Книга - Playing His Dangerous Game

Playing His Dangerous Game
Tina Duncan


What happens when you break all the rules…? Socialite Shara Atwood is used to playing the celebrity game. However, the buzz of vintage champagne is nothing compared to the heady gaze and indecently muscled physique of her new bodyguard, the enigmatic Royce…Royce has his work cut out for him! Shara is no spoilt Daddy’s Girl, but a fiercely independent woman learning to stand on her own two feet. Shara knows she should do as Royce tells her – especially when his body is between hers and danger – but she can’t help but think she’ll have more fun not obeying his every command…










Her photograph didn’t do her justice.

Not by a long shot.

Even though Royce was watching her from half a room away, Shara Atwood was so alive she lit up the room. It wasn’t just the sinuous way she was dancing—which he had to admit was incredibly hot—she seemed to radiate a vibrant kind of energy that made it impossible not to look at her.

And people were looking—in their droves.

Royce was watching Shara because he had to.

Because as of an hour ago it was his job to watch her.

What irritated him was the fact that he was enjoying it. The prickling sensation under his skin told him that his body was enjoying it even more—a fact that he found doubly infuriating.




About the Author


TINA DUNCAN lives in trendy inner-city Sydney, with her partner Edy. With a background in marketing and event management, she now spends her days running a business with Edy. She’s a multi-tasking expert. When she’s not busy typing up quotes and processing invoices, she’s writing. She loves being physically active, and enjoys tennis (both watching and playing), bushwalking and dancing. Spending quality time with her family and friends also rates high on her priority list. She has a weakness for good food and fine wine, and has a sweet tooth she has to keep under control.

Recent titles by the same author:

HER SECRET, HIS LOVE-CHILD

DA SILVA’S MISTRESS


Playing His

Dangerous

Game

Tina Duncan












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


HER photograph didn’t do her justice.

Not by a long shot.

Even though Royce was watching her from half a room away, Shara Atwood was so alive she lit up the room. It wasn’t just the sinuous way she was dancing—which he had to admit was incredibly hot—but she seemed to radiate a vibrant kind of energy that made it impossible not to look at her.

And people were looking—in their droves.

The young single men at the club were outright staring. The older men, or those accompanied by their wives or girlfriends, were not so obvious. Their eyes slid to Shara whenever they thought they could get away with it without being caught.

Royce fitted neither of those categories.

He was watching Shara because he had to.

Because as of an hour ago it was his job to watch her.

What irritated him was the fact that he was enjoying it. The prickling sensation under his skin told him that his body was enjoying it even more—a fact that he found doubly irritating.

Shara Atwood was the type of woman Royce despised.

She might be beautiful and sexy, but by all accounts she was also spoilt, selfish and self-centred.

He knew the type and tried to steer clear of them—except when his job made that task impossible.

The reminder of why he was here prompted Royce to straighten away from the wall. He made his way through the crowd towards the dance floor. Everyone moved automatically out of his way. At six-foot-four and being keenly muscled, he had that effect on people. They no doubt thought it was safer to move than to accidentally collide with him.

He stopped on the edge of the dance floor.

Now that he was closer Royce realised that Shara had her eyes closed. She was swaying and twirling in perfect time to the music and ignoring everything and everyone around her—including the eager young man with the light brown hair who was desperately trying to capture her attention.

As he watched, the young man reached out to take hold of her shoulders, but she shook him off without even bothering to look at him, as if he were no more important than a bothersome fly. The young man said something. Royce was too far away to hear what it was, but not too far to read Shara’s expression.

A flash of irritation she made no effort to hide crossed her face and then her full lips parted. Whatever she’d said, it must have been cutting. The young man jumped back as if he’d been stung by a wasp. His cheeks flushed a bright fiery red as he turned and stalked off the dance floor.

‘Keep on walking, mate,’ Royce muttered under his breath. ‘And don’t look back. She’s not worth it.’

The incident was a timely reminder to focus on business rather than on Shara’s lusciously full figure and thick fall of sable hair.

He walked across the dance floor and stopped right in front of her.

Then he said her name.

Shara kept right on dancing as if she hadn’t heard him.

But she had.

Royce knew she had.

To the casual observer her expression hadn’t changed, but Royce was an expert at reading body language. He was trained to scrutinise people and assess their reactions. That kind of attention to detail was essential in his line of work.

He’d captured the imperceptible tightening of her mouth and the barely there contraction of her brow. And even though her movements were still fluid and graceful there had been a momentary stiffness—so brief it had almost been invisible—that had run through her curvaceous frame.

It was clear she was irritated by the interruption.

Well, she could be irritated all she liked.

Royce was not like the young pup she’d just sent away with his tail between his legs.

He was a man.

And he didn’t like being ignored—particularly when he had a job to do.

‘Shara,’ he said again.

That was all he said. Nothing else.

But his tone, which fell somewhere between firm and harsh, was one people usually ignored at their peril.

Shara heaved a sigh.

Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone?

OK. So she’d made a mistake coming to the club tonight. She knew that. Had known it since the minute she’d walked through the door.

She wasn’t in the mood to party. She hadn’t been for a long time. The last twelve months had seen to that.

She’d also outgrown the crowd she’d used to run with—a fact she’d realised within minutes of arriving at the club. She could thank the last twelve months for that too.

She had to face it. Coming here tonight was just another poor decision in a long, long line of poor decisions. Stuffing up appeared to be a habit she just couldn’t break.

‘Shara.’

There it was again. That voice. She didn’t recognise it. She would have remembered if she’d heard it before.

It was male. Very definitely male. A deep baritone that made her toes curl in the stiletto sandals she was wearing.

Not Tony, thank goodness. How many times did she have to tell the guy she wasn’t interested? The way he kept coming on to her was bordering on harassment, and with one man already making a nuisance out of himself she didn’t need another.

Perhaps that was why tonight she’d given up on politely rejecting Tony’s overtures and given it to him straight.

Tony had been gone for no more than five seconds before this guy with the deep velvety voice had appeared.

If she ignored him maybe he’d take the hint and go away.

‘Shara.’

No such luck. There it was again, only harder this time. Like a hammer hitting concrete.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t going away in a hurry. That tone spoke of stubbornness and determination—qualities that none of the people in this crowd possessed.

Curious in spite of herself, Shara stopped moving and opened her eyes.

She found herself staring at the middle of a strong, barrel-like chest.

She looked up. And up.

Whoever he was, he was tall.

He was also lip-smackingly gorgeous.

Not that he was handsome in the traditional sense—his face was too hard, too angular. But he was ruggedly good-looking, with a broad forehead, strong, well-defined jaw and a slightly crooked nose that somehow did nothing to detract from his tough handsomeness.

