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 11

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Mirror, mirror on the wall—’ Will someone cover the damn mirror!

Tonight’s the night. I am taking the playboy out to supper and I can’t decide what to wear. I realise that taking him out reverses the natural order of things—but then I am not the playboy’s natural order, if you take my meaning. I am more of a meagre side dish—the type of thing you order to try, and more often than not leave untouched. Me? Lacking in confidence? What makes you think that?

All right. I admit it. Every item of clothing I possess is on the bed, or on the floor. Carrier bags and sales tickets are scattered around like confetti, because, as it turns out, my wardrobe is full of nothing to wear. And, as I am constantly reminded by the playboy’s long-legged basque-wearing friends, sex sells. Not exactly my area of expertise. Consequently, I have decided that my next article for you will be a helpful piece on the subject of staying out of debt. At least that’s where my credit card provider told me I should be concentrating my thoughts.

I must admit the real crisis of confidence came when I tried to decide what to underpin my modest outfit with tonight. As I don’t possess a single basque, or hold-up stocking, should I chance a shocking-pink thong?

As my underwear is unlikely to receive an airing, that hardly matters, does it?

And the playboy? He’s acting as cool and as sexy as ever. Accompanying me to supper is nothing more than a workaday chore for him in order to keep in his sister’s good books. So at least I should be safe. And I should be glad about that—right?

TYPING up her column was a displacement activity Holly had hoped would take her mind off the fact that she would soon be sitting across a table from Ruiz—speaking to him, staring into his eyes—all the time pretending they were nothing more than friends. Her shopping had been more erratic than usual with her frantic purchases more suitable for a royal wedding than a casual supper in a local bistro and she was fast losing confidence in her ability to pull this off.

Closing the lid on her laptop, Holly glanced at the shoe box the unscrupulous Ruiz had left temptingly outside her door. It was on her bed now. She had been forced to bring it into the bedroom in case someone fell over it. But of course she couldn’t wear the shoes unless Ruiz allowed her to pay for them. And as that would take a whole month’s salary …

The dress she had finally chosen to wear was a sale-rail spectacular—A-line, with a flirty skirt and a high scooped neck. It wasn’t black, which was about the best that could be said for it, but at least it was the same soft blue as her favourite shirt. With her hair neatly brushed, lip gloss present and correct, and just a suggestion of smudgy grey eye shadow to complement the flick of black mascara, she was ready. And nervous.

What did she have to be nervous about? Eating supper was a harmless activity.

Sharing food could be very sexy.

Fish and chips?

Mating rituals like eating supper together and how to avoid them was another good headline for her column, Holly concluded as she shifted anxiously from foot to foot in the hallway, waiting for Ruiz. But seeing as there was no escape from tonight, fish was out—ditto anything like spinach that might get stuck in her teeth. Thankfully, she had identified a healthy-food café where they could nibble on crudités and drink sparkling elder-flower water. Perfect. She would keep a clear head and as the café was brilliantly lit with sensible, hard-backed chairs Ruiz wouldn’t want to stay for long—

And when they came home?

She’d plead tiredness and go to bed. Alone.

Just when she’d almost given up on him, Ruiz stormed back into the apartment like an avenging angel in a cloud of cold air and warm smiles with Bouncer panting vigorously at his heels. ‘Ready?’ he demanded.

‘Ready,’ Holly confirmed.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he said as he bent down to remove Bouncer’s leash.

‘I thought the little café down the road—’

‘The one where we met?’ Ruiz sounded upbeat as his lips pressed down with approval of her choice. ‘Hang on while I fill Bouncer’s water bowl—’

‘No … No, that one’s shut,’ she called out.

Ruiz sauntered back into the hall. ‘Tell me you’re not taking me to that place where they serve lentil soup, and you have to sit round a communal table on hemp sacks?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ she said. ‘They do have private booths.’

‘Where you can sit on even bigger hemp sacks? No, thank you.’

‘So where do you want to go?’ she said irritably.

