The Shameless Life of Ruiz Acosta Page 2

  ‘You have a way with animals,’ the man observed.

  ‘When they’re not trying to lick me to death,’ Holly agreed wryly.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said, starting for the door.

  In nothing more exciting than a pair of jeans, scuffed boots and a heavy jacket, he looked exactly like the type of man who could turn a girl’s world upside down. Rebuilding herself after a devastating love affair meant stepping out and stepping up. It did not mean running away. And it was only a coffee.

  The guy was so big he made Holly feel dainty as she walked past him, which was another first. She was built on a heroic scale, as her father always reminded her proudly before he gave her that second and rather concerned look—the one she was supposed to miss. But it wasn’t every day a dog could coat her in mud and make her smile, or a man could hold her gaze for longer than two seconds. And at least he was polite, she reasoned as he held the door.

  As the warm, coffee-scented air swept out to greet them Holly relaxed her guard enough to brush past him on the way in. The jolt to her senses woke her up and warned her to take more care in future. But it wasn’t as if she was coming on to him, Holly reasoned. He was deeply tanned and film-star striking, while she was pale and not that interesting. But there was some common ground. She felt out of place in London and he looked about as much at home on a grey day in London as a polar bear on a beach—

  And about as dangerous.

  Once they were inside the café he reached behind the counter and grabbed a towel, which he tossed to her.

  ‘Well caught,’ he said as she gasped and snatched hold of the towel. ‘May I suggest you wipe the worst of the mud off your clothes?’

  ‘Won’t they mind?’ Holly said worriedly, throwing a guilty glance at the counter staff.

  ‘They’ll mind more if you don’t wipe it off before you sit down,’ the man observed, curving his attractive smile again.

  Men as good-looking as he was could do as they liked, Holly concluded as she watched him return the towel with a few words of thanks to the staff. There wasn’t one complaint. And why should there be? she thought as he shrugged off his jacket and everyone turned to look. Who wouldn’t want a better view of that body? Holly mused as her gaze roved reluctantly past the well-packed jeans to the crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to display a pair of massive forearms. Her day had definitely improved. Until the girls behind the counter started flirting with him and she felt a stab of something unexpected.

  And a warning that drew a parallel between this man and her ex. The ex had been good-looking too, and had packed a certain degree of charisma—not pure, one hundred per cent gold star charisma like this man, but enough—until she had scratched the surface and found the base metal underneath—

  ‘I’ll get the coffee,’ he said, distracting her, ‘while you grab a table.’

  She registered a shivery reflex when the man touched her shoulder and was powerless to hide the quiver of awareness that streaked through her. He must have felt it too. He had, Holly concluded, noticing how the steady gaze was now laced with humour. ‘You might want to wipe some of the dirt off your backside before you sit down?’ he murmured discreetly.

  The fact that he’d noticed her backside was concerning. Craning her neck, Holly groaned.

  ‘The ladies’ room is just over there,’ one of the waitresses supplied helpfully.

  ‘Why don’t you leave your suitcase with me?’

  She looked at the man and evaluated her choices. She could leave her belongings with someone she didn’t know, or struggle back through the crowded café with a large case in tow.

  ‘You can trust me,’ he said, reading her.

  And you know what they say about people who tell you you can trust them, Holly thought.

  ‘In my case it happens to be true,’ he said evenly as if reading her mind were second nature to him.

  She left the case.

  Trying to ignore the amused glances of the up-market clientele, Holly retraced her steps through the café. As her face heated up under the critical scrutiny she realised that for the short time she’d been with him the man had made her feel good about herself. She didn’t want to sit down in their fancy-pants café anyway. They probably charged twice as much here for a latte as they did at the popular chain down the road—

  But rebuilding Holly meant never running away. And was she seriously going to make some pathetic excuse and leave an attractive man in the lurch?

  Having cleaned herself up, she returned to find him reading the financial pages with her suitcase stowed safely at his feet. ‘I had to guess what you’d like,’ he said, setting the newspaper down.

