The Acostas Box Set. Susan Stephens

more. The contrast was extreme and the challenges different, but just as stimulating.

      And the women?

      Pale, harried, and bundled up in so many clothes it was impossible to imagine them freeing themselves from the many wrappings long enough to make love—

      ‘Will I be home in time for the annual polo match?’ he asked, refocusing in order to reply to his older brother Nacho’s question. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from that brawl. Just make sure I have a stallion that can outrun Nero’s fire-breathing monster and I’ll be back in time to watch your flank, Nacho—’

      ‘And the business?’ the hard male voice interrupted.

      ‘We’re in pretty good shape. I’ve completed the reorganisation. I just have to approve one or two new members of staff. I’ll be splitting my time between Argentina and London in future, but—’

      ‘So long as you don’t forget your family on the other side of the world, Ruiz,’ Nacho interrupted. ‘You’re the glue that holds us together—’

      ‘Glue can stretch,’ Ruiz pointed out wryly.

      Not liking this challenge to his authority, Nacho changed tack. ‘Have you heard from Lucia, recently?’

      ‘Lucia? No. Why?’ Ruiz sat up, hearing the change in his brother’s voice. ‘Is there a problem?’

      ‘Our sister’s gone off radar again—changed her number—’

      ‘Lucia was always tricky.’ And who could blame her with four older brothers looking over her shoulder? Ruiz reflected. But his sister’s safety was paramount. ‘I’m on it. I’ll drop by Lucia’s flat later to see if she’s back, or if she left any clues behind.’

      Nacho seemed satisfied now he knew Ruiz was picking up the latest family problem; his voice mellowed into a dark-chocolate drawl. ‘Have you found yourself a woman yet?’

      Ruiz laughed as someone, or rather something, nuzzled its way between his knees. ‘No, but a dog found me.’ There was a curse on the other end of the line, which Ruiz ignored. ‘This great black mutt wandered in from the street while I was having some furniture delivered and made himself comfortable in front of the fire. Didn’t you, Bouncer?’

      ‘You’ve given the dog a name?’ Nacho interrupted sharply.

      ‘Not just a name—a home. Bouncer is part of the furniture now.’ Ruiz ruffled the big dog’s ears.

      ‘This is so typical of you, Ruiz,’ Nacho rapped, reverting to elder brother mode. ‘You always were a sucker for waifs and strays. If anyone needs TLC, you’re there before they know they need help. Dios! Get rid of the mongrel!’ Nacho thundered.

      ‘Butt out!’ Ruiz fired back. They weren’t boys now for Nacho to push him around. His brother should know that where animals were concerned Ruiz cut no corners.

      ‘See you at the polo match,’ Nacho growled, ‘without the mutt!’

      ‘Goodbye to you too, brother,’ Ruiz murmured, staring at the silent receiver in his hand.

      Nacho had issues. Having taken responsibility for his siblings when their parents died, Nacho sometimes forgot they were all adults now and that, having made his home in London rather than the pampas, Ruiz was independently successful.

      Sensing his irritation, Bouncer whined. He stroked the dog to reassure him. ‘I should make allowances for Nacho?’ Ruiz queried as Bouncer’s expressive eyes invited him to take a walk. His brother ran an estancia in Argentina the size of a small country and Ruiz supposed Nacho was entitled to have his off days. ‘Okay, boy, you’re right. Let’s go,’ he said, standing up.

      A big dog like Bouncer needed hours of exercise. Not unlike his master, Ruiz reflected, catching sight of his swarthy, unshaven face in the mirror. It had been another long and ultimately disappointing night. None of the women he’d met in London appealed to him with their bony figures, heavy make-up, and uniformly dyed blonde hair. It would be fair to say he had become more than a little jaded. Perhaps Nacho was right and he should return to Argentina to find some sophisticated, black-eyed siren, full of the fire and passion of South America who could not only match him in the bedroom but who would share his zest for life.

      That was the type of woman his brother Nacho could do with, to shake him out of permanent warrior mode, Ruiz reflected wryly as he locked the front door. It didn’t occur to Ruiz that a similar wake-up call might be waiting for him just around the corner …

       CHAPTER ONE

       I’ve always kept a diary. I’m a compulsive writer some might say. I’ve heard that in the absence of anyone else to confide in people often record their thoughts.

       This is day one of my new life in London and my train is just pulling into the station, so I have to keep this short. To make sure everything is in line with the K.I.S.S. principle—which, just in case my journal is discovered a thousand years from now, stands for Keep It Simple Stupid, there are only two rules:

       Rely on no one but yourself.

       No men—at least, not until you are established as a journalist and can call the shots!

      THERE was sleet dripping down her neck and a really old man had just decided Holly was the one who needed help. Was she trying to work out which bus would take her to the station? ‘No, but thank you for asking—I just got here,’ she explained. Chin up. Jaw firm. Smile big. Stop tapping diary notes into your phone and put it away. ‘I’m waiting for a friend,’ Holly added to reassure the elderly Samaritan. Well, it was almost true. She was waiting to get hold of a friend on the phone.

      The old man wished her well and went on his way but with the brief moment of human contact snatched away again she felt doubly lost. It was the noise in London, the constant traffic and the mobs of people that took some getting used to when you had just arrived in the capital from a small market town. It didn’t help that her winter coat was soaked right through, she was frozen, and her long red hair hung in sodden straggles down her back.

      How could things go so wrong?

      It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made the most meticulous plans before coming to London to take up the job at ROCK! magazine, carefully tallying her start date with an amazing offer from her best friend from school to stay in her central London garden flat until Holly could sort out her own accommodation. So how was it that the black cab that had brought her from the station to this faceless part of town had left her in front of a door that should have been flung wide in welcome but had instead been opened by a stranger who didn’t even know her name?

      Wiping the rain from her face, Holly pulled out her phone and tried to call her friend Lucia again.

      ‘Lucia?’ Holly exclaimed excitedly, forced to execute a little unplanned dance as she dodged spray from the traffic. ‘Lucia—Can you hear me?’ Holly yelled over a deafening soundtrack of horns tooting, grinding gears, and steel drums—

       Steel drums?

      ‘Holly!’ Lucia shrieked with equal excitement. ‘Is that really you?’

      ‘Where are you, Lucia?’

      ‘St Barts. Can’t you hear the sea? Holly, it’s incredible here. You’d love it—’

      ‘St Barts in the Caribbean?’ Holly interrupted, shivering as she bowed her head beneath a fresh onslaught of wind and icy sleet. Lucia was from a very wealthy Argentinian family, so anything was possible. ‘Isn’t it some unearthly hour there?’

      ‘Dunno … Still partying!’ Lucia shrieked as if to confirm this with a thousand friends.

      ‘So … didn’t you get my text?’ Holly asked carefully.

      ‘What