‘Yes,’ he confirmed briskly. ‘So, if you’re ready to order, let’s get back to the agenda. We’ve got a lot to get through tonight.’
The food was good. He ate well.
Romy picked at her meal and seemed preoccupied.
‘Do I?’ she said when he asked her about it.
She gave a thin smile to the waiter as she accepted a dessert menu. She’d hardly eaten anything.
‘Coffee and ice cream?’ he suggested when the waiter returned to take their order. ‘They make the best of both here. The ice cream’s home-made on the premises—fresh cream and raw eggs.’
She blinked. ‘Neither, thank you. I think I’ve got everything I need here,’ she said, collecting up her things as if she couldn’t wait to go.
‘I’ll call for the bill.’ This was not the ending to the night he had envisaged. Yes, he needed space from Romy—but on his own terms, and to a timetable that suited him.
Business and pleasure don’t mix, he reflected wryly as she left the table, heading for the door. When would he ever learn? But, however many miles he put between them, something told him he would never be far enough away from Romy to put her out of his head.
* * *
She guessed shock had made her sick this time. It must be shock. It was only ten o’clock in the evening and she had just brought up every scrap of her picked-over meal. Shock at Kruz going away—just like that, without a word of warning. No explanation at all.
And why would he tell her?
She was nothing to him, Romy realised, shivering as she pulled the patchwork throw off her bed to wrap around her shaking shoulders. She was simply a photographer the Acostas had tasked with providing images for their charitable activities—a photographer who had lost her moral compass on a grassy bank, a press coach and in an elevator. Classy. So why hadn’t she spoken out tonight? Why hadn’t she said something to Kruz? There had been more than one opportunity for her to be straight with him.
About this most important of topics she had to be brutally honest with herself first. This wasn’t a business matter she could lightly discuss with Kruz, or even a concern she had about working for the charity. This was a child—a life. This was a new life depending on her to make the right call.
Swivelling her laptop round, she studied the shots she’d taken of Kruz. Not one of them showed a flicker of tenderness or humour. He was a hard, driven man. How would he take the news? She couldn’t just blurt out, You’re going to be a daddy, and expect him to cheer. She wouldn’t do that, anyway. The fact that she was having Kruz’s baby was so big, so life-changing for both of them, so precious and tender to her, she would choose her moment. She only wished things could be different between them—but wishing didn’t make things happen. Actions made things happen, and right now she needed to make money more than she ever had.
As she flicked through the saleable images she hadn’t yet offered on the open market, she realised there were plenty—which was a relief. And there were also several elevator shots on the net to hold interest. Thank goodness no one had been around for the grassy bank...
She studied the close-ups of her and Kruz as they had been about to get into the elevator and smiled wryly. They made a cool couple.
And now the cool couple were going to have a baby.
* * *
He ground his jaw with impatience as his sister-in-law gave him a hard time. He’d stopped over at the estancia in Argentina and appreciated the space. He was no closer to sorting out his feelings for Romy and would have liked more time to do so. The irony of having so many forceful women in one family had not escaped him. Glancing at his wristwatch, he toyed with the idea of inventing a meeting so he had an excuse to end the call.
‘Are you still there, Kruz?’
‘I’m still here, Grace,’ he confirmed. ‘But I have pressing engagements.’
‘Well, make sure you fit Romy into them,’ Grace insisted, in no way deterred.
‘I might have to go away again. Can’t you liaise with her?’
‘And choose which photographs we want to use?’
He swore beneath his breath. ‘Forgive me, Grace, but you’re in London and I’m not right now.’
‘I’ll liaise with Romy on one condition,’ his wily sister-in-law agreed.
‘And that is?’ he demanded.
‘You see her again and sort things out between you.’
‘Can’t do that, Grace. Thousands of miles between us,’ he pointed out.
‘So send for her,’ Grace said, as if this were normal practise rather than dramatic in the extreme. ‘I’ve heard the way your voice changes when you talk about Romy. What are you afraid of, Kruz?’
‘Me? Afraid?’ he scoffed.
‘Even men like Nacho have hang-ups—before he met me, that is,’ his sister-in-law amended with warmth and humour in her voice. ‘Don’t let your hang-ups spoil things for you, Kruz. At least speak to her. Promise me?’
He hummed and hawed, and then agreed. What was all the rush about? Romy could just as easily have got in touch with him.
Maybe there were reasons?
What reasons?
Maybe her mother was ill. If that were the case he would be concerned for her. Romy’s care of her mother was exemplary, according to his investigations. He hadn’t thought to ask about her. Grace was right. The least he could do was call Romy and find out.
* * *
‘Kruz?’
She had to stop hugging the phone as if it were a lifeline. She had to stop analysing every micro-second of his all too impersonal greeting. She had to accept the fact that Kruz was calling her because he wanted to meet for an update on the progress she was making with the banners, posters and flyers for the upcoming charity polo match. She had to get real so she could do the job she was being paid to do. This might all be extra to her work for ROCK!, but she had no intention of short-changing either the magazine or the Acosta family. She believed in the Acosta charity and she was going to give it everything she’d got.
