‘It’s lunchtime and people are keen to get out of the rain,’ Holly agreed, already on her feet. She had taken up enough of Ruiz’s time. She made a grab for the bill, but he was too fast for her. ‘My treat, remember?’ he said. ‘And if you change your mind about the dry-cleaning …’
‘I won’t.’ And then finally, as she extended the handle on her suitcase, Holly’s phone rang.
‘Let me help you,’ Ruiz suggested as she attempted to juggle her belongings and the phone.
Checking the number with relief, she answered and said quickly, ‘Can you give me a minute?’ Then holding the phone to her chest, she put Ruiz off as politely as she could. ‘That’s okay, honestly. I’ve got it. Sorry.’
‘You’re sorry again?’ Ruiz murmured dryly, the attractive crease down his cheek reappearing as he smiled. ‘You spend a lot of time being sorry, Holly …’
She didn’t know what to say to that, and stared at him, hoping she would remember that dark, compelling stare as well as the last delicious punch to her senses that came with it. ‘Bye, Ruiz. Thank you for lunch.’
‘Goodbye, Holly,’ he called after her as she raced outside to take Lucia’s call.
Lucia rattled off five numbers. ‘Got it?’ Lucia demanded.
‘Got it,’ Holly confirmed, her heart still pounding from the last moments with Ruiz.
‘You sound out of breath,’ Lucia observed suspiciously. ‘I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?’
‘Not the sort of anything you’ve got in mind,’ Holly protested, laughing. ‘The café you recommended was just so noisy I had to run outside to take your call.’
‘Just so long as you remember the numbers.’
‘I will,’ Holly promised, reciting the code Lucia had given her. So the great adventure begins, she thought, staring up at the impressive Palladian mansion across the street.
Nice. Very nice—if a little unsophisticated for his taste, but variety was the spice of life, Ruiz reminded himself as he strode back to his town house with Bouncer in tow. Would he see her again, or would Holly simply disappear into the great melting pot of the metropolis? He liked her a lot. In fact, he couldn’t remember a woman making such a strong impression on him in so short a time. Perhaps it was because she made him laugh, or was it that clear green gaze he had found so open and expressive? He could even remember the scent she had used—fresh, citrusy, with just a hint of vanilla. He liked her mouth too—especially when she bit down on the swell of her bottom lip as if that would stop her asking him any more questions. And when she smiled—
‘Hey, Bouncer, you liked her, didn’t you?’ Soulful eyes turned his way, reminding him he had to find a solution for Bouncer before he returned to Argentina for the polo match …
No. Forget it. That would never work. The idea was ridiculous. He hardly knew Holly and the chances of ever seeing her again were remote. Though he couldn’t help wishing he might, Ruiz realised.
Oblivious to the filthy weather, he turned in through the gates of the park. It wasn’t the pampas but at least it was a big green space in the middle of the city where the big dog could enjoy some sort of freedom. When Bouncer had first wandered into his life he had intended to turn him over to the police, but when the moment had arrived he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it, and so he’d reported Bouncer missing and taken him home. They’d been together ever since. There had to be some sort of reward for a dog who had sensed an animal lover in a world of pet-free pavements, Ruiz reflected as he reached for the ball he’d stuffed in his pocket. Firing the ball across the park, he had to admit his brother Nacho was right—Ruiz shouldn’t have taken the big dog on, only to keep him confined in London.
‘Time is running out for us, boy,’ he told Bouncer when the dog came bounding back. Ruiz shot the ball again, and felt his heart jag when Bouncer, having joyfully snatched it up, came racing back to him. Was it wrong to hope fate would smile on them? Ruiz reflected as the big dog dropped the ball at his feet. And then he remembered Holly and wondered if it already had.
London Diary:
If at first you don’t succeed—
GIVE UP
No!
No. That wasn’t what she meant to write at all.
So. Delete that and start again.
Okay …
You’d think it would be seventh heaven living in the Acosta family penthouse with all that space, state-of-the-art gizmos, and furnishings courtesy of a top interior designer, but actually it means not using anything in the kitchen in case you scratch, burn, or break it. And don’t get me started on the bathroom. Basically, I’m fed up with tiptoeing around. I might be living in the city, but I’m still a countrygirl at heart. *Think* Bigfoot with ten carrier bags on each arm blundering through the glass department at Harrods—and you’re still not even close. And then there’s the job at ROCK! Working at the hottest magazine in town should be a dream come true, right? Wrong. Things really couldn’t get any worse—until you come to my love life.
Love life still zero, though lustful thoughts are on the up, thanks to the man I met at the café called Ruiz, who looks like a sex god and who thinks I’m a ‘cute kid’.
Oh, good. I am a twenty-three-year-old ‘kid’ with breasts and a Brazilian.
The wax?
I always was the glass-half-full type of girl, and judging by the pressure on the front of Ruiz’s jeans he could fill that glass very nicely indeed.
Not that she was looking for a boyfriend, but her readers didn’t need to know that where Holly was concerned it was a case of once bitten for ever shy. She had to light up the page not dwell on her mistakes, because it was all going wrong at ROCK! The job that should have been perfect for her, where she could be involved in things that mattered by working on the agony-aunt column, in however lowly a position, was on the line. She stared at the latest e-mail memo on her screen; it seemed she was about to be booted before she even got a chance to prove what she could do.
Latest figures dire. Agony column doomed unless reader numbers improve significantly. Need a diary feature to head the column—something juicy. Go, team! And remember: last in, first out. That means you, Holly.
Forcing her chin up, Holly flashed a promise-to-do-better smile at the staffer who had circulated the mail. What was Holly supposed to do to make things better—unless readers would be interested in the incredible -disappearing-sock story, or perhaps the find-a-white-bra-amidst-the-various-shades-of-grey scoop?
‘I’m on it,’ Holly assured the staffer on her way out of the office that night, adopting a seriously concerned expression. She was seriously concerned—for her job.
The staffer managed an even more seriously concerned expression. ‘Don’t want to lose
