Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

by Susan Stephens

  With arousal? With awareness of him?

  He doubted it was a response to the images she was bringing up on the screen.

  He felt a matching surge of interest. Even under the harsh strip-light Romy’s skin looked as temptingly soft as a peach. And her birdwing-black hair, which she hadn’t bothered to gel today, was enticingly thick and silky. A cluster of fat, glossy curls caressed her neck and softened her un-made-up face...

  She was lovely.

  She felt better, so there was no reason for this raised heartbeat apart from Kruz. Normally she could lose herself in work, but not today. He was such a presence in the small, dingy room—such a presence in her life. Shaking her head, she gave a wry smile.

  ‘Is something amusing you?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, leaning closer to the screen, as if the answer to her amusement lay there. There was nothing amusing about her thoughts. She should be ashamed, not smiling asininely as it occurred to her that she had never seen Kruz close up in the light other than through her camera. Of course she knew to her cost that close up he was an incredible force. She was feeling something of that now. She could liken it to being close to a soft-pawed predator, never being quite sure when it would pounce and somehow—insanely—longing for that moment.

  ‘There. All done,’ she said in a brisk tone, swinging round to face him.

  It was a shock to find him staring at her as if his thoughts hadn’t all been of business. Confusion flooded her. Confusion wasn’t something she was familiar with—except when Kruz was around. The expression in his eyes didn’t help her to regain her composure. Kruz had the most incredible eyes. They were dark and compelling, and he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen.

  ‘These are excellent,’ he said, distracting her. ‘When you’ve copied them to a memory stick you’ll keep copies on your computer, I presume?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, struggling to put her mind in gear and match him with her business plan going forward. ‘They’re all in a file, so if you want more, or you lose them, just ask me.’ For anything, she thought.

  ‘And you can supply whatever I need?’

  She hesitated before answering, and turning back to the screen flicked through the images one more time. ‘Are you pleased?’

  ‘I’m very pleased,’ Kruz confirmed.

  Even now he’d pulled back he couldn’t get that far away, and he was close enough to make her ears tingle. She kept her gaze on the monitor, not trusting herself to look round. This was not Romy Winner, thick-skinned photojournalist, but someone who felt as self-conscious as a teenager on her first date. But she wasn’t a kid, and this wasn’t a date. This was the man she’d had sex with after knowing him for around half an hour. When thousands of miles divided them she could just about live with that, but when Kruz was here in her office—

  ‘Your compositions are really good, Romy.’

  She exhaled shakily, wondering if it was only she who could feel the electricity between them.

  ‘These shots are perfect for the calendar,’ he went on, apparently immune to all the things she was feeling.

  She logged off, wanting him to go now, so her wounded heart would get half a chance to heal.

  ‘And on behalf of the family,’ Kruz was saying. ‘I’m asking you to handle this project for us.’

  She swung round. Wiping a hand across her face, she wondered what she’d missed.

  ‘That’s if you’ve got time?’ Kruz said, seeming faintly amused as he stared down at her. ‘And don’t worry—my office is just around the corner, so I’ll be your liaison in London.’

  Don’t worry?

  Her heart was thundering as he went on.

  ‘I’d like to see a mock-up of the calendar when you’ve completed it. I don’t foresee any problems, just so long as you remember that quality is all-important when it comes to the Acosta charity.’

  Her head was reeling. Was she hearing straight? The Acosta family was giving her the break she had longed for? She couldn’t think straight for all the emotion bursting inside her. She had to concentrate really hard to take in everything Kruz was telling her. A commission for the Acosta family? What better start could she have?

  Something that didn’t potentially tie her in to Kruz?

  She mustn’t think about that now. She just had to say yes before she lost it completely.

  ‘No,’ she blurted, as the consequences of seeing Kruz again and again and again sank in. ‘I’d love to do it, but—’

  ‘But what?’ he said with surprise.

  Answering his question meant looking into that amazing face. And she could do that. But to keep on seeing Kruz day after day, knowing she meant nothing to him... That would be too demoralising even to contemplate. ‘I’d love to do it,’ she said honestly, feeling her spirit sag as she began to destroy her chances of doing so, ‘but I don’t have time. I’m

  really sorry, Kruz, but I’m just too tied up here—’

  ‘Enjoying the security that comes with working for one of the top magazines?’ he interrupted, glancing round. ‘I can see it would take guts to take time out from this.’

  She wasn’t in the mood for his mockery.

  ‘No worries,’ he said, smiling faintly as he moved towards the door. ‘I’ll just tell Grace you can’t find the time to do it.’

  ‘Grace?’ she said.

  ‘Grace is our new patron. It was Grace who suggested I approach you—but I’m sure there are plenty of other photographers who can do the job.’

  Ouch!

  ‘Wait—’

  Kruz paused with his hand on the door. She remembered those hands from the grassy bank and from the press coach, and she remembered what they were capable of. Shivering with longing, she folded her arms around her waist and hugged herself tight.

  ‘Well?’ Kruz prompted. ‘What am I going to say to Grace? Do you have a message for her, Romy?’

