Playing His Dangerous Game. Tina Duncan

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.