  ‘Skinny latte and a toasted cheese and tomato ciabatta? You’re spoiling me—’

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘I was ordering lunch, and I thought you might like some too.’

  ‘Thank you.’ An honest man was a refreshing change too. ‘It looks delicious …?’

  ‘Ruiz,’ he supplied, reaching over the table to shake her hand.

  ‘Holly.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Holly.’

  A lightning bolt shot up her arm when they shook hands. And she shouldn’t be staring at him like this. ‘Ruiz?’ she said. ‘I love your name. It’s so unusual.’

  ‘My mother devoured romantic novels while she was pregnant. Mediterranean heroes?’

  ‘I was born on Christmas day.’

  They laughed.

  And now it occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she had relaxed with a man. Laughing at the ex’s jokes was expected, even demanded, but laughing because she was happy only brought accusations that she was braying like a donkey. So she didn’t laugh.

  ‘Is the coffee okay for you?’ Ruiz said.

  She looked at him. ‘Delicious. Thank you.’

  He held her gaze with eyes that were warm and interested. She wanted to know more about him. ‘My guess is you’re between seasons and that’s why you’re in London—’

  ‘Between seasons?’ Ruiz queried, frowning as he sat back. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Ski and surf? The tan, the build …’ The confident swagger that came as standard equipment on a body when a man was in peak condition, she kept to herself.

  ‘Am I so unusual?’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Holly curbed her smile as Ruiz glanced around. He stood out like a very tanned and elegant thumb amongst a room full of stressed-out sore thumbs. ‘But you’ve got a dog with you,’ she said, frowning as she progressed her thoughts, ‘so you must live close by.’

  ‘Must I?’ Ruiz queried with amusement. ‘Do you always go into this sleuth-mode when you meet someone for the first time?’

  ‘Sorry—it’s really none of my business.’

  ‘No harm done, Holly.’

  She loved the way he said her name—and at least he had remembered it—not that she was a troll, but if beauty was a matter of millimetres she could do with that extra inch.

  Relaxing back in his seat, Ruiz tipped a toast towards her with his cup, which made Holly wonder if she was guilty of becoming too comfortable with a man she knew nothing about just because they were here in this safest of settings. The best thing to do was drink up and leave, she concluded.

  ‘Hey, where’s the fire?’ Ruiz demanded as she gulped her coffee down.

  How could anyone look so dangerous when they smiled? Ruiz’s gaze was dark and experienced—with the emphasis on experienced. Heat curled deep inside her as he curved a sexy smile. ‘I really should be going,’ she said, coming to her senses. Why didn’t her phone ring? What had happened to Lucia?

  ‘Why the rush?’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased to be spared further investigation.’

  ‘No, I like to hear your musings,’ Ruiz argued. ‘You’ve got a great imagination, Holly. Are you a creative, by any chance?’

  ‘Advertising? No. I’m hoping to become a journalist,’ she explained, though right now she wondered if she would make
it to the first pay cheque. As far as interview technique went she was pants. She still didn’t have a clue about Ruiz—where he came from, what he did—

  ‘Do you have a job lined up?’

  Holly brightened at the thought of it. ‘Yes, I start as a lowly intern on ROCK! magazine on Monday—’

  ‘ROCK! magazine.’ Ruiz hummed, clearly impressed. ‘Congratulations. It’s not everyone who gets the chance to start their working life in London at the top of the tree.’

  ‘It’s not that much of a deal,’ Holly admitted. ‘You’ve heard of starting at the bottom? Well, this is the rung below that.’

  Ruiz laughed and pushed his coffee cup away. ‘Tell me more,’ he encouraged.

  ‘I’ve been hired to work as a gofer on the team who write the agony-aunt column. The post is so low-key it’s practically invisible. I’m guessing that as long as my coffee-making technique is up to scratch, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re doing your research,’ Ruiz pointed out, adopting a mock-serious expression as he glanced at their empty cups.

  Holly laughed. ‘What about you?’ She blushed as Ruiz angled his chin to stare at her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’ she said. ‘You must think I’m rude asking you all these questions when we’ve only just met.’

