The Shameless Life of Ruiz Acosta. Susan Stephens

tidied away all her things and knocked up a tasty soup, using the fresh ingredients she had bought earlier. She’d also made sure there was plenty of ice for the large gin and tonic she guessed a sophisticated man like Ruiz might want, and had even put on some make-up—not very expertly, and certainly not enough to suggest she was after him. She hoped that assuming the role of unthreatening temporary lodger might work. She would even play housekeeper at a stretch. She’d do anything to salvage her career. She’d even iron a few shirts if she had to. She couldn’t see any man objecting to that. Whatever it took for Ruiz to agree to become the subject of her column, Holly told herself tensely, flinging herself down in front of her laptop when she heard him advancing on the kitchen.

       Living with a Playboy

       Well, here I am, living the dream—or nightmare—not sure which it’s going to be yet. I should know more if I survive these next few minutes.

       I don’t think I could have engineered living with a playboy. Who could, unless they wanted to be a rich man’s plaything? And I can’t say that’s ever appealed to me. But I will do my best to keep a roof over my head until I can make alternative arrangements. I don’t particularly like myself for being so cold-blooded about this, but it’s the only solution I can see to keep my job right now.

       To make up for my scheming I’m going to be the best housemate anyone could have—at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But the first time the playboy brings home a playmate I’m guessing I might show another side of myself altogether. It’s not that I’m interested in him, and he certainly isn’t interested in me. This is all in the line of duty, and—

      Lowering the lid on her laptop, Holly arranged her face in a welcoming smile and stood up to greet Ruiz. Enter Ruiz: dark, glowering, massively powerful, and stunningly attractive. ‘Hello,’ Holly said brightly. ‘I hope you had a good session at the gym?’

      As Ruiz angled his head slightly to stare at her Holly realised she would never be able to keep this up. Faced by so much pumped and bulging muscle and with his thick black hair still damp from his shower, she knew she couldn’t live with Ruiz as a passive observer without going completely off her head. ‘Drink?’ she enquired. Was that piping voice really hers? ‘Gin and tonic, perhaps …?’

      ‘A beer would be good.’

      ‘Beer it is, then.’

      ‘You’re unusually compliant, Holly,’ Ruiz observed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

      She made a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m just feeling a little guilty that I didn’t make the connection between you and Lucia right away. When we first met at the café?’ she prompted.

      ‘I didn’t make the connection either,’ Ruiz pointed out. ‘And Lucia told you what exactly about her brothers?’

      Holly blushed. The thought of even the smallest part of what Lucia had told her about her brothers was enough to make the hair stand up on the back of her neck. ‘You must be stressed out and tired,’ she said to change the subject, ‘and frustrated that you haven’t got the private space you anticipated, but—’

      ‘Breathe,’ Ruiz suggested dryly.

      Ruiz’s dark gaze washed over her in a way that made her bones melt. She had dressed carefully—demurely—on purpose, Holly realised now, in a pair of baggy jeans and a shapeless old shirt, so as not to draw attention. She suspected Ruiz knew exactly what she’d done, and that he also knew she was suffering a very female response to his extremely masculine assessment.

      ‘Where’s that beer you promised me?’

      Maybe this subservient domestic goddess role was going to be a little harder than she thought, Holly reflected, realising she was still gazing at Ruiz. ‘Coming right up,’ she said, forcing her feet to walk away.