Taming the Last Acosta

As she reached up to push him away Kruz swooped down. Ravishing her mouth was a purposeful exercise, and one at which he excelled. For a moment she was too stunned to do anything, and then the sensation of being possessed, entered, controlled and plundered, even if it was only her mouth, by a man with whom she had been having fantasy sex for quite a few hours, sent her wild with excitement. She even groaned a complaint when he pulled away, and was relieved to find it was only to remove his jacket.

For such a big man Kruz went about his business with purpose and speed. His natural athleticism, she supposed, feeling her body heat, pulse and melt at the thought of being thoroughly pleasured by him. Growing up with a pillow over her head to shut out the violence at home had left her a stranger to romance and tenderness. Given a choice, she preferred to observe life through her camera lens, but when an opportunity for pleasure presented itself she seized it, enjoyed it, and moved on. She wasn’t about to turn down this opportunity.

Pleasure with no curb or reason? Pleasure without thought of consequence?

Correct, she informed her inner critic firmly. Even the leisurely way Kruz was folding his jacket and putting it aside was like foreplay. He was so sexy. His powerful body was sexy—his hands were sexy—the wide spread of his shoulders was sexy—his shadowy face was sexy.

Kruz’s confidence in her unquestioning acceptance of everything that was about to happen was so damn sexy she could lose control right now.

A life spent living vicariously through a camera lens was ultimately unsatisfactory, while this unexpected encounter was proving to be anything but. A rush of lust and longing gripped her as he held her stare. The look they exchanged spoke about need and fulfilment. It was explicit and potent. She broke the moment of stillness. Ripping off his shirt, she sent buttons flying everywhere. Yanking the fabric from the waistband of his pants, she tossed it away, exclaiming with happy shock as bespoke tailoring yielded to hard, tanned flesh. This was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. Liberally embellished with tattoos and scars, Kruz’s torso was outstanding. She could hardly breathe for excitement when he found the button on her jeans and quickly dealt with it. He quickly got them down. In comparison, her own fingers felt fat and useless as she struggled with the buckle on his belt.

‘Let me help you.’

Kruz held her gaze with a mocking look as he made this suggestion. It was all the aphrodisiac she needed. She cried out with excitement when his thumbs slipped beneath the elastic on her flimsy briefs to ease them down her hips. His big hands blazed a trail of fire everywhere they touched. She couldn’t bear the wait when he paused to protect them both, but it was a badly needed wake-up call. The fact that this man had thought of it before she had went some way to reminding her how far she’d travelled from the safe shores she called home.

Her body overruled the last-minute qualms. Her body was one hundred per cent in favour of what was coming. Even her tiny breasts felt swollen and heavy, while her nipples were cheekily pert and obscenely hard, and the carnal pulse throbbing insistently between her legs demanded satisfaction.

Kruz had awakened such an appetite inside her she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want to discover what sex could be like with someone who really knew what he was doing. She was about to find out. When Kruz stretched his length against her she could feel his huge erection, heavy and hard against her leg. And that look in his eyes—that slumberous, confident look. It told her exactly what he intended to do with her and just how much she was going to enjoy it. And, in case she was in any doubt, he now spelled out his intentions in a few succinct words.

She gasped with excitement. With hardly any experience of dating, and even less of foreplay, she was happy to hear that nothing was about to change.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE EXCLAIMED WITH shock when Kruz eased inside her. She was ready. That wasn’t the problem. Kruz was the problem. He was huge.

Built to scale.

She should have known.

Her breath came in short, shocked whimpers, pain and pleasure combined. It was a relief when he took his time and didn’t rush her. She began to relax.

This was good… Yes, better than good…

Releasing the shaking breath from her lungs, she silently thanked him for giving her the chance to explore such incredible sensation at her leisure. Leisure? The brief plateau lasted no more than a few seconds, then she was clambering all over him as a force swept them into a world where moving deeper, harder, rougher, fast and furious, was more than an imperative: it was essential to life.

‘You okay?’ Kruz asked, coming down briefly to register concern as she screamed wildly and let go.

