Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

by Susan Stephens

  * * *

  She was sick on Monday morning. Violently, sickeningly sick. Crawling back into bed, she pulled the covers over her head and closed her eyes, willing the nausea to go away. She had cleaned her teeth and swilled with mouthwash, but she could still taste bile in her throat.

  Thank goodness her housemates had both had early starts that morning, Romy reflected, crawling out of bed some time later. She couldn’t make it into work. Not yet, at least. Curling up on the battered sofa in front of the radiator, still in her dressing gown, she groaned as she nursed a cup of mint tea, which was all she could stomach after the latest in a series of hectic trips to the bathroom.

  She couldn’t be... She absolutely couldn’t be—

  She wouldn’t even think the word. She refused to voice it. She could not be pregnant. Kruz had always used protection.

  She had obviously eaten something that disagreed with her. She must have. She had that same light-headed, bilious feeling that came after eating dodgy food.

  Dodgy food at one of London’s leading hotels? How likely was that? The Greasy Spoon was famously beyond reproach, and she was Mrs Disinfectant in the kitchen...

  Well, something had made her feel this way, Romy argued stubbornly as she crunched without enthusiasm on a piece of dry toast.

  A glance at the clock reminded her that she didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for herself; she had a photoshoot with the young star of a reality show this morning, and the greedy maw of ROCK! magazine’s picture section, infamously steered by Ronald the Remorseless, wouldn’t wait.

  Neither would the latest invoice for her mother’s nursing care, Romy reflected with concern as she left the house. She had already planned her day around a visit to the nursing home, where she checked regularly on all those things her mother was no longer able to sort out for herself. She had no time to fret. She just had to get on and stop worrying about the improbability of two people who had undergone the same emotional bypass coming together to form a new life.

  But...

  Okay, so there was a chemist just shy of the ROCK! office block.

  Dragging in the scent of clean and bright air, Romy assured herself that her visit to the chemist was essential to life, as she needed to stock up on cold and flu remedies. There was quite a lot of that about at the moment. Grabbing a basket, she absentmindedly popped in a pack of handwipes, a box of tissues, some hairgrips—which she never used—and a torch.

  Well, you never know.

  Making her way to the counter, she hovered in front of the ‘Do you Think you Could be Pregnant?’ section, hoping someone else might push in front of her. Finally palming a pregnancy test, with a look on her face which she hoped suggested that she was very kindly doing it for a friend, she glanced around to make sure there was no one she knew in the shop before approaching the counter. As she reached for her purse the pharmacist came over to help.

  ‘Do you have a quick-fire cure for a stomach upset?’ Romy enquired brightly, pushing her purchases towards the woman, with the telltale blue and white box well hidden beneath the other packages.

  ‘Nausea?’ the pharmacist asked pleasantly. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ she added, filleting the pile to extract the box containing the pregnancy test with all the sleight of hand of a Pick-up-Sticks champion.

  ‘Of course not.’ Romy laughed a little too loudly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ The woman’s gaze was kind and steady, but her glance did keep slipping to the blue and white packet, which had somehow slithered its way to centre stage. ‘I have to know before I can give you any medication...’

  ‘Oh, that’s just for a friend,’ Romy said, feeling her cheeks blaze.

  Meanwhile the queue behind her was growing, and several people were coughing loudly, or tutting.

  ‘I think we’d better err on the side of caution,’ the helpful young pharmacist said, reaching behind her to pick up some more packages. ‘There are several brands of pregnancy test—’

  ‘I’ll take all of them,’ Romy blurted.

  ‘And will you come back for the nausea remedy?’ the woman called after her. ‘There are some that pregnant women can take—’

  Then let those pregnant women take them, Romy thought, gasping with relief as she shut the door of the shop behind her. How ridiculous was this? She didn’t even have the courage to buy what she wanted from a chemist now.

  ‘Someone’s waiting for you in your office,’ the receptionist told her as she walked back into the building.

  Not Kruz. Not now. ‘Who?’ she said warily.

  ‘Kruz Acosta,’ the girl said brightly. ‘He was here a couple of days ago, wasn’t he? Aren’t you the lucky one?’

  ‘I certainly am,’ Romy agreed darkly. Girding her loins, she headed for the basement.

  ‘Weren’t you with him the other night?’ someone else chipped in when she stepped into the crowded elevator. ‘Great shot of you on the front page of the West End Chronicle, Romy,’ someone else chirruped. ‘In fact, both you and Kruz look amazing...’

  General giggling greeted this.

  ‘Can I see?’ She leaned over the shoulder of the first girl to look at the newspaper she was holding.

  OMG!

  ‘Oh, that was just a charity thing I attended,’ she explained off-handedly, feeling sicker than ever now she’d seen the shot of her and Kruz, slipping not as discreetly as they had thought into the elevator. Kruz’s hand on her back and the expression on her face as she stared up at him both told a very eloquent story. And now there was the type of tension in the lift that suggested the slightest comment from anyone and all the girls would burst out laughing. The banner headline hardly helped: ‘Are You Ready for Your Close-Up, Ms Winner?’

