Tina Duncan - Playing His Dangerous Game

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.

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.