"I was lying," I interjected. "I'm just a little out of sorts right now."

Pause. "Good, then. I won't keep you long. I just have to get a few things off my chest before I burst. Now that you know about Rachel, Jonathan really wants you to meet her. I'll let you know when and where. And-and I've decided we were wrong, that Jonathan just isn't the type of man to cheat on me."

"Mom, that's-"

"No, no. He's an honest man. And so sweet. He brought me flowers yesterday and we spent a romantic evening together, dinner, wine, the works."

Most likely the romantic night had been born of Jonathan's guilt. Why couldn't my mom see that?

My stomach chose that moment to cramp again, and I moaned. "Do you see what that kind of talk does to me, mom? It makes me want to throw up."

"Want me to come over and take care of you? I'll bring soup. I think I have a can of chicken noodle here. If not, I'm sure I have tomato."

"Oh, God." I pressed my lips together to keep from barfing right then and there. "Are you trying to kill me? No soup. No mention of soup ever again. I'll be fine. People don't die from food poisoning."

"Yes, they do," she said matter-of-factly. "All the time."

Great. "Thanks, Mom. I really needed to hear that."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come over?"

"Positive."

"I'll let you get some rest."

"Wait." I fought through the pain long enough to say, "I know you want to think the best of Jonathan. So do I. But I also wanted to think the best of Richard."

"This isn't the same thing. They aren't the same man."

"That's where you're wrong. They are the same man. Every man ever born is the same man." Except Royce. Maybe. "Don't you remember Daddy? I was only a child, but I remember his late nights, his 'female business associates.'" While my mom pretended not to notice. "And you saw how I made excuses for my husband. You saw how I suffered, so why are you putting yourself through the same thing?"

"We have no proof," she said defensively.

"I saw him, okay. I saw him with a woman."

Silence. A horrified gasp. A sob. "Who? What did they do? What did she look like?"

I scrubbed a hand down my face. This was not a good time for this conversation, but there was no help for it. "It was Nora Hallsbrook, his secretary."

"What did they do?" she repeated brokenly.

"Talked, smelled oils."

"That's…that's all? Nothing sexual?"

"No. Not this time, but-"

My mom cut me off with a shaky, relieved breath. "Well, then, there you have it. He's not sleeping with her. They were working."

"At her home? With massage oil?"

"They are not sleeping together," she said, a desperate edge to her voice.

"Mom-"

"I've got to go, dear."

Click.

I stared down at the phone and shook my head. Why did women in love insist on making excuses for their men? Even women who'd been burned in the past, like my mom had?

"Your mom reminds me of mine."

I spun around, which was a mistake. My stomach cramped yet again, doubling me over. I clutched my side, croaking out, "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't leave you, not like this," Royce said. "I tried to turn your ringer off, but your phone resisted me every step of the way. Stubborn, like its owner. And I didn't want to answer and give the Tattler something more to talk about. Come on, I'll help you back into bed."

He closed the distance between us and curled his arm around me. He'd actually stayed to take care of me. Only men in movies did that. Richard would have taken off, claiming he couldn't afford to catch whatever I had. In that moment, I slipped a little further under Royce's spell.

Unemotional fling. Apparently I'd still never had one.

Chapter Sixteen

When your paws get muddy, emotionally speaking, clean them on your opponent's finest fur. This reveals your complete power, as well as intimidates, and the more intimidated your opponent is, the less likely they are to attack you again.

Royce took care of me all morning, making tea, holding my hair out of the way when needed (i.e. when I vomited) and covering me with blankets while I lay in bed. Despite my abject humiliation and the fact that I was freakishly sick, I loved every minute of it. He was so much better everything than I ever could have predicted. So much more wonderful. So much more giving. So much more kind.

Today, we almost seemed like an old married couple. That should have caused me to puke yet again, but it didn't. I liked that he'd taken a shower at my place. I liked that he'd washed his clothes here-never mind that it was to get rid of stains and smells I'd caused.

His clothes were in the dryer, so right now he was walking around in a pair of sexy black boxers. Did food poisoning cause a fever? Because I was burning up just looking at him. His stomach was ripped with muscle, his skin bronze and beautiful. His legs were long and lean.

I'd seen him naked before, but at the time I'd been looking at him with sex on the brain. Now, without the energy to jump his bones like a wild cowgirl, I could appreciate him like an art connoisseur. And appreciate him, I did. Fluid strength, he was, and all man.

He strode to the edge of my bed and gazed down at me, warmth and tenderness in his blue eyes. His black hair fell at his temples in complete disarray. "You need anything?"

Now there was a loaded question, and one I could interpret in so many ways. "I could use some company," I said.

A hint of satisfaction curled the edges of his lips. "I found your BlueJay under a bunch of magazines-which, by the way, have some great quizzes on relationships. You should read them. Anyway, I left it on your kitchen table. Uncovered."

"You're too good to me," I said dryly.

"You know, we could see this sickness as a sign."

"That it's my time to die?"

He laughed. "That you're pregnant."

I stiffened. "Not another word on that subject," I said. "I don't need the stress of that now."

Slowly he sobered. "Would it really be so bad?"

"I'm not going to answer that." Because if I said yes, I'd be lying. And I didn't want to say no. That would lead to a whole different conversation.

Sighing, he eased down, propping his weight over my legs and onto his elbow. Without his tall, strong body blocking the view in front of me, I was afforded a glimpse of myself in my dresser mirror. I gasped, horrified.

"I'm a hideous beast monster." My hair was messy and tangled. Black mascara smudges coated the skin under my eyes. "You have to leave," I told Royce. "You have to leave right now."

"Don't worry," he said on a laugh. "I'm not going to sell pictures of you to the Tattler."

The entire world could see me like this, but not Royce. Anyone but Royce. "Seriously, you need to go."

"Naomi, sweetheart, you threw up all over me. I think it's a little too late to be worrying about appearances."

Please Lord, I thought then, let me be one of the lucky souls who actually dies from food poisoning. I tossed the cover over my head, shielding my haggard features from his view. "I look so ugly."

He tugged the covers out of my kung-fu grip and cupped my jaw in his hand. "You look like you need me, and I think that's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

Oh. My chin tilted to the side and I found myself feeling all dreamy and goo-goo.

"I got you a present while I was in Florida. You'll have to come to my place if you want to open it, though."

No way was I going to his house. Too personal. Too… tempting right now. What if I never wanted to leave?

But…

"A present? For me?" A shaft of warmth speared me. Like any normal human, I loved receiving gifts. "What is it?" A necklace? An airport snowglobe?