He was perfectly proportioned too. Strongly muscled thighs and a stomach that was flat and hard balanced his broad shoulders and deep chest. And he was so big. Even his hands, which he was holding loosely at his sides, were large.

Would his—?

A hot flush of colour flooded her cheeks. Even though she’d managed to put a brake on her thoughts, she couldn’t stop her eyes dropping and felt the breath catch in her throat. He was built in proportion, all right …

A peculiar weakness invaded her knees. What on earth had got into her? Imagine staring at him like that! She’d never done anything like that before. And then an appalling thought occurred to her. God, what if he’d noticed …?

Her eyes snapped to his face.

His total lack of expression meant she couldn’t tell one way or another.

Embarrassed by the way she’d stared at his private parts, and annoyed by the weakness invading her knees, she snapped, ‘What, damn it?’

Royce stared into the most amazing blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were bluer than the sky on a bright summer’s day, brighter than a freshly cut sapphire, and more mysterious than the depths of the ocean.

It would be easy to be captivated by them but Royce was not easily captivated—particularly when her sharp, stinging voice told him the true measure of the woman standing in front of him.

‘So you are polite enough to look at someone when they’re speaking to you, are you?’ Royce asked, returning sting for sting with rapier-sharp speed.

Her magnificent eyes narrowed and her chin lifted fractionally into the air. ‘Do I know you?’

It was a simple question, but the way she asked it was anything but simple.

Princess talk.

That was the way Royce labelled her tone.

These society babes had a way of talking down to someone when they wanted to. Her tone implied that she couldn’t possibly know someone like him.

A lesser man might have been embarrassed, or even have walked away. But Royce was made of tougher stuff than that. So he smiled and said, ‘No, but we’re about to become acquainted.’

Her eyes narrowed some more, then her mouth moved in a disparaging little twist, and somehow, despite being about a foot shorter than he was, she managed to look down the length of her nose at him. ‘I don’t think so. You’re not my type.’

‘Don’t worry, lady. You’re not my type either,’ Royce drawled smoothly, not the least put out by her attempted insult. ‘I’m here in a purely professional capacity.’

Her expression shifted, lost its regal look. She ran her eyes over him again. She’d done that before, when she’d first opened her eyes. Royce had been disconcerted by his response to that simple look, his blood vessels expanding and heat flowing under his skin.

The same thing was happening again now, and he liked it even less the second time around.

‘Well, if you’re the bouncer I hate to tell you this but I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just minding my own business and dancing. So why don’t you go away?’ She made a waving movement through the air with her hand. ‘Go on. Shoo.’

Royce almost laughed. What she’d said, combined with the action, was just so ridiculous. As if he were a pesky animal she was trying to get rid of.

‘I’m not a bouncer. Your father asked me to bring you home.’

Her expression became instantly wary. ‘He did?’

Royce nodded. ‘Yes. Are you ready to leave?’

Shara shook her head, sending her thick pelt of dark hair swirling around her shoulders.

Royce tried to suppress his irritation. He didn’t like doing this kind of job. These days he usually restricted himself to overseeing the business. If he did get involved he chose investigative or security cases, not bodyguarding. He allocated those jobs to somebody else.

But this was different. Gerard Atwood, head of Atwood Industries, was one of his best clients—if not the best. When Gerard had said protecting his daughter would be a personal favour to him Royce had known he couldn’t refuse. Not unless he wanted to lose one of his biggest clients—which he didn’t.

‘Well, if you need to collect your bag and say your goodbyes make it quick. I want to get out of here.’

Although this was a reputable club that didn’t mean Shara was safe. After all, it had taken less than twenty minutes of research for him to locate her, so no doubt her ex-husband could do the same.

Even before he’d finished speaking Shara was shaking her head. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Then what did you mean?’

She folded her arms. It drew his attention—unwilling attention—to the thrusting swell of her breasts.

She was what his mother would call generously endowed. Somehow Royce knew her breasts would fill his hands perfectly—which was no mean feat, given that his hands were on the large size.

The thought sent a prickle of desire along his nerve-endings.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Shara said, looking at him down the length of her nose again.

Her tone stopped the prickle dead in its tracks. ‘Yes, you are.’

‘No, I am not.’

Royce sighed. ‘Why not?’

‘I have no idea who you are. I only have your word for it that my father sent you.’

‘Good point.’ In fact it was a very good point. He hadn’t introduced himself. He hadn’t explained the situation. He’d been sufficiently distracted by the sinuous sway of her body and then annoyed by the way she’d treated first the young guy and then himself that he’d not only put the niceties aside but also his professionalism.

He should know better than that.

‘I’m from the Royce Agency. Have you heard of them?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I have. My father uses them all the time. If I’m to believe their spiel they are the largest and most well-known security firm on the globe.’

‘It’s not spiel. We are the biggest and the best,’ Royce said proudly.

It would be fourteen years next month since he’d started the Royce Agency. He’d only been twenty at the time, operating out of the spare bedroom in his parents’ home in northern Sydney. It had taken hard work and long hours to make it what it was today.

Shara shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

Royce refused to be insulted. As he’d learned a long time ago, these society babes didn’t care about anything or anyone except themselves.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a brown leather wallet. Flipping it open, he held it out to her.

Her arms remained folded in front of her. ‘What’s that?’

‘My driver’s licence. I thought you might want to see some identification.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s not necessary.’

Royce frowned. ‘It’s entirely necessary. You can’t just walk out of here with a perfect stranger. You can’t trust anybody these days. You have to be cautious.’

‘Again, you misunderstand me. It’s not necessary because I have no intention of leaving with you.’

The silence that followed her words was filled with the sound of music and chatter. Royce ignored it all. So did Shara.

He thrust his wallet closer. ‘Take it. Look at it. Because you will be leaving with me.’

She sighed and snatched the wallet from his hand.

Shara’s head bowed as she examined his licence intently. Royce stared at the luxurious fall of raven-black hair that fell about her shoulders and resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it.

‘Royce as in the Royce?’ she asked, looking up from his wallet and giving him a suspicious look.

‘At your service,’ Royce acknowledged, holding out his hand.

She eyed his hand as if it was a snake he was extending to her, then with obvious reluctance placed her hand in his.

They both felt what happened next.

Royce just wasn’t sure how to explain it.

It reminded him of the zap of static electricity that built up on your shoes on a windy day that zapped your hand the minute you touched something metallic.

Only it wasn’t that.

It also reminded him of the pins and needles you got when you accidentally fell asleep on your arm.

Only it wasn’t quite like that either.

