Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim Read online

  ‘Kruz...’

  ‘Romy,’ he murmured as she drew to a halt in front of him.

  ‘Allow me introduce you around,’ he said, eventually remembering his manners.

  His family smiled at Romy and then glanced at him. He was careful to remain stonily impassive. His PA had arranged the place cards so that Romy was seated on the opposite side of the table to him, where he could observe her without the need to engage her in conversation. He had thought he would prefer it that way, but when he saw the way his hot-blooded brothers reacted to her he wasn’t so sure.

  It was only when it came to the pudding course and Grace suggested they should all change places that he could breathe easily again.

  ‘So,’ he said, settling down in the chair next to Romy, ‘what did you and Grace decide about the charity?’ The two women hadn’t stopped talking all evening and had made an arresting sight, Grace with her refined blond beauty and Romy the cute little gamine at her side.

  ‘We discussed the possibility of a regular newsletter, with lots of photographs to show what we do.’

  ‘We?’ he queried.

  ‘Do you want me to own this or not?’ Romy parried with a shrewd stare.

  ‘Of course I do. It’s important to me that everyone involved feels fully committed to the project.’ Surprisingly, he found Romy’s business persona incredibly sexy. ‘That’s how I’ve found employees like it in the past.’

  ‘I’m not your employee. I work for myself, Kruz.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ he said, holding her gaze until her cheeks pinked up.

  She was all business now—talking about anything but personal matters. That was what he expected of Romy in this new guise, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  ‘We also talked about a range of greetings cards to complement the calendar—Kruz, are you listening to me?’

  ‘It sounds as if you and Grace have made a good start,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

  The urge to sit with Romy and monopolise her conversation wasn’t so much a case of being polite as a hunting imperative. His brothers were still sitting annoyingly close to her, though in fairness she didn’t seem to notice them.

  She was so aroused she was finding it embarrassing. Her cheeks were flushed and she didn’t even dare to look down to see if her ever-ready nipples were trying to thrust their way through the flimsy silk. She couldn’t breathe properly while she was sitting this close to Kruz—she couldn’t think. She could only feel. And there was a lot of feeling going on. Her lips felt full, her eyes felt sultry. Her breasts felt heavy. And her nipples were outrageously erect. There. She knew she shouldn’t have looked. Her breathing was super-fast, and she felt swollen and needy and—

  ‘More wine, madam?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she managed to squeak out. She’d hardly touched the first glass. Who needed stimulus when Kruz Acosta was sitting next to her?

  ‘Would you like to dance?’

  She gaped at the question and Kruz raised a brow.

  ‘It’s quite a simple question,’ he pointed out, ‘and all you have to say is yes or no.’

  For once in her life she couldn’t say anything at all. The table was emptying around them. Everyone was on their feet, dirty-dancing to a heady South American beat. The dance floor was packed. Kruz was only being polite, she reasoned. And she could hardly refuse him without appearing rude.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, trying for off-hand as she left the table.

  There was only one problem here—her legs felt like jelly and sensation had gathered where it shouldn’t, rivalling the music with a compelling pulse. Worse, Kruz was staring knowingly into her eyes. He didn’t need to say a word. She was already remembering a grassy bank beneath a night sky in Argentina and a press coach rocking. His touch on her back was all the more frustrating for being light. They had around six inches of dance floor to play in and Kruz seemed determined they would use only half those inches. Pressed up hard against him, she was left wondering if she could lose control right here, right now. The way sensation was mounting inside her made that seem not only possible but extremely probable.

  ‘Are you all right, Romy?’ Kruz asked.

  She heard the strand of amusement in his voice. He knew, damn him! ‘Depends what you mean by all right?’ she said.

  Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the dance without incident, and neither of them spoke a word on their way back to the table. The palm of Kruz’s hand felt warm on her back, and maybe that soothed her into a dream state, for the next thing she knew he had led her on past the table, through the exit and on towards the elevators.

  They stood without explanation, movement or speech as the small, luxuriously upholstered cabin rose swiftly towards one of the higher floors. She didn’t mean to stare at it, but there was a cosy-looking banquette built into one side of the restricted space. She guessed it was a thoughtful gesture by the hotel for some of its older guests. Generously padded and upholstered in crimson velvet, the banquette was exerting a strangely hypnotic effect on her—that and the mirror on the opposite side.

  She sucked in a swift, shocked breath as Kruz stopped the elevator between floors.

  ‘No...’ she breathed.

  ‘Too much of a cliché?’ he suggested, with that wicked grin she loved curving his mouth.

  They came together like a force of nature. It took all he’d got to hold Romy off long enough for him to protect them both. Remembering the last time, when she had wrenched the shirt from his pants, he kept her hands pinned above her head as he kissed her, pressing her hard against the wall. She tasted fresh and clean and young and perfect—all the things he was not. His stubble scraped her as he buried his face in her neck and her lips were already bruised. Inhaling deeply, he kissed her below the ear for the sheer pleasure of feeling tremors course through her body. His hands moved quickly to cup the sweet remembered swell of her buttocks.

