Читать книгу The Acostas Box Set: The Shameless Life of Ruiz Acosta / The Argentinian's Solace / A Taste of the Untamed / The Man From her Wayward Past / Taming the Last Acosta / Christmas Nights with the Polo Player - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

Reality bites.

Love life.

Lustful thoughts.

* * *

THE headings for her personal diary were as far as she got. She would have to change her way of working, Holly decided. She didn’t want to think too closely about reality where her love life was concerned when the only love life she wanted was one she didn’t have the courage to embrace and couldn’t have anyway. She would confine her writing to her fictionalised column in ROCK! It didn’t hurt so much. She couldn’t bring herself to be flip or even name the deeper feelings Ruiz had stirred inside her.

‘There’s no hope for you, Holly Valiant,’ she told her reflection in the bedroom mirror. ‘You are a lost cause where men are concerned.’ But with fair weather and a following wind she might still become a reasonable journalist one day. Opening the lid on her laptop, she began to write.

The playboy has just moved in, so now we are sharing the same living space courtesy of a humungous screw-up on the part of his sister, my best friend. It’s a fabulous penthouse overlooking the River Thames, the Houses of Parliament, and every other iconic London building you can think of—I can see them all from my bedroom window as I write to you. One day in and I can already tell you that playboys are just like the rest of us … but I know that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear about the fabulous lifestyle, the sex, the drama, and all the extravagance—for that’s how the playboy life appears to us mere mortals. Whereas owning several homes, a couple of private jets, and having the tailor come to call on you is commonplace for the playboy. The only thing I can’t tell you about yet is the sex—it’s too soon—but I have no doubt there will be women flocking round in no time. And I can’t tell you about the tailor, because I made that bit up. But the playboy … that’s another matter. He’s no figment of my imagination. He’s hard and tanned, and stands over six feet tall, with massive shoulders and impossibly strong forearms. His hair is thick, black and wild, like a man who answers to no one, and his eyes are dark and brooding. I’ve never seen his face without a coating of sharp black stubble and his teeth are perfect. You’ll have to imagine my sigh of despondency here, for I am barely five foot three and I’m a redhead. The type you used to call gingers with a hard ‘g’ at school? Plus, I always know the answer to ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ If this rings a bell for you, join me, why don’t you, on my journey of discovery? And I’ll share everything I discover about him here with you.

She could only try, Holly thought, pressing Send. If the team didn’t like the piece they didn’t have to run it. And she couldn’t fight the compulsion to write—or, more truthfully, to write about Ruiz. It was probably going to be the only way she could express her feelings for him.

Since their chat she was seeing Ruiz in a completely new light, as a real man, rather than a fantasy figure. Hearing him go into his own room and close the door, she had crept back into the living room with her laptop. A change of scene usually made ideas flow, but it was hard to imagine she would write any more tonight when her head was stubbornly full of strong arms, and strong tanned hands with lean, elegant fingers. No wonder Ruiz was a world-class polo player. She could so easily imagine those powerful thighs wrapped around the sides of a horse, or those sensitive hands lightly fingering the reins.

How was she supposed to sleep when her head was full of that? Thank goodness she was a realist and could channel all her X-rated thoughts into the column. As far as real life was concerned she had done nothing risky other than sit down and have supper with Ruiz, Holly reassured herself, and where was the harm in that?

‘What do you think, Bouncer?’ she murmured, turning from the makeshift desk she’d created on a table to fluff the animal’s massive ears. ‘At least you’ve got the good sense to maintain a neutral silence,’ she observed wryly as Bouncer adjusted his position on her feet with a contented sigh. ‘I can’t think of a better companion to keep me company through the night than you,’ she told the big dog fondly.

Which was a pity, Ruiz reflected wryly, standing outside the door. Holly was too innocent and too bruised for someone like him to lead astray. Holly believed in love and happy ever after while his hunting instinct was firmly tuned to the here and now. So what now? Was he supposed to go to bed, close his eyes, forget Holly and drift away? Even his dog had changed allegiances.

He should be pleased about that, Ruiz reminded himself, shooting one last glance through the door at the homely tableau Holly had unwittingly created with Bouncer. If someone was going to take care of the dog while he was away, who better than Holly?

