the “Living with a Playboy” feature almost run its course?’ Holly suggested desperately, not wanting to go any deeper into this. ‘Should we be thinking of going out on a high? Maybe trying to come up with a new idea for a fresh column?’ She was clutching at straws, Holly realised when she saw the disapproval on her team leader’s face.
‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t even think about finishing it. Most of the hits are on your page. Your love life is such a mess everyone feels confident writing to you.’
‘Oh, good. My life is a disaster, so everyone’s happy—’
‘Don’t be so naïve, Holly. This is fiction. Keep up the misery,’ the team leader advised. ‘It sells almost as well as sex.’
Everyone laughed except Holly, who had closed her mind to the problems of real life and was already constructing her next headline: Fall in love with his dog by all means, but don’t fall in love with him—especially if you expect the same level of loyalty and affection you get from his furry friend.
* * *
When she got back to the penthouse Holly’s heart almost stopped when she found Ruiz already back from work. He was lounging on the sofa in the living room with one jean-clad leg crossed nonchalantly over the other, the sleeves rolled back on his checked shirt—
Forearms bared meant action, Holly thought, feeling a jolt as her sixth sense kicked in. Ruiz had made no secret of the fact that he would be leaving soon for the polo match in Argentina. How soon? Very soon? She could sense change in the air. And then she saw what he was looking at. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded, swinging his laptop round so she could see the screen.
‘Fiction,’ she said flatly. He’d read her latest article, which was less than complimentary about him and even less kind to her. It was the type of relationship screw-up the team leader had asked for, and, because she was still stinging from Ruiz’s cold dismissal and the thought of him leaving for Argentina, for once she’d given her team leader what he’d asked for—no holds barred. ‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked Ruiz, aching inside.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he said, closing the lid. ‘It’s up to your readers, though you make your feelings clear enough.’
Wait until he read tomorrow’s column, Holly thought, wondering briefly if she should tone it down, and then deciding not. ‘I’m a journalist, Ruiz.’
‘You mean you make things up,’ he said, his eyes dark and watchful.
‘You know I do. I’ve never made any secret of the fact that the “Living with a Playboy” feature is a fiction—a piece of light entertainment to increase reader interest in the agony-aunt column.’
‘A feature for which I am the inspiration.’
‘I have never made a secret of that either.’
Ruiz wouldn’t look at her. But he had always known what she was doing. She must appear as nonchalant as he did. The sex had been spectacular between them last night, but acting cool the morning after was the only thing she could do to protect herself. So what would she tell her readers? She would heap on the misery as she’d been asked to, Holly concluded. ‘What’s wrong, Ruiz?’
‘You say this is fiction?’ He glanced at the laptop. ‘But I think this must reflect your true feelings, at least a little.’ And as such it hurt like hell, Ruiz concluded angrily. On the back of it he’d made a lot of changes—like hiring a housekeeper to take care of Bouncer while he was gone. ‘I think you’ve started believing your own fiction, Holly.’
‘What?’ She laughed incredulously. ‘It’s just work. That’s what I do.’
‘Then I don’t like what you do.’
The room hung in frigid silence. Holly felt as if the sword of Damocles were hanging by a thread above her head. She knew the sword had to fall, it was just a question of when and how fast.
So get out of its way—
‘I’ll go and put these things away, if you don’t mind?’ she said, glancing at the shopping bags of food she had brought in.
‘When you’ve done that, come back. We need to talk.’
She felt dead inside. There was nothing in Ruiz’s voice to suggest that last night had meant anything to him. Just as she had suspected, he had already moved on.
She went into the kitchen, where Bouncer came snuffling up to her, his big brown eyes soulful as if the dog sensed her tension and wanted to defuse it. ‘I won’t leave you,’ Holly vowed fiercely. ‘I’ll find somewhere to live where you can come with me.’ She glanced at the door behind which the man she had been so confident she could turn into a fiction, and who had somehow become so much more than that, was waiting for her.
She’d miss him when he left.
Squeezing back tears, she made do with hugging Ruiz’s dog. ‘I love you, Bouncer,’ she said passionately, releasing some of the tension. It wasn’t right to feel like this about a man. No excuses. She’d known all along how dangerous it was to risk her heart.
‘I thought you were going to put that shopping away and then come back and talk?’
Collecting herself quickly, Holly looked up to find Ruiz lounging in the doorway. His arms were folded across his formidable chest, and his voice, his body, his eyes especially—eyes she had stared into with love, and into which she had placed her trust—everything drew her to him. She couldn’t change her feelings where Ruiz was concerned just because it was safer to do so or because she willed it. She could write whatever she liked in the column, but reality refused to be manipulated. ‘I’m just sorting stuff out,’ she managed casually.
‘Well, don’t take all evening.’
The playboy might be a fictional figure, but Ruiz was all too real. And so were her feelings for him. Finding the doggy treats she’d bought at the supermarket, she tried telling herself it wasn’t all bad as Bouncer’s tail thanked her profusely. At least she’d made one good friend in London. But there was really only one friend and lover she could ever want, and he plainly wasn’t interested.
She took her time, had a shower and changed into jeans before returning to the living room where Ruiz was working on his laptop. ‘You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?’ She had to challenge him before he could make the announcement. Ruiz’s answer was to indicate the space next to him on the sofa. She sat as far away from him as she could, determined not to let him see how she felt about his silence. She wondered then if Ruiz had any lingering memories of her touch, or her kisses, as she had of his. Did men even bank physical memories like a woman, to pull out and review later?
She had to stop thinking like that, or she’d break down. She should have had a good howl in the shower to get this out of her system. The way Ruiz was acting, so casual and normal as if this was just another day, she couldn’t bear it. The greatest intimacy of all seemed to have pushed them apart, and she of all people should have known the risks: don’t tie me down, don’t ask me to commit. It was, after all, a favourite topic in the column. Friends were bound by loving ties even if they didn’t see each other for years, but sleep with a friend and that changed everything, because you ran the risk of becoming a nuisance, a potential curb on your friend’s freedom.
‘Are you okay?’ Ruiz glanced at her with concern as she sucked in a couple of steadying breaths.
‘I’m fine, thank you. So when are you going?’
‘Soon. Very soon. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.’ He picked up a set of keys. Was Ruiz offering Holly the keys to his house? Why? ‘Do you want me to keep an eye on the place while you’re away?’ She was happy to do so.
‘No, that’s okay—but thanks for the offer. I have employed a live-in housekeeper who will have her own apartment on site.’ He ruffled Bouncer’s ears. Having padded into the room in search