  This was everything he remembered, only better. Her skin was silky-smooth. His rough hands were full of her. In spite of being so tiny she had curves in all the right places and she fitted him perfectly. Lodging one thigh between her legs, he moved her dress up to her waist and brought her lacy underwear down. ‘Wrap your legs around me, Romy,’ he ordered, positioning her on the very edge of the banquette.

  Pressing her knees back, he stared down as he tested that she was ready. This was the first time he had seen her—really seen her—and she was more than ready. Those tremors had travelled due south and were gripping her insistently now.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she gasped, holding her thighs wide for him.

  She alternated her pleas to him with glances in the mirror, where he knew the sight of him ready and more than willing to do what both of them needed so badly really turned her on. He obliged by running the tip of his straining erection against her. She panted and mewled as she tried to thrust her hips towards him to capture more. He had her in a firm grasp, and though he was equally hungry it pleased him to make her wait.

  ‘What do you want?’ he murmured against her mouth, teasing her with his tongue.

  He should have known Romy Winner would tell him, in no uncertain language. With a laugh he sank deep, and rested a moment while she uttered a series of panting cries.

  ‘Good?’ he enquired softly.

  Her answer was to groan as she threw her head back. Withdrawing slowly, he sank again—slowly and to the hilt on this occasion. Some time during that steady assault she turned again to look into the mirror. He did too.

  ‘More,’ she whispered, her stare fixed on their reflection.

  A couple of firm thrusts and she was there, shrieking as the spasms gripped her, almost bouncing her off the banquette. The mirror was great for some things, but when it came to this only staring into Romy’s eyes did it for him. But even that wasn’t enough for t
hem. It wasn’t nearly enough, he concluded as Romy clung to him, her inner muscles clenching violently around him. Picking her up, he maintained a steady rhythm as he pressed her back against the wall.

  ‘More,’ he agreed, thrusting into her to a steady beat.

  ‘Again,’ she demanded, falling almost immediately.

  ‘You’re very greedy,’ he observed with satisfaction, taking care to sustain her enjoyment for as long as she could take it.

  ‘Your turn now,’ she managed fiercely.

  ‘If you insist,’ he murmured, determined to bring her with him.

  Romy was a challenge no man could resist and he had not the slightest intention of trying. She was hypersensitive and ultra-needy. She was a willing mate and when he was badly in need of someone who could halfway keep up. Romy could more than keep up.

  * * *

  This was special. This was amazing. Kruz was so considerate, so caring. And she had thought the worst of him. She had badly misjudged him, Romy decided as Kruz steadied her on her feet when they had taken their fill of each other. For now.

  ‘Okay?’ he murmured.

  Pulling her dress down, she nodded. Feeling increasingly self-conscious, she rescued her briefs and pulled them on.

  ‘I’ll take you upstairs to freshen up,’ Kruz reassured her as she glanced at her hair in the mirror and grimaced.

  Kruz was misunderstood, she decided, leaning on him. Yes, he was hard, but only because he’d had to be. But he could be caring too—under the right circumstances.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, feeling the blush of approval spreading to her ears. ‘I’d appreciate a bit of tidy-up before I return to the ballroom.’

  She had a reputation for being a hard nut too, but not with Kruz...never with Kruz, she mused, staring up at him through the soft filter of afterglow. Maybe after all this time her heart was alive again. Maybe she was actually learning to trust someone...

  They exited the elevator and she quickly realised that the Acostas had taken over the whole floor. There were security guards standing ready to open doors for them, but what she presumed must be Kruz’s suite turned out to be an office.

  ‘The bathroom’s over there,’ he said briskly, pointing in the direction as his attention was claimed by a pretty blond woman who was keen to show him something on her screen.

  This wasn’t embarrassing, Romy thought as people shot covert glances as her as she made her way between the line of desks.

  And if she would insist on playing with fire...

  Locking herself in the bathroom, she took a deep, steadying breath. When would she ever learn that this was nothing more than sex for Kruz, and that she was nothing more than a feeding station for him? And it was too late to worry about what anyone thought.

  Running the shower, she stripped off. Stepping under the steaming water felt like soothing balm. She would wash every trace of Kruz Acosta away and harden her resolve towards him as she did so. But nothing helped to ease the ache inside her. It wasn’t sexual frustration eating away at her now. It was something far worse. It was as if a seed had been planted the first time they met, and that seed had not only survived but had grown into love.

  Love?

  Love. What else would you call this certain feeling? And no wonder she had fallen so hard, Romy reasoned, cutting herself some slack as she stepped out of the shower. Kruz was a force of nature. She’d never met anyone like him before.

  She was a grown woman who should have known better than to fall for the charms of a man like Kruz—a man who was in no way going to fall at her feet just because she willed it so.

  And maybe this grown woman should have checked that there was a towel in the bathroom before she took a shower?