It was just a …

Well, it was just a sensation—like an energy transfer of some kind.

No doubt there would be a scientific explanation for it if he bothered looking for one.

Shara snatched her hand out of his, her wide eyes fixed on his face. ‘So. You … you own the Royce Agency?’ she asked, showing the first crack in her composure since they’d met.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Well, Mr Royce, I—’

Royce shook his head. ‘It’s not Mr Royce. It’s just plain Royce.’

Shara looked back down at the driver’s licence she still held. ‘It says A. Royce right here.’ She held up the wallet and pointed with a red-varnished nail to the small print. ‘That makes you Mr Royce.’

Royce brushed aside the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. ‘Technically, I suppose it does. But as far as I’m concerned my father is Mr Royce. Everyone just calls me Royce.’

‘Why don’t they call you by your first name?’

‘Because I don’t like my first name,’ he explained calmly.

‘Why? What is it?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘I don’t suppose it is.’

Royce felt as if they’d got way off track. ‘Well, are you satisfied that I am who I say I am?’

She nodded. ‘I am, but I’m still not going with you.’

Royce held on to his temper with difficulty. The fact that she’d rather stay here partying with this shallow crowd instead of honouring her father’s request told him a lot about her.

Lack of respect. Selfishness.

He could go on, but what was the point?

It wouldn’t get the job done, and the job was the only thing that mattered.

‘Please will you reconsider?’ he said persuasively. ‘Your father was most insistent.’

For a moment she looked undecided, then she waved a hand. ‘All right. Lead the way Just Plain Royce. We can’t keep my father waiting, now, can we?’

The journey to Atwood Hall was completed in silence. Royce tried to make polite conversation several times, but Shara’s monosyllabic answers eventually forced him to give up.

When they reached the two-storey sandstone house Shara headed straight for her father’s study. She pushed the door open without knocking.

Royce followed her in.

She stopped in the middle of the room then swung around to face him. ‘Where is he?’

Royce folded his arms. ‘On a plane to New York.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Then what was all that crap about my father wanting to see me?’

He stared back at her calmly. ‘I never said anything about your father wanting to see you. All I said was that he asked me to bring you home. Which he did …’ He paused for a heartbeat. ‘About thirty minutes before he left for the airport.’

The silence that filled the room prickled at the back of his neck.

Shara’s thick lashes dropped down to shield her expression.

Royce didn’t feel guilty about the minor deception. Gerard had warned him that Shara was unlikely to co-operate. You had to treat uncooperative ‘principals’—which was the industry term for the person you were protecting—in much the same way a lawyer would treat a hostile witness.

With a firm hand and any tactic you could lay your hands on.

If keeping Shara safe meant bending the rules a fraction and allowing her to jump to the wrong conclusion then so be it. He’d do what he had to do—an attitude which had contributed in no small measure to his success.

Finally Shara looked up. ‘Why? Why did my father want you to bring me home?’

‘He didn’t think going to the club was a good idea and I happen to agree with him.’

Her cheeks reddened, although he couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or anger. ‘I don’t care what you think. What I do, and when I do it, is none of your business.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Everything you do from now on is very much my business.’

She frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that while your father is overseas I will be looking after you.’

Shara blinked, frowned, and blinked again. ‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘No? That’s not the way I understand it.’

‘Well, I don’t care what you understand. I’m a little too old for a babysitter, don’t you think?’

‘I’m not a babysitter. I’m a bodyguard.’

‘Babysitter. Bodyguard.’ She waved a hand through the air. Her breasts jiggled. Royce tried not to notice but failed miserably. ‘It’s all the same to me. Either one is completely unnecessary.’

Although Royce didn’t particularly like what he was hearing, he had no objection to Shara speaking her mind. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was someone saying one thing to his face and then saying—or doing—the exact opposite behind his back.

‘Well, your father disagrees,’ Royce said calmly.

‘I—’

Royce cut her off. ‘You’re wasting your breath. Gerard warned me that this would be your attitude and he said to tell you that while you’re living under his roof you’ll follow his rules.’

Her humiliation was complete.

Shara stared at the tips of her red-varnished toenails as if her life depended upon it. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes but she blinked them away.

She had no intention of bursting into tears. That would only add to her humiliation.

Right now all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

It was a feeling she knew all too well. But she fought against it. If there was one thing the last twelve months had taught her it was not to give in to feelings of helplessness. She had to be strong and stand up for herself.

It didn’t matter how many times she got knocked down. She had to pick herself up, brush herself off, and try again.

So she straightened her shoulders, dragged in a breath, and instead of avoiding eye contact lifted her head and deliberately looked Just Plain Royce directly in the eye.

His face was expressionless. She had no idea what he was thinking and frankly she didn’t care.

She waved a hand through the air. ‘Well, Mr Just Plain Royce, I’m out of here.’

He folded his arms across his impressive chest. ‘And where, pray tell, are you planning on going?’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘That is none of your business!’

‘Correction. As I said, where you go and what you do is my business.’ His tone was determined. ‘My job is to protect you. It will help if I know where you’re going at all times.’

Her already straight shoulders straightened some more. ‘My father may have hired you, but I have no desire for a bodyguard. You can do what the hell you like, but don’t expect any help from me!’

A look that was part resignation, part irritation flashed across his face before his expression hardened. ‘Be warned. I intend doing my job, with or without your co-operation. It will be easier on both of us if you work with me, but it’s not entirely necessary. If you want to act like a rebellious teenager then go right ahead. I won’t stop you.’

Shara would have laughed except it wasn’t really funny. She’d been a well-behaved, follow-the-rules, obedient teenager. A real goody-two-shoes, in fact.

Twelve months of marriage to Steve Brady had shown her that being meek and biddable had its drawbacks—big-time!

She’d emerged from the dark tunnel of that period a very different person from the one who’d entered it.

She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. ‘If you’re trying reverse psychology on me then it won’t work. I’m a grown adult, able to decide when and where I go without reporting in to somebody else.’

His dark eyes glinted. ‘Are you? An adult, that is? If so, then prove it.’

She frowned. ‘And how am I supposed to do that?’

‘Don’t go back to the club.’

Shara raised an eyebrow. ‘And what will that prove?’

‘It will prove you’re adult enough to put your safety ahead of having a good time,’ Royce said calmly.

The word ‘adult’ rankled. She wasn’t a child. Her marriage had made her grow up—fast.

She knew what she was doing; she was making a stand.

She was sick and tired of the men in her life—first her father and then her husband—telling her what to do.

She didn’t need to add a bossy bodyguard to the list.

If she slunk off to her room with her tail between her legs then wasn’t she just handing over her power to Royce?