‘Of course we can meet—no, there’s no reason why not.’ Except her heart was acting up. It was one thing being on the other end of a phone to Kruz, but being in the same room as him, which was what he seemed to be suggesting...
‘Can you pack and come tomorrow?’
‘Come where?’
‘To the estancia, of course.’
Shock coursed through her. ‘You’re calling me from Argentina? When you said you were going away I had no idea you were going to Argentina.’
‘Does that make a difference?’ Kruz demanded. ‘I’ll send the jet—what’s your problem, Romy?’
You. ‘Kruz, I work—’
‘You gave me to understand you were almost self-employed now and could please yourself.’
‘Sort of...’
‘Sort of?’ he queried. ‘Are you or aren’t you? If your boss at ROCK! acts up, check to see if you’ve got some holiday owing. Just take time off and get out here.’
So speaks the wealthy man, Romy thought, flicking quickly through the diary in her mind.
‘Romy?’ Kruz prompted impatiently. ‘Is there a reason why you can’t come here tomorrow?’
Pregnant women were allowed to travel, weren’t they? ‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘There’s no reason why I can’t travel.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
She stared at the dead receiver in her hand. To be in Argentina tomorrow might sound perfectly normal to a jet-setting polo player, but even to a newshound like Romy it sounded reckless. And it gave her no chance to prepare her story, she realised, staring at an e-mail from Kruz containing her travel details that had already flashed up on her screen. Not that she needed a story, Romy reassured herself as she scanned the arrangements he had made for her to board his private jet. She would just tell
him the truth. Yes, they had used protection, but a condom must have failed.
Sitting back, she tried to regret what had happened—was happening—and couldn’t. How could she regret the tiny life inside her? Mapping her stomach with her hands, she realised that all she regretted was wasting her feelings on Kruz—a man who walked in and out of her life at will, leaving her as isolated as she had ever been.
Like countless other women who had to make do and mend with what life had dealt them.
She would just have to make do and mend this, Romy concluded.
Having lost patience with her maudlin meanderings, she tapped out a brief and businesslike reply to Kruz’s e-mail. She didn’t have to sleep with him. She could resist him. It was just a matter of being sensible. The main thing was to do a good job for the charity and leave Argentina with her pride intact. She would find the right moment to tell Kruz about the baby. They were two civilised human beings and would work it out. She would be on that flight tomorrow, she would finish the job Grace had given her, and then she would decide the way ahead as she always had. Just as she had protected her mother for as long as she could, she would now protect her unborn child. And if that meant facing up to Kruz and telling him how things were going to be from here on in, then that was exactly what she was going to do.
* * *
The flight was uneventful. In fact it was soothing compared to what awaited her, Romy suspected, resting back. She tried to soothe herself further by reflecting on all the good things that had happened. She had worked hard to establish herself as a freelance alongside her magazine work, and her photographs had featured in some of the glossies as the product of someone who was more than just a member of the paparazzi. One of her staunchest supporters had turned out to be Ronald, who had made her cry—baby-head, she realised—when he’d said that he believed in her talent and expected her to go far.
Well, she was going far now, Romy reflected, blowing out a long, thoughtful breath as she considered the journey ahead of her. And as to what lay on the other side of that flight... She could only guess that this pampering on a private jet, with freshly squeezed orange juice on tap, designer food and cream kidskin seats large enough to curl up and snooze on, would be the calm before the storm.
Tracing the curve of her stomach protectively as the jet circled before swooping down to land on the Acostas’ private landing strip, Romy felt her heart bump when she spotted the hacienda, surrounded by endless miles of green with the mountains beyond. The scenery in this part of Argentina was ravishingly beautiful, and the hacienda nestled in its grassy frame in such a favoured spot. Bathed in sunlight, the old stone had turned a glinting shade of molten bronze. The pampas was only a wilderness to those who couldn’t see the beauty in miles of fertile grass, or to those with no appreciation of the varied wildlife and birdlife that called this place home.
She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of thundering waterfalls crashing down from the Andes and lazy rivers moving like glittering ribbons towards the sea. It made her smile to see how many horses were grazing on the pampas, and her heart thrilled at the sight of the gauchos working amongst the herds of Criolla ponies. They were no more than tiny dots as the jet came in to land, and the ponies soon scattered when they heard the engines. She wondered if Kruz was among the riders chasing them...
She was pleased to be back.
The realisation surprised her. She must be mad, knowing what lay ahead of her, Romy concluded as the seatbelt sign flashed on, but against all that was logical this felt like coming home.
After flying overnight, she stepped out of the plane into dry heat on a beautifully sunny day. The sky was bright blue and decorated with clouds that looked like cotton wool balls. The scent of grass and blossom was strong, though it was spoiled a little by the tang of aviation fuel. Slipping on her sunglasses, Romy determined that nothing was going to spoil her enjoyment of this visit. This was a fabulous country, with fabulous people, and she couldn’t wait to start taking pictures.
