Royce wrapped his fingers around mine and leaned toward me, bringing with him that delicious sandalwood scent. "I'll take care of it, okay?" He kissed my temple before settling back in his seat. "No worries." He didn't release my hand.

That single kiss affected me deeply and unequivocally, but the fact that he kept our fingers linked meant more. I yearned to melt into him, to absorb his strength, his complete ease with our being together. But I remained where I was. I would not rely on a man for anything. Especially not comfort. That's where dependency began. I didn't allow myself to consider the fact that I was relying on him to fix the little unwanted photographer problem.

"Thank you," I said stiffly.

"You're very welcome," he replied, using the same rigid tone. "Now, why don't you tell me why you want to look around this salon."

I shrugged. "I want to see what type of services they offer." It was the truth. I didn't tell him that I also wanted to speak with the employees and find out if Nora had visited.

"Why?" he persisted.

Ignoring his question, I shifted and faced the opposite window. Trees and cars whizzed past. The people in those cars strained, trying to see inside the limo, but the darkened windows blocked us from view. "Do you think you could get me a list of their employees?" If Nora wasn't the other woman, that employee list would give me somewhere else to look.

"Absolutely," Royce said. "Just tell me why you want it."

"Well," I said, turning to him, a lie forming in my mind, "my mother is a twin, and they were separated at birth. She's been searching for her sister all her life and I suspect one of the employees is that twin. And now, with my mother dying of cancer-" I pretended to wipe away a tear "-I want to give her this gift."

"How tragic," Royce said dryly. "Did you know your voice creeps higher when you're lying?"

Damn it, my mom had warned me about that betraying fact. I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned.

"Maybe a better gift for your dying mother would be grandchildren," he suggested.

My lashes sprang up and I was given a full-on view of his amusement. "You are so not funny." But I was covered in a cold sweat by the time the limo stopped in front of a white stucco building.

"We're here." Royce didn't wait for the driver, but opened the door himself and emerged. He held out a hand for me.

The dry heat clamped tight fists around me as I stepped out.

"Do we need to be incognito here?" he asked. When my brow crinkled in confusion, he added, "Before we left your apartment, you asked me if I knew how to be sneaky."

Oh, yeah. "I don't want them to know my name, but they can know yours."

He nodded. "Let me do the talking."

We entered side by side. A long desk loomed in front, manned by several young, attractive women. Too young for Johnnie, that was for sure. While he might be willing to destroy his marriage, I didn't think he'd be willing to destroy his practice for an underage hottie.

But what did I truly know about men?

"How can we help you?" the only blonde asked.

"I'm Royce Powell, and I need to speak with the owner." He voice reeked of suave authority. "My fiancee isn't sure which salon she wants to use the day of our wedding. I'm here to see what type of services can be provided so my little sugar bottoms feels extra special that day."

My stomach dropped at the word fiancee-then twisted at sugar bottoms. Sugar bottoms, indeed.

"Money is not an object," Royce continued. "We'll want the works, of course."

I could be mistaken, but I think dollar signs flashed in the blonde's eyes.

"Right this way," she said. "Brenda is in her office, and I know she'd love to speak with you."

"While my dear, sweet snookie wookie is busy chatting," I said, "I think I'll have a look-see around, 'kay?" Without waiting for consent, I sailed past the desk and down a long hallway.

"I'll come with you," one of the girls said, at my side in the next instant.

For the next twenty minutes, I scoped out the entire salon, meeting and speaking with the employees. The masseuse, the aromatherapist. The nail tech, the facial tattoo artist. The tanning specialist. I asked all of them the same question: "Is my Aunt Nora, Nora Hallsbrook, a client here? Because if she's not I want to get her in ASAP. She'd love this place."

Confirming all my fears, each one answered, "Yes, she's a regular."

Jonathan the Jerk was paying for Nora's days of pampering while he treated his own wife like a bothersome insect. He was going to suffer. I was going to make him suffer. Once I returned from Colorado, I would follow him with a camera and catch him in the act. Then I would help my mom take him for everything he owned.

Fucking bastard!

When my tour ended, I strode to the front entrance. Royce was waiting at the door, and the pert receptionist was flirting with him, running her fingertip over his arm as she spoke. She was wearing a green bracelet, I noticed with a scowl.

To my surprise, Royce discreetly moved his arm. He even stepped away from her. His shoulders were stiff, and he radiated a discomfort that helped extinguish the raging fury in my blood.

"Snoogie bear," I called. "I'm back."

His gaze snapped up, colliding with mine, and he smiled with relief. "Sugar bottoms. Did you see everything you needed to see?"

"Yes." I tried to walk to him, but I suddenly couldn't move my feet. They were frozen in place. As I stood there, my gaze still locked on Royce, something… odd welled up inside me. Something sad and vulnerable. Tears sprang into my eyes.

In three quick strides, Royce was at my side, his arm slipping around my waist. I let him wrap himself around me. I hated all men at the moment, but I let him. My Tigress seemed to be on hiatus, and I didn't have the strength to protest or push away his comforting touch.

Maybe, deep down, I didn't really want to protest. Royce wasn't like Richard the Bastard. Royce wasn't like Jonathan the Jerk. Royce said sweet things and wanted to be around me. He didn't flirt with pretty receptionists. Royce called me just to hear my voice and made me feel important and needed.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you home." He led me to the limo. We didn't speak the entire drive. I was grateful. I didn't know what was wrong with me, didn't know why my emotions had chosen that moment to overtake me.

"We're here, sweetheart."

I pushed open the door and tried to step outside, but he stopped me with a hand on my wrist. He held out the list I'd wanted with the other hand.

I grabbed it and ran inside the building before I burst into tears.

I cried most of the night, and my tears only made me angrier. At Jonathan. At myself. At Royce and Gwendolyn. I believed Royce one moment, I didn't the next. Did that make me as foolish as my mom? Worse, did that make me the same foolish Naomi I'd been before?

No, surely not. None of the above meant I trusted Royce completely.

Cheating… Why did men do it? Why did any man think it was okay to trample on a woman's heart by lying to her and giving the best of himself to a woman other than his wife? It wasn't okay. It wasn't acceptable. It was disgusting and disrespectful, vile and wretched.

When Royce arrived the next morning, my eyes were still red and puffy. I hated that I was leaving town. There was so much I needed to do: follow Nora, take pictures of her with my stepdad and, of course, the most important item on my list, kill Jonathan.

Maybe I needed this trip, though. Royce always proved a good distraction. Plus, my mom kept calling me, and I kept ignoring her. I'd even turned off the ringer. I couldn't lie to her and tell her I'd found nothing, but I couldn't tell her what I had found. Not yet. Not while she could deny it.