It seemed for ever before she could answer him, and then she wasn’t sure she said anything that made sense.

‘A little better, at least?’ he suggested with amusement when she quietened.

‘Not that much better,’ she argued, blatantly asking for more.

Taking his weight on his arms, Kruz stared down at her.

It didn’t get much better than this, Romy registered groggily, lost in pleasure the instant he began to move. She loved his hard, confident mouth. She loved the feeling of being full and ready to be sated. She even loved her grassy bed, complete with night sounds: cicadas chirruping and an owl somewhere in the distance hooting softly. Kruz’s clean, musky scent was in her nostrils, and when she turned her head, groaning in extremes of pleasure, her bed of grass added a piquant tang to an already intoxicating mix. She was floating on sensation, hardly daring to move in case she fell too soon. She didn’t want it to end, but Kruz was too experienced and made it really hard to hold on. Moving persuasively from side to side, he pushed her little by little, closer to the edge.

‘Good?’ he said, staring down, mocking her with his confident smile.

‘Very good,’ she managed on a shaking breath.

And then he did something that lifted her onto an even higher plane of sensation. Slowly withdrawing, he left her trembling and uncertain, before slowly thrusting into her again. Whatever she had imagined before was eclipsed by this intensity of feeling. It was like the first time all over again, except now she was so much more receptive and aroused. She couldn’t hold back, and shrieked as she fell, shouting his name as powerful spasms gripped her.

When she finally relaxed what she realised was her pincer grip on Kruz’s arms, she realised she had probably bruised him. He was holding her just as firmly, but with more care. She loved his firm grip on her buttocks, his slightly callused hands rough on her soft skin.

‘I can’t,’ she protested as he began to move again. ‘I truly can’t.’

‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ he whispered.

Incredibly, he was right. It didn’t seem possible that she had anything left, but when Kruz stared deep into her eyes it was as if he was instructing her that she must give herself up to sensation. There was no reason to disobey and she tumbled promptly, laughing and crying with surprise as she fell again.

It turned out to be just the start of her lessons in advanced lovemaking. Pressing her knees back, Kruz stared down. Now she discovered that she loved to watch him watching her. Lifting herself up, she folded her arms behind her head so she had a better view. Nothing existed outside this extreme pleasure. Kruz had placed himself at her disposal, and to reward him she pressed her legs as wide as they would go. He demanded all her concentration as he worked steadily and effectively on the task in hand.

‘You really should try holding on once in a while,’ he said, smiling against her mouth.

‘Why?’ she whispered back.

‘Try it and you’ll find out,’ he said.

‘Will you teach me?’ Her heart drummed at the thought.

‘Perhaps,’ Kruz murmured.

He wasn’t joking, Romy discovered as Kruz led her through a lengthy session of tease and withdraw until her body was screaming for release.

‘Greedy girl,’ he murmured with approval. ‘Again?’ he suggested, when finally he allowed her to let go.

Bracing her hands against his chest, she smiled into his eyes. For a hectic hook-up this was turning into a lengthy encounter, and she hadn’t got a single complaint. Kruz was addictive. The pleasure he conjured was amazing. But—

‘What?’ he said as she turned her head away from him.

‘Nothing.’ She dismissed the niggle hiding deep in her subconscious.

‘You think too much,’ he said.

‘Agreed,’ she replied, dragging in a fast breath as he began to move again.

Kruz didn’t need to ask if she wanted more; the answer was obvious to both of them. Gripping his iron buttocks, she urged him on as he set up a drugging beat. Tightening her legs around his waist, she moved with him—harder—faster—giving as good as she got, and through it all Kruz maintained eye contact, which was probably the biggest turn-on of all, because he could see where she was so quickly going. Holding her firmly in place, he kept her in position beneath him, and when the storm rose he judged each thrust to perfection. Pushing her knees apart, he made sure they both had an excellent view, and now even he was unable to hold on, and roared with pleasure as he gave in to violent release.

