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

‘I got it exactly right,’ he said. And she didn’t deserve to be hurt.

‘Lovely?’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘You really think I’m lovely?’

‘Lovely and funny, and … you make me laugh,’ he finished, not used to such feelings bombarding him. ‘You’re a lovely person, Holly.’

‘Ah,’ she breathed, turning her face into his chest.

Reading her insecurities, he could have kicked himself. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he warned. Holding Holly in his arms, he realised the past haunted them both. He had worried his little sister could hear their parents fighting. And like the rest of the Acosta boys, he had struggled to understand his father’s infidelities. He’d seen the hurt in his mother’s eyes. He’d seen the so-called perfect family torn apart, until all that was left was a band of brothers with a sister to protect. He would never go down that road. The thought of turning out like his father was his worst nightmare. He had no intention of settling down with a woman until all the fire had left his veins and the only thing that mattered to him was holding someone’s hand …

‘Where are you now?’ Holly murmured. ‘And where are you going?’ she said as he grabbed a towel from the bed and made for the door. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ he said, securing the towel around his waist. His heart filled and when she smiled back at him his mind was made up.

She could use a break, Holly concluded wryly, stretching her glowing limbs contentedly. She was still in a wonderfully dreamy recovery state, and had been worrying that she might not be able to gather herself fast enough to satisfy a man like Ruiz. Keeping up with a man like that would require regular training sessions, she reflected happily. She looked up with surprise when he came back into the room, but it was only to drop a kiss on her swollen mouth. ‘Where are you going now?’ she demanded softly, reaching up to him.

‘Goodnight, Holly …’

Smiling drowsily, she stared into the impossibly beautiful eyes, wondering if now was the moment to admit that Ruiz had exhausted her, but with a little sleep she’d be—

‘Try not to oversleep,’ he was telling her. ‘I know you’ve got work tomorrow and I don’t want you to be late because I kept you up half the night. Would you like me to set your alarm for you?’

She started to frown, realising that all the heat had gone from his eyes.

‘I’d never forgive myself if I were the cause of putting a curb on your career,’ he murmured, caressing her face.

He was talking about work now? 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.

CHAPTER EIGHT

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 such as this.

Then he said his place was fixed and he’d be out of my hair shortly. Please don’t pity me! I can do that for myself. And he wasn’t proposing to turn the penthouse into a gilded cage where I can recline and paint my toenails until he finds time to visit, because as far as the playboy is concerned I am yesterday’s news. Better to have lusted and lost than never to have lusted at all? Maybe we’ve all thought that at one time or another. Maybe we’ve all been wrong.

And the playboy? He’s just the same—i.e. confident and busy, leaving me to get on with my life while he gets on with his. Which is ideal—or it should be, but I want someone to share things with, without getting laughed at or dismissed and he would never do that. I’d like to be part of his life—the private part that doesn’t get written about—little things like sharing glances and second-guessing each other that’s nothing and everything in the end. Maybe I deserve your pity after all …

SHE had got exactly what she deserved for allowing reality and fantasy to collide, Holly concluded, impatiently dashing away tears as she walked back to the penthouse after taking Bouncer for his early morning walk. She and Ruiz might have clung to each other and gazed into each other’s eyes, and in the throes of passion she might have believed anything was possible, but he was still going back to Argentina.

Leaving her to get on with her career. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? What she should want? What it was safest to want? So, why did she feel as if the bottom had just dropped out of her world?

This was all grist to the publishing mill, Holly concluded as she opened the door on an empty apartment. She should make use of the angst and write something to entertain. No one read the ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature to hear her moaning. She’d make something funny out of it—

Really?

So the idea just hadn’t come to her yet, Holly reasoned, gazing out of the window at the frigid London street with its powdering of frost. But it would, she determined, stripping off her coat. Flinging her beanie and scarf onto a chair, she tossed out her hair. Ruiz was right about it being freezing outside. But why should he care if she was well wrapped up or not? Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of his dog-walker-in-chief getting sick—

Enough Ruiz.

Enough! Enough! Out of my head now!

There was something she wanted to do before she left for work, and it did run contrary to rule number one: rely on no one but yourself. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Most of the mail for the agony-aunt column came in anonymously—and who needed help more than she did? She hurried to her laptop and quickly created an e-mail address for this one, very special purpose, and then, typing in the message, she pressed Send before she had the chance to change her mind.