‘You’re letting me choose?’ Ruiz’s mouth curved in a grin.

Why couldn’t she learn to keep her big mouth shut? She would never be able to afford Ruiz’s preferred style of restaurant. ‘I’m sure I can find somewhere else you would like,’ she told him firmly.

‘I know somewhere you’d like,’ Ruiz countered. ‘It’s walking distance from here—and not expensive,’ he added when Holly’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Mid-week is all about economy, Ms Valiant.’

‘Are you mocking me, Señor Acosta?’

‘Would I?’ he said.

Holly’s look said it all. And now her mind was swinging wildly between the safe café of her choice and somewhere of Ruiz’s choosing—and how economical that would be in terms of their very different incomes. ‘Am I dressed okay for this place of yours?’

‘You’ll do,’ he said, holding her gaze with a raised eyebrow and a sexy grin.

‘It’s still my treat,’ she insisted firmly, trying to hang onto her composure.

‘Of course it is,’ Ruiz agreed. ‘Though I am prepared to make a deal with you.’

Why was he staring at her shoes? Her comfortable, clunky-heeled shoes? They were perfect if they were going to walk to the place Ruiz had mentioned. Did he need to look at them as if she had committed some terrible faux pas and make her even more nervous about stepping into Ruiz’s world than she already was?

‘This is the deal.’ Ruiz angled his disreputably stubbled chin in Holly’s direction. ‘I’ll pay for supper tonight if you wear the shoes I bought for you.’

The shoes he bought? Accept his gift? Take a totter on the wild side on five-inch heels instead of remaining safely corralled inside the magazine column on her clunkies? ‘I can’t walk in high heels. And, anyway, I already told you that I—’

‘Don’t accept gifts from men,’ Ruiz supplied. ‘I do remember.’

‘So, how does this work?’ Holly demanded. ‘I get the shoes and you pay for supper. Do you seriously think I’m going to go for that?’

‘I think you should,’ he said evenly. ‘I think if you had any sense you would.’

‘Well, clearly I don’t have any sense,’ Holly fired back, ‘because—’ Because what? Come on, come on ‘—because tonight is supposed to be my treat for you.’ Ah, yes, sweet relief. ‘Because you have to let me do something in return for allowing me to stay in the Acosta penthouse.’ Yes! ‘And as for wearing a pair of brand-new shoes that you could easily take back to the store and get a refund for—’

‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Ruiz flashed, raising the emotional temperature by a few thousand degrees. ‘You’re my sister’s best friend. If my friends were in London and needed accommodation I would expect Lucia to show them hospitality. This is a courtesy to my sister.’

As she had thought. Okay, she’d asked for that, Holly accepted as Ruiz and his storm-face reached the door. ‘Okay?’ he questioned, banging it open.

‘Okay,’ she fired back. Stepping out of the fictional world she had created for Ruiz and into reality with him might be a little more combative and complex than she had first imagined, Holly realised. And as for the effect on her senses, she could only trust that the keeper of her moral code was on duty tonight.

‘I thought we might go dancing,’ Ruiz dropped in casually as he held the door for her to go through.

‘Dancing?’ Holly managed on a dry throat, knowing her face must have been a picture of doom as she walked past him.

‘Something wrong with that?’ Ruiz demanded, turning to lock the door.

Where to start? Dancing meant touching each other, holding each other, moving as closely as two people could move together, unless they were—

‘Those shoes are perfect for dancing. Thank you for wearing them,’ Ruiz said with worrying charm as she click-clacked across the lobby towards the elevator.

‘My pleasure,’ Holly said primly, which was the understatement of the year. Well, she could hardly leave the shoes alone in a box while she went out, could she? They might fade, or something.

‘Tonight should make very good reading for your column,’ Ruiz observed as they stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

Holly forced a small laugh. Not too good, she hoped. She’d given up on the thong and was wearing really big knickers instead.