Well, she’d been there, done that, and she’d suffered because of it.

She could, and she would, make her own decisions.

Mr Just Plain Royce had better start getting used to it.

And why was she calling him that anyway?

Plain was ordinary. Easily overlooked. Royce was neither of those things. In fact just the opposite.

‘I don’t have to prove anything to you,’ she said, clasping her hands together in front of her. ‘I’m twenty-three years old. I am an adult. And if you think insulting me will force me to co-operate then you’re sorely mistaken.’

He held up his hands, a small smile twisting his mouth.

‘That accusation is well and truly misdirected, I can assure you. That kind of strategy would never work with you. I know that.’

She raised a brow. ‘And how do you know that?’

Royce shrugged. ‘Because I’ve seen you in action. First at the club and then again here.’

She gave him a puzzled frown. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that using reverse psychology on you would have the reverse effect.’ He waved a hand, with a glint in his eyes that made her want to hit him. ‘You’re determined not to co-operate no matter what. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, you’re going to do your own thing and to hell with everyone else. If I push all it will do is make you dig your heels in even more.’

Shara gnashed her teeth.

She had a sneaking suspicion that Royce was right—although it would take someone pulling out her fingernails before she’d admit it.

‘You haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ she flung at him. At that moment the old grandfather clock in the entrance hall struck the hour. Shara glanced at her watch. ‘Well, it looks like you’re going to get your way. I’m not going back to the club. Not because you say I shouldn’t, but because it’s late and I’m tired. Goodnight.’

Without another word she spun on her heel to leave the room, but his next words stopped her. ‘Before you go perhaps you’d like to tell me which bedroom is yours.’

Slowly she turned back to face him. Her heart was beating with slow, heavy thumps. ‘Why on earth do you want to know that?’

‘Because I’ll be taking up residence in the room next to yours, of course.’

A hand made its way to the base of her throat, where she could feel the beat of her pulse under her skin. For a moment she’d thought …

Well, she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d thought.

But whatever it was it had made her go hot all over.

Her hands slammed down on her hips. ‘You most certainly will not!’

Royce gestured to the corner of the room. A large black suitcase she hadn’t noticed before was sitting there. ‘I most certainly will.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ll be living here for the duration. I—’

‘Living here …? You can’t do that!’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, because you just can’t.’ Shara blinked rapidly, the blinks timing perfectly with the increased rhythm of her heart.

It was out of the question.

Out of the question for any number of reasons—one of which she didn’t want to examine too closely because she suspected it had something to do with the little curl of sensation she experienced low in the pit of her belly every time she looked at him.

‘Well, I’m afraid what you want doesn’t come into it. As your father is aware, I have a policy of up close and personal at the Royce Agency.’

‘What does that mean?’ Shara asked suspiciously, her brain leapfrogging into all sorts of thoughts. Just how personal did they get at this agency of his?

‘It means I’m guarding you, not your house.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’ll be of absolutely no use to you if I’m sitting outside in my car and your ex-husband breaks in through the back door, will I?’

‘I guess not.’ The suggestion was enough to send a shiver of fear slicing down her spine. It was something that hadn’t occurred to her. The very idea of Steve breaking in filled her with dread. She swallowed, clasping her hands tightly together in front of her. ‘I just expected—’

‘That it would be just like on TV?’ he finished resignedly, sounding as though he’d heard it all a million times before. ‘Well, it’s not. You either show me where you sleep or I’ll find out for myself. Either way, I’m staying. And I’m staying where I can keep an eye on you.’

‘Have it your own way,’ Shara muttered.

If Royce intended to hang around there wasn’t much she could do about it. He was too big for her to throw out. And there was no use complaining to the police because he had her father’s permission to be here—something that one phone call would establish.

All she could do was call her father in the morning and see if she could change his mind.

If she couldn’t she’d just have to put up with the situation as best she could. She’d put up with a hell of a lot worse.

This was no big deal.

All she had to do was ignore Royce.

Just go about her business as if he wasn’t there.

Except she had the uneasy feeling Royce wasn’t going to be easy to ignore.

‘I certainly shall,’ Royce said.

He spoke with the kind of confidence Shara envied. That I’m-sure-of-my-place-in-the-world kind of confidence. The kind that made every decision he made rock-solid and unbreakable. He knew exactly where he was going—and how to get there.

By contrast, Shara didn’t have a clue where she was going.

Even though she was only twenty-three, she’d taken so many wrong turns in her life it was ridiculous. She felt like a player in a Snakes and Ladders game who always landed on the snake’s head and slid back down to the tail.

She felt as if that had just happened again.

Her attempt to stand up for herself and control her own destiny had just been ripped out from underneath her and she’d landed flat on her face—again.

‘You’d better follow me,’ she said through gritted teeth.

She spun on her heel and stalked from the room.

Royce picked up his suitcase and followed her.

‘This is my room,’ Shara said, indicating a door with a wave of her hand. ‘You can sleep next door. The room is made up. I’ll just check that you have some towels.’

‘Thank you.’

She inclined her head and went inside. Assured that he had everything he needed, she walked to the door, pausing just inside the doorway. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Shara.’

The way he said her name made her toes curl in her sandals. She hurried from the room.

An hour later she lay, staring up at the ceiling.

For weeks, if not months, her last thought before going to sleep had been about Steve and the hell he’d put her through—was still putting her through.

But tonight was different.

For the first time in a long time she wasn’t thinking about her ex-husband.

Another man had super-imposed himself in her mind’s eye.

A large man called Just Plain Royce.




CHAPTER TWO


THE next morning Shara followed the smell of cooking bacon to the kitchen.

Since their housekeeper only came in on weekdays, and didn’t help herself to breakfast when she was there, Shara knew exactly who was cooking.

Just Plain Royce.

She was tempted to go back to her room and wait until he’d finished, but that smacked a little too strongly of running away so she squared her shoulders determinedly and walked in.

Royce was standing at the stove, his back to the door. He was wearing well-washed denim jeans and a tight white T-shirt, both of which hugged his muscle-packed body.

Of their own volition her eyes made a sweeping perusal—from his still wet hair, down the strong planes of his back, to his backside and legs.

Her heart kerthumped—then did it again.

He really was a fine figure of a man. Although the fact that she kept on noticing annoyed the hell out of her.

‘You’ve made yourself at home,’ she said sarcastically.

He half turned towards her, one thick dark eyebrow raised. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to live here and not eat?’

She shrugged. ‘I’d prefer it if you weren’t living here at all, but we’ve already had that argument so there’s no point having it again, is there?’

