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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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 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.
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