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