She went with him, falling gratefully into a vortex of sensation from which there was no escape. It was only when she came to that she realised fantasy had in no way prepared her for reality—her fantasies were wholly selfish, and Kruz had woken something inside her that made her care for him just a little bit. It was a shame he didn’t feel the same. Now he was sated she sensed a core of ice growing around him. It frightened her, because she was feeling emotional for the first time with a man. And now he was pulling back—emotionally, physically.

No wonder that niggle of unease had gripped her, Romy reflected. She was playing well out of her league. As if to prove this, Kruz was already on his feet, pulling on his clothes. He buckled his belt as if it were just another day at the office. She might have laughed under other circumstances when he was forced to tug the edges of his shirt together where she had ripped the buttons off. He did no more than hide the evidence of her desperation beneath his tie. How could he be so chillingly unfazed by all this? Her unease grew at the thought that what had just happened between them had made a dangerously strong impression on her, while it appeared to have washed over Kruz.

And why not? What happened was freely given and freely taken by both of you.

‘Are you okay?’ he said, glancing down when she remained immobile.

‘Of course I am,’ she said in a casual tone. Inwardly she was screaming. Was she really so stupid she had imagined she would come out of something like this unscathed?

Even inward reasoning didn’t help—she was still waiting for him to say something encouraging. How pathetic was that? She had never felt like this before, and had no way of dealing with the feelings, so, gathering up her clothes, she lost herself in mundane matters—shaking the grass off her jacket, pulling on her jeans, sorting her hair out, then smoothing her hands over her face, hoping that by the time she removed them she would appear cool and detached.

Wrong. She felt as if she’d come out the wrong end of a spin dry.

Her thoughts turned at last to her camera. It was still lying on the bank, temptingly close. She had learned her lesson where lunging for it was concerned, but felt confident that Kruz would give it to her now. It was the least he could do.

Fortunately Kruz appeared to be oblivious both to her and to her camera. He was on the phone, telling his security operatives that he was patrolling the grounds.

She eased her neck, as if that would ease the other aches, most of which had taken up residence in her heart.

Hadn’t she learned anything from the past? Had Kruz made her forget her father’s rages and her mother’s dependency on a violent man?

Kruz hadn’t been in any way violent towards her—but he was strong, commanding, and detached from emotion. All the things she had learned to avoid.

She was safe in that, unlike her mother, she had learned to avoid the pitfalls of attachment by switching off her emotions. In that she wasn’t so dissimilar from Kruz. This was just a brief interlude of fun for both of them and now it was over. Neither of them was capable of love.

Love?

He swung round as she made a wry sound. Love was a long road to nowhere, with a punch in the teeth at the end. So, yes, if she was in any doubt at all about the protocol between two strangers who’d just had sex on a grassy bank, she’d go with cool and detached every time.

‘Right,’ he said, ending the call, ‘I need to get back.’

‘Of course,’ she said off-handedly. ‘But I’d like my camera first.’

He frowned, as if they were two strangers at odds with each other. ‘You’ve had your fun and now you’re on your way,’ he said.

She’d asked for that, Romy concluded. ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere without it,’ she said stubbornly. It was true. The camera was more than a tool of her trade, it was a fifth limb. It was an extension of her body, of her mind. It was the only way she knew how to make the money she needed to support herself and her mother.

‘I’ve told you already. You’ll get it back when I’ve checked it,’ he said coldly, hoisting the camera over his shoulder.

‘You’re my censor now?’ she said, chasing after him. ‘I don’t think so.’

The look Kruz gave her made her stomach clench with alarm.

‘You can sleep in the bunkhouse,’ he said, ‘along with the rest of the press crew. Pick up your camera in the morning from my staff.’

She blinked. He’d said it as if they hadn’t touched each other, pleasured each other.

They’d had sex and that was all.

Except for the slap in the face she got from realising that he saw it as no reason to give up her camera. ‘By morning it will be too late—I need it now.’

‘For what?’ he said.

‘I have to edit the photographs and then catch the news desk.’ It was a lie of desperation, but she would do anything to recover her camera. ‘There is another reason,’ she added, waiting for a thunderclap to strike her down. This idea had only just occurred to her. ‘I need to work on the shots I’m donating to your charity.’