* * *

Holly almost fell off her chair when a hand touched her shoulder. ‘Ruiz!’ Who else could unfurl a starburst of sensation like that? Holly reasoned, swinging round. ‘Did I wake you?’ she said with concern. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I saw the light on,’ Ruiz explained.

He was wearing a robe that had fallen open at the front to reveal a torso that would defy her best attempts to describe it to her readers. ‘Ripped, tanned, and shaded with just the right amount of dark hair,’ would fail utterly to do justice to a body that was unique in Holly’s experience. But then she glimpsed the black boxers beneath the loosely fastened belt and knew it was time to look away. ‘I should have remembered to shut the door when I put the light on,’ she said, blushing furiously.

‘It’s good you’re keen about the job,’ Ruiz observed, propping one hip against the end of the table where she was working, ‘but don’t you think you should get some sleep?’

‘I work best at night—and I’m going to bed soon,’ she added in response to his sceptical look.

‘I suppose I should thank you,’ he said.

Ignoring the danger signal that streaked down her spine, she asked him what he meant.

‘I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I might come in here and watch a game on TV. But if you’re working …’

‘You can watch TV. It won’t disturb me.’ And company would be nice, Holly thought, though in Ruiz’s case she had yet to discover if she could concentrate while he was in the room.

‘No, I think bed is better than dozing on the sofa,’ he said, turning for the door. Stretching out a hand, he added casually, ‘Are you coming?’

It was a moment before she realised he wasn’t talking to Bouncer, but to her. ‘Certainly not,’ she exclaimed indignantly.

‘I was only suggesting you should get some sleep—in your own bed,’ Ruiz stressed, to Holly’s hot, burning shame.

‘In a minute,’ she said, bending low over the laptop so that her hair concealed her face. ‘I’ve got a couple of things I need to finish off here first.’

‘Would you like me to read what you’ve written so far?’

‘No, thank you.’ All her yearning and insecurities written to amuse the reader were a little too close for comfort where Ruiz was concerned. She looked up to him standing over her, his eyes dancing with laughter. ‘Have you been reading over my shoulder?’

‘Me?’ he drawled.

‘Yes. You.’ Closing the lid on her laptop, she stood to confront him, which involved some serious neck-craning. ‘I prefer to finesse my work before I show it to anyone. I’d only be sharing bullet points with you at this juncture.’

‘Oh, would you?’ he asked, mocking her suddenly starchy English accent with a chocolaty South American drawl. ‘Well, if you’re quite sure?’ The wicked mouth tugged in a sexy grin. ‘My sister tells me I’m a very good listener …’

‘I’m sure you are,’ Holly agreed, then deflated instantly as Ruiz turned for the door. Why had she driven him away? What was wrong with her? ‘Do you mind if I keep Bouncer with me tonight?’ she said, hardly realising it was an attempt to keep him a moment longer.

‘Be my guest,’ he said with an expression in his dark, laughing eyes that said as far as attempts to stop him leaving her went, this was lame. ‘I’m relieved you and Bouncer get along so well.’

Why were alarm bells ringing? She should have picked Ruiz up on that last remark, Holly realised. She hadn’t agreed to dog-sit Bouncer for him, had she? She had a horrible suspicion that Ruiz had taken her agreement to do this for granted.

She handled relationships with animals better than she did with men, Holly reflected, kneeling down so she could cuddle up to some non-judgmental warmth. ‘Oh, Bouncer, why am I such a clutz when it comes to men?’ She sagged as the door clicked quietly shut.

* * *

There was better news for Holly the next morning. The team had not only accepted her first submission to the column, but was delighted and relieved she could deliver a follow-up so quickly. Holly couldn’t help but smile when they showed her the first article in print, with her second article already up on the web site. Early signs suggested that hits on the web site had increased, and they had all gathered round to read what she had to say.

