to head up the column and build reader numbers. I’ve always kept a personal diary,’ Holly explained, ‘and this would be a public extension of that—half serious, mostly poking fun at me, ordinary Holly Valiant, living with a glamorous playboy.’
‘No,’ Ruiz said flatly.
‘It was just an idea—’
‘You’re not ordinary and I’m not glamorous.’
But Ruiz seemed glamorous to her with his wild, thick black hair and swarthy complexion. He was darkly dangerous and dangerously sexy. And readers would love him. He was standing very close—close enough to touch—close enough for her senses to pick up on his mood. It wasn’t anger she sensed, but something a lot more worrying.
‘And I’m certainly not a playboy,’ he added, moving away.
‘But who’s to know that?’ she pressed.
‘I can see I’ll have to watch what I say to you in future, Holly Valiant.’
So it wasn’t a complete no, Holly thought, feeling excitement build inside her. ‘I would never write anything derogatory about you.’
‘I should think not …’ And why was he even giving her this much of an opening? It might amuse him to read it, Ruiz reasoned. ‘So is all this talk about a new column just a ruse to get out of telling me about your past?’
‘If I tell you about my past you’ll be asleep in five minutes,’ Holly assured him. ‘Why don’t you start the ball rolling?’ she suggested. ‘Just make sure you leave out anything you don’t want to see in print,’ she added, tongue in cheek.
He stared at her for a moment, and then he laughed. ‘Touché, Ms Valiant.’
‘ En garde , Señor Acosta.’
She made him laugh. She made him relax. She made him realise he could enjoy being with a woman without taking her to bed. Who knew? Ruiz mused wryly.
An hour into their chat and they were still going strong. It turned out she did have a talent for teasing out interesting facts, after all. Ruiz had relaxed enough to laugh when she told him about some of her more colourful teenage years. ‘There was the home perm, the fake tan incident, and the gothic fright phase that almost got me thrown out of school. I tried to dye my red hair black, and it turned out green.’
When Ruiz pulled a face his sexy mouth pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘So what did you get up to?’ she pressed.
‘Do you mean, what can I tell you about?’ Ruiz shook his head as he accepted the challenge. ‘I ran away to the pampas when I was about fifteen. When you live on an estancia the size of a small country there is only the pampas to run away to.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘I didn’t think so, aged fifteen.’
It was just another form of isolation, Holly mused, thinking back to her own uncertain teenage years.
‘I lived like a wild boy off the land.’
And she could picture him with limbs as brown as the parched earth he rode across, and his frame as lean as the predators that circled his campfire each night. ‘Weren’t you afraid?’
‘I was too young to know fear. I was fit and strong, and thought myself invincible.’
She couldn’t breathe for a moment, and then the dark eyes that had been dancing with laughter one moment stilled as Ruiz levelled a brooding stare on her face. Lifting one lock of her hair, he curled it around his finger. ‘I can’t believe you tried to dye your beautiful hair, or that you risked turning it into a frizz with a perm.’
‘Risked?’ Holly queried, pulling back, wishing she were ready for this and accepting she might never be. ‘My hair not only frizzed, it fell out. I thought it would never grow back.’
‘You thought no man would ever look at you again?’ he suggested.
‘It isn’t easy being a teenager—for anyone. So, what were you like?’ she pressed. ‘I mean when you grew out of the running-away-to-the-pampas stage?
‘In my early twenties I was insufferably arrogant.’
‘No?’ Holly mocked. ‘I find that impossible to believe.’
He laughed. ‘Believe,’ he assured
‘No,’ Ruiz said flatly.
‘It was just an idea—’
‘You’re not ordinary and I’m not glamorous.’
But Ruiz seemed glamorous to her with his wild, thick black hair and swarthy complexion. He was darkly dangerous and dangerously sexy. And readers would love him. He was standing very close—close enough to touch—close enough for her senses to pick up on his mood. It wasn’t anger she sensed, but something a lot more worrying.
‘And I’m certainly not a playboy,’ he added, moving away.
‘But who’s to know that?’ she pressed.
‘I can see I’ll have to watch what I say to you in future, Holly Valiant.’
So it wasn’t a complete no, Holly thought, feeling excitement build inside her. ‘I would never write anything derogatory about you.’
‘I should think not …’ And why was he even giving her this much of an opening? It might amuse him to read it, Ruiz reasoned. ‘So is all this talk about a new column just a ruse to get out of telling me about your past?’
‘If I tell you about my past you’ll be asleep in five minutes,’ Holly assured him. ‘Why don’t you start the ball rolling?’ she suggested. ‘Just make sure you leave out anything you don’t want to see in print,’ she added, tongue in cheek.
He stared at her for a moment, and then he laughed. ‘Touché, Ms Valiant.’
‘ En garde , Señor Acosta.’
She made him laugh. She made him relax. She made him realise he could enjoy being with a woman without taking her to bed. Who knew? Ruiz mused wryly.
An hour into their chat and they were still going strong. It turned out she did have a talent for teasing out interesting facts, after all. Ruiz had relaxed enough to laugh when she told him about some of her more colourful teenage years. ‘There was the home perm, the fake tan incident, and the gothic fright phase that almost got me thrown out of school. I tried to dye my red hair black, and it turned out green.’
When Ruiz pulled a face his sexy mouth pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘So what did you get up to?’ she pressed.
‘Do you mean, what can I tell you about?’ Ruiz shook his head as he accepted the challenge. ‘I ran away to the pampas when I was about fifteen. When you live on an estancia the size of a small country there is only the pampas to run away to.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘I didn’t think so, aged fifteen.’
It was just another form of isolation, Holly mused, thinking back to her own uncertain teenage years.
‘I lived like a wild boy off the land.’
And she could picture him with limbs as brown as the parched earth he rode across, and his frame as lean as the predators that circled his campfire each night. ‘Weren’t you afraid?’
‘I was too young to know fear. I was fit and strong, and thought myself invincible.’
She couldn’t breathe for a moment, and then the dark eyes that had been dancing with laughter one moment stilled as Ruiz levelled a brooding stare on her face. Lifting one lock of her hair, he curled it around his finger. ‘I can’t believe you tried to dye your beautiful hair, or that you risked turning it into a frizz with a perm.’
‘Risked?’ Holly queried, pulling back, wishing she were ready for this and accepting she might never be. ‘My hair not only frizzed, it fell out. I thought it would never grow back.’
‘You thought no man would ever look at you again?’ he suggested.
‘It isn’t easy being a teenager—for anyone. So, what were you like?’ she pressed. ‘I mean when you grew out of the running-away-to-the-pampas stage?
‘In my early twenties I was insufferably arrogant.’
‘No?’ Holly mocked. ‘I find that impossible to believe.’
He laughed. ‘Believe,’ he assured
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