The Acostas Box Set. Susan Stephens

she fired back. Stepping out of the fictional world she had created for Ruiz and into reality with him might be a little more combative and complex than she had first imagined, Holly realised. And as for the effect on her senses, she could only trust that the keeper of her moral code was on duty tonight.

      ‘I thought we might go dancing,’ Ruiz dropped in casually as he held the door for her to go through.

      ‘Dancing?’ Holly managed on a dry throat, knowing her face must have been a picture of doom as she walked past him.

      ‘Something wrong with that?’ Ruiz demanded, turning to lock the door.

      Where to start? Dancing meant touching each other, holding each other, moving as closely as two people could move together, unless they were—

      ‘Those shoes are perfect for dancing. Thank you for wearing them,’ Ruiz said with worrying charm as she click-clacked across the lobby towards the elevator.

      ‘My pleasure,’ Holly said primly, which was the understatement of the year. Well, she could hardly leave the shoes alone in a box while she went out, could she? They might fade, or something.

      ‘Tonight should make very good reading for your column,’ Ruiz observed as they stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

      Holly forced a small laugh. Not too good, she hoped. She’d given up on the thong and was wearing really big knickers instead.

      They crossed the road and walked through the park with a good three feet of air between them. Where was Ruiz taking her? Holly wondered as he turned off down a cobbled side street where the mews houses would go for millions and any club would be exclusive in the extreme. She was feeling extremely self-conscious by the time Ruiz stopped outside an iron-studded door where the faint strains of South American music could be heard on the street. But the club did look intriguing—all dark and mysterious like the man at her side.

      ‘A Brazilian friend of mine owns the club,’ Ruiz explained. ‘They have great food and even better dancing. A place like this will be dynamite for your column. Ready, Holly?’

      As she would ever be, Holly thought, taking a deep breath.

      When would she get another chance like this? Holly asked herself sensibly. The humour in Ruiz’s eyes reassured her, though when he rested his arm across her shoulders as they waited for the doorman to examine their faces through the grill, she had to tell herself that Ruiz was just doing his thing and that it was in his nature to make people feel good.

      Richly carpeted steps led down to a luxurious, stone-flagged basement, where lead-paned glass glinted in the sultry glow of candles. The heavy polished furniture and rich draperies in ruby reds and regal purples gave the club an established sense of luxury and indulgence. Ruiz was right about it providing food for her column. It was not only packed, she could see now through the archway leading into the main dining room and dance floor, but, judging by the clientele, it was the hottest place in town. Her readers would definitely be interested, Holly thought as Ruiz held her coat. ‘Is that a samba they’re playing?’

      ‘Very good,’ Ruiz remarked as he handed Holly’s coat to an attendant. ‘I can tell you’re eager to dance—’

      ‘Oh, no,’ Holly exclaimed as her pulse raced off the scale. ‘I’m only here to observe.’ But in her head she was already practising the steps. She had taken some classes a while back with a friend, but her heart thundered at the thought that Ruiz might put her to the test. She reassured herself that the samba had been one of the easiest dances to learn: back, forward, forward. There were only three steps to remember, for goodness’ sake—

      ‘You do dance the samba …?’

      Ruiz’s eyes were dancing with laughter, Holly noticed. ‘And how do you know that?’ she challenged him.

      ‘You’re mouthing the steps.’

      ‘No, I’m not,’ Holly argued, relieved when the maître d’ arrived to escort them to their table. He had seated them right at the edge of the dance floor, which was fantastic for watching the dancers, but terrible if, like Holly, you didn’t want to be so dangerously close to the action.

      ‘The steps will soon come back to you,’ Ruiz assured her with an amused smile.

      ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Holly agreed as the maitre d’ removed the reserved sign with a flourish.

      ‘And I think you’re going to be very good at it,’ Ruiz prompted when Holly gave him a look. ‘Dancing, I mean.’

      As Ruiz lounged back in his comfortably padded chair all Holly could think about was the scary dance teacher, yelling at her to Bounce, Valiant, bounce! For goodness’ sake, lift your feet, girl! Before she fell over them presumably. Would samba lessons delivered in her local community centre by a moustachioed teacher help her now? Holly wondered as she gazed at the slinky couples moving effortlessly around the floor. Somehow, she doubted it. This samba was faster, cooler, and way sexier than she remembered, especially when she compared it to her shambling attempts. But then she had been dancing with an equally uncoordinated girl. Men had been thin on the ground in the classes, so most of the women ended up dancing together, Holly remembered, glancing at her rugged companion. Dancing with Ruiz Acosta might be somewhat different, she suspected.

      He was impatient when people kept on greeting him—especially impatient when he noticed the curious glances they were lavishing on Holly. He should have known better than to bring her here but he had wanted her to have a treat. He had wanted to get her away from the computer and from the shadows of the past for just one evening. He would have liked half an hour with the man who hurt her. She was so inexperienced, so vulnerable. He hated the type of man who took advantage of that. He wondered if Holly had ever known love. Lucia had told him something about her clever friend who had been sent away to school on a scholarship by parents who never visited. No wonder his generous-hearted sister had palled up with sensible Holly Valiant. He could see it all now. Lucia had provided the warmth Holly had so badly needed, while Holly had kept his sister in line—just about.

      ‘What are you smiling at now?’ she said.

      ‘Thinking about Lucia …’

      ‘Ah.’ She relaxed.

      ‘And I’m enjoying myself,’ he confessed, only realising now how true that was. He was completely relaxed—especially now that everyone had taken the hint and seen that he wanted to be alone with his supper companion. Had anyone ever made love to Holly, he wondered, or had they just used her without ever seeing the side of her that Holly kept so close? She was different from anyone he had ever known. He knew most women only wanted him for the material things he could provide—things in which Holly had absolutely no interest.

      ‘Do you mind if I take my shoes off?’ she said, distracting him from his thoughts as she pulled a comic face. ‘I’ll keep my feet under the table so you don’t have to look at them—’

      He laughed as she kicked the expensive shoes he’d bought her into touch.

      * * *

      She watched Ruiz greet acquaintances with a casual wave. He knew a lot of people in London, or, rather, a lot of people knew Ruiz, Holly amended, and they all seemed inordinately pleased if he noticed them. Perhaps it was she who needed a wake-up call, Holly reflected. Ruiz was an international sportsman and highly respected—

      ‘Are you okay?’ Ruiz prompted.

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘I want you to enjoy yourself.’

      ‘I’m sure I shall.’ She thought about Ruiz’s comment regarding entertaining friends of the family and hoped she wasn’t keeping him from his own friends. ‘It’s very good of you to bring me here,’ she said politely.

      Ruiz gave her a quizzical look. ‘It’s very good of you to come with me.’

      Was it? Even in jeans and a crisp white shirt Ruiz looked amazing and exuded class, while Holly was increasingly aware of