The Acostas Box Set. Susan Stephens
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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