‘I suppose not.’ He paused for a moment and then asked, ‘Did you call your father?’

‘Yes. You must have known I would.’

‘I did. And what did he say?’

Her father had said a lot. About how he was concerned about her. About how he knew what was best for her.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

He had no idea how much she’d changed from the girl who used to live with him. And she couldn’t tell him without revealing things she didn’t want him to know.

He knew her marriage had been bad, but he had no idea how bad.

‘You’re still here, aren’t you?’ she said by way of answer.

‘I guess I am,’ he said neutrally, turning back to the stove.

Shara eyed the frying pan and the small mountain of chopped items on the cutting board waiting to be cooked. ‘When is the army arriving?’

Royce shrugged his broad shoulders. His muscles rippled under his T-shirt, doing strange things to Shara’s tummy muscles. ‘I’m a big man. I need lots of food. And since I work out regularly it’s important to keep up my intake of protein and carbohydrates.’ He waved a spatula through the air. ‘Do you want some?’

Shara shuddered and made her way to the fridge. ‘No. Unlike you, I have a small appetite. Fruit and yoghurt suits me just fine.’

He made a sound that was indecipherable.

Shara turned away from the fridge with a punnet of strawberries in one hand and a tub of yoghurt in the other. ‘What does ugh mean?’

‘Nothing. I just don’t approve of women who think they can live on the smell of an oily rag and just pick at their food. The human body needs good nutrition to be at its best.’

Shara dumped her items on the granite benchtop with more force than was necessary. ‘You’re jumping to conclusions. Do I look like the kind of woman who just picks at her food?’

As soon as the words left her mouth Shara regretted them.

Royce turned to face her. His chocolate brown eyes travelled from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.

He missed nothing in between. Not a single thing.

Shara knew he didn’t because she felt that look as if it were a caress.

Her skin stretched tight in every place his eyes touched. Her nerve-endings prickled. Even her nipples tightened in the confines of her bra.

The sensation in her tummy flickered to life again. Only this time it was like the flame on the stove. A solid burn that made her want to press her hand against her stomach.

Finally their gazes reconnected.

Something flared deep in his eyes—something that made her tremble with reaction.

‘No, you don’t look like a woman on a constant diet.’ Was it her imagination or was the timbre of his voice lower than it had been moments before? ‘I approve.’

Her heart thumped.

What did that mean?

I approve.

Approved of what?

The fact that she didn’t diet?

Or did he approve of her body?

The fact that it might be the latter made a rush of hot blood hurtle through her system.

She wanted to look away, but her eyes just wouldn’t obey. They remained locked on Royce as if they were glued there.

Royce didn’t look away either.

The air between them began to pulse, as if a soundless drum were beating.

It wasn’t until she saw the thick plume of dark smoke rising up behind him that she broke out of her trance-like state. ‘Royce! The pan!’

Royce cursed and spun on his heel. With swift efficiency he turned off the gas, swiped a dishcloth from the bench and flapped it in the air to dissipate the smoke.

Bending down, he inspected the contents of the frying pan.

Straightening, he threw her a mind-numbing smile over his shoulder. ‘It’s a good job I like my bacon crispy,’ he said, picking up a spatula and scooping the bacon on to a plate.

Shara eyed the results. ‘That’s not crispy. That’s dead.’

Royce shrugged. ‘Each to their own. I happen to like it that way.’

‘Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you’ve burnt it? It takes a man to admit when he’s wrong.’

His eyes glinted. ‘No, I’m not fibbing. This really is the way I like it.’

Shara grimaced. ‘I suppose you like your fried eggs with a runny yolk too?’

He flashed her a grin that made her go weak at the knees. ‘You bet. Is there any other way to have them?’

Shara smiled back. Then, realising what she was doing, she forced her mouth into a straight line.

This man was not her friend. He wasn’t exactly her enemy either. But he was standing between her and something she wanted—which was the right to make her own decisions. That right was something most people took for granted. It wasn’t until it was taken away from you that you realised how much you valued it.

‘I like mine cooked through,’ she muttered, and turned away.

Grabbing a chopping board, she began cutting strawberries with all the attention a surgeon would give to the most complicated and delicate operation.

They worked silently for a while. Much as she tried, Shara couldn’t stop her eyes from straying back to him.

For such a big man Royce moved with silent gracefulness, each movement precise and self-assured. Somehow she knew he’d make love the same way.

She flushed, dropping her lashes. She didn’t know where the thought had come from but she wished it would go back there.

His competency as a lover was of no interest to her.

Why should it be?

She was over men.

Shara took a seat at the breakfast table and began eating. Royce joined her a few minutes later with a plate piled high with food.

‘So, tell me about this ex of yours,’ he suggested softly, when he’d demolished half of the plate with considerable gusto.

The mention of her ex-husband almost made her choke on a strawberry. ‘He’s not my favourite topic of conversation.’

‘Perhaps not.’ He took a bite of mushroom. ‘But the more I know about him the easier it will be for me to do my job.’

Shara angled her chin into the air. ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about him. Besides, I’ve already told you that I don’t want a bodyguard, so why would I want to make your job easier for you?’

She had no intention of answering personal questions.

Painful questions.

And she had no intention of helping him. She didn’t want him around, poking his nose in her business. It would be safer—for all of them—if he quit and left her alone.

His expression remained unchanged but his eyes had hardened. ‘Maybe because it’s the polite thing to do? Maybe because it would give two strangers sharing breakfast something to talk about?’

Shara stared at him over the top of her spoon. ‘Actually, I think it’s impolite to ask someone you’ve just met personal and intrusive questions. If you feel we must talk then I can think of at least a dozen more interesting topics than my ex-husband. What about the weather? Or the exorbitant price of petrol—which in my opinion has gotten way out of control?’

Royce snapped off the blackened end of a rasher of bacon, popped it in his mouth and chewed. When he’d swallowed, he said, ‘I’d much rather talk about Steve Brady.’

Shara put her spoon down on the table less than gently. ‘And I wouldn’t. Now, unless you want to talk about something else, I’m leaving.’

Royce sighed. ‘Stubborn.’

‘Yes.’

And she wasn’t about to apologise for it.

She had to protect herself.

No matter what it took.

Royce sighed again—even more heavily. ‘Will you at least tell me about how Brady is harassing you?’

Shara sat back against her seat. ‘Didn’t my father tell you?’

‘He mentioned a few phone calls and the fact that the guy has been seen hanging around outside the house.’

Shara stared back steadily, keeping her expression neutral. ‘Well, there’s nothing more to tell. Dad has summed it up nicely. Which is why hiring you is a complete and utter over-reaction.’