They crossed the road and walked through the park with a good three feet of air between them. Where was Ruiz taking her? Holly wondered as he turned off down a cobbled side street where the mews houses would go for millions and any club would be exclusive in the extreme. She was feeling extremely self-conscious by the time Ruiz stopped outside an iron-studded door where the faint strains of South American music could be heard on the street. But the club did look intriguing—all dark and mysterious like the man at her side.

‘A Brazilian friend of mine owns the club,’ Ruiz explained. ‘They have great food and even better dancing. A place like this will be dynamite for your column. Ready, Holly?’

As she would ever be, Holly thought, taking a deep breath.

When would she get another chance like this? Holly asked herself sensibly. The humour in Ruiz’s eyes reassured her, though when he rested his arm across her shoulders as they waited for the doorman to examine their faces through the grill, she had to tell herself that Ruiz was just doing his thing and that it was in his nature to make people feel good.

Richly carpeted steps led down to a luxurious, stone-flagged basement, where lead-paned glass glinted in the sultry glow of candles. The heavy polished furniture and rich draperies in ruby reds and regal purples gave the club an established sense of luxury and indulgence. Ruiz was right about it providing food for her column. It was not only packed, she could see now through the archway leading into the main dining room and dance floor, but, judging by the clientele, it was the hottest place in town. Her readers would definitely be interested, Holly thought as Ruiz held her coat. ‘Is that a samba they’re playing?’

‘Very good,’ Ruiz remarked as he handed Holly’s coat to an attendant. ‘I can tell you’re eager to dance—’

‘Oh, no,’ Holly exclaimed as her pulse raced off the scale. ‘I’m only here to observe.’ But in her head she was already practising the steps. She had taken some classes a while back with a friend, but her heart thundered at the thought that Ruiz might put her to the test. She reassured herself that the samba had been one of the easiest dances to learn: back, forward, forward. There were only three steps to remember, for goodness’ sake—

‘You do dance the samba …?’

Ruiz’s eyes were dancing with laughter, Holly noticed. ‘And how do you know that?’ she challenged him.

‘You’re mouthing the steps.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Holly argued, relieved when the maître d’ arrived to escort them to their table. He had seated them right at the edge of the dance floor, which was fantastic for watching the dancers, but terrible if, like Holly, you didn’t want to be so dangerously close to the action.

‘The steps will soon come back to you,’ Ruiz assured her with an amused smile.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Holly agreed as the maitre d’ removed the reserved sign with a flourish.

‘And I think you’re going to be very good at it,’ Ruiz prompted when Holly gave him a look. ‘Dancing, I mean.’

As Ruiz lounged back in his comfortably padded chair all Holly could think about was the scary dance teacher, yelling at her to Bounce, Valiant, bounce! For goodness’ sake, lift your feet, girl! Before she fell over them presumably. Would samba lessons delivered in her local community centre by a moustachioed teacher help her now? Holly wondered as she gazed at the slinky couples moving effortlessly around the floor. Somehow, she doubted it. This samba was faster, cooler, and way sexier than she remembered, especially when she compared it to her shambling attempts. But then she had been dancing with an equally uncoordinated girl. Men had been thin on the ground in the classes, so most of the women ended up dancing together, Holly remembered, glancing at her rugged companion. Dancing with Ruiz Acosta might be somewhat different, she suspected.

He was impatient when people kept on greeting him—especially impatient when he noticed the curious glances they were lavishing on Holly. He should have known better than to bring her here but he had wanted her to have a treat. He had wanted to get her away from the computer and from the shadows of the past for just one evening. He would have liked half an hour with the man who hurt her. She was so inexperienced, so vulnerable. He hated the type of man who took advantage of that. He wondered if Holly had ever known love. Lucia had told him something about her clever friend who had been sent away to school on a scholarship by parents who never visited. No wonder his generous-hearted sister had palled up with sensible Holly Valiant. He could see it all now. Lucia had provided the warmth Holly had so badly needed, while Holly had kept his sister in line—just about.