  How could she let Grace down? Grace was trying to help her. They had had a long talk when Romy had first arrived in Argentina. Grace had been so easy to talk to that Romy had found herself pouring out her hopes and dreams for the future. She had never done that with anyone before, but somehow her words came easily when she was with Grace. Maybe Grace’s gentle nature had allowed her to lower her guard for once.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Good,’ Kruz confirmed, as if he had known she would all along.

  She should be imagining her relief when he closed the door behind him rather than wishing he would stay so they could discuss this some more—so she could keep him here until they shared more than just memories of hot sex on someone else’s wedding day.

  ‘Romy? You don’t seem as pleased about this work as I expected you to be.’

  She flushed as Kruz’s gaze skimmed over her body. ‘Of course I’m pleased.’

  ‘So I can tell Grace you’ll do this for her?’

  ‘I’d rather tell her myself.’

  Kruz’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘As you wish.’

  There was still nothing for her on that stony face, but she was hardly known for shows of emotion herself. Like Kruz, she preferred to be the one in control. A further idea chilled her as they locked stares. Romy’s control came from childhood, when showing emotion would only have made things worse for her mother. When her father was in one of his rages she’d just had to wait quietly until he was out of the way before she could go to look after her mother, or he’d go for her too, and then she’d be in no state to help. Control was just as important to Kruz, which prompted the question: what dark secret was he hiding?

  Romy worked off her passions at the gym in the kick-boxing ring, where she found the discipline integral to martial arts steadying. Maybe Kruz found the same. His instinctive and measured response to her roundhous
e kick pointed to someone for whom keeping his feelings in check was a way of life.

  The only time she had lost it was in Argentina, Romy reflected, when something inside her had snapped. The Kruz effect? All those years of training and learning how to govern her emotions had been lost in one passionate encounter.

  She covered this disturbing thought with the blandest of questions. ‘Is that everything?’

  ‘For now.’

  Ice meets ice—today. In Argentina they had been on fire for each other. But theirs was a business relationship now, Romy reminded herself as Kruz prepared to leave. She had to stop thinking about being crushed against his hard body, the minty taste of his sexy mouth, or the sweet, nagging ache that had decided to lodge itself for the duration of his visit at the apex of her thighs. If he knew about that she’d be in real trouble.

  ‘It’s been good to see you again,’ she said, as if to test her conviction that she was capable of keeping up this cool act.

  ‘Romy,’ Kruz said, acknowledging her with a dip of his head and just the slightest glint of humour in his eyes.

  The Acosta brothers weren’t exactly known for being monks. Kruz was simply being polite and friendly. ‘It will be good to be in regular contact with Grace,’ she said, moving off her chair to show him out.

  ‘Talking of which...’ He paused outside her door.

  ‘Yes?’ She tried to appear nonchalant, but she felt faint again.

  ‘We’re holding a benefit on Saturday night for the charity, at one of the London hotels. Grace will be there, and I thought it would be a great opportunity for you two to get together and for you to meet my family so you can understand what the charity means to us. That’s if you’re interested?’ he said wryly.

  She stared into Kruz’s eyes, trying to work out his motive for asking her. Was it purely business, or something else...?

  His weary sigh jolted her back to the present. ‘When you’re ready?’ he prompted, staring pointedly at his watch.

  ‘Saturday...?’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  He said it with about as much enthusiasm as if he were booking the local plumber to sort out a blocked drain. ‘Thank you,’ she said formally. ‘As you say, it’s too good a chance to miss—seeing Grace and the rest of your family.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. There may be more work coming your way if the calendar is a success. A newsletter, for example.’

  ‘That’s a great idea. Shall I bring my camera?’

  ‘Leave it behind this time,’ Kruz suggested, his dark glance flickering over her as he named the hotel where they were to meet.

  She couldn’t pretend not to be impressed.

  ‘Dress up,’ he said.

  She gave him a look that said no one told her what to wear. But on this occasion it wasn’t about her. This was for Grace. She still felt a bit mulish—if only because Kruz was the type of man she guessed liked his women served up fancy, with all the trimmings. Elusive as he was, she’d seen a couple of shots of him with society beauties, and though he had looked bored on each occasion the girls had been immaculately groomed. But, in fairness to the women, the only time she’d seen Kruz animated was in the throes of passion.

  ‘Something funny?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll wear my best party dress,’ she promised him with a straight face.

  ‘Saturday,’ he said, straightening up to his full imposing height. ‘I’ll pick you up your place at eight.’

  Her eyes widened. She had thought he’d meet her at the hotel. Was she Kruz’s date?

  No, stupid. He’s just making sure you don’t change your mind and let The Family down.

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ she confirmed. ‘Before you go I’ll jot my address down for you.’

  He almost cracked a smile. ‘Have you forgotten what business I’m in?’

  Okay, Señor Control-Freak-Security-Supremo. Point taken.

  Her address was no secret anyway, Romy reasoned, telling herself to calm down. ‘Eight o’ clock,’ she said, holding Kruz’s mocking stare in a steady beam.

  ‘Until Saturday, Romy.’