As if he’d guessed, Kruz’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Acosta charity?’

‘Yes.’ She had a lot of shots in the can, Romy reasoned, quickly running through them in her mind. She had more than enough to pay for her mother’s care and to keep herself off the breadline. She had taken a lot of shots specifically for Grace’s album, and he couldn’t have those, but there were more—plenty more.

Had she bought herself a reprieve? Romy wondered as she stared at Kruz. ‘I’ve identified a good opportunity for the charity,’ she said, as the germ of an idea sprouted wings.

‘Tell me,’ Kruz said impatiently.

‘My editor at ROCK! is thinking about making a feature on the Acostas and your charity.’ Or at least she would make sure he was thinking about it by the time she got back. ‘Think of how that would raise the charity’s profile,’ she said, dangling a carrot she hoped no Acosta in his right mind could refuse.

‘So why didn’t Grace or Holly tell me about this?’ Kruz probed, staring at her keenly. ‘If either of them had mentioned it I would have made sure you were issued with an official pass.’

‘I am here on a mission for Grace,’ Romy admitted, ‘which is how I got in. Grace asked me not to say anything, and I haven’t. It’s crucial that Nacho doesn’t learn about Grace’s special surprise. I hope you’ll respect that.’ Kruz remained silent as she went on. ‘I’m sure Grace and Holly were just too wrapped up in the wedding to remember to tell you,’ she said, not wanting to get either of her friends into trouble.

Kruz paused. And now she could only wait.

‘I suppose Grace could confirm this if I asked her?’

‘If you feel like interrogating a bride on her wedding day, I’m sure she would.’

One ebony brow lifted. Whether Kruz believed her or not, for the moment she had him firmly in check.

‘The solution to this,’ he remarked, ‘is that I take a look at the shots and I decide.’

As he strode away she ran after him. Dodging in front of him, she forced him to stop.

He studied Romy’s elfin features with a practised eye. He interpreted the nervous hand running distractedly through her disordered hair. The camera meant everything to her, and if there was one thing that could really throw Ms Winner he had it swinging from his shoulder now. She was terrified he was going to disappear with her camera. She worked with it every day. It was her family, her income stream, her life. He almost felt sorry for her, and then stamped the feeling out. What was Romy Winner to him?

Actually, she was a lot more than he wanted her to be. She had got to him in a way he hadn’t quite fathomed yet. ‘Is there some reason why I shouldn’t see these shots?’ he asked, teasing her by lifting the camera to Romy’s eye level.

‘None whatsoever,’ she said firmly, but her face softened in response to his mocking expression and she almost smiled.

Testing Romy was fun, he discovered, and fun and he were strangers. With such a jaundiced palette as his, any novelty was a prize. But he wouldn’t taunt her any longer. He wasn’t a bully, and wouldn’t intentionally try to increase that look of concern in her eyes. ‘Shall we?’ he invited, glancing at the press coach.

She eyed him suspiciously, perhaps wondering if she was being set up. She knew there was nothing she could do about it, if that were the case. She strode ahead of him, head down, mouth set in a stubborn line, no doubt planning her next move. And then she really did throw him.

‘So, what have you got to hide?’ she asked him, swinging round at the door

‘Me?’ he demanded.

Tilting her head to one side, she studied his face. ‘People with something to hide are generally wary of me and my camera, so I wondered what you had to hide…’

‘You think that’s why I confiscated it?’

‘Maybe,’ she said, not flinching from his stare.

That direct look of hers asked a lot of questions about a man who could have such prolonged and spectacular sex with a woman he didn’t know. It was a look that suggested Romy was asking herself the same question.

‘Are you worried that I might have taken some compromising pictures of you?’ she said. There was a tug of humour at one corner of her mouth.

‘Worried?’ He shook his head. But the truth was he had never been so reckless with a woman. He sure as hell wouldn’t be so reckless again.

‘Kruz?’ she prompted.