‘What are you smiling at now?’ she said.

‘Thinking about Lucia …’

‘Ah.’ She relaxed.

‘And I’m enjoying myself,’ he confessed, only realising now how true that was. He was completely relaxed—especially now that everyone had taken the hint and seen that he wanted to be alone with his supper companion. Had anyone ever made love to Holly, he wondered, or had they just used her without ever seeing the side of her that Holly kept so close? She was different from anyone he had ever known. He knew most women only wanted him for the material things he could provide—things in which Holly had absolutely no interest.

‘Do you mind if I take my shoes off?’ she said, distracting him from his thoughts as she pulled a comic face. ‘I’ll keep my feet under the table so you don’t have to look at them—’

He laughed as she kicked the expensive shoes he’d bought her into touch.

* * *

She watched Ruiz greet acquaintances with a casual wave. He knew a lot of people in London, or, rather, a lot of people knew Ruiz, Holly amended, and they all seemed inordinately pleased if he noticed them. Perhaps it was she who needed a wake-up call, Holly reflected. Ruiz was an international sportsman and highly respected—

‘Are you okay?’ Ruiz prompted.

‘Of course.’

‘I want you to enjoy yourself.’

‘I’m sure I shall.’ She thought about Ruiz’s comment regarding entertaining friends of the family and hoped she wasn’t keeping him from his own friends. ‘It’s very good of you to bring me here,’ she said politely.

Ruiz gave her a quizzical look. ‘It’s very good of you to come with me.’

Was it? Even in jeans and a crisp white shirt Ruiz looked amazing and exuded class, while Holly was increasingly aware of buying something just because it was in the sale that really didn’t suit her and that was now clinging unattractively to her bargain-basement body.

‘Would you like to dance?’ Ruiz suggested.

‘With you?’

‘Were you thinking of dancing with someone else?’ he queried with a sultry growl.

‘In front of everyone?’

‘That is the usual way.’

‘Won’t people talk? So many people seem to know who you are.’

‘And if they do?’

‘I don’t want you to be unmasked,’ Holly whispered dramatically, thinking she had found the perfect excuse not to dance with the playboy in public.

‘Do they give you a byline on the Playboy column these days?’ Ruiz asked innocently.

‘No, of course they don’t put my name on the column. I’m part of a team—’

Stop! Stop Talking NOW, Holly’s inner voice advised, before you dig the hole any deeper. Of course no one knew who she was. She was just another of Ruiz’s many female friends as far as the people at the club were concerned. ‘Shall we chat and eat first?’ she suggested, red-faced.

For a moment she thought Ruiz would argue and insist on dancing, but he just said, ‘Whatever you like,’ and picked up the menu.

And now she was disappointed. A hemp sack and a bowl of lentils was pretty much what she deserved, Holly concluded. Burying her head in the menu, she mentally revisited the conversation where Ruiz had made it clear that this evening was all about entertaining his sister’s friend.

‘Are you going to relax any time soon, Holly?’

She looked up. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just a bit overwhelmed by all this.’

‘All this?’

‘I feel a bit out of place here, to be honest.’ Whereas Ruiz was so confident and so good-looking he was at ease anywhere.

‘Out of place? Why should you say that? I can’t think of anyone who deserves a night off more than you do, Holly. Since the moment I met you, you’ve been working all hours.’

‘But all these people are so—’ She snatched a breath as Ruiz’s hand touched her arm.

‘Choose something to eat,’ he prompted.

Studying the menu, and actually reading it this time, Holly gulped when she saw the prices. When the waiter arrived to take their order she told him that a starter-sized salad would be enough for her. Shaking his head, Ruiz countermanded that idea and ordered for her. ‘You don’t have to eat what I’ve ordered for you,’ he explained, ‘but if you’re going to continue working at the pace you do, one lettuce leaf and a spoonful of dressing isn’t enough to keep you going.’

