My cheeks reddened and I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You're just saying that because you're desperate to get married."

"You've said that before. I didn't answer you fully then, but I will now. I want to get married, yes, and I want a family. I want to belong to a woman and for her to belong to me. I want a woman to come home to-the same woman every night. I want our children running through our house. I want to know I have a partner who only wants the best for me, who will love me through everything. I want that with you. It's always been you."

The beauty of his words was shattering, and something lurched inside me at the happily-ever-after he described. Something that had nothing to do with panic, nothing to do with my hatred of marriage. "You've received thousands of applications. What if your Miss Right is in the stack, waiting for you? What if you find her after you've committed yourself to me?" I asked, softly speaking one of my deepest fears.

"I threw all the applications away the day you came into my office."

"But-"

"No buts. My mother ran the story. We were arguing, again, about my lack of dating. She said you obviously weren't interested in me and decided to introduce me to women who were available. I refused to date any of the applicants, and even talked her into having a birthday party with you as the planner." Royce turned toward me, his gaze clashing and locking with mine. "There's no other woman who has your spirit, Naomi. Your humor. Your ability to set me on fire."

I covered my face with my hands. If he'd said this to me six years ago, I would have caved. I would have been all over him. Now, I bore too many scars.

I couldn't give Royce what he wanted. I just couldn't put my heart on the line like that. The thought of permanent, legal ties made me nauseous. I wasn't ready. Hell, I might never be ready.

"I'm sorry, Royce, but my answer is still no."

Chapter Thirteen

The only absolute in life is death. A Tigress knows this and avoids anything that could render her own absolute, be it physical or emotional.

Even though Royce slept in another hotel room, I tossed and turned all night, confident I'd made the right choice one minute, hating myself for making the wrong choice the next. I was so confused. Maybe I'd acted hastily. Maybe I shouldn't have told him no so quickly.

I wanted to be with him sexually-truth. I didn't want to see him ever again-truth. When I looked at him, I melted inside- truth. At the same time, when I looked at him, I panicked- again, truth.

Would he agree to a phone relationship, maybe?

I discarded that idea as quickly as it formed. His voice was as sexy and mesmerizing as the man himself. Maybe I just needed to kick him out of my life for good, party be damned.

Great, now I wanted to cry.

When subtle, golden rays of sunlight peeked through the window, I gave up trying to rest and lumbered out of bed. This was exactly why I hadn't wanted to get involved with him in the first place. I hated the confusion, the insecurity.

I took a much needed shower, lingering in the steamy water, allowing the wet heat to relax me. Afterward, I dried my hair, brushed my teeth and dressed in my new black pants with ivy and flowers sewn in the seam and a matching blouse.

To my surprise, Royce was waiting in my room when I emerged from the bathroom. He sat in the cushy recliner, watching the news on TV. I stilled, my heartbeat picking up its pace. He looked delicious. His deep tan was displayed perfectly by the black pants and shirt he wore.

Now that I knew exactly what was under those clothes, I found myself picturing his hard, tanned muscles bunching, coiled and ready for my touch.

"Are you ready?" he asked, barely sparing me a glance. His cold, hard expression cut me deeply, but I should have been prepared for it. Should have been glad for it.

"Yes."

"We still need to drive to the cabin. We'll look around, then fly home."

"Just let me get my things." I turned, went to the divan and lifted my bag. Then I followed him out the door, my gaze boring into his back. Did he hate me?

We stayed at the cabin for less than an hour before driving to the airport. The plane ride home passed in agonizing slowness. Neither of us spoke. I sat still, eyes closed, not wanting to face Royce or the land so far below. At that point, I wasn't sure what would have been better. Crashing and dying or carrying on a conversation with Royce.

After we landed, he drove to my apartment building. The same uneasy silence filled the car. I hated it. We'd been so comfortable with each other before, and I already missed that. Had he decided that I wasn't the right woman for him after all? My hands tightened into fists, the thought not sitting well with me.

Yes, I realized how contradictory my thoughts were, how silly I was acting, but I had no control over my emotions. I had no control over the way this man made me feel. I constantly swung to both sides of the pendulum: I wanted him, I didn't. I needed him, I didn't. One part of me constantly battled the other.

When his luxury sedan came to a stop just outside my apartment, he removed the key from the ignition. "I'll help you inside."

"That isn't necessary," I told him, deciding to get as far away from him as possible so I could think about all that had happened. "I can get myself in."

"I'll carry your bag."

"I told you, I can get myself in."

He frowned. "Let me do this, Naomi."

"Fine."

I held my head high as I emerged from the car. And even as I unlocked the front door, I kept up the casual facade of a woman who cared about nothing more important than the weather.

When the lock clicked, Royce leaned forward. His chest brushed my back as he held the door open and out of my way. I stepped inside, away from him, and turned, blocking any move he might make to come inside.

"If you'll set my bag down," I said primly, "I'll get it the rest of the way in."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I don't know what gave you the idea that I'd let a woman of mine leave me outside without any kind of goodbye, but I assure you, it's the wrong idea."

My heart skipped a beat, and I opened my mouth to respond. No sound emerged.

"We're not finished, sweetheart, and you can't get rid of me so easily. If you think you can shove me aside because you're afraid of the past and the future, you need to readjust your thinking. And I'm more than willing to help you with that."

"H-how?" I didn't know what else to say.

He shrugged and leaned in a little closer to me. "You'll just have to wait and see."

I gulped. His words were innocent, but his tone was so suggestively sensual a tremor swept through me.

"Right now," he said, "there are some things I need to discuss with you. We can have the discussion out here, for all your neighbors to hear, or you can invite me in."

The man was simply too tempting, a smooth talker who could easily charm me out of my clothes. "I can't let you in."

He took a step closer to me. "I don't have a single qualm about making a scene guaranteed to keep your neighbors entertained for weeks. Who knows? Maybe the Tattler wants to snap another picture of you."

"You wouldn't," I gasped.

"Try me."

There was a hard edge of determination to him that I'd only seen a few times before. Yeah, he'd do whatever was necessary to get inside. I moved out of his way. He brushed past me and set my bags beside the couch. He plopped down on the oversize cushions and motioned for me to take the space next to him.

I ignored his gesture and stood off to the side. One whiff of him and I might crumble like a condemned house. Before he could speak, I said, "I don't think we should discuss last night. It would be best if we just pretended it never happened."