His name sounded soft on her lips. That had to be a first. He smiled. ‘What?’

‘Just checking you know I’m still here.’

He gave her a wry look and felt a surge of heat when she tossed one back. He wasn’t an animal. He was still capable of feeling. His brother Nacho had made him believe that when Kruz had been discharged from the army hospital. It was Nacho who had persuaded him to channel his particular talents into a security company, saying Kruz must need and feel and care before he could really start living again. Nacho was right. The more he looked at Romy, the more human he felt.

Did Kruz have to stare at her lips like that? Here she was, trying to forget her body was still thrilling from his touch, and he wasn’t making it easy. She was a professional woman, trying to persuade herself she would soon get over tonight—yet all he had to do was look at her for her to long for him to take hold of her and draw her into an embrace that was neither sexual nor mocking. She had never wanted to share and trust and rest awhile quite so badly.

And she wasn’t about to fall into that trap now.

‘Shall we take a look?’

She looked at Kruz and frowned.

‘The pictures?’ he prompted, and she realised that he had not only removed the key to the press coach from her hand, but had opened the door and was holding it for her.

That yearning feeling inside…?

It wasn’t helpful. Women who felt the urge to nurture men would end up like her mother: battered, withdrawn, and helpless in a nursing home.

She led the way into the coach. Her manner was cold. They were both cold, and that suited her fine.

Romy’s mood now was a slap in the face to him after what they’d experienced together, but he had to concede she was only as detached as he was. He was just surprised, he supposed, that those much vaunted attributes of tenderness and sensitivity, which women were supposed to possess in abundance, appeared to have bypassed her completely. He should be pleased about that, but he wasn’t. He was offended. Romy was the first woman who hadn’t clung to him possessively after sex. And bizarrely, for the first time in his life, some primitive part of him had wanted her to.

‘Are you coming in?’ she said, when he stood at the entrance at the top of the steps.

His senses surged as he brushed past her. However unlikely it seemed to him, this whip-thin fighting girl stirred him like no other. He wanted more. So did she, judging by than quick intake of breath. He could feel her sexual hunger in the energy firing between them. But Romy wanted more that he could give her. He wanted more of Romy, but all he wanted was sex.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE MADE HER way down the aisle towards the area at the rear of the coach set aside for desks and equipment. Her small, slender shape, dressed all in black, quickly became part of the shadows.

‘I know there’s a light switch in here somewhere,’ she said.

Her voice was a little shaky now the door was closed, and the tension rocketed between them. He could feel her anticipation as she waited for his next move. He could taste it in the air. He could detect her arousal. He was a hunter through and through.

‘Here,’ he said, pressing a switch that illuminated the coach and set some unseen power source humming.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with her back to him as she sat down at a desk.

‘You’ll need this,’ he said, handing over the camera.

She thanked him and hugged it to her as if it contained gold bars rather than her shots.

He had more time than he needed while she logged on. He used it to reflect on what had happened over the past hour or so. Ejecting Romy from the wedding feast should have been straightforward. She should have been on her way to Buenos Aires by now, then back to London. Instead his head was still full of her, and his body still wanted her. He could still hear her moaning and writhing beneath him and feel her beneath his hands. He could still taste her on his mouth, and he could remember the smell of her soap-fresh skin. He smiled in the shadows, remembering her attacking him, that tiny frame surprisingly strong, yet so undeniably feminine. Why did Romy Winner hide herself away behind the lens of a camera?

A blaze of colour hit the screen as she began to work. What he saw answered his question. Romy Winner was quite simply a genius with a camera. Images assailed his senses. The scenery was incredible, the wildlife exotic. Her pictures of the Criolla ponies were extraordinary. She had captured some amusing shots of the wedding guests, but nothing cruel, though she had caught out some of the most pompous in less than flattering moments. She’d taken a lot of pictures of the staff too, and it was those shots that really told a story. Perhaps because more expression could be shown on faces that hadn’t been stitched into place, he reflected dryly as Romy continued to sort and select her images.

She’d made him smile. Another first, he mused as she turned to him.