She’d tried telling her father that but he hadn’t listened. Maybe he sensed that things were worse than what she’d told him.

‘I’ve known Gerard for a number of years,’ Royce said. ‘He’s not the type to over-react.’

Her chin angled into the air. ‘Well, in this case he has.’

Royce stared back at her. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

Royce received ample evidence of Steve Brady’s harassment several hours later. He walked into the lounge room, where Shara was sitting flipping through a magazine, just as the phone rang.

He noticed the way she jumped like a scalded cat, and watched as the colour drained out of her face.

‘Leave it,’ Royce ordered as Shara reached a hand towards the phone.

‘Leave it?’ Shara asked. ‘Why?’

‘You think it’s him, don’t you?’ Royce asked. ‘Your ex?’

A frown creased the smooth skin of her forehead as she nodded her head slowly.

‘Let it ring,’ he dismissed.

‘Why?’

Royce sank down on the lounger opposite and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Because I said so.’

Her chin jutted. ‘That’s not good enough. I’m not a puppy dog. You can’t order me to sit, beg or roll over any time you feel like it. If you want me to do something I suggest you remember two things.’

He lifted a brow, trying to ignore how damned sexy she looked. ‘And what would those be?’

Her chin lifted even higher. She uncrossed her legs and then recrossed them the other way. The action pulled the fabric of her Capri pants tight around her hips. Royce tried not to stare.

‘There’s this movie I saw once. It’s about a guy whose life is going nowhere until he signs up for a self-help programme based on one simple covenant, which is to say yes to anything and everything. It begins to transform his life.’

‘Well, that sounds very interesting, but what has that got to do with you co-operating with me?’

Her eyes—they really were the most magnificent colour—seared into his. ‘I’ve spent a year of my life with a man who has told me what to do and what not to do every minute of every day. When I walked out I made a vow not to let that happen again. So if you want me to do something I suggest you try asking me instead of telling me.’

‘Fine. Please don’t answer the phone.’ He raised the other brow this time. ‘There. Is that better?’

‘Yes. Much better,’ she said. ‘The second thing you need to remember is that I’m not going to do anything unless I know why. If you don’t want me to answer the phone the least you can do is give me a reason.’

Royce stared at her. He couldn’t argue with her approach. He was a logical, facts-and-figures kind of guy. If he were in her situation he’d react the same way.

What he did object to was the hoity-toity princess tone of voice she was using. As if she was a queen instructing one of her minions.

Normally her attitude would be water off a duck’s back. He’d accepted a long time ago that the rich liked to think they were better than everyone else.

He’d never understood the mindset that the measure of a man lay in how much money he had in his bank account or how large his investment portfolio was.

He hadn’t understood it when students at the exclusive boarding school he’d attended had made it clear that a scholarship didn’t mean that he belonged. All it meant was that some rich person had bequeathed upon him a privilege he wasn’t otherwise entitled to.

He understood the attitude even less now that he was a grown man. A successful man. For some reason he’d assumed that his achievements would earn him an automatic entrée into the exclusive club of the wealthy.

Not so.

It also seemed to matter where—or was it how?—you made your money. Inherited wealth made you part of the group; earning it yourself didn’t.

In Royce’s mind the exact opposite was true. Succeeding off your own bat held a hell of a lot more weight in his view than leeching off someone else’s success. Just as the measure of a man should be in how he acted and what he stood for rather than some meaningless dollar value.

Royce was no longer interested in being accepted by a group of people who saw the world so differently from the way he did.

So why was he letting Shara’s princess tone annoy him?

Royce wasn’t sure. So he simply nodded and said, ‘OK. I don’t want you to answer the phone because if it is your ex then answering will give him what he wants. If you refuse to pick up you cut him off at the knees, so to speak.’

‘Won’t that make him mad?’ she asked.

Royce smiled. ‘More than likely. But who cares? It sounds to me like he’s had his own way for too long. Now it’s our turn. We’re going to take control of the situation.’

He could tell from her expression that Shara was undecided about his approach, but by then it was too late. They both fell silent as the answering machine picked up the call.

There was nothing for one long minute, and then the phone was slammed down.

Shara winced.

Royce smiled.

The phone rang again almost instantly.

‘Ignore it,’ Royce said again.

This time Shara shook her head. ‘I think I’d better answer it. It might not be him.’

‘Then why didn’t they leave a message?’

‘I don’t know. But there’s one way to find out, and that’s by answering the phone.’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘This is my home, not yours. I’ll do what I like. You can’t tell me what to do.’

Royce shook his head. ‘This is your father’s house, and he’s put me in charge.’

Again it was too late for Shara to do anything. The answering machine picked up for a second time. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes this time, before the caller slammed the phone down again.

Royce watched Shara, who was studiously staring at her clenched hands.

Her hair really was magnificent. As dark as a raven’s wing and as glossy as the finest satin. His fingers itched to touch it—so much so that he curled his fingers into his palms.

The curve of her cheek was exposed. The skin was milky-white, absolutely flawless and ridiculously vulnerable.

How a cheekbone could be vulnerable Royce wasn’t exactly sure, but that was how it struck him.

The phone rang a third time.

Royce studied Shara carefully.

She was staring at the phone as if it was going to jump up and bite her.

Her body language was easy to read. It was painting a very different picture from what she’d told him that morning.

‘You lied to me earlier,’ he said, in a conversational tone that hid the anger tightening his gut.

He valued honesty above everything else. Not only did he see too much dishonesty in his line of work, but after what Fiona had done to him any form of deception was abhorrent to him.

Her head snapped around. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Royce crossed one ankle over the other, rested his hands on his thighs. ‘You said your father was over-reacting to the situation, but it’s clear to me that you’re terrified of your ex-husband.’

She looked startled, then wary. She issued a laugh that fell well short of being humorous, although he was pretty sure that was what she was trying to convey because she’d unclenched her fists and made a concerted effort to look relaxed.

‘Nonsense,’ she dismissed.

‘It’s too late to deny it. I believe what I see above what I’m told. My eyes don’t lie, whereas people do. I saw your reaction just now.’

She tossed her head. ‘What you saw is my frustration at being told not to answer the phone in my own home.’

Royce shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I don’t believe you.’

She looked about to say something, but at that moment the answering machine picked up.

Shara looked away from him, back to the phone.

Royce grew rigid in his chair as a male voice started speaking. Although speaking was a polite word for the filth that came spewing down the phone line.

Foul language and even fouler content.

About how he had no intention of letting Shara go. About the fact that he’d rather kill her first.

Royce tried to look past the surface stuff to the deeper meaning and intent beneath the words.

What he was listening to convinced him that Steve Brady was a sociopathic bully.

