell again, but I didn't open the door. I'd let him think I was gone. Yes, I decided, nodding. That was a good plan. He'd go away.

"I know you're there, Naomi," he said on a laugh. "Open the door, you little potty mouth."

I ducked away from the peephole, realized what I'd done and straightened. He could hear me, but he couldn't see me. I gazed through the hole again and gulped. Had he appeared so rugged and sexy the last time I'd seen him?

A shiver stole over me, and I forced myself to think of a turkey-and-cheese on rye. My diversion tactic didn't work. A hard knot formed in my throat, even as a delicious warmth spread through my stomach.

How pathetic was I? Acting like a sex-starved… Hey! I was a sex-starved woman and he was total eye candy, so I had every right to lust after him. All it meant was that I was a normal, healthy woman. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to get in a panic over. I straightened my shoulders. What did it matter if he saw me looking my worst? Seeing disgust in his eyes as he looked at me might do me some good, help rid me of my growing obsession with him. At least I didn't have dirt on my face this time.

I pasted on a false smile and opened the door. The scent of man and sandalwood instantly wafted to my nostrils. My eyes gobbled him up. Royce wore a dark blue suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. No predictable tie hung from his neck. Instead, the top two buttons of his shirt were open, revealing a small patch of dark, bronzed skin.

A casual appearance, really, on any man except Royce.

His midnight brows winged in amusement. "Do I pass inspection?"

That hard knot of embarrassment fell from my throat and into my stomach, obliterating all hint of tingling warmth. "I wasn't staring at you," I said, scouring my mind for a plausible explanation. "I was lost in thought about something completely unrelated to you." Genius, Naomi. You idiot.

His eyes gleamed bright and he coughed. Hoping to cover a laugh? "I see."

I scowled. "How did you get my address? And what are you doing here? Our meeting isn't today."

His gave a casual shrug. "It's not hard to find someone these days, and my schedule cleared. I'm not due back in the office until tomorrow and thought we could spend the day together, as promised. Talk business." With a pointed stare, he asked, "Are you going to invite me in?"

Royce. Inside my home. Alone. With me. A resounding No! almost roared past my lips. I bit it back. There wasn't a polite way to refuse him.

Damn it.

"Fine. Whatever." I sighed, letting him know-discreetly, of course-that I wasn't exactly pleased with the idea.

A wide smile lit his face. "Well, which is it? Your tone says no but your lips say yes."

It didn't bode well for either of us that I wanted to strangle him and de-pants him at the same time. In lieu of an answer, I stepped back, allowing him to breeze past me. It was only then, as his body brushed innocently against mine, that I realized my nipples were hard. Really hard. As in, could-poke-his-eyes-out hard. And because of my sports bra, he would have to be blind not to notice.

Royce wasn't blind.

I barely managed to stop myself from cursing. I slapped my hands over my breasts as if the desperate action could make me magically disappear. "I'm not dressed properly."

It was such an obvious statement, I expected him to give a flippant "no shit" reply.

Instead, he turned and flashed me another wicked grin. "I noticed. Don't change on my account." His eyebrows wiggled suggestively in a way that would have made me laugh in a different situation. "I like you this way."

Then his gaze turned bold and assessing, and my heart hammered in my chest as if a little elf had suddenly decided to use the organ for drum practice. Royce didn't look disgusted by my appearance as I'd hoped-and dreaded, I admit. No, he truly did look admiring.

My knees almost collapsed. "I'll just be a moment," I muttered, pivoting. I paused. With my back to him-I didn't have the courage to face him again-I motioned to the left with a wave of my hand. "Have a seat in the living room."

A light pad of footsteps echoed behind me as I stomped to my room. I peeled off the spandex and shorts, letting the ultra-tight material sink to the floor. As fast as my hands could work, I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a tailored white blouse.

I anchored the long length of my dark hair in a tight, no-nonsense twist. As a lowly party planner/former doormat, I wasn't generally seen as a serious entrepreneur, so I used every trick I knew to make myself appear stern and unbending.

My gaze scanned my room, searching for my black shoes. I only had one pair, and at the moment, they were nowhere to be seen. I darted about, furthering my search. After a few minutes, I gave up. I didn't like leaving Royce unsupervised, and I refused to wear brown shoes with black pants. A fashion diva I wasn't, but even I had standards. I'd go barefoot. At least my toes were painted a pretty metallic blue. Yes, blue. I'm not the pink-polish kind of girl.