One failed relationship does not a lifetime of disastrous love affairs make. Don’t let it rule your life. Don’t let it dictate what you should expect from life, or restrict what you achieve, says the redhead who doesn’t even register on the playboy’s radar—but who would like to. As you may have suspected, living with a playboy isn’t as straightforward, or as glamorous as it sounds. The playboy may see me as a quirky nuisance, but I have all the same lusts and longings as the most beautiful playgirls we’ve ever featured in ROCK! My trouble is, I waste far too much time wondering how can a girl like me attract a man like that? When the simple answer is: I can’t. And why would I want to, when you and I both know I’m looking for something more than a one-night stand—however memorable that one night stand might be. And it would be memorable. But please don’t think I’m defeated, because after last night’s surprisingly cosy supper chat back at the penthouse I think the playboy and me might have something going on in the friendship department. And friends are one of the most precious things in life, don’t you agree?

There had been friendship between herself and Ruiz last night, hadn’t there? Holly fretted as the team congratulated her. She couldn’t help but keep running over everything Ruiz and she had said to each other, and had to drag herself back to the present so as not to offend her colleagues when they suggested a celebratory lunch at the local coffee bar.

After lunch, she worked until the end of the day on reader problems. Quite a few more had come in by e-mail. All the team had their heads down, and someone suggested readers might have grown in confidence knowing they wouldn’t receive a flip response from someone who was having her own battle with insecurity.

‘Let’s hope this isn’t a flash in the pan,’ Holly told the staffer on her way home that evening, when even he had said well done. She could hardly believe it when the king of the sceptics cracked a smile and winked back at her.

* * *

Ruiz had arranged a supper date with a woman who always made him laugh. He sat through it glancing at his watch, wondering what Holly was doing at the penthouse. She didn’t have many friends in London yet, and with the trouble she’d mentioned at work—the predicted early demise of the agony-aunt column—he guessed she must be feeling low. He made some polite mumble in response to the woman sitting opposite him at the high-end restaurant, but they both knew his thoughts were elsewhere.

‘Excuse me, Ruiz.’

He refocused as the woman across the supper table from him touched his hand. ‘Forgive me,’ he responded. ‘It’s been one of those days.’

‘I can see that,’ his blonde companion murmured in a suggestive purr.

‘Do you mind if we cut this short?’ Even the tone of her voice set his teeth on edge, and they both knew the answer to his question. Players in the field could read each other like well-thumbed books and he was tired of playing the field, or whatever this type of civilised prelude to sex was called. ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said, abruptly standing. ‘I realise I’ve been lousy company tonight.’

His companion didn’t argue.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since her first article for the column, and these days she was rising before dawn to start work on her ideas. There didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day now her ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature had been officially declared a success, but at least that made it easier to live with Ruiz. Keeping busy gave Holly less time to regret that she wasn’t a five foot six blonde with more up front than behind, and meant she could channel her energies into the column. Since that night when Ruiz had come back and looked at Holly long and hard as if he were trying to work out what particular brand of sugar and spice she was made of, he had kept away. There had been no more cosy chats. And, of course, that suited her.

No, it didn’t. She had spent most of last night wondering where he had spent the night. Plus, her thoughts on Ruiz’s lady friends were not all worthy of the girl she used to be. She had become an evil shrew and felt an uncontrollable urge to share this with her readers, who were growing in number by the day. It turned out that even so-called nice girls could discover a very different side to their natures when there was a gorgeous man involved …

Glancing at the stack of newspapers piled neatly by the side of the desk she had improvised in the penthouse, Holly knew she must put Ruiz out of her mind for ten seconds, finish her work, and then study the Classified ad section and circle some rooms to let. She couldn’t go on like this. She had to find somewhere to live where she could stand on her own two feet. Frowning as she bent her head over the keyboard again, she completed the advice section for the agony-aunt column and then turned to her next piece for ‘Living with a Playboy’.

I would have stayed in the background as I had intended had it not been for a very expensive pair of designer shoes …

Don’t believe anyone who tells you women are on the same side when there are shoes and a playboy at stake. In this situation it’s a case of survival of the fittest—and I have discovered that I need to have a serious rethink if I’m going to survive.

Honestly, I don’t have a clue. How was I supposed to know that the high-heeled shoes I found dumped in the hallway when I got home from work would lead to a pair of sexy hold-ups artfully draped over the handle of the living room door? Or that the woman reclining on the sofa in a bright pink Basque and a rather scary translucent thong was expecting our mutual friend to walk in rather than me?

How was I supposed to know she had a key?