Ruiz’s amused glance lasted a little longer this time and as she held it something told Holly that if she could relax they might be friends. After all, Ruiz was her best friend’s brother, and she loved Lucia …

The meal Ruiz had ordered for Holly was delicious. He had chosen perfectly. The most delicious halibut she had ever tasted came with side orders of buttered spinach, roasted tomatoes, and creamy mashed potatoes. Ruiz devoured an epic steak, and after the meal they drank strong, aromatic coffee as they watched professional dancers giving an eye-popping demonstration of how the samba should be danced. Surely, Ruiz couldn’t expect her to do that? Holly thought, imagining how she might interpret the hip grinding and pelvic thrusting, which the professional dancers managed to turn into something so erotic, and yet so stylish. It might look rather different if she took to the floor. And then there were the outfits. The woman’s costume was glittery and filmy, barely a whisper of aquamarine chiffon decorated with diamanté, while the man’s black trousers might have been sprayed on—

‘And now we dance,’ Ruiz announced when the applause had died down.

‘I don’t think so,’ Holly protested, sitting deeper in her chair.

Ruiz gave her no option. Making her gasp as he lifted her out of the seat, he lowered her onto a dance floor crowded with couples only too eager to show what they could do. ‘You can’t force me,’ Holly protested, turning to go.

‘And you can’t resist the music.’ He brought her back again.

Short of drawing attention to herself, she had no option but to go through the motions of dancing one samba, Holly concluded. She was just gearing herself up to do this when another man, crowned with the same menacing glamour as Ruiz, strode up to them. Swinging a welcoming arm around Ruiz’s shoulders, he exclaimed, ‘Hello, my friend. Long time no see.’ His gaze remained fixed on Holly’s face—assessing and no doubt drawing all the wrong conclusions, she thought. This must be the Brazilian friend Ruiz had told her about, Holly concluded as the two men exchanged a fierce hug.

Ruiz confirmed this when he introduced them. ‘Holly, I’d like you to meet an old friend and adversary of mine—’

‘Not so much of the old, please,’ Gabriel insisted with his gaze still trained on Holly. ‘Though I won’t argue about our adversarial tendencies.’

‘Gabriel,’ Holly said politely, hoping she wouldn’t get her hand scorched off when she shook his hand. Was there a whole contingent of stunning South Americans living in London? Holly wondered as more, equally striking men joined their group.

‘Polo players,’ Ruiz explained, slipping out of Portuguese with Gabriel into Spanish with some of the others. ‘My apologies, Holly,’ he added politely. ‘We will speak only English now,’ Ruiz instructed his friends.

Polo players? She would never have guessed, Holly mused wryly, taking in the muscular physiques. All the men looked like athletes and none of them was afraid of staring her straight in the eyes. She wasn’t used to such forthright inspection and felt her cheeks fire red. And then Ruiz introduced her by explaining that Holly was an agony aunt, which only brought a fresh blood-rush to her cheeks.

‘Holly doesn’t look much like your auntie to me,’ Gabriel commented dryly.

‘If you need any help or advice, Holly, don’t hesitate to call me,’ another man drawled.

‘Enough,’ Ruiz commanded good-humouredly. To Holly’s further amazement, he then placed a protective arm around her shoulders. ‘You’ll have Holly believing all South Americans are best avoided by respectable women.’

‘Respectable women?’ Gabriel commented in a low drawl. ‘Now there’s a rare breed. You must allow me to offer you the hospitality of my club,’ Gabriel added, switching his amused, worldly stare from Holly’s face to Ruiz. ‘At least for the first part of your evening. The rest of the night is up, to you my friends.’

‘That’s enough, Gabe.’ Ruiz cautioned his friend in a low voice in a way that made Holly feel unusually protected.

Not a bad feeling, she concluded, if one she was unused to. Ruiz leaping to her defence was surprise enough, but seeing how quickly the other men backed off when he told them to communicated a lot about Ruiz. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly when they were alone again.

‘For what?’ Ruiz demanded.

‘I think you know,’ she said.