Playing His Dangerous Game. Tina Duncan

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