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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.

      There was nothing for one long minute, and then the phone was slammed down.

      Shara winced.

      Royce smiled.

      The phone rang again almost instantly.

      ‘Ignore it,’ Royce said again.

      This time Shara shook her head. ‘I think I’d better answer it. It might not be him.’

      ‘Then why didn’t they leave a message?’

      ‘I don’t know. But there’s one way to find out, and that’s by answering the phone.’

      ‘No. Not yet.’

      ‘This is my home, not yours. I’ll do what I like. You can’t tell me what to do.’

      Royce shook his head. ‘This is your father’s house, and he’s put me in charge.’

      Again it was too late for Shara to do anything. The answering machine picked up for a second time. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes this time, before the caller slammed the phone down again.

      Royce watched Shara, who was studiously staring at her clenched hands.

      Her hair really was magnificent. As dark as a raven’s wing and as glossy as the finest satin. His fingers itched to touch it—so much so that he curled his fingers into his palms.

      The curve of her cheek was exposed. The skin was milky-white, absolutely flawless and ridiculously vulnerable.

      How a cheekbone could be vulnerable Royce wasn’t exactly sure, but that was how it struck him.

      The phone rang a third time.

      Royce studied Shara carefully.

      She was staring at the phone as if it was going to jump up and bite her.

      Her body language was easy to read. It was painting a very different picture from what she’d told him that morning.

      ‘You lied to me earlier,’ he said, in a conversational tone that hid the anger tightening his gut.

      He valued honesty above everything else. Not only did he see too much dishonesty in his line of work, but after what Fiona had done to him any form of deception was abhorrent to him.

      Her head snapped around. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      Royce crossed one ankle over the other, rested his hands on his thighs. ‘You said your father was over-reacting to the situation, but it’s clear to me that you’re terrified of your ex-husband.’

      She looked startled, then wary. She issued a laugh that fell well short of being humorous, although he was pretty sure that was what she was trying to convey because she’d unclenched her fists and made a concerted effort to look relaxed.

      ‘Nonsense,’ she dismissed.

      ‘It’s too late to deny it. I believe what I see above what I’m told. My eyes don’t lie, whereas people do. I saw your reaction just now.’

      She tossed her head. ‘What you saw is my frustration at being told not to answer the phone in my own home.’

      Royce shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I don’t believe you.’

      She looked about to say something, but at that moment the answering machine picked up.

      Shara looked away from him, back to the phone.

      Royce grew rigid in his chair as a male voice started speaking. Although speaking was a polite word for the filth that came spewing down

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