I don’t know who was more surprised—me, or the blonde. Anyway, I apologised, and, on my way out of the room, managed to tumble over her shoes and snap the heel off. Needless to say, all hell broke loose. Quickly realising that neither my vocabulary nor my stumpy, bitten nails were up to a cat fight I took myself off to the bathroom and locked the door, where I proceeded to sing tunelessly with my hands over my ears until I heard our mutual friend arrive. When I removed my hands from my ears it was to hear him promise to do something about the mad woman in the flat and replace the shoes she had destroyed. Traitor, I thought.

But the promise of shoes made me think that here was a man I might be able to do business with … until I considered this more deeply and realised that a playboy would never do it for me, because I want to buy my own shoes and I’m pretty sure one pair wouldn’t be enough …

Closing the computer, Holly sat back before turning to her next task. Lifting the newspapers onto the table, she sorted and stacked them, and then started methodically trawling through the ads. She had a reassuring number of opportunities circled when she heard the front door open and a familiar stride coming her way. Her heart began to thump. It was very early in the day to have any sort of confrontation, let alone be thrown out on the street with some bimbo cheering Ruiz on. It was with enormous relief that she realised he was alone. Opening her laptop again, she pretended to be working when he came into the room.

‘Good morning, Holly.’

‘Morning,’ she said offhandedly. But she rather spoiled the effect by looking up to find Ruiz dressed immaculately in a sharp dark suit, with a crisp white shirt, and a pearl-grey tie. He looked amazing.

‘I just got in from Paris,’ he explained, dumping an exquisitely wrapped box of tiny rainbow-tinted macaroons on the table in front of her.

‘What have I done to deserve this honour?’ she enquired in the same cool tone, while hectic images of hysterical girlfriends re-enacting the ‘off with her head’ scene between the Red Queen and Alice leapt unbidden into her head. Did the Red Queen wear a translucent pink thong, perchance? ‘What?’ she said as Ruiz shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, freed a couple of buttons at the neck of his shirt, and stretched out on the sofa swinging a distinctive carrier bag from a well-known Parisian boutique above his head.

‘What size feet have you got?’ he asked.

‘Isn’t that a rather personal question?’ There were some things a lady never divulged. Though, to be fair, the shoes she had trashed belonging to Miss Pink Basque had been the same size Holly wore.

‘Well, if you don’t want them.’

‘If I knew what you were talking about …’

‘Why don’t you come over here and find out?’ Ruiz suggested. ‘If the shoes are the wrong size you can always take them back to the store and change them.’

‘In Paris?’

‘No need to sound so snippy,’ he said, sitting up to bait her with a stare. ‘Not jealous, are we?’ And just like that the dark, dangerous eyes were laughing again.

But after the bimbo affair Holly refused to be won over quite so easily. ‘I’m not at all jealous of you,’ she said crisply. ‘I’ve seen your friends.’

‘You’ve seen a passing acquaintance,’ Ruiz assured her, ‘who has now passed.’

‘Away? How unfortunate.’

‘Into history, I was about to say. Don’t be sarcastic, Holly,’ Ruiz warned, pretending to be stern. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

She turned back to the keyboard, hurting inside. Even a mistress who had passed into history was a mistress too far. ‘I suppose I can use the story for the column,’ she muttered.

‘If you don’t want the shoes …’

Holly stiffened. ‘Are you saying you bought the shoes for me?’

‘I bought the blonde shoes—’

‘What a gentleman you are,’ Holly interrupted acidly. ‘How thoughtful of you.’

‘Holly,’ Ruiz droned good-humouredly, ‘I bought the shoes to replace the ones you broke, but the blonde decided she’d prefer a cheque for a somewhat larger amount, so I took the shoes back to the store—’

‘Do I need to hear this?’

‘I just want to make it clear that I’m not giving you anyone’s leftovers. I bought them for you. Don’t you want to see them?’

‘For me?’ she said suspiciously, hating the way her voice was trembling. ‘You bought shoes … for me?’ She turned to find Ruiz looking less confident than usual, or maybe she was delusional, which was entirely possible. In the end curiosity got the better of her. There was nothing wrong with taking a look. She could only hope Ruiz’s taste in shoes was an improvement on his taste in women. She could fake it for the column, but she was pretty sure she couldn’t fake anything for Ruiz, though he stood a serious risk of having the shoes land heavily on his head if this was another of his jokes!

