Susan Stephens - Taming the Last Acosta

‘Yes.’ She had a lot of shots in the can, Romy reasoned, quickly running through them in her mind. She had more than enough to pay for her mother’s care and to keep herself off the breadline. She had taken a lot of shots specifically for Grace’s album, and he couldn’t have those, but there were more—plenty more.

Had she bought herself a reprieve? Romy wondered as she stared at Kruz. ‘I’ve identified a good opportunity for the charity,’ she said, as the germ of an idea sprouted wings.

‘Tell me,’ Kruz said impatiently.

‘My editor at ROCK! is thinking about making a feature on the Acostas and your charity.’ Or at least she would make sure he was thinking about it by the time she got back. ‘Think of how that would raise the charity’s profile,’ she said, dangling a carrot she hoped no Acosta in his right mind could refuse.

‘So why didn’t Grace or Holly tell me about this?’ Kruz probed, staring at her keenly. ‘If either of them had mentioned it I would have made sure you were issued with an official pass.’

‘I am here on a mission for Grace,’ Romy admitted, ‘which is how I got in. Grace asked me not to say anything, and I haven’t. It’s crucial that Nacho doesn’t learn about Grace’s special surprise. I hope you’ll respect that.’ Kruz remained silent as she went on. ‘I’m sure Grace and Holly were just too wrapped up in the wedding to remember to tell you,’ she said, not wanting to get either of her friends into trouble.

Kruz paused. And now she could only wait.

‘I suppose Grace could confirm this if I asked her?’

‘If you feel like interrogating a bride on her wedding day, I’m sure she would.’

One ebony brow lifted. Whether Kruz believed her or not, for the moment she had him firmly in check.

‘The solution to this,’ he remarked, ‘is that I take a look at the shots and I decide.’

As he strode away she ran after him. Dodging in front of him, she forced him to stop.

He studied Romy’s elfin features with a practised eye. He interpreted the nervous hand running distractedly through her disordered hair. The camera meant everything to her, and if there was one thing that could really throw Ms Winner he had it swinging from his shoulder now. She was terrified he was going to disappear with her camera. She worked with it every day. It was her family, her income stream, her life. He almost felt sorry for her, and then stamped the feeling out. What was Romy Winner to him?

Actually, she was a lot more than he wanted her to be. She had got to him in a way he hadn’t quite fathomed yet. ‘Is there some reason why I shouldn’t see these shots?’ he asked, teasing her by lifting the camera to Romy’s eye level.

‘None whatsoever,’ she said firmly, but her face softened in response to his mocking expression and she almost smiled.

Testing Romy was fun, he discovered, and fun and he were strangers. With such a jaundiced palette as his, any novelty was a prize. But he wouldn’t taunt her any longer. He wasn’t a bully, and wouldn’t intentionally try to increase that look of concern in her eyes. ‘Shall we?’ he invited, glancing at the press coach.

She eyed him suspiciously, perhaps wondering if she was being set up. She knew there was nothing she could do about it, if that were the case. She strode ahead of him, head down, mouth set in a stubborn line, no doubt planning her next move. And then she really did throw him.

‘So, what have you got to hide?’ she asked him, swinging round at the door

‘Me?’ he demanded.

Tilting her head to one side, she studied his face. ‘People with something to hide are generally wary of me and my camera, so I wondered what you had to hide…’

‘You think that’s why I confiscated it?’

‘Maybe,’ she said, not flinching from his stare.

That direct look of hers asked a lot of questions about a man who could have such prolonged and spectacular sex with a woman he didn’t know. It was a look that suggested Romy was asking herself the same question.

‘Are you worried that I might have taken some compromising pictures of you?’ she said. There was a tug of humour at one corner of her mouth.

‘Worried?’ He shook his head. But the truth was he had never been so reckless with a woman. He sure as hell wouldn’t be so reckless again.

‘Kruz?’ she prompted.

His name sounded soft on her lips. That had to be a first. He smiled. ‘What?’

‘Just checking you know I’m still here.’

He gave her a wry look and felt a surge of heat when she tossed one back. He wasn’t an animal. He was still capable of feeling. His brother Nacho had made him believe that when Kruz had been discharged from the army hospital. It was Nacho who had persuaded him to channel his particular talents into a security company, saying Kruz must need and feel and care before he could really start living again. Nacho was right. The more he looked at Romy, the more human he felt.

Did Kruz have to stare at her lips like that? Here she was, trying to forget her body was still thrilling from his touch, and he wasn’t making it easy. She was a professional woman, trying to persuade herself she would soon get over tonight—yet all he had to do was look at her for her to long for him to take hold of her and draw her into an embrace that was neither sexual nor mocking. She had never wanted to share and trust and rest awhile quite so badly.

And she wasn’t about to fall into that trap now.

‘Shall we take a look?’

She looked at Kruz and frowned.

‘The pictures?’ he prompted, and she realised that he had not only removed the key to the press coach from her hand, but had opened the door and was holding it for her.

That yearning feeling inside…?

It wasn’t helpful. Women who felt the urge to nurture men would end up like her mother: battered, withdrawn, and helpless in a nursing home.

She led the way into the coach. Her manner was cold. They were both cold, and that suited her fine.

Romy’s mood now was a slap in the face to him after what they’d experienced together, but he had to concede she was only as detached as he was. He was just surprised, he supposed, that those much vaunted attributes of tenderness and sensitivity, which women were supposed to possess in abundance, appeared to have bypassed her completely. He should be pleased about that, but he wasn’t. He was offended. Romy was the first woman who hadn’t clung to him possessively after sex. And bizarrely, for the first time in his life, some primitive part of him had wanted her to.

‘Are you coming in?’ she said, when he stood at the entrance at the top of the steps.

His senses surged as he brushed past her. However unlikely it seemed to him, this whip-thin fighting girl stirred him like no other. He wanted more. So did she, judging by than quick intake of breath. He could feel her sexual hunger in the energy firing between them. But Romy wanted more that he could give her. He wanted more of Romy, but all he wanted was sex.

SHE MADE HER way down the aisle towards the area at the rear of the coach set aside for desks and equipment. Her small, slender shape, dressed all in black, quickly became part of the shadows.

‘I know there’s a light switch in here somewhere,’ she said.

Her voice was a little shaky now the door was closed, and the tension rocketed between them. He could feel her anticipation as she waited for his next move. He could taste it in the air. He could detect her arousal. He was a hunter through and through.

‘Here,’ he said, pressing a switch that illuminated the coach and set some unseen power source humming.