"Well, I'm glad you finally decided to heed it." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Would you care for something to drink?"

"No, thank you." I settled in my chair, took out my notebook and pencil, and set my briefcase aside. "You've put this off long enough, and we're running out of time. Only a few weeks left till the party. You must choose a location. I need to get the invitations printed ASAP."

"I've decided."

At that, I glanced up. "You have? Remember you promised I wouldn't have to fly," I told him.

His smile widened. "I haven't forgotten."

"Then where will it be?"

"The Palace Hotel."

"Thank God," I muttered under my breath. I'd planned parties there before, so I knew the exotic hotel intimately. "I'll have to make sure the ballroom isn't already booked. We waited so long-"

"I've, uh, already booked it."

Something in his tone caused my back to straighten. My eyes narrowed on him. "How long ago did you book it?"

His cheeks brightened a little. "That's not important," he said.

"Uh, yes." I crossed my arms over my middle. "It is. When?"

"I booked it the day we decided on the Arabian Nights theme."

I could have gotten mad. I should have gotten mad. Honestly, though, I liked that he'd gone to so much trouble to take me on those trips. Maybe that wasn't the politically correct reaction, but I'd gotten multiple orgasms out of the deal, so who was I to complain? Still…

"You deserve some type of punishment," I said.

"So come by my house tonight and make me pay," he said, a seductive edge underlying the words. "I'll finally give you your present. And while you're there," he added, regarding me intently, "I want you to think about moving in."

Everything inside me froze, warmed, then froze again. So far, he hadn't pushed me for more. A part of me had known it was coming, that it was only a matter of time. "Royce-"

"Hear me out. I'm not asking you to marry me. When you're with me, I'm happy. When we're apart, I'm not. I don't mind going back and forth between our apartments, but I'd rather have you near me all the time."

"It's too soon."

"It's not too soon. Not when I love you."

Only the sound of my shallow breath emerged. No, no, no. I didn't want to hear those words again. Not now.

"I love you, Naomi," he said again.

"Don't say that." I had trouble drawing in a breath. "I don't want to hear those words. Love only complicates things."

"I love you, Naomi," he repeated, ignoring my words. "I do. I think I loved you the first moment I saw you. Since that day, I haven't been romantically involved with another woman. Only you." He moved from the desk and knelt in front of me. Reaching up, he caressed the softness of my cheek. "I love you. I love you so much I'm miserable without you."

By far, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. And the most painful. I couldn't give him the words back. I just couldn't. That would mean trusting him completely, forsaking my fears, and taking a dangerous, uncertain plunge. "Royce, I don't know what to say." My voice quivered.

"Say you'll give me a chance. Say you'll think about my offer."

Not knowing if I could tell him what he wanted to hear, I could only nod.

"Ah, such enthusiasm," he said, shaking his head and grinning. "But it's good enough for now. You'll come over tonight?"

I gulped and nodded. I could give him that at least, no matter how much the prospect scared me.

At the moment, though, I wanted to rush home, to bury myself under a mound of covers and think about nothing at all. Not Royce. Not moving in with him. Not his words. But I wouldn't. That wasn't the way I lived my life anymore. "About your offer… Give me a little time. Okay? I'll think about it. I promise."

"All right." Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, "While you're thinking about it, I want you to remember the way I made love to you against the wall in Colorado. I want you to remember the way I tasted between your thighs at the cabin."

My chin snapped up. He tugged me to my feet and gave me a gentle push, easing me into the hall. Then he promptly shut the door in my face.

Every muscle inside my body tensed. I went from conflicted to sexually charged to frustrated in less than one point two seconds. He'd done that on purpose, the jerk. Now I would be able to imagine nothing else but the way he kissed me. The way he used his tongue on me. The way he loved me.

Oh, God.

I scowled all the way home.

Security allowed me to go to Royce's apartment without question or comment, even though I'd never been there before. I guess Royce had told them to expect me, had shown them my picture, or something.

All afternoon, I'd thought of only two things: living without Royce and actually living with him. I didn't want to do either, not permanently, but I had to choose one. Anything less was unfair to Royce. I realized that now. Unfortunately, I was no closer to a decision than I'd been earlier. My pro-and-con list balanced out equally.

Pros:

Unlimited sex with Royce.

Spending more time with Royce.

Eating breakfast off Royce's chest.

Cons:

Worrying about what Royce was doing if he came home late.

Worrying if Royce still loved me every second of every day.

Worrying if Royce would get tired of me sooner rather than later.

How did a person conquer their deepest fears? I'd searched my Tigress manual, but all I'd come up with was that I needed to kill them and feast on their remains. That didn't really answer my question, though.

After four hard knocks, Royce opened the door. When he spotted me, he smiled that seductive smile of his that drove me wild.

"Come in." He motioned backward with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you." I glided past him. I'd never been here, but I'd wondered about his place of residence. I drank in the details. The walls of the living room were painted in classic ivory. A white Tergal scarf was draped over each of the five windows. At first glance, every piece of furniture appeared to be the same monochrome shade of white. Yet at closer inspection, I saw pillows with cream-colored beaded jackets, wraps with eggshell trimming.

Behind the couch was a long, narrow table of dark wood. A chandelier boasting hundreds of tiny crystal raindrops hung over it. Chinese root tables flanked each side of the couch. It was a room that spoke of wealth, not comfort. I didn't like it.

"Who decorated this place?" I asked, not even trying to hide my distaste. Nothing about the place fit with Royce's open personality.

"My mother."

"It, uh, lacks warmth."

"So does she, for the most part. Fixing the place up made her feel wanted, so I let her do it." He clasped my hand in his. "Come on. I'll show you the rest."

I eagerly followed as he led me through a generously proportioned kitchen. High marble counters were scrubbed clean. No dishes sat in the sink. No pots or pans were out of place. In fact, the area looked as if it had never seen a meal prepared.

Next, he showed me the game room. It was nothing like the rest of the apartment. It had a dark, comfy couch, a large-screen television and more stereo equipment than I'd ever seen in one room. All of those gave it a nice, "lived in" feel. He spent most of his time in here, was my guess, and I doubted his mom had decorated it.

"And this," he said, "is my bedroom."

It, too, suited him, boasting deep blue and gold colors that spoke of warmth and masculinity. The decadent four-poster bed held my attention longest. Glossy wood, rumpled sheets. How I would love rolling naked on those Egyptian cotton sheets.

Sandalwood scented the air. Just the smell of it turned me on.

We strolled back to the living room hand in hand. I loved the feel of my hand in his. Where I was soft and small, he was callused and strong. A delicious contrast.