‘So when were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?’ Kruz demanded.

‘You seem more concerned about my faults than our child. There were so many times when I wanted to tell you… I don’t want to argue with you about this, Kruz. I want to discuss what has happened while we’ve got the chance. For God’s sake, Kruz—what’s wrong with you? Anyone would think you were trying to drive me away—taking your child with me.’

‘You’ll stay here until I tell you to go,’ he said, snatching hold of her arm.

‘Let me go!’ she cried furiously.

‘There’s nowhere for you to go. There’s just thousands of miles of nothing out there.’

‘I’m leaving Argentina.’

‘And then what?’ he demanded.

‘And then I’ll make a life for me and our baby—the baby you don’t care to acknowledge.’

Was that a flicker of something human in his eyes? Had she got through to him at last? His grip had relaxed on her arm.

About the Author

SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday, and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an after-dinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon® author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends, and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MAN FROM HER WAYWARD PAST*

A TASTE OF THE UNTAMED*

THE ARGENTINIAN’S SOLACE*

THE SHAMELESS LIFE OF RUIZ ACOSTA*

*all titles linked to the Acosta Family—

take a look at their fantastic website!

http://www.susanstephens.com/acostas/index.html

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Taming
the Last Acosta
Susan Stephens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Joanne,

who holds my hand when I’m in the dentist’s chair.

CHAPTER ONE

TWO PEOPLE IN the glittering wedding marquee appeared distanced from the celebrations. One was a photojournalist, known as Romy Winner, for whom detachment was part of her job. Kruz Acosta, the brother of the groom, had no excuse. With his wild dark looks, barely mellowed by formal wedding attire, Romily—who preferred to call herself no-nonsense Romy—thought Kruz perfectly suited to the harsh, unforgiving pampas in Argentina where this wedding was taking place.

Trying to slip deeper into the shadows, she stole some more shots of him. Immune to feeling when she was working, this time she felt excitement grip her. Not just because every photo editor in the world would pay a fortune to get their hands on her shots of Kruz Acosta, the most elusive of the notorious Acosta brothers, but because Kruz stirred her in some dark, atavistic way, involving a violently raised heartbeat and a lot of ill-timed appreciation below the belt.

Perhaps it was his air of menace, or maybe it was his hard-edged warrior look, but whatever it was she was enjoying it.

All four Acosta brothers were big, powerful men, but rumours abounded where Kruz was concerned, which made him all the more intriguing. A veteran of Special Forces, educated in both Europe and America, Kruz was believed to work for two governments now, though no one really knew anything about him other than his success in business and his prowess on the polo field.

She was getting to know him through her camera lens at this wedding of Kruz’s older brother, Nacho, to his beautiful blind bride, Grace. What she had learned so far was less than reassuring: Kruz missed nothing. She ducked out of sight as he scanned the sumptuously decorated wedding venue, no doubt looking for unwanted visitors like her.

It was time to forget Kruz Acosta and concentrate on work, Romy told herself sternly, even if he was compelling viewing to someone who made her living out of stand-out shots. It would take more than a froth of tulle and a family reunion to soften Kruz Acosta, Romy guessed, as she ran off another series of images she knew Ronald, her editor at ROCK!, would happily give his eye teeth for.

Just one or two more and then she’d make herself scarce…

Maybe sooner rather than later, Romy concluded as Kruz glanced her way. This job would have been a pleasure if she’d had an official press pass, but ROCK! was considered a scandal sheet by many, so no one from ROCK! had received an invitation to the wedding. Romy was attending on secret business for the bride, on the understanding that she could use some of the shots for other purposes.

Romy’s fame as a photographer had reached Grace through Holly Acosta, one of Romy’s colleagues at ROCK! The three women had been having secret meetings over the past few months, culminating in Grace declaring that she would trust no one but Romy to make a photographic record of her wedding for her husband, Nacho, and for any children they might have. Inspired by the blind bride’s courage, Romy had agreed. Grace was fast becoming a friend rather than just another client, and this was a chance in a million for Romy to see the Acostas at play—though she doubted Kruz would be as accommodating as the bride if he caught her.

So he mustn’t catch her, Romy determined, shivering with awareness as she focused her lens on the one man in the marquee her camera loved above all others. He had a special sort of energy that seemed to reach her across the crowded tent, and the menace he threw out was alarming. The more shots she took of him, the more she couldn’t imagine that much got in his way. It was easy to picture Kruz as a rebellious youth who had gone on to win medals for gallantry in the Special Forces. All the bespoke tailoring in the world couldn’t hide the fact that Kruz Acosta was a weapon in disguise. He now ran a formidably successful security company, which placed him firmly in charge of security at this wedding.

A flush of alarm scorched her as Kruz’s gaze swept over her like a searchlight and moved on. He must have seen her. The question was: would he do anything about it? She hadn’t come halfway across the world in order to return home to London empty-handed.

Or to let down the bride, Romy concluded as she moved deeper into the crowd. This commission for Grace was more of a sacred charge than a job, and she had no intention of being distracted by one of the most alarming-looking men it had ever been her pleasure to photograph. Running off a blizzard of shots, she realised Kruz couldn’t have stood in starker contrast to the bride. Grace’s gentle beauty had never seemed more pronounced than at this moment, when she was standing beneath a flower-bedecked canopy between her husband and Kruz.

Romy drew a swift breath when the man in question stared straight at her. Lowering her camera, she glanced around, searching for a better hiding place, but shadows were in short supply in the brilliantly lit tent. One of the few things Grace could still detect after a virus had stolen her sight was light, so the dress code for the wedding was ‘sparkle’ and every corner of the giant marquee was floodlit by fabulous Venetian chandeliers.