So this is what it feels like to be a dedicated career woman, Holly reflected, ready for work, having applied more make-up than usual. Were her lips supposed to feel as if they were superglued together? Grimacing as she peeled them apart, she removed the overdose of gloss with a tissue, then reclaimed her nightclothes from the floor where Ruiz had flung them the night before. Resolutely shutting her mind to thoughts of how they had come to be on the floor, she tossed them into the washing basket, but then she couldn’t resist plucking out the top again on the pretext of checking if it had more than one button missing. She held it briefly to her face and inhaled, as if Ruiz’s spicy scent might still linger in the brushed cotton folds.

What was she doing? She wanted no reminders of last night. Dropping the top into the basket, she picked up the cryptic note Ruiz had left her about the cold weather and aimed it at the bin. She was ready for anything now—and positively buzzing with ideas for the column. Last night was another learning experience in her new London life, and this morning was a reflection of the woman she had become, i.e. tough Holly—tougher, anyway. Holly who could handle anything, Holly who had grown up overnight and who no one would ever accuse of being naïve again.

She carried that thought to the office, where she was relieved to be rushed off her feet. It gave her no time to think—except about Ruiz, who coloured all her thoughts. They were so busy on the agony-aunt column it looked as if they might have to recruit more people to handle the level of traffic the web site was attracting, not to mention the circulation boost the magazine had received.

All thanks to your column, Holly was told to her embarrassment. ‘We’re a team,’ she insisted as everyone from the neighbouring offices gathered round her.

‘And the team loves reading about your disastrous love life,’ someone commented, which made everyone else laugh.

‘Who doesn’t love to sit knitting at the foot of the guillotine?’ another colleague added with brutal honesty and an ironic laugh.

But it was just that bad, Holly thought, wishing she could write her own happy ending. Then one of the men from marketing distracted her by brandishing a copy of the magazine. ‘Your private life’s not your own any more, Holly. It belongs to all of us now.’

‘Great.’ She forced a laugh.

‘Listen up, everyone,’ one of the girls announced, reading from the monitor. ‘You won’t believe what some idiot has written.’

Holly knew. She knew immediately and only wished she could disappear in a puff of smoke, but it was too late as her colleagues had already rounded her up and were shepherding her towards the screen.

The girl started reading Holly’s message: ‘“I’ve just met a really hot guy, which is great. What’s not so great is that I slept with him on practically the first night when I know the relationship isn’t going anywhere. It certainly can’t now as he just told me he’s moving on. I know you’ll say I should forget him and move on myself. And I would. I really would, but I think I’ve fallen for him …” Can you believe anyone would be that stupid?’ the girl demanded, directing the question at Holly.

‘Don’t be harsh,’ Holly blurted, blushing furiously.

‘No, you’re right,’ the girl agreed when everyone had finally calmed down and stopped laughing. ‘That was bitchy of me. And we’ve all been there, haven’t we?’

When Holly’s colleagues finally calmed down and agreed with this, their team leader, who was in the best of moods for once, called for silence. ‘I’ve got some really good news for all of us. Since the playboy told our beloved redhead Holly that they were splitting, hits to the web site are threatening to crash the system.’

‘Hasn’t the “Living with a Playboy” feature almost run its course?’ Holly suggested desperately, not wanting to go any deeper into this. ‘Should we be thinking of going out on a high? Maybe trying to come up with a new idea for a fresh column?’ She was clutching at straws, Holly realised when she saw the disapproval on her team leader’s face.

‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t even think about finishing it. Most of the hits are on your page. Your love life is such a mess everyone feels confident writing to you.’

‘Oh, good. My life is a disaster, so everyone’s happy—’

‘Don’t be so naïve, Holly. This is fiction. Keep up the misery,’ the team leader advised. ‘It sells almost as well as sex.’

Everyone laughed except Holly, who had closed her mind to the problems of real life and was already constructing her next headline: Fall in love with his dog by all means, but don’t fall in love with him—especially if you expect the same level of loyalty and affection you get from his furry friend.

* * *

When she got back to the penthouse Holly’s heart almost stopped when she found Ruiz already back from work. He was lounging on the sofa in the living room with one jean-clad leg crossed nonchalantly over the other, the sleeves rolled back on his checked shirt—

Forearms bared meant action, Holly thought, feeling a jolt as her sixth sense kicked in. Ruiz had made no secret of the fact that he would be leaving soon for the polo match in Argentina. How soon? Very soon? She could sense change in the air. And then she saw what he was looking at. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded, swinging his laptop round so she could see the screen.

