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
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Ice filled her veins. This wasn’t good. ‘There are plenty of things to worry about apart from work,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t that what you told me?’
‘So I did,’ Ruiz agreed. ‘And there’s something else. The repairs on my town house are nearly complete so I’ll be getting out of your hair soon.’
And that was good? Ruiz seemed to think so. Maybe her brain had been blown to mush by so much amazing sex, but that did not sound good to Holly.
Lifting the duvet, Ruiz pulled it up to her chin—an action that smacked more of consideration for a maiden aunt with an attack of the vapours than a crazy-for-you, I-want-to-keep-you-warm-for-the-very-few-minutes-I’m-away-from-your-side action. ‘I don’t want to get too comfortable,’ she complained, throwing it off again. ‘I might go to sleep if I do—’
‘You should sleep well now, Holly.’
‘Only for a few seconds.’ She laughed, but something warned her to stop talking—that this was a train wreck and she was in the middle of it. Reaching up she put her hands flat against Ruiz’s chest. They’d been as intimate as two people could be, but instead of feeling any response from him all she could feel was the play of muscle beneath her hands. ‘Polo must be some game,’ she said lamely.
‘It is.’
And Ruiz had already left her, she registered.
What had she done? What had she done wrong?
She had allowed herself to want more than Ruiz was prepared to give her, Holly reasoned as he walked across the room. She wanted all of him, not just the sex. She wanted his warmth and his humour, his intelligence and perception, and the friendship that brought them close, making them, she had believed, trusting and trusted. She did not want this cold little voice inside her saying this same thing had happened to her before.
Not quite the same—
Not the same at all, Holly reassured herself. Not so many kisses and caresses, and no genuine affection of any kind. No affection at all, in fact. Her ex had been nothing like Ruiz.
‘Sleep now,’ Ruiz whispered from the door.
Burying her face in the pillow, she went tense all over as if that could shut out what was happening, but she only knew one way to give and that was wholeheartedly. She couldn’t divide parts of herself off and hold them back. Perhaps men could do that.
Okay, she could deal with this, Holly told herself fiercely, swinging off the bed as the door closed. Chasing after Ruiz wasn’t the answer. She had no one to blame but herself. Good-looking man notices plain, uncertain Holly, and bam! She’s grateful. Worse. She’s hungry for affection and blind to common sense—
But Ruiz had made her feel beautiful …
No. She had allowed Ruiz to make her feel beautiful and desired, because that was what she had wanted. She had bought into the fantasy while telling her readers so earnestly that casual encounters weren’t cool, they were dangerous—especially for anyone with an iota of feeling inside them. Regrets? She only had to think about the letters pouring into the agony-aunt office to know that the majority of people writing those letters lived with regret. And now she was one of them. How badly had she let her readers down?
She took a shower, thinking that would help, but she was left with exactly the same absurd impression that Ruiz was special and mustn’t be allowed to slip through her fingers. That he was one of a kind—one of her kind; the only man she would ever want and would measure every other man against—
Oh, to hell with that! Holly thought impatiently, tugging on fresh nightclothes. This wasn’t love, it was lust. Those sexy eyes, that incredible body and the humorous curve of Ruiz’s lips would be any woman’s downfall.
No. Dropping onto the bed to stare blindly at the ceiling, she was finally prepared to admit that Holly Valiant’s downfall was all her own doing and that Ruiz had merely been a willing accomplice.
And love?
Love didn’t come into it, Holly told her inner voice coldly. Ruiz had been caught up in the moment and she had too. At least he hadn’t presented her with a bill, which was pretty much what her ex had done. Shaking her head, Holly remembered that classic excuse when she had challenged her ex about emptying her bank account. ‘Consider it payment for services rendered,’ he’d said. ‘You don’t think I’d do it for free with you, do you?’ With that ringing in her ears it was no wonder she had a few issues where men were concerned—
But Ruiz wasn’t that man. And she was a survivor who could put experiences like that behind her. Hadn’t she already shown she could do that? Wasn’t that why she was here now? She just had to get a handle on how she felt about Ruiz and remember that thunderbolts struck other people—in novels, mostly. They certainly didn’t strike Holly Valiant. Tonight she had lapsed from the path she wanted to take, but she would be firmly back in control by tomorrow.
She lay in bed listening to the wind in the trees, and remained in the same lifeless position until everything in the apartment went quiet. It occurred to her that Ruiz wouldn’t be lying in bed staring at the ceiling as he raked over the events of the night. This was, after all, just one day in the life of a playboy. Turning her face into the pillow, she wished briefly with amusement that she had her own agony aunt to write to and ask for advice, but then accepted she’d got it right from the start with rule number one: rely on no one but yourself.
* * *
Holly was a fixture in Ruiz’s head the next morning as he pounded down the staircase to the street rather than taking the lift in the penthouse. He couldn’t stop beating himself up about what had happened. She was new to London—and vulnerable. And his sister’s friend. And he didn’t need reminding about the world of inexperience on Holly’s side and the equal amount of should-know-better on his. Exiting the building he saw his breath turn to frost. It made him long for the warmth of Argentina. Seeing Holly in Argentina away from her computer and the fantasy life she was weaving, Holly relaxed and happy, living in the real world for once … But he had meant it when he’d told Holly he would never stand in the way of her career. She had come so far since moving to London and had never made any secret of the fact that her career meant everything to her. He should be exhilarated at the thought of returning to Argentina, just as he should be happy for Holly. She was a proper city girl now—a survivor, successful and driven—
But he had hoped for more.
Ruiz frowned as he gunned the engine and pulled out onto an almost empty London street. Thank goodness today was all about business and he’d have no chance to think about Holly at all. It had to be early, he reflected wryly, for the streets of London to be this deserted. He’d lain awake after he’d left her, thinking, trying not to feel … In the end, he just left her a note warning her how cold it was and advising her to wrap up—
Holly …
He wasn’t doing all that well at shutting his mind to her, Ruiz reflected. But he must. He would. He had to fly to Argentina for the match and would stay on for a while. Resting his chin on his arm as he waited for the lights to change, he remembered how Holly had felt in his arms, and her fresh, clean smell with the hint of vanilla—
Put Holly out of his mind? He might as well try to stop the breath in his chest. Nothing could steal away that look in her eyes when she gazed into his. Holly, dazzling and tender, quirky and funny, had a permanent place in his head. Holly wry, Holly angry, Holly spirited, taking him on. Holly hot as hell and sexy as sin—
Holly innocent and vulnerable.
Regrets?
She had them. And now he did too.
I have allowed myself to believe the playboy and I have something going on. How? Last night we got close—closer than I’m comfortable sharing in a public forum