Bullying was all about power and control.

Bullies also typically targeted people who tended not to retaliate, who in fact responded in such a way as to feed their negative behaviour.

Which surprised him.

Shara was not that kind of person.

Their short acquaintance demonstrated that she gave as good as she got. He couldn’t imagine her allowing herself to be bullied.

But then everything wasn’t always as it seemed.

As he should know.

He’d fallen for a woman who’d pretended to be something she wasn’t.

He knew first-hand that looks could be deceiving.

In Shara’s case he’d seen her fear a moment ago.

It had been genuine. He would bet his career on it.

The question was: why was she pretending she wasn’t?

There had to be a reason.

There was always a reason.

That was something he’d learned well before starting the Royce Agency. People always had a motive for doing something.

Royce rose to his feet.

Shara’s head shot in his direction so fast he was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to talk to him.’

Her face showed alarm. ‘Don’t do that!’

Royce ignored her and picked up the phone. ‘Brady …?’

The tirade was cut off mid-stream and replaced with screaming silence. Royce let the quietness drag on. He was used to situations like these, and immune to the resulting tension.

He doubted it was the same for Brady. No doubt the silence was playing havoc with the other man’s nerves.

As he’d expected, Brady broke the silence first. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is Royce. I’m a friend of Shara’s.’ He spoke calmly and confidently, although his voice hardened as he added, ‘And I’m warning you to leave her alone or you won’t like the consequences.’

His response was more silence. Uncertain silence. Obviously Brady was trying to come to grips with the sudden turnaround in events.

‘My God! It didn’t take the little slut long to move on, did it?’ His voice was vicious. ‘You’re not the first, you know. Why don’t you ask her just how many men she slept with while she was married to me?’

Royce frowned. If he ignored the content of Brady’s words for a moment and concentrated on the way he spoke he would be able to learn a lot.

One, although his tone was vicious Brady had spoken more calmly than Royce would have given him credit for, given his previous tirade. And, two, Brady didn’t wait for an answer but hung up the phone—softly.

Both of those things suggested he was very much in control.

Surely that hinted at the fact that Brady was telling the truth?

He’d seen enough musical beds in the homes of the rich and famous during his time running the Royce Agency to know that that kind of behaviour went on all the time.

It was an attitude that sickened him. Although he was no monk, and had had his share of women over the years—some might even say more than his fair share—Royce always remained faithful to the woman he was with.

For however long it lasted—which admittedly wasn’t very long.

Why would he want to tie himself to one woman when there was a world of women out there to enjoy?

Back in his parents’ day getting married and having children was the done thing. These days things were much more flexible. Some couples got married. Others chose to live together. And others remained single, either through choice or circumstance.

Royce planned on being one of the latter.

But while he was in a relationship he treated his woman with respect.

Royce glanced at Shara.

Beautiful, sexy Shara.

Maybe she had been sleeping around. Maybe that was why her marriage had turned sour.

It was possible.

But it didn’t really matter.

He was a bodyguard, not the morality police.

Nothing excused Brady’s behaviour. Abuse of any kind—whether it was verbal, emotional or physical—was inexcusable.

And what he’d just heard—both on the answering machine and during his conversation with Brady—convinced him that Shara had been abused in some way.

A wave of fury rode up his spine.

He was going to take a great deal of pleasure in bringing the other man to his knees.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ Shara demanded as Royce dropped the phone back into its cradle.

Royce swung in her direction. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Shara jumped to her feet and then wished she hadn’t. She was so angry she was shaking, her heart beating nineteen to the dozen. ‘You had no right to do that. No right at all.’

She began to pace, her sandals making a slap-slap sound on the tiles, then fading to nothing as she crossed the Aubusson rug.

Thoughts swirled through her head, one after the other, so fast they made her dizzy.

One thought stood out amongst all the others: all her hard work had just been undone in one fell swoop.

Anger ripped through her. Grinding to a halt in the middle of the Aubusson rug, she slammed her hands down on her hips and glared at Royce. ‘Who gave you permission to butt your nose in like that? This is precisely the situation I wanted to avoid. You’ve ruined everything, damn it!’

Royce gave her a puzzled look. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain what it is you think I’ve ruined, exactly? Because I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘Everything!’ Shara raked a hand through her hair, unsurprised to find it was shaking. ‘This is precisely the reason I didn’t want a bodyguard in the first place. I don’t need some stranger interfering in my business. This is my situation and I’ll deal with it my way.’

Royce didn’t look the least bit impressed by her outburst. He was still standing by the phone. Still looking cool, calm and completely unruffled.

The fact that he was so in control while she was falling apart at the seams infuriated Shara no end.

‘First, when he hired me to protect you, your father gave me permission to handle the situation my way. That’s the only way I do business. He knows that. I have to have full control.’ He folded his arms across his impressive chest. ‘And, second, if what I’ve seen in the last twenty-four hours is any example of the way you’ve been dealing with the situation then it’s entirely ineffective.’

Pressure built inside her head until Shara thought she was going to explode. She could hardly stand still, but at the same time found that her muscles were locked so rigidly tight she was incapable of moving.

Here we go again.

Another man telling her what to do.

Another man trying to smack her down.

Well, he could try. But he wouldn’t succeed.

She glared across the distance separating them. ‘How dare you? You conceited oaf! You’ve known me for all of two seconds and yet you’re an expert on me and my way of dealing with situations? As far as I’m concerned your so-called expertise has just made the situation one hundred times worse. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re one of my father’s paid minions. From now on keep out of my way—or there will be hell to pay!’

Satisfied that she’d told him exactly what she thought of him, Shara spun on her heel and stormed out of the lounge room.

She stomped up the stairs to her bedroom and snatched up her handbag and car keys. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to get out of here.

How dare’d Royce put her down that way?

Frankly, she thought she’d done one hell of a job.

She was proud of the way she’d gathered enough courage to leave Steve. She was equally proud of the way she was ignoring his harassment.

It wasn’t easy.

Turning the other cheek was damned difficult at times, but she was trying to let his behaviour bounce off her.

So Mr Just Plain Royce could put that in his pipe and smoke it!

Exiting the house via the back staircase, Shara breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the garage undetected. She slid the key in the car’s ignition and was halfway down the driveway when she gave a victorious pump of her fist in the air.

She was no more than half a kilometre from the house when she stopped smiling. A glance in her rear vision mirror turned her smile into a frown.

There was a black sedan four or five cars back.

The same kind of black sedan that Steve drove.

Every time she made a turn the black sedan made a turn.

Every time she changed lanes so too did the other car.

Which, of course, could mean only one thing: Steve was following her.