‘Fiction,’ she said flatly. He’d read her latest article, which was less than complimentary about him and even less kind to her. It was the type of relationship screw-up the team leader had asked for, and, because she was still stinging from Ruiz’s cold dismissal and the thought of him leaving for Argentina, for once she’d given her team leader what he’d asked for—no holds barred. ‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked Ruiz, aching inside.

‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he said, closing the lid. ‘It’s up to your readers, though you make your feelings clear enough.’

Wait until he read tomorrow’s column, Holly thought, wondering briefly if she should tone it down, and then deciding not. ‘I’m a journalist, Ruiz.’

‘You mean you make things up,’ he said, his eyes dark and watchful.

‘You know I do. I’ve never made any secret of the fact that the “Living with a Playboy” feature is a fiction—a piece of light entertainment to increase reader interest in the agony-aunt column.’

‘A feature for which I am the inspiration.’

‘I have never made a secret of that either.’

Ruiz wouldn’t look at her. But he had always known what she was doing. She must appear as nonchalant as he did. The sex had been spectacular between them last night, but acting cool the morning after was the only thing she could do to protect herself. So what would she tell her readers? She would heap on the misery as she’d been asked to, Holly concluded. ‘What’s wrong, Ruiz?’

‘You say this is fiction?’ He glanced at the laptop. ‘But I think this must reflect your true feelings, at least a little.’ And as such it hurt like hell, Ruiz concluded angrily. On the back of it he’d made a lot of changes—like hiring a housekeeper to take care of Bouncer while he was gone. ‘I think you’ve started believing your own fiction, Holly.’

‘What?’ She laughed incredulously. ‘It’s just work. That’s what I do.’

‘Then I don’t like what you do.’

The room hung in frigid silence. Holly felt as if the sword of Damocles were hanging by a thread above her head. She knew the sword had to fall, it was just a question of when and how fast.

So get out of its way—

‘I’ll go and put these things away, if you don’t mind?’ she said, glancing at the shopping bags of food she had brought in.

‘When you’ve done that, come back. We need to talk.’

She felt dead inside. There was nothing in Ruiz’s voice to suggest that last night had meant anything to him. Just as she had suspected, he had already moved on.

She went into the kitchen, where Bouncer came snuffling up to her, his big brown eyes soulful as if the dog sensed her tension and wanted to defuse it. ‘I won’t leave you,’ Holly vowed fiercely. ‘I’ll find somewhere to live where you can come with me.’ She glanced at the door behind which the man she had been so confident she could turn into a fiction, and who had somehow become so much more than that, was waiting for her.

She’d miss him when he left.

Squeezing back tears, she made do with hugging Ruiz’s dog. ‘I love you, Bouncer,’ she said passionately, releasing some of the tension. It wasn’t right to feel like this about a man. No excuses. She’d known all along how dangerous it was to risk her heart.

‘I thought you were going to put that shopping away and then come back and talk?’

Collecting herself quickly, Holly looked up to find Ruiz lounging in the doorway. His arms were folded across his formidable chest, and his voice, his body, his eyes especially—eyes she had stared into with love, and into which she had placed her trust—everything drew her to him. She couldn’t change her feelings where Ruiz was concerned just because it was safer to do so or because she willed it. She could write whatever she liked in the column, but reality refused to be manipulated. ‘I’m just sorting stuff out,’ she managed casually.

‘Well, don’t take all evening.’

The playboy might be a fictional figure, but Ruiz was all too real. And so were her feelings for him. Finding the doggy treats she’d bought at the supermarket, she tried telling herself it wasn’t all bad as Bouncer’s tail thanked her profusely. At least she’d made one good friend in London. But there was really only one friend and lover she could ever want, and he plainly wasn’t interested.

She took her time, had a shower and changed into jeans before returning to the living room where Ruiz was working on his laptop. ‘You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?’ She had to challenge him before he could make the announcement. Ruiz’s answer was to indicate the space next to him on the sofa. She sat as far away from him as she could, determined not to let him see how she felt about his silence. She wondered then if Ruiz had any lingering memories of her touch, or her kisses, as she had of his. Did men even bank physical memories like a woman, to pull out and review later?

She had to stop thinking like that, or she’d break down. She should have had a good howl in the shower to get this out of her system. The way Ruiz was acting, so casual and normal as if this was just another day, she couldn’t bear it. The greatest intimacy of all seemed to have pushed them apart, and she of all people should have known the risks: don’t tie me down, don’t ask me to commit. It was, after all, a favourite topic in the column. Friends were bound by loving ties even if they didn’t see each other for years, but sleep with a friend and that changed everything, because you ran the risk of becoming a nuisance, a potential curb on your friend’s freedom.