her. ‘I was quite ridiculous. And rude.’
‘But you’re so polite now.’
‘Why, thank you. I guess my manners managed somehow to survive those years. I have my older brother Nacho to thank for them. He was always very strict with us.’
‘Tell me about him,’ Holly pressed. ‘Tell me about the band of brothers and your sister Lucia.’
‘You probably know Lucia better than I do.’ But he told her how they all felt they owed everything they were and everything they had to Nacho, who had stayed to raise his siblings when their parents had died in a flood.
How could she not warm to this man? Holly wondered as Ruiz’s massive shoulders eased in a regretful shrug while he tried and failed to recover memories of his parents from his early childhood. The more she learned about him, the harder it was going to be to live with him and keep things light—let alone write about him with any form of impartiality. Tugging her feet free from Bouncer’s furry weight, she left the table for the relative security of the sink. ‘I’ll finish clearing up,’ she offered. ‘You can go and—’
‘I can go and … what?’ Ruiz murmured.
He was standing right behind her, Holly realised, quivering as she felt the caress of Ruiz’s breath on her neck. She started to launch into some excuse to move away, but Ruiz was way ahead of her. ‘Goodnight, Holly,’ he said. ‘And thanks for supper. It was great.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Reality bites.
Love life.
Lustful thoughts.
THE headings for her personal diary were as far as she got. She would have to change her way of working, Holly decided. She didn’t want to think too closely about reality where her love life was concerned when the only love life she wanted was one she didn’t have the courage to embrace and couldn’t have anyway. She would confine her writing to her fictionalised column in ROCK! It didn’t hurt so much. She couldn’t bring herself to be flip or even name the deeper feelings Ruiz had stirred inside her.
‘There’s no hope for you, Holly Valiant,’ she told her reflection in the bedroom mirror. ‘You are a lost cause where men are concerned.’ But with fair weather and a following wind she might still become a reasonable journalist one day. Opening the lid on her laptop, she began to write.
The playboy has just moved in, so now we are sharing the same living space courtesy of a humungous screw-up on the part of his sister, my best friend. It’s a fabulous penthouse overlooking the River Thames, the Houses of Parliament, and every other iconic London building you can think of—I can see them all from my bedroom window as I write to you. One day in and I can already tell you that playboys are just like the rest of us … but I know that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear about the fabulous lifestyle, the sex, the drama, and all the extravagance—for that’s how the playboy life appears to us mere mortals. Whereas owning several homes, a couple of private jets, and having the tailor come to call on you is commonplace for the playboy. The only thing I can’t tell you about yet is the sex—it’s too soon—but I have no doubt there will be women flocking round in no time. And I can’t tell you about the tailor, because I made that bit up. But the playboy … that’s another matter. He’s no figment of my imagination. He’s hard and tanned, and stands over six feet tall, with massive shoulders and impossibly strong forearms. His hair is thick, black and wild, like a man who answers to no one, and his eyes are dark and brooding. I’ve never seen his face without a coating of sharp black stubble and his teeth are perfect. You’ll have to imagine my sigh of despondency here, for I am barely five foot three and I’m a redhead. The type you used to call gingers with a hard ‘g’ at school? Plus, I always know the answer to ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ If this rings a bell for you, join me, why don’t you,
‘But you’re so polite now.’
‘Why, thank you. I guess my manners managed somehow to survive those years. I have my older brother Nacho to thank for them. He was always very strict with us.’
‘Tell me about him,’ Holly pressed. ‘Tell me about the band of brothers and your sister Lucia.’
‘You probably know Lucia better than I do.’ But he told her how they all felt they owed everything they were and everything they had to Nacho, who had stayed to raise his siblings when their parents had died in a flood.
How could she not warm to this man? Holly wondered as Ruiz’s massive shoulders eased in a regretful shrug while he tried and failed to recover memories of his parents from his early childhood. The more she learned about him, the harder it was going to be to live with him and keep things light—let alone write about him with any form of impartiality. Tugging her feet free from Bouncer’s furry weight, she left the table for the relative security of the sink. ‘I’ll finish clearing up,’ she offered. ‘You can go and—’
‘I can go and … what?’ Ruiz murmured.
He was standing right behind her, Holly realised, quivering as she felt the caress of Ruiz’s breath on her neck. She started to launch into some excuse to move away, but Ruiz was way ahead of her. ‘Goodnight, Holly,’ he said. ‘And thanks for supper. It was great.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Reality bites.
Love life.
Lustful thoughts.
THE headings for her personal diary were as far as she got. She would have to change her way of working, Holly decided. She didn’t want to think too closely about reality where her love life was concerned when the only love life she wanted was one she didn’t have the courage to embrace and couldn’t have anyway. She would confine her writing to her fictionalised column in ROCK! It didn’t hurt so much. She couldn’t bring herself to be flip or even name the deeper feelings Ruiz had stirred inside her.
‘There’s no hope for you, Holly Valiant,’ she told her reflection in the bedroom mirror. ‘You are a lost cause where men are concerned.’ But with fair weather and a following wind she might still become a reasonable journalist one day. Opening the lid on her laptop, she began to write.
The playboy has just moved in, so now we are sharing the same living space courtesy of a humungous screw-up on the part of his sister, my best friend. It’s a fabulous penthouse overlooking the River Thames, the Houses of Parliament, and every other iconic London building you can think of—I can see them all from my bedroom window as I write to you. One day in and I can already tell you that playboys are just like the rest of us … but I know that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear about the fabulous lifestyle, the sex, the drama, and all the extravagance—for that’s how the playboy life appears to us mere mortals. Whereas owning several homes, a couple of private jets, and having the tailor come to call on you is commonplace for the playboy. The only thing I can’t tell you about yet is the sex—it’s too soon—but I have no doubt there will be women flocking round in no time. And I can’t tell you about the tailor, because I made that bit up. But the playboy … that’s another matter. He’s no figment of my imagination. He’s hard and tanned, and stands over six feet tall, with massive shoulders and impossibly strong forearms. His hair is thick, black and wild, like a man who answers to no one, and his eyes are dark and brooding. I’ve never seen his face without a coating of sharp black stubble and his teeth are perfect. You’ll have to imagine my sigh of despondency here, for I am barely five foot three and I’m a redhead. The type you used to call gingers with a hard ‘g’ at school? Plus, I always know the answer to ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ If this rings a bell for you, join me, why don’t you,
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