Her teeth came together with an audible snap, and a shiver of fear snaked serpent-like down her spine.

‘Oh, no,’ she said.

Another quick glance in the mirror showed that the black sedan had closed the distance between them. It was now only three cars back, and getting closer all the time.

Her hands clenched on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

‘You stupid fool,’ she muttered out loud.

When was she going to learn that making decisions in the heat of the moment always backfired on her? When was she going to learn that when she was emotionally upset she almost always made the wrong decision?

She’d accused Royce of making the situation worse not twenty minutes ago, and then what had she done?

Stayed in the house where she was safe?

Oh, no—not her.

She’d had to try and prove a point by sneaking out.

Had she thought of the possible consequences?

No.

Had she waited until she’d calmed down before deciding what her next step should be?

No again.

She hadn’t just landed on the snake’s head by accident this time; she’d jumped on it all by herself.

‘Damn it. When will I ever learn?’

Royce peered through the front windscreen.

He’d been quite content to follow Shara at a distance. Close enough to intervene at the first sign of trouble, but far enough back to let Shara think she’d made a clean getaway.

It could prove interesting.

Where would she go? Who would she meet? What would she do?

The more he knew about her patterns of movement, her routine, the better prepared he’d be to deal with whatever the future held.

Information was power.

That wasn’t supposition; it was fact.

But that attitude belonged to five minutes ago.

He’d abandoned the hang-back strategy thirty seconds ago.

For one simple reason.

Shara was being followed.

There was no doubt about it.

Every time Shara made a turn the black sedan several cars behind her also made a turn.

Every time she changed lanes the black sedan changed lanes.

Logic suggested this wasn’t a random incident. Logic suggested that Brady had been watching the house and when Shara had left he’d followed her.

Cursing under his breath, Royce pressed the accelerator flat to the floor. The large 4WD leapt forward like a giant predator, gobbling up the grey ribbon of road beneath its tyres.

Thoughts whirred through his head at lightning speed.

Possibilities. Probabilities.

He assessed them all and came up with a strategy to counter each one.

Mixed in amongst all the analysing was a good dose of blinding fury. Not co-operating was one thing, but an outright attempt to evade him was quite another—and completely unacceptable.

The stunt Shara had just pulled reaffirmed his opinion of her.

Her actions were thoughtless and selfish, and he wouldn’t put up with such spoilt, self-absorbed behaviour—a fact that he’d make quite clear when he caught up with her.




CHAPTER THREE


SHARA glanced in the rear vision mirror again. The black sedan was right behind her. It was close enough that she could see Steve’s angry face framed by the front windscreen.

‘What am I going to do?’ she whispered.

Thoughts swirled through her head, but no obvious solution presented itself.

She glanced in the mirror again and did a double take.

Surely that was—?

But it couldn’t be.

Could it …?

A big dark 4WD she hadn’t noticed before was racing down the road behind them.

She’d seen it before. Just last night.

Royce!

Royce was coming to rescue her.

Relief washed through her in waves.

She didn’t care how he’d found her. All she cared about was the fact that he had.

‘Thank you, God!’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

What she needed now was a strategy. No more going off half-cocked and landing in even deeper trouble. She needed to think … and then she needed to act sensibly.

She could brake. That was one option. Royce would catch up to her even faster. But what would Steve do?

At the moment he appeared content to sit on her tail rather than actually do anything. It was an intimidation tactic that was typical of Steve.

But if she slowed would he ram her with his car?

She doubted it.

This was a busy road. There was enough traffic to deter him from doing anything rash that could be witnessed and used against him. Unlike her, Steve thought before he acted.

Her other option was to pull over to the side of the road. That would force Steve either to stop or keep on going. If her car doors were locked and Royce was hot on their tail she couldn’t get into too much trouble, surely?

Deciding the latter was the better option, Shara glanced in her side mirror and waited for a break in the traffic. Then, without indicating, she swung hard on the wheel and with a screech of tyres pulled over on the side of the road.

The blast of car horns that hit her eardrums suggested Steve had followed suit, but she waited until she’d brought her car to a halt before having a proper look.

Steve was right behind her.

He was getting out of his car.

Shara started to shake. Her hands grew sweaty. Her heart thumped.

The sight of her ex-husband was enough to make her feel sick and anxious. It was a feeling she remembered all too well. It dominated her consciousness, blotting everything else out.

With a squeal of tyres another vehicle screeched to a halt beside her. A quick glance showed her it was the big 4WD.

Royce.

He ignored the fact that he was blocking one lane of traffic and jumped from his vehicle.

Her relief was so strong that Shara fumbled for the door latch and did the same.

Royce looked so big and solid. So reassuringly safe.

Without thinking, she flung herself at him. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you!’

Strong arms closed around her.

Shara was aware of heat and the smell of warm male skin. She was also aware of the strength and power barely contained in the muscled lines of his body.

Cocooned against Royce’s chest, Shara felt safe and secure.

She also felt something else.

A ripple of desire.

It was the first time she’d admitted, even to herself, that that was what the curling sensation in her belly she experienced every time she looked at him was all about.

Now she had no choice but to acknowledge it.

It packed quite a punch.

Enough to make her push away from him.

She was just over-reacting to their close proximity and to the adrenalin pumping through her system.

That was all.

It was nothing personal.

If she told herself that often enough she might even believe it.

Royce clasped her wrists and pulled her hands down from around his neck before she could completely disengage herself.

‘Stay there,’ he said, dragging her behind him so that he stood between her and Steve.

Nothing more was said.

Not a single word.

The air was filled with menace. Filled so completely that it raised the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck.

She could feel Royce’s body braced for action, but it wasn’t needed. She heard the scuffle of footsteps, the slamming of a car door, and then the screech of tyres as the black sedan raced off, leaving behind a trail of exhaust smoke and the smell of burning rubber.

As soon as Steve had disappeared Royce turned, a heavy frown on his face. Gripping the tops of her arms, he gave her a brief hard shake before putting his face next to hers. ‘You little fool. Sneaking off like that was stupid and reckless. What on earth were you thinking?’

Shara blinked, her heart leaping into the back of her throat.

Royce was angry.

Very angry.

Steve had looked at her the same way many times.

Now, as then, she shrank in on herself—both physically and mentally. Her shoulders hunched, her muscles contracted, her breath shortened.

The grey, smoke-filled fog of fear closed around her like a shroud. Suffocating. Deadening. Numbing.

‘I … I’m s … sorry,’ she stammered. Inside she cringed at how apologetic she sounded. She hadn’t heard that particular tone of voice come out of her mouth since she’d been with Steve. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’





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