Tina Duncan - Playing His Dangerous Game

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.