  Was that libellous? Romy wondered.

  Better not to make a fuss, she concluded, reading on.

  ‘Who doesn’t envy Romy Winner her close encounter with elusive billionaire bad-boy Kruz Acosta? Kruz, the only unmarried brother of the four notorious polo-playing Acostas brothers—’

  Groaning, she leaned her head against the back of the lift. She didn’t need to read any more to know this was almost certainly the reason Kruz was here to see her now. He must hold her wholly responsible for the press coverage. He probably thought she’d set it up. But it took two to tango, Romy reminded herself as she got out of the elevator and strode purposefully towards her cubbyhole.

  Breath left her lungs in a rush when she opened the door. Would she ever get used to the sight of this man? ‘Kruz, I’m—’

  ‘Fantastic!’ he exclaimed vigorously. ‘How are you this morning, Señorita Winner? Better, I hope?’

  ‘Er...’ Maybe pregnant...maybe not. ‘Good. Thank you,’ she said firmly, as if she had to convince herself.

  Slipping off her coat, she hung it on the back of the office door. Careful not to touch Kruz, she sidled round the desk. Dumping her bag on the floor at her side, she sat in her swivel chair, relieved to have a tangible barrier between them. Kruz was in jeans, a heavy jacket with the collar pulled up and workmanlike boots—a truly pleasing sight. Especially first thing in the morning...

  And last thing at night.

  And every other time of day.

  Waving to the only other chair in the room—a hard-backed rickety number—she invited him to sit down too. And almost passed out when he was forced to swoop down and move her bag. It was one of those tote things that didn’t fasten at the top, and all her purchases were bulging out—including a certain blue and white packet.

  ‘I didn’t want to knock your bag over,’ he explained, frowning when he saw her expression. ‘Still not feeling great?’

  Clearly blue and white packets held no significance for a man. ‘No...I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ Kruz said, seeming unconvinced. ‘I’m very pleased to
hear it.’

  So why were his lips still pressed in a frown?

  And why was she staring at his mouth?

  Suddenly super-conscious of her own lips, and how it felt to be kissed by Kruz, she dragged her gaze away. And then remembered the scratch of his stubble on her skin. The marks probably still showed—and she had been too distracted by hormonal stuff this morning to remember to cover them. So everyone had seen them. Double great.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ she said.

  ‘You haven’t read the article yet?’ Kruz queried with surprise.

  He made it impossible for her to ignore the scandal sheet as he laid it out on her desk. ‘I like the way you went after publicity,’ he said.

  Was that a glint in his wicked black eyes? She put on a serious act. ‘Good,’ she said smoothly. ‘That’s good...’

  ‘The article starts with the usual nonsense about you and me,’ he reported, leaning over her desk to point to the relevant passage, ‘but then it goes on to devote valuable column inches to the charity.’ He looked up, his amused dark eyes plumbing deep. ‘I’d like to compliment you on having a colleague standing by.’

  ‘You think I staged this?’ she exclaimed, mortified that Kruz should imagine she would go to such lengths.

  ‘Well, didn’t you?’ he said.

  There was a touch of hardness in his expression now, and she was acutely conscious of the pregnancy test peeping out of her bag, mocking her desire to finish this embarrassing interview and find out whether she was pregnant or not. There was also a chance that if Kruz caught sight of the test he might think she had set him up too. Sick of all the deception, she decided to come clean.

  ‘I’m not sure how that photograph happened,’ she admitted, ‘other than to say there are always photojournalists on the look-out for a story—especially at big hotels when there’s an important event on. I’m afraid I can’t claim any credit for it...’ She held Kruz’s long, considering stare.

  ‘Well, however it happened,’ he said, ‘it’s done the charity no harm at all. So, well done. Hits on our website have rocketed and donations are flooding in.’

  ‘That is great news,’ she agreed.

  ‘And funny?’ he said.

  Perhaps it was hormones making want to giggle. She’d heard it said that Romy Winner would stop at nothing to get a story. She had certainly put her back into it this time.

  ‘So you’re not offended by the headline?’ she said, reverting to business again.

  ‘It amused me,’ Kruz confessed.

  Well, that wasn’t quite what she’d been hoping for. ‘Me too,’ she said, as if fun in a lift were all part of the job. ‘It’s all part of the job,’ she said out loud, as if to convince herself it were true.

  ‘Great job,’ Kruz murmured, cocking his head with the hint of a smile on his mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘On the strength of the publicity you’ve generated so far, I’m going to take you to lunch to discuss further strategy.’

  Ah. ‘Further strategy?’ She frowned. ‘Lunch at nine-thirty in the morning?’

  She was going to visit her mother later. It was the highlight of her day and one she wouldn’t miss for the world. It was also something she couldn’t share with Kruz.

  ‘We’ll meet at one,’ he said, turning for the door.

  ‘No. I can’t—’

  ‘You have to eat and so do I,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got a photoshoot,’ she remembered with relief. ‘And then—’ And then she had finished for the day.