  ‘Kruz.’

  She only realised when she’d closed the door behind him and her legs almost gave way that she was shaking. Leaning back against the peeling paintwork, she waited until Kruz’s footsteps had died away and there was nothing to disrupt the silence apart from the hum of the fluorescent light.

  This was ridiculous, she told herself some time later. She was being everything she had sworn never to be. She had allowed herself to become a victim of her own overstretched heart.

  There was only one cure for this, Romy decided, and she would find it when she worked out her frustrations in the ring at the gym tonight. Meanwhile she would lose herself in work. Maybe tonight she would be better giving the punch-bag a workout rather than taking on a sparring partner. She didn’t trust herself with a living, breathing opponent in her present mood. And she needed the gym. She needed to rebalance her confidence levels before Saturday. She wanted to feel her strength and rejoice in it—her strength of will, in particular. She had to remember that she was strong and successful and independent and safe—and she planned to keep it that way. She especially had to remember that on Saturday.

  Saturday!

  What the hell was she going to wear?

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘LOOKING HOT,’ ONE of the guys said in passing, throwing a wry smile her way as Romy finished her final set of blows on the punch-bag.

  The bag must have taken worse in its time, but it had surely never taken a longer or more fearsomely sustained attack from a small angry woman with more frustration to burn off than she could handle. Romy nodded her head in acknowledgement of the praise. This gym wasn’t a place for designer-clad bunnies to scope each other out. This was a serious working gym, where many of the individuals went on to have successful careers in their chosen sport.

  ‘What’s eating you, Romy?’ demanded the grizzled old coach who ran the place, showing more insight into Romy’s bruised and battered psyche than her fellow athlete as Romy rested, panting, with her still gloved hands braced on her knees. ‘Man trouble?’

  You know me too well, she thought, though she denied it. ‘You know me, Charlie,’ she said, straightening up. ‘Have camera, will travel. No man gets in the way of that.’

  ‘I bet that camera’s cosy to snuggle up to on a cold night,’ Charlie murmured in an undertone as he moved on to oversee the action in another part of his kingdom.

  What did Charlie know? What did anyone know? Romy scowled as she caught sight of herself in one of the gym’s full-length mirrors. What man in his right mind would want a sweating firebrand with more energy than sense? Kruz wouldn’t. With her bandaged hands, bitten nails, boy’s shorts and clinging, unflattering vest, she looked about as appealing as a wet Sunday. She probably smelled great too. Taking a step back, she nodded her thanks as another athlete offered to help her with the gloves.

  ‘Looking fierce,’ he said.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth?’ Romy murmured. She was a proper princess, complete with grubby sweatband holding her electro-static hair off her surly, sweaty face.

  * * *

  He saw her the moment he walked into the gym. Or rather something drew his stare to her. She felt him too. Even with her back turned he saw a quiver of awareness ripple down her spine. And now she was swinging slowly round, as if she had to confirm her hunch was correct.

  We have to stop meeting like this, he thought as they stared at each other. He nodded curtly. Romy nodded back. Yet again rather than looking at him, like other women, Romy Winner was staring at him as if she was trying to psych him out before they entered the ring.

  That could be arranged too, he reflected.

  They were still giving each other the hard stare when t
he elderly owner of the gym came up to him. ‘Hey, Charlie.’ He turned, throwing his towel round his neck so he could extend a hand to greet an old friend warmly.

  ‘You’ve spotted our lady champion, I see,’ Charlie commented.

  Kruz turned back to stare at Romy. ‘I’ve seen her.’

  Romy had finished her routine. He was about to start his. She looked terrific. It would be rude not to speak to her.

  * * *

  Oh... Argh! What the...?

  Romy blenched. For goodness’ sake, how could anyone look that good? Kruz was ridiculously handsome. And what the hell was he doing in her gym? Wasn’t there somewhere billionaire health freaks could hang out together and leave lesser mortals alone to feel good about themselves a few times a week?

  Even with the unforgiving lights of the workmanlike sports hall blazing down on him Kruz looked hot. Tall, tanned and broader than the other men sharing his space, he drew attention like nothing else. And he was coming over—oh, good. Even a warrior woman needed to shower occasionally, and Kruz was as fresh as a daisy.

  Gym kit suited him, she decided as he advanced. With his confident stroll and those scars and tattoos showing beneath his skimpy top he was a fine sight. She wanted him all over again. If she’d never met him before she’d want him. And, inconveniently, she wanted him twice as much as she ever had. A quick glance around reassured Romy that she wasn’t the only one staring. She couldn’t blame the gym members for that. Muscles bunched beneath his ripped and faded top, and the casual training pants hung off his hips. Silently, she whimpered.

  And Kruz didn’t walk, he prowled, Romy reflected, holding her ground as he closed the distance between them. His pace was unhurried but remorseless and, brave as she was, she felt her throat dry—it was about the only part of her that was.

  ‘We meet again,’ he said with some amusement, stopping tantalisingly within touching distance.

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be so soon,’ she said off-handedly, reaching for a towel just as someone else picked it up.