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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 body and then annoyed by the way she’d treated first the young guy and then himself that he’d not only put the niceties aside but also his professionalism.
He should know better than that.
‘I’m from the Royce Agency. Have you heard of them?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I have. My father uses them all the time. If I’m to believe their spiel they are the largest and most well-known security firm on the globe.’
‘It’s not spiel. We are the biggest and the best,’ Royce said proudly.
It would be fourteen years next month since he’d started the Royce Agency. He’d only been twenty at the time, operating out of the spare bedroom in his parents’ home in northern Sydney. It had taken hard work and long hours to make it what it was today.
Shara shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
Royce refused to be insulted. As he’d learned a long time ago, these society babes didn’t care about anything or anyone except themselves.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a brown leather wallet. Flipping it open, he held it out to her.
Her arms remained folded in front of her. ‘What’s that?’
‘My driver’s licence. I thought you might want to see some identification.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not necessary.’
Royce frowned. ‘It’s entirely necessary. You can’t just walk out of here with a perfect stranger. You can’t trust anybody these days. You have to be cautious.’
‘Again, you misunderstand me. It’s not necessary because I have no intention of leaving with you.’
The silence that followed her words was filled with the sound of music and chatter. Royce ignored it all. So did Shara.
He thrust his wallet closer. ‘Take it. Look at it. Because you will be leaving with me.’
She sighed and snatched the wallet from his hand.
Shara’s head bowed as she examined his licence intently. Royce stared at the luxurious fall of raven-black hair that fell about her shoulders and resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it.
‘Royce as in the Royce?’ she asked, looking up from his wallet and giving him a suspicious look.
‘At your service,’ Royce acknowledged, holding out his hand.
She eyed his hand as if it was a snake he was extending to her, then with obvious reluctance placed her hand in his.
They both felt what happened next.
Royce just wasn’t sure how to explain it.
It reminded him of the zap of static electricity that built up on your shoes on a windy day that zapped your hand the minute you touched something metallic.
Only it wasn’t that.
It also reminded him of the pins and needles you got when you accidentally fell asleep on your arm.
Only it wasn’t quite like that either.
It was just a …
Well, it was just a sensation—like an energy transfer of some kind.
No doubt there would be a scientific explanation for it if he bothered looking for one.
Shara snatched her hand out of his, her wide eyes fixed on his face. ‘So. You … you own the Royce Agency?’ she asked, showing the first crack in her composure since they’d met.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Well, Mr Royce, I—’
Royce shook his head. ‘It’s not Mr Royce. It’s just plain Royce.’
Shara looked back down at the driver’s licence she still held. ‘It says A. Royce right here.’ She held up the wallet and pointed with a red-varnished nail to the small print. ‘That makes you Mr Royce.’
Royce brushed aside the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. ‘Technically, I suppose it does. But as far as I’m concerned my father is Mr Royce. Everyone just calls me Royce.’
‘Why don’t they call you by your first name?’
‘Because I don’t like my first name,’ he explained calmly.
‘Why? What is it?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I don’t suppose it is.’
Royce felt as if they’d got way off track. ‘Well, are you satisfied that I am who I say I am?’
She nodded. ‘I am, but I’m still not going with you.’
Royce held on to his temper with difficulty. The fact that she’d rather stay here partying with this shallow crowd instead of honouring her father’s request told him a lot about her.
Lack of respect. Selfishness.
He could go on, but what was the point?
It wouldn’t get the job done, and the job was the only thing that mattered.
‘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.