  ‘No,’ Ruiz argued. ‘I think you’re a cute kid.’

  Ouch.

  ‘I think you’ll make an excellent journalist one day.’

  ‘Is that a polite way of saying nosey’s in my genes?’

  ‘No. It means you’re interested in the world and those around you,’ Ruiz observed.

  She wasn’t going to argue with him—especially as Holly’s world had just shrunk to the size of their table.

  ‘So, Holly-would-be-journalist, just for the record, I do love skiing and riding the waves, so you were right as far as that goes, but bumming around the world is not what I do.’

  ‘What is?’

  Touching his nose, Ruiz grinned. ‘Look at it this way. Your interview technique can only get better from here on in.’

  It would have to, Holly thought wryly, or she’d have nothing to write about. ‘Well, thank you for allowing me to try it out on you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Ruiz said with amusement, sexy lips pressing down.

  And just as Holly was wondering how she could ever bear to look away and bring this folly to an end the waitress handed them the bill.

  The café was filling up, the girl explained with an apologetic shrug, and they needed the table.

  ‘It’s lunchtime and people are keen to get out of the rain,’ Holly agreed, already on her feet. She had taken up enough of Ruiz’s time. She made a grab for the bill, but he was too fast for her. ‘My treat, remember?’ he said. ‘And if you change your mind about the dry-cleaning …’

  ‘I won’t.’ And then finally, as she extended the handle on her suitcase, Holly’s phone rang.

  ‘Let me help you,’ Ruiz suggested as she attempted to juggle her belongings and the phone.

  Checking the number with relief, she answered and said quickly, ‘Can you give me a minute?’ Then holding the phone to her chest, she put Ruiz off as politely as she could. ‘That’s okay, honestly. I’ve got it. Sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry again?’ Ruiz murmured dryly, the attractive crease down his cheek reappearing as he smiled. ‘You spend a lot of time being sorry, Holly …’

  She didn’t know what to say to that, and stared at him, hoping she would remember that dark, compelling stare as well as the last delicious punch to her senses that came with it. ‘Bye, Ruiz. Thank you for lunch.’

  ‘Goodbye, Holly,’ he called after her as she raced outside to take Lucia’s call.

  Lucia rattled off five numbers. ‘Got it?’ Lucia demanded.

  ‘Got it,’ Holly confirmed, her heart still pounding from the last moments with Ruiz.

  ‘You sound out of breath,’ Lucia observed suspiciously. ‘I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?’

  ‘Not the sort of anything you’ve got in mind,’ Holly protested, laughing. ‘The café you recommended was just so noisy I had to run outside to take your call.’

  ‘Just so long as you remember the numbers.’

  ‘I will,’ Holly promised, reciting the code Lucia had given her. So the great adventure begins, she thought, staring up at the impressive Palladian mansion across the street.

  Nice. Very nice—if a little unsophisticated for his taste, but variety was the spice of life, Ruiz reminded himself as he strode back to his town house with Bouncer in tow. Would he see her again, or would Holly simply disappear into the great melting pot of the metropolis? He liked her a lot. In fact, he couldn’t remember a woman making such a strong impression on him in so short a time. Perhaps it was because she made him laugh, or was it that clear green gaze he had found so open and expressive? He could even remember the scent she had used—fresh, citrusy, with just a hint of vanilla. He liked her mouth too—especially when she bit down on the swell of her bottom lip as if that would stop her asking him any more questions. And when she smiled—

  ‘Hey, Bouncer, you liked her, didn’t you?’ Soulful eyes turned his way, reminding him he had to find a solution for Bouncer before he returned to Argentina for the polo match …

  No. Forget it. That would never work. The idea was ridiculous. He hardly knew Holly and the chances of ever seeing her again were remote. Though he couldn’t help wishing he might, Ruiz realised.