  Romy stared around the smart bathroom in disbelief. There was a hand-dryer and that was it. Of course... The hotel had let this as an office, not a bedroom with en-suite bathroom. Wasn’t that great? How much better could things get?

  ‘Are you ready to go yet?’ Kruz bellowed as he hammered on the door.

  Fantastic. So now she was the centre of attention of everyone in the office as they waited for her to come out of the bathroom.

  ‘Almost,’ she called out brightly, in her most businesslike voice.

  Almost? She was standing naked, shivering and dripping all over the floor.

  ‘Couple of minutes,’ she added optimistically.

  Angling her body beneath a grudging stream of barely warm air wasn’t going so well. But there was a grunt from the other side of the door, and retreating footsteps, which she took for a reprieve. Giving up, she called it a day. Slipping on her dress, she ran tense fingers through her mercifully short hair and realised that would have to do. Now all that was left was the walk of shame. Drawing a deep breath, she tilted her chin and opened the door.

  Everyone in the office made a point of looking away. Oh... She swayed as a wave of faintness washed over her. This was ridiculous. She had never fainted in her life.

  ‘Are you all right, Romy?’ Kruz was at her side in an instant with a supporting arm around her shoulders. ‘Sit here,’ he said, guiding her to a chair when all she longed for was to leave the curious glances far behind. ‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’

  It was a relief when the buzz in the office started up again. She tried to reason away her moment of frailty. She’d hardly drunk anything at the dinner. Had she eaten something earlier that had disagreed with her?

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she insisted as Kruz handed her a plastic cup.

  ‘You’re clearly not fine,’ he argued firmly, ‘and I’m going to call you a cab to take you home.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘In fact, I’m going to take you home,’ he amended. ‘I can’t risk you fainting on the doorstep.’

  He was going to take her to the tiny terrace she shared with three other girls in a rundown part of town?

  Things really couldn’t get any better, could they?

  She didn’t want Kruz to see where she lived. Her aim was one day to live in a tranquil, picturesque area of London by the canal, but for now it was enough to have a roof over her head. She didn’t want to start explaining all this to Kruz, or to reveal where her money went. Her mother’s privacy was sacrosanct.

  She expected Kruz to frown when he saw where she lived. He had just turned his big off-roader into the ‘no-go zone’, as some of the cabbies called the area surrounding Romy’s lodgings. She sometimes had to let them drop her off a couple of streets away, where it was safer for them, and she’d walk the rest of the way home. She wasn’t worried about it. She could look after herself. This might look bad to Kruz, but it was home for her as it was for a lot of people.

  ‘What are you doing living here, Romy?’

  Here we go. ‘Something wrong with it?’ she challenged.

  Kruz didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His face said it all—which was too bad for him. She didn’t have to explain herself. She didn’t want Kruz Acosta—or anyone else, for that matter—feeling sorry for her. This was something she had chosen to do—had to do—took pride in doing. If she couldn’t look after her family, what was left?

  Stopping the car, Kruz prepared to get out.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m fine from here. We’re right outside the front door.’

  ‘I’m seeing you in,’ he said, and before she could argue with this he was out of the car and slamming the door behind him. Opening her door, he stood waiting. ‘This isn’t up for discussion,’ he growled when she hesitated.

  Was anything where Kruz was concerned?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ROMY HAD GOT to him when no one else could.

  So why Romy Winner?

  Good question, Kruz reflected as he turned the wheel to leave the street where Romy lived. As he joined the wide, brillia
ntly lit road that led back to the glitter of Park Lane, one of London’s classiest addresses, he thought about his office back at the hotel and wondered why he hadn’t asked one of his staff to drive her home.

  Because Romy was his responsibility. Why make any more of it?

  Because seeing her safely through her front door had been vital for him.

  Finding out where she lived had been quite a shock. He might have expected her to live in a bohemian area, or even an area on the up, but in the backstreets of a nowhere riddled with crime...?

  He was more worried than ever about her now. In spite of Romy’s protestations she had still looked pale and faint to him. The kick-ass girl had seemed vulnerable suddenly. The pint-sized warrior wasn’t as tough as she thought she was. Which made him feel like a klutz for seducing her in the elevator—even if, to be fair, he had been as much seduced as seducer.

  Forgetting sex—if he could for a moment—why did Romy live on the wrong side of the tracks when she must make plenty of money? She was one of the most successful photojournalists of her generation. So what was she doing with all the money she earned?

  And now, in spite of all his good intentions, as he drew the off-roader to a halt outside the hotel’s grandiose pillared entrance, all he could think about was Romy, and how she had left him hungry for more.

  She was a free spirit, like him, so why not?

  Handing over his keys to the hotel valet, he reasoned that neither of them was interested in emotional ties, but seeing Romy on a more regular basis, as Grace had suggested, would certainly add a little spice to his time in London. His senses went on the rampage at this thought. If Romy hadn’t been under par this evening he wouldn’t be coming back here on his own now.