  ‘And then you eat,’ Kruz said firmly.

  ‘And then I’ve got personal business.’

  ‘We’ll make it supper, then,’ he conceded.

  By which time she would know. Vivid images of losing control in the elevator flashed into her head—a telling reminder that she had enjoyed sex with Kruz not once, but many times. And it only took one time for a condom to fail.

  They exchanged a few more thoughts and comments about the way forward for the charity, and then Kruz left her to plunge into a day where nothing went smoothly other than Romy’s visit to her mother. That was like soothing balm after dealing with a spoiled brat who had screamed for ten types of soda and sweets with all the green ones taken out before she would even consider posing for the camera.

  What a day of contrasts it had been, she reflected later. When she held her mother’s soft, limp hand everything fell into place, and she gained a sense of perspective, but then it was all quickly lost when she thought about Kruz and the possibility of being pregnant.

  * * *

  He studied the report on Romy with interest. She was certainly good at keeping secrets. But then so was he. At least this explained why Romy lived where she did, and why she worked all hours—often forgetting to eat, according to his sources. Romy was an only child whose father had died in jail after the man had left her mother a living corpse after his final violent attack. Romy was her mother’s sole provider, and had been lucky to come out of that house alive.

  No wonder she was a loner. The violence she had witnessed as a child should have put her off men for life, but it certainly went some way to explaining why Romy snatched at physical relief whilst shunning anything deeper. There had been brief relationships, but nothing significant. He guessed her ability to trust hovered around zero. Which made him the last partner on earth for her—not that he was thinking of making his relationship with Romy anything more than it already was. His capacity for offering a woman more than physical relief was also zero.

  They made a good pair, he reflected, flinging the document aside, but it wasn’t a good pairing in the way Romy wanted it to be. He’d seen how she looked at him, and for the first time in his life he wished he had something to offer. But he had learned long ago it was only possible to survive, to achieve and to develop, to do any of those things, if emotion was put aside. It was far better, in his opinion, to feel nothing and move forward than look back, remember and break.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHAT A CRAZY day. Up. Down. And all points in between. And it wasn’t over yet. The blue and white packet was still sitting where she had left it on the bathroom shelf, and after that she had supper with Kruz to look forward to—and no way of knowing how it would go.

  But her meeting with Kruz would be on neutral territory, Romy reminded herself as she soaped down in the tiny shower stall back at the house she shared with the other girls. She would be in public with him. What was the worst that could happen?

  The reporter from the scandal sheet might track them down again?

  Kruz had seemed to find that amusing. So why hadn’t she?

  The thought that Kruz meant so much to her and she didn’t mean a thing to him hurt. She’d never been in this position before. She’d always been able to control her feelings. She certainly didn’t waste them. She cared for her mother, and for her friends, but where men were concerned—there were no men. And now of all the men in the world she’d had to fall for Kruz Acosta, who had never pretended to be anything more than an entertaining companion with special skills—a man who treated sex like food. He needed it. He enjoyed it. But that didn’t mean he remembered it beyond the last meal.

  While she remembered every detail of what he’d said and how he’d said it, how he’d looked at her, how he’d touched her, and how he’d made her feel. It wasn’t just sex for the sake of a quick fix for her. It was meaningful. And it had left her defences in tatters.

  More fool her.

  She was not going slinky tonight, Romy decided in the bedroom. She was going to wear her off-duty uniform of blue jeans, warm sweater and a floppy scarf draped around her neck.

  Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she was satisfied there was nothing provocative about her appearance that Kruz could possibly misinterpret. S
he looked as if she was going for supper with a friend, which in some ways she was, but first she had something to do—and the sooner she got it over and done with the sooner she would know.

  She already knew.

  * * *

  He stood up and felt a thrill as Romy walked into the steak bar. She looked amazing. She always did to him.

  ‘Romy,’ he said curtly, hiding those thoughts. ‘Good to see you. Please sit down. We’ve got a lot I’d like to get through tonight, as I’m going to be away for a while. Before I go I need to be sure we’re both singing from the same hymn sheet. Red wine or white?’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘It’s a simple question. Red or white?’

  ‘Er—orange juice, please.’

  ‘Whatever you like.’ He let it go. Whatever was eating Romy, it couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of their discussion tonight. There was a lot he wanted to set straight—like the budgets that she had to work to.

  The waiter handed Romy a menu and she began to study it, while he studied her. After reading the report on Romy he understood a lot more about her. He saw the gentleness she hid so well behind the steel, and the capacity for caring above and beyond anything he could ever have imagined. He jerked his gaze away abruptly. He needed this upcoming trip. He needed space from this woman. No one distracted him like Romy, and he had a busy life—polo, the Acosta family interests, his business interests. He had no time to spare for a woman.

  To make the break he had arranged a tour of his offices worldwide, with a grudge match with Nero Caracas at the end of it to ease any remaining frustration. A battle between his own Band of Brothers polo team and Nero’s Assassins would be more than enough to put his life back in focus, he concluded as Romy laid down the menu and stared at him.

  ‘You’re going away?’ she said.