tail between his legs.
He was a man.
And he didn’t like being ignored—particularly when he had a job to do.
‘Shara,’ he said again.
That was all he said. Nothing else.
But his tone, which fell somewhere between firm and harsh, was one people usually ignored at their peril.
Shara heaved a sigh.
Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone?
OK. So she’d made a mistake coming to the club tonight. She knew that. Had known it since the minute she’d walked through the door.
She wasn’t in the mood to party. She hadn’t been for a long time. The last twelve months had seen to that.
She’d also outgrown the crowd she’d used to run with—a fact she’d realised within minutes of arriving at the club. She could thank the last twelve months for that too.
She had to face it. Coming here tonight was just 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