There was a gaucho standing next to a powerful-looking truck, which he had parked on the grass verge to one side of the airstrip, but there was no sign of Kruz. She should be relieved about that. It would give her time to settle in, Romy reasoned as the weather-beaten gaucho came to greet her. He introduced himself as Alessandro, explaining that Kruz was away from the estancia.
Would Kruz be away for a long time? Romy wondered, not liking to ask. Anyway, it was good to know that he wasn’t crowding her. But she missed him.
Hard luck, she thought wryly as the elderly ranch-hand pointed away across the vast sea of grass. Ah, so Kruz wasn’t staying away—he was out riding on the pampas. Her heart lifted, but then she reasoned that he must have seen the jet coming into land, yet wouldn’t put himself out to come and meet her.
That was good, she told herself firmly. No pressure.
No caring, either.
She stood back as Alessandro took charge of her luggage. ‘You mustn’t lift anything in your condition,’ he said.
She blushed furiously. Was her pregnancy so obvious? She was wearing jeans with a broad elastic panel at the front, and over the top of them a baggy T-shirt and a fashionable waterfall cardigan, which the salesgirl had assured Romy was guaranteed to hide her small bump. Wrong, Romy concluded. If Alessandro could tell she was pregnant, there would be no hiding the fact from Kruz.
Perhaps people were just super tuned-in to nature out here on the pampas, she reflected as Alessandro opened the door of the cab for her and stood back. Climbing in, she sat down. Breathing a sigh of relief as the elderly gaucho closed the door, she took a moment to compose herself. The interlude was short-lived. As she turned to smile at Alessandro when he climbed into the driver’s seat at her side her heart lurched at the sight of Kruz, riding flat out across the pampas towards them.
It struck her as odd that she had never seen such a renowned horseman riding before, but then they actually knew very little about what made each other tick. At this distance Kruz was little more than a dark shadow, moving like an arrow towards her, but it was as if her heart had told her eyes to look for him and here he was. Her spirits rose as she watched him draw closer. Surely a man who was so at one with nature would be thrilled at the prospect of bringing new life into the world?
So why did she feel so apprehensive?
She should be apprehensive, Romy concluded, nursing her bump. This baby meant everything to her, and she would fight for the right to keep her child with her whatever a powerful man like Kruz Acosta had to say about it, but she couldn’t imagine he would make things easy for her.
‘And now we wait,’ Alessandro said, settling back as he turned off the engine.
* * *
He had promised himself he would stay out of Romy’s way until the evening, giving her a chance to settle in. He wanted her know she wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities for the day. Which clearly explained why he was riding across the pampas now, with his sexual radar on red alert. No one excited him like Romy. No one intrigued him as she did. Life was boring without her, he had discovered. Other women were pallid and far too eager to please him. He had missed Romy’s fiery temperament—amongst other things—and the way she never shirked from taking him on.
Reining in, he allowed his stallion to approach the truck at a high-stepping trot. Halting, he dismounted. His senses were already inflamed at the sight of her, sitting in the truck. The moment the jet had appeared in the sky, circling overhead, he had turned for home, knowing an end to his physical ache was at last in sight.
Striding over to the truck, he forgot all his good intentions about remaining cool and threw open the passenger door. ‘Romy—’
‘Kruz,’ she said, seeming to shrink back in her seat.
This was not the reception he had anticipated. And why was she hugging herself like that? ‘I’ll see you at the house,’ he said, speakin
g to Alessandro. Slamming the passenger door, he slapped the side of the truck and went back to his horse.
He could wait, he told himself as he cantered back to the hacienda. The house was empty. He had given the housekeepers the day off. He wanted the space to do with as he liked—to do with Romy as he liked.
He stabled the horse before returning to the house. He found Romy in the kitchen, where Alessandro was pouring her a cold drink. The old man was fussing over her like a mother hen. He had never seen that before.
‘Romy is perfectly capable of looking after herself,’ he said, tugging off his bandana to wipe the dust of riding from his face.
As Alessandro grunted he took another look at Romy, who was seated at the kitchen table, side on to him. She seemed small—smaller than he remembered—but her jaw was set as if for battle. So be it. After his shower he would be more than happy to accommodate her.
‘Journey uncomfortable?’ he guessed, knowing how restless he became if he was caged in for too enough.
‘Not at all,’ she said coolly, still without turning to face him.
‘I’m going to take a shower,’ he said, thinking her rude, ‘and then I’ll brief you on the photographs Grace wants you to take.’
‘Romy needs to rest first.’
He stared at Alessandro. The old man had never spoken to him like that before—had never danced attendance on a woman in all the years he’d known him.
‘I’d love a shower too,’ Romy said, springing up.
‘Fine. See you later at supper,’ he snapped, mouthing, What? as Alessandro gave him a sharp look. And then, to his amazement, his elderly second-in-command took hold of Romy’s bags and led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. ‘Maria has prepared the front room overlooking the corral,’ he yelled after them.
Neither one of them replied.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he demanded, the moment Alessandro returned.
‘You had better ask Señorita Winner that question,’ his old compadre told him, heading for the door.
Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim Page 10
