by Tina Duncan
‘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’r
e 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.
