"Absolutely not." His tone was firm, unbending. "She'll second-guess everything."

"Technically, she is the one who hired me."

"I tried to hire you, but you never returned my calls. More than that, I'm the one paying you."

I ignored the censure in his tone about the unreturned calls. "That's good enough for me. She'll never hear a peep from me." Moving on. "Is there a specific caterer you'd prefer?"

"No. Whoever you normally use will be fine."

"Excellent." Deep breath. Let it out. We had a nice business rhythm going, those trickles of sexual attraction dissolved. I'd ask Kera to cater the party on the condition she use only the food items I approved. Which meant nothing exotic would be on the menu. "What about decorations? Will your mom want something simple, elegant or traditional party style?"

He rubbed his temple and sighed. "Elegant, most likely."

That had been my guess, though sometimes clients surprised me. I once planned a bachelorette party for a seventy-three-year-old woman. She'd wanted strippers, condom hats and zucchini trays. "Is there a particular symbol or theme she prefers? Anything she collects? Loves?"

"Jewelry. She can't get enough of it."

I paused, pen poised over notepad, as images drifted through my mind. "You know, I could make the location look like a jewelry box." Last time I'd shopped for decorations, I'd seen giant faux diamond rings. They would make excellent centerpieces.

Royce's dark brows arched, hiding under the inky fall of hair on his forehead. "You can do that? Really?"

"I can do whatever you want."

His eyes flashed with sudden heat, and I kicked myself for uttering such a suggestive comment. Any man would have reacted to it. It wasn't me.

"Let's leave the decorations open for right now," he said.

"While I like the jewelry box idea, I'm not one-hundred-percent sold on it yet."

I nodded, making another notation. I really, really wanted this party to be my best ever. Something people would remember and talk about for months afterward. I tapped the pen on my bottom lip and said, "All right, next on the list is location." Another tap. "Have you decided where you'd like the party to be located?"

He didn't answer.

Another tap. "Royce?" I looked up and my tapping stilled. His gaze was fastened on my mouth. Had the pen left a smudge? Was a crumb from breakfast hovering on the edge of my lips? My tongue slipped out to wipe away whatever it was. No taste of ink. No crumbs.

His eyes flashed with blue fire again.

Maybe… maybe it had nothing to do with ink or crumbs. Maybe Mel had been right before, and he wanted my hooker lips all over him. I inhaled a shaky breath, pretending the strange heat growing inside me didn't exist.

He started leaning toward me. Closer. Closer still. He's probably dating that supermodel, I reminded myself. "Royce?" I asked again, a bit hoarse. Where was my inner Tigress when I needed her to claw out a man's eyes? Surely I hadn't caged her and thrown away the key. "Royce."

He blinked, but didn't remove his gaze from my mouth. "Yes?"

"Have you decided where you'd like the party to be located?"

When he still didn't answer, when he tried to close the space between us a second time, I said, "Royce!" I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "You need to stop that."

"What?" He paused.

"Staring. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Sorry," he grumbled, at last removing his gaze and directing it over my head. "Just for the record, I wasn't staring. I was thinking about something totally unrelated to you."

My mouth fell open. He was lying, just like I'd lied to him earlier. That meant… Good Lord, that meant he'd almost kissed me. My nipples hardened at the thought, and I had to clear my throat. What about his supposed girlfriend, the whore of Babylon? Was he hoping to cheat on her with me? To have a fling with me, then marry the girl he found worthy of him? Bastard!

My fingers tightened around the pen, nearly snapping it in two. "Have you thought about where you want to hold the party?" The words emerged clipped, layered with a hint of anger.

"No," he said, seeming a little surprised by my vehemence, "I haven't."

Great. With this type of help, the party was sure to be a success. "There are several places I've used before. I'm positive you'll find one of them satisfactory."

"I'm sure I will."

"Give me just a moment," I said, jolting up. "I've already made a list. It's in my room."

My steps hurried, I sailed to my bedroom and rooted inside my briefcase. After finding what I needed, I rushed back into the kitchen and plopped onto my seat. One by one I tapped off the. names listed.

"The botanical gardens."

He shook his head. "No."

"The Mansion on Turtle Creek."

"No."

"Omni at Park West."

"No."

"The Adolphus."

"No."

"The Hilton. The Hyatt Regency. Four Seasons."

"No. No. No."

My jaw clenched so tightly I felt the burn all the way to my teeth. "None of these places will work?"

Again, "No."

Why the hell not?

"If you'll put together a list of places you find suitable-" damn him "-I'll visit each one and let you know which will work for a party the size you're planning." Not that I knew what size party it was going to be with an answer like Maybe fifty, or a hundred or two.

"Then," I finished, "I'll put together another list, as well, and we can compare."

"Sounds good." He paused and studied me, his eyes blank, giving no hint of his thoughts. "I have a question for you now."

I almost shuddered. The last time he'd asked me a question in that tone, I'd had to promise to turn other clients away. "Shoot."

"What's your home number?"

I frowned. "I keep my business and private life separate. It's the reason my home number isn't listed on my card. My cell phone is always turned on during business hours."

When he remained silent, I added, "There's no reason for you to have access to my personal line."

"I disagree. Since I'm paying triple your normal rate, I expect you to be at my beck and call. If I need you to look at a potential location at four in the morning, I want to be able to get a hold of you."

The only place I could think of that was open at four in the morning and equipped for a party was the all-nude, all-the-time strip club a few streets over. "Very well," I answered, even though I knew a true Tigress wouldn't have acquiesced so easily.

Just because I gave in didn't mean I did it gracefully, though. With jerky movements, I wrote down the required number and shoved the pad and pen at him. "I'll need your home number as well. Just in case I need to get a hold of you at four in the morning," I added with a false, bite-me smile.

He didn't balk as I expected-but then, when did he ever? He grinned as if I'd given him exactly what he wanted and plucked the pen from my hand. His fingertips brushed my knuckles. Slivers of sexual awareness pulsed the length of my arm and sparked electric currents through my veins.

He didn't seem the least affected by the touch, I noted irritably.

"This is a direct line." He tore the bottom half of the page from the notebook and handed it to me. "You can reach me without having to go through Ms. Carroll."

"Who?"

"My assistant."

Ah, Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. I almost French-kissed the number. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He scanned the paper I'd handed him, nodded and tucked the sheet of paper in his jacket pocket. "Any other details we need to go over right now?"

"No." Now he would leave, I thought, and wanted to jump and shout with joy. Okay, that was a lie. I still wasn't ready for him to leave-even though he might have a girlfriend. He was fun to talk to, with a dry sense of humor I enjoyed. Plus, I liked looking at him.