‘Before we came to the mutual decision that cash was king the blonde chose some trashy, sparkly things, like the ones you stomped on,’ Ruiz explained, handing the box over. ‘I thought they looked better in pieces, frankly, and so I chose these. What do you think?’

Did shoe heaven cover it? The leather was the softest she had ever felt, the heel was the highest, the colour was a beautiful pale dove grey. And the sole was scarlet. ‘I think …’ They’re divine, Holly thought, feeling a quiver of excitement at the prospect of wearing them. She could never have afforded shoes like these … ‘I think you should return them to the shop,’ she said, remembering the advice she had given one of her readers in capital letters on this very subject: ‘Never Accept Expensive Gifts From Men. Why? Because it puts you in their debt.’ And the piece hadn’t even gone to press yet, sensible Holly reminded drooling Holly sternly. ‘As they haven’t been worn I think you could get a full refund,’ she said, placing the shoe back in its box.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ Ruiz demanded, removing his crossed feet from the table and sitting up straight.

‘I never accept gifts like this from men.’

‘Well, that’s a habit you should change right away,’ Ruiz observed dryly. ‘I suppose it also means I can’t take you out to supper tonight—though if you feel badly about it, I can always let you pay …’

Ruiz was asking her out?

No. Ruiz was asking her to take him out, which gave Holly a problem. If this had been a straightforward invitation to supper she could refuse, but seeing as she was taking up half a penthouse that was rightfully his, the least she could do was stand Ruiz a meal …

‘Perhaps if we go out I’ll get a chance to talk to you about paying a fair rent to live here,’ Holly murmured thoughtfully. To date, both Ruiz and Lucia had refused to take any money from her, while Holly’s house-hunting efforts had swung disastrously between scratching sounds behind the skirting boards to smelly drains, and even, on one memorable viewing, an infestation of ants. ‘Rent?’ she prompted, seeing now that there was something very worrying in Ruiz’s eyes.

‘What a great idea,’ he agreed mildly. ‘Trust you to come up with something.’

* * *

The day improved when Holly arrived at ROCK! to find she had been given her own office with two assistants to help her, which she had to take as a sign that the agony-aunt column was on the up. ‘But let’s not get carried away,’ she cautioned the two girls sent to help her. ‘This is still early days, and—’

‘You’ve worked a miracle so we can all keep our jobs?’ Pixie suggested.

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ Holly argued red-faced.

‘You have to carry on living with the playboy now … poor you,’ Freya said, exchanging a wry look with Pixie. ‘Not that we’re jealous, or anything.’

What would Ruiz have to say about that? Holly wondered, feeling the buzz inside her ramp up a gear at the thought that she had to go out to supper tonight with him.

‘Anyway, we’re just glad to be here,’ Freya added warmly as she plonked a thriving pot plant, her personalised mug, a budget-sized box of tissues and a generous supply of chocolate for them all to share on the desk.

‘You’re right,’ Holly agreed, telling herself not to be so selfish and join in the celebration. She had to stop wishing and longing, and pretending she could steer her life to a happy-ever-after-ending in which a confident Holly Valiant won the hand of a prince instead of a frog. She could do what she liked through the column, but not that. The ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature was a fiction to boost reader numbers, which it had done, and that had to be enough for her. Except it wasn’t, Holly admitted silently as she exchanged spirited high fives with the other girls.

But hang on a minute, Holly thought as the celebration subsided. Wasn’t this expansion of the column and securing of their jobs the moment she’d been working towards? And wasn’t it essential to immerse herself in that work if she was going to forget being anxious about supper with Signor Sexy tonight? Her gaze fired as the other girls looked to her expectantly. ‘Chocolate?’ she said.

‘Tick!’ the girls chorused.

‘Bottle of fizz to celebrate?’ She was less sure of this one and was already planning to slip out and buy something.

‘Tick!’ Pixie said triumphantly, producing a bottle from behind her back.

‘I think we have everything we need,’ Holly confirmed. ‘Let’s kick this column into shape!’

And let me have something I can control to think about, she prayed fervently, instead of a whole lot of man that I can’t.