‘Temporary guardianship,’ Ruiz corrected her, ‘of my dog.’
He made it sound like a royal command—a privilege. And if there hadn’t been such a lovely dog involved …
Ruiz showed no shame, Holly concluded. ‘You’re going to leave Bouncer at the penthouse I’ve been cautiously tiptoeing around. May I remind you that Bouncer has a huge fluffy tail and four big feet?’
‘Your feet are lovely,’ Ruiz observed, completely taking the wind out of her sails.
He wasn’t supposed to say things like that and sound as if he meant it. Now all she could think about was the fact that she hadn’t put shoes on because she’d been in too much of a hurry to speak to Ruiz before he went out.
Concentrate, Holly told herself fiercely as Ruiz curved a questioning smile. There was no point giving him any more satisfaction than she already had. ‘What you’re suggesting,’ she hissed in a low, urgent voice as if Bouncer could understand them, ‘is a licence for carnage.’ Couldn’t she create enough of that on her own? Holly reasoned. She was just recoiling from the mental image of the type of carnage Bouncer could create when The Idea dropped in.
No one said it was going to arrive at the most convenient time, Holly reasoned as Ruiz began to frown. ‘What now?’ she prompted.
‘I was just thinking that it’s not like you to be silent for so long. You are feeling okay, aren’t you?’ Holly’s warning look only succeeded in making Ruiz’s eyes glow a little brighter. ‘Anyway,’ he added offhandedly, ‘I’m going out.’
But she wanted to float her idea. ‘No, wait.’
‘Missing me already?’ Ruiz suggested with maximum irony.
‘Not one bit,’ she snapped. ‘In fact, please don’t feel you must hurry back.’
This provoked a crooked smile that lodged attractively in Ruiz’s stubble-darkened cheek. ‘I love it when a plan comes together, don’t you?’ he said. And when Holly gritted her teeth in order not to say something she would regret, he added, ‘I understand you’d probably like a little time to prepare yourself properly for my return.’
‘Prepare myself properly?’ Holly exploded. ‘Who do you think you are? The Sheikh of Araby? I was merely pondering the possibility of doing some work without any further interruption,’ she assured him primly.
‘Oh, come on, Holly,’ Ruiz murmured. ‘You and I both know that too much work and no play will make you a very dull girl indeed. See you after the gym?’ he said, his eyes dark and dangerous.
‘I can’t wait,’ Holly called after him sarcastically. Living with a playboy wouldn’t be easy, but at least Ruiz had given her The Idea.
Bravo! Holly-the-journalist!
Except … there was one small problem. She already knew Ruiz didn’t like Holly poking her nose into his business.
But what was he going to do—refuse her offer to dog-sit in London while he was playing polo in Argentina? She didn’t think so. She’d seen the glint in Ruiz’s eyes. He’d gone in hard, thinking she would quickly fall into line. He had expected her to offer to help him in any way she could. Well, she might—on one condition that Ruiz helped her too. He must give her some titbits to write about. If he did, living with a playboy might not be so bad after all. In fact, it might just save her bacon. The column she had in mind would be an observational piece—meaning she could safely witness the life of a playboy while remaining at a prudent distance. This would be like confronting her demons from behind a screen. To save her career she would lift the lid on living with a playboy for her readers. Why shouldn’t everyone else laugh at her trials and tribulations? She did.
Slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, he left his luggage in the hall and stormed out of the penthouse. The only solution, Ruiz had concluded, was to pound his way out of frustration. Having been knocked for six—or was that sex?—by the sight of Holly with her glorious redgold hair streaming around her shoulders like a gleaming cape, Holly half naked with her creamy flesh just visible above the robe, he was painfully threatening to burst out of his jeans. In that respect, she had exceeded his expectations. Truthfully? He had never felt like this before. If Holly had been staying in Lucia’s garden apartment he could have just about coped, but having her stay with him at the penthouse only yards from his bed?
Gritting his teeth, Ruiz lifted his own body weight above his head, but nothing helped to blank out the voluptuous woman waiting for him back at the penthouse. And hard as he tried he could find no solution to the problem. He wouldn’t touch a friend of Lucia’s. He couldn’t eject a friend of Lucia’s from the penthouse, either. So must he put his own life on hold? He could hardly entertain while Holly was in residence. Lowering the bar slowly back into its cups, he made a silent pledge not to go near her. He could only hope for Holly’s sake that she found somewhere else to live as soon as she could.
He had left Bouncer with the girls on Reception where his faithful hound was sure to get a spoiling. The dog bounded up to him, seeming as excited as he was at the prospect of returning home.
Not excited, Ruiz told himself firmly. Certainly not excited to get back to the penthouse and find Holly waiting for him. It had been a long, hard day, and when he opened the door on what was supposed to be a luxurious hideaway in the best part of London, there would be girl stuff everywhere. No doubt the kitchen would be a mess, and, having seen the state of the hall, he had no doubt Holly would have trialled every bathroom by the time he got back, strewing damp towels all over the place. All he longed for was a good night’s sleep, but with a big dog to care for checking into a hotel was out of the question. The penthouse, with its stunning views of London and seductive luxury, should have been perfect, and it might have been, had he not had an unexpected—and frustratingly unsettling—lodger to entertain.
Okay, so he’d set some ground rules.
‘Come on, Bouncer,’ Ruiz prompted, snapping the leash onto the dog’s collar. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
CHAPTER THREE
Research. And that’s all it would be. I wouldn’t be breaking rule two—no men. I would simply be observing this man from a purely clinical point of view. My ‘Living with a Playboy’ idea would be like one of those fly-on-the-wall documentaries. I wouldn’t be hands-on—I should be so lucky. More, all hands to the pump—gulp—as I try to do my bit to save the agony-aunt column. (Though I can’t deny the thought of living so close to this particular playboy has done wonders for my metabolic rate. I’ve eaten a whole tub of double chocolate chip in anticipation of his return and I can still get into my jeans.)
(Imagine how slim I’d be if we lived together permanently.)
(Not that I’d ever consider living with anyone after my experience with the ex.)
Love life? Vicarious. Active. Very active indeed. Lustful thoughts? Are there any other kind?
And the playboy? This might all be over by tomorrow. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, and I have yet to discover how he feels when he returns from the gym to find I’m still here.
HAVING finished her London diary entry, Holly was still tinkering with her first ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature when Ruiz arrived back. The new headline looked fabulous on the top of the agony-aunt column. If that didn’t attract reader interest, nothing would.
She listened as Ruiz went into one of the bathrooms to take a shower and tried her hardest not to imagine him stripped naked. That proved a lot harder than she’d thought. The secret of successful cohabiting was not getting in Ruiz’s way, Holly concluded, tensing as the shower turned off. If she was going to make a success of the ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature, she had to make sure Ruiz didn’t think of her as a nuisance, always watching him and asking questions.