  Oblivious to the filthy weather, he turned in through the gates of the park. It wasn’t the pampas but at least it was a big green space in the middle of the city where the big dog could enjoy some sort of freedom. When Bouncer had first wandered into his life he had intended to turn him over to the police, but when the moment had arrived he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it, and so he’d reported Bouncer missing and taken him home. They’d been together ever since. There had to be some sort of reward for a dog who had sensed an animal lover in a world of pet-free pavements, Ruiz reflected as he reached for the ball he’d stuffed in his pocket. Firing the ball across the park, he had to admit his brother Nacho was right—Ruiz shouldn’t have taken the big dog on, only to keep him confined in London.

  ‘Time is running out for us, boy,’ he told Bouncer when the dog came bounding back. Ruiz shot the ball again, and felt his heart jag when Bouncer, having joyfully snatched it up, came racing back to him. Was it wrong to hope fate would smile on them? Ruiz reflected as the big dog dropped the ball at his feet. And then he remembered Holly and wondered if it already had.

  CHAPTER TWO

  London Diary:

  If at first you don’t succeed—

  GIVE UP

  No!

  No. That wasn’t what she meant to write at all.

  So. Delete that and start again.

  Okay …

  You’d think it would be seventh heaven living in the Acosta family penthouse with all that space, state-of-the-art gizmos, and furnishings courtesy of a top interior designer, but actually it means not using anything in the kitchen in case you scratch, burn, or break it. And don’t get me started on the bathroom. Basically, I’m fed up with tiptoeing around. I might be living in the city, but I’m still a countrygirl at heart. *Think* Bigfoot with ten carrier bags on each arm blundering through the glass department at Harrods—and you’re still not even close. And then there’s the job at ROCK! Working at the hottest magazine in town should be a dream come true, right? Wrong. Things really couldn’t get any worse—until you come to my love life.

  Love life still zero, though lustful thoughts are on the up, thanks to the man I met at the café called Ruiz, who looks like a sex god and who thinks I’m a ‘cute kid’.

  Oh, good. I am a twenty-three-year-old ‘kid’ with breasts and a Brazilian.

  The wax?

  I always was the glass-half-full type of girl, and judging by the pressure on the front of Ruiz’s jeans he could fill that glass very nicely
indeed.

  Not that she was looking for a boyfriend, but her readers didn’t need to know that where Holly was concerned it was a case of once bitten for ever shy. She had to light up the page not dwell on her mistakes, because it was all going wrong at ROCK! The job that should have been perfect for her, where she could be involved in things that mattered by working on the agony-aunt column, in however lowly a position, was on the line. She stared at the latest e-mail memo on her screen; it seemed she was about to be booted before she even got a chance to prove what she could do.

  Latest figures dire. Agony column doomed unless reader numbers improve significantly. Need a diary feature to head the column—something juicy. Go, team! And remember: last in, first out. That means you, Holly.

  Forcing her chin up, Holly flashed a promise-to-do-better smile at the staffer who had circulated the mail. What was Holly supposed to do to make things better—unless readers would be interested in the incredible -disappearing-sock story, or perhaps the find-a-white-bra-amidst-the-various-shades-of-grey scoop?

  ‘I’m on it,’ Holly assured the staffer on her way out of the office that night, adopting a seriously concerned expression. She was seriously concerned—for her job.

  The staffer managed an even more seriously concerned expression. ‘Don’t want to lose you, Holly, but …’

  The staffer was right. The column was dead unless someone came up with an idea fast.

  Hiding behind other people’s problems instead of risking another Holly-picks-the-wrong-man-again screw-up had been an attractive proposition when she’d first come down to London, Holly reflected as she walked briskly through the Christmas shopping crowds to the bus stop. But now all she wanted was to take her new life by the scruff of the neck and make a success of it. Her days of hiding behind anything were over. And with no reader letters to answer hiding behind other people’s problems wasn’t an option, anyway. The sticking point with the failing agony-aunt column was that no one cared any more—people just moved on to the next relationship. It was uncool to admit you needed advice. She had to come up with something novel. If she failed she’d be back at that door with the peeling paintwork and steel mesh security panel to prevent it being kicked in, otherwise known as her first job disaster.