Sometimes I'm such a naughty girl.

When I'd taken my morning shower, I'd pictured Royce there with me, lathering me with soap. While I dressed, I pictured Royce playfully trying to remove each item. With his teeth. While I ate a bowl of chocolate ice cream for breakfast, I pictured myself eating it off his chest. While I strolled down the sidewalk to this very shop, I pictured him tugging me to a secluded, shadowy corner and ravaging my breath away.

Why was I letting that diabolical, evilly sexy man affect me so strongly? It wasn't as if I'd never been kissed before. It wasn't as if I'd never seen a handsome man before. Uh, hello, I'd watched every Brad Pitt film ever made. Several times each. Who the hell did Royce think he was, anyway, barging into my home, playing a round of tonsil hockey, then storming away with a delicious, I'll-kiss-you-again challenge?

"Lord, I'm so jealous of you," Kera said, a wistful edge in her voice. She drew her knees to her chest, and rested her elbows on them and her cheek on her upraised palm.

"You? Jealous of me? Whatever for?"

"Whatever for?" my cousin repeated, her wistfulness twisting into incredulity. "Because you're working for the most beautiful man in the world, a beautiful man determined to pop the question to a lucky lady in the very near future. You have access to him, which gives you the edge. Women everywhere would peel the flesh from your bones and feast on your rotting carcass for a chance like that."

"One, that's gross. Two, there's no edge to being the party planner. I'm the hired help. And three, I'm not going to bore you with all the reasons I gave you before for not wanting to be with him. Reasons that still stand."

"Whatever. I've just never seen you this affected by a man. Your cheeks flush every time his name is mentioned, and your eyes glow. Literally glow. I think Royce could be the one. Your one."

I fought the urge to cover my ears. "Don't say that. Not ever again."

"I bet he meets every requirement on the list. The Mr. Right list every woman supposedly has," she added, "and not the Mr. Wrong list we thought up."

I pushed through my growing panic and hurriedly changed the focus of our conversation. "Speaking of Mr. Right, are you still on the lookout for the future Mr. Kera Gellis?"

"Of course," she said, allowing the change without protest. "I even have a prospect in mind."

My back straightened and my brow furrowed. "Who?" If she said Royce, I was going to hurt her. "As of yesterday, you weren't seeing anyone."

"I'm still not. But George Wilben has caught my interest." He was Kera's next-door neighbor and (in my opinion) not the best choice of man for Kera. Not that she was too good for him, but she was a social butterfly and George would never be able to keep up. "He copped a feel this morning."

"Of what?"

Kera's large blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "My butt."

"He didn't!" George looked like the quintessential computer nerd. Glasses. Tall, lanky body. Mussed brown hair that always blocked his vision. The only difference was, George knew nothing about computers. He was an actor for the local community theatre:

Go figure.

"He most certainly did," Kera said, smiling. "He took a squeeze, too. I knew he'd cave in and go for it sooner or later. I feel his gaze on me every time I walk by him."

"We're talking about the guy who hasn't taken off his sweater vest since the great heat wave four years ago, right?"

"That's the one."

"He squeezed your ass? Really?" I still couldn't picture it.

"Well, maybe I turned around and asked him to do it," Kera said with a smile.

I chuckled again. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Absolutely." Kera's grin widened. "Mel must be rubbing off on me." She sighed, losing a little of her humor. "If George doesn't ask me out soon, I'll have to ask him out."

"You're that interested?"

"Well, yeah. I like the way he looks at me. More than that, I realized that I like the way I feel when he looks at me."

I knew her, knew what she was really saying. She wanted a man who made her feel worshipped. She deserved it; so did every woman, for that matter. Was something like that possible, though? I didn't think so. I'd never seen it. Even the most passionate of marriages usually ended in divorce. The hotter the spark, the quicker it died, right?

With that cheerful thought, I decided it was time to get down to business. "How's your schedule looking for the third weekend in September?" I asked.

"Open, why?"

"I want you to cater Linda Powell's party. I already have Royce's approval."

"Cool." Thoughtful, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "You know, in the last six months, I've had more business than my parents ever did. And they ran this place for twenty years."

"It's because you're the best caterer in town." When she wasn't trying new, exotic recipes, that is.

"No." She shook her head. "It's because you send all your customers my way."

"And they love me for it. You've never disappointed." I reached into my briefcase, withdrew three sheets of paper, saw that one was the application packet for Royce's bride, and hurriedly shoved it back inside. Cheeks heating, I handed the correct papers to Kera. "Here's a list of possible themes, as well as a list of acceptable food items. You'll notice the Powells are very adamant in their desire for plain fare," I added quickly.

Her features fell, giving her expression a cute little pout. "Are you sure? I've got a new recipe-"

"I'm sure!"

She shrugged her shoulders daintily. "There's no accounting for taste," she said, her gaze traveling over the list. "You and Royce are considering going with a jewelry-box theme?"

"Considering, yes. Royce says it's the one thing his mother loves." I paused, hesitant. "Do you like it?"

"No, I don't like it. I love it," she said, making me smile in relief. Her features brightened, illuminating the angelic roundness of her face. "Perhaps I can make hors d'oeuvres that look like necklaces and earrings."

I nodded my approval. "That's the spirit, though we're not one-hundred-percent settled on that theme yet. Give me a couple of days to firm it up."

Kera folded the papers and stuffed them in her apron pocket. "I hate to change the subject back to the one you want to avoid, but I'm dying to ask. Have you filled out an application to become Mrs. Royce Powell yet?"

"No." I glanced away from her. "Of course not."

"Do you plan to?"

"What kind of question is that? Absolutely not."

"Then why do you have one in your bag?"

My cheeks heated so much I might have set off a fire alarm had one been nearby. Damn it, I hadn't wanted anyone to see the application Elvira had given me-but I hadn't had the strength to throw it away. "Royce's assistant gave it to me by mistake, that's all."

Watchful, searching, she made a tsking sound under her tongue. "You kept it when you could have thrown it away. Why did you keep it, Naomi?"

As if I wanted to analyze myself that deeply. I didn't know why I was having trouble parting with the stupid thing, and I didn't want to know. The answer might scare me. Perhaps that meant I was the kind of person who pulled the covers over my head if I heard a strange noise in the middle of the night instead of calling 911, but I didn't care.

My cell phone chose that moment to burst forth with a string of high-pitched rings, saving me from having to answer her. God bless technology.

"Hang on a sec," I said, leaning down and unsnapping the front flap of my case. I withdrew my phone and placed it at my ear. "Events by Naomi."

"Where are you?" an angry male voice ground out. "I tried you at home. Many times. Obviously you weren't there."

Recognition came instantly, as did the tingling surge of excitement. The warm rush of desire. Royce.