Mingling with the guests, Romy kept her head down. The crowd was moving towards the receiving line, where all the Acostas were standing. There was a murmur of anticipation in the queue—and no wonder. The Acostas were an incredibly good-looking family. Nacho, the oldest brother, was clearly besotted by his beautiful new bride, while the sparks flying between Diego and his wedding planner wife Maxie could have ignited a fire. The supremely cool Ruiz Acosta clearly couldn’t wait to get his firebrand wife, Romy’s friend and colleague Holly, into bed, judging by the looks they were exchanging, while Lucia Acosta, the only girl in this family of four outrageously good-looking brothers, was flirting with her husband Luke Forster, the ridiculously photogenic American polo player.

Which left Kruz…

The only unmarried brother. So what? Her camera loved him, but that didn’t mean she had to like him—though she would take full advantage of his distraction as he greeted his guests.

Those scars… That grim expression… She snapped away, knowing that everything about Kruz Acosta should put her off, but instead she was spellbound.

From a safe distance, Romy amended sensibly, as a pulse of arousal ripped through her.

And then he really did surprise her. As Kruz turned to say something to the bride his expression softened momentarily. That was the money shot, as it was known in the trade. It was the type of unexpected photograph that Romy was so good at capturing and had built her reputation on.

She was so busy congratulating herself she almost missed Kruz swinging round to stare at her again. Now she knew how a rabbit trapped in headlights felt. When he moved she moved too. Grabbing her kitbag, she stowed the camera. Her hands were trembling as panic mounted inside her. She hurried towards the exit, knowing this was unlike her. She was a seasoned pro, not some cub reporter—a thick skin came with the job. And why such breathless excitement at the thought of being chased by him? She was hardly an innocent abroad where men were concerned.

Because Kruz was the stuff of heated erotic dreams and her body liked the idea of being chased by him. Next question.

Before she made herself scarce there were a few more shots she wanted to take for Grace. Squeezing herself into a small gap behind a pillar, she took some close-ups of flowers and trimmings—richly scented white roses and lush fat peonies in softest pink, secured with white satin ribbon and tiny silver bells. The ceiling was draped like a Bedouin tent, white and silver chiffon lavishly decorated with scented flowers, crystal beads and fiery diamanté. Though Grace couldn’t see these details the wedding planner had ensured she would enjoy a scent sensation, while Romy was equally determined to make a photographic record of the day with detailed descriptions in Braille alongside each image.

‘Hello, Romy.’

She nearly jumped out of her skin, but it was only a famous celebrity touching her arm, in the hope of a photograph. Romy’s editor at ROCK! loved those shots, so she had to make time for it. Shots like these brought in the money Romy so badly needed, though what she really longed to do was to tell the story of ordinary people in extraordinary situations through her photographs. One day she’d do that, she vowed stepping forward to take the shot, leaving herself dangerously exposed.

The queue of guests at the receiving line was thinning as people moved on to their tables for the wedding feast, and an icy warning was trickling down her spine before she even had a chance to say goodbye to the celebrity. She didn’t need to check to know she was being watched. She usually managed to blend in with the crowd, with or without an official press pass, but there was nothing usual in any situation when Kruz Acosta was in town.

As soon as the celebrity moved on she found another hiding place behind some elaborate table decorations. From here she could observe Kruz to her heart’s content. She settled down to enjoy the play of muscle beneath his tailored jacket and imagined him stripped to the buff.

Nice…

The only downside was Grace had mentioned that although Kruz felt at home on the pampas he was going to open an office in London—’Just around the corner from ROCK!,’ Grace had said, as if it were a good thing.

Now she’d seen him, Romy was sure Kruz Acosta was nothing but trouble.

But attractive… He was off-the-scale hot.

But she wasn’t here to play make-believe with one of the lead characters at this wedding. She had got what she needed and she was out of here.

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed that Kruz was no longer in the receiving line.

So where the hell was he?

She scanned the marquee, but there was no sign of Kruz anywhere. There were quite a few exits from the tent—he could have used any one of them. She wasn’t going to take any chances, and would head straight for the press coach to send off her copy. Thank goodness Holly had given her a key.

The press coach wasn’t too far. She could see its twinkling lights. She quickened her step, fixing her gaze on them, feeling that same sense of being hunted—though why was she worried? She could look after herself. Growing up small and plain had ruled out girlie pursuits, so she had taken up kick-boxing instead. Anyone who thought they could take her camera was in for a big surprise.

He had recognised the girl heading towards the exit. There was no chance he would let her get away. Having signed off the press passes personally, he knew Romy Winner didn’t appear on any of them.

Romy Winner was said to be ruthless in pursuit of a story, but she was no more ruthless than he was. Her work was reputed to be cutting-edge and insightful—he’d even heard it said that as a photojournalist Romy Winner had no equal—but that didn’t excuse her trespass here.

She had disappointed him, Kruz reflected as he closed in on her. Renowned for lodging herself in the most ingenious of nooks, he might have expected to find Ms Winner hanging from the roof trusses, or masquerading as a waitress, rather than skulking in the shadows like some rent-a-punk oddity, with her pale face, thin body, huge kohl-ringed eyes and that coal-black, gel-spiked, red-tipped hair, for all the wedding guests to stare at and comment on.

So Romy could catch guests off-guard and snap away at her leisure?

Maybe she wasn’t so dumb after all. She must have captured some great shots. He was impressed by her cunning, but far less impressed by Señorita Winner’s brazen attempt to gate-crash his brother’s wedding. He would make her pay. He just hadn’t decided what currency he was accepting today. That would depend on his mood when he caught up with her.

Romy hurried on into the darkness. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed, though she doubted it was Kruz. Surely he had more important things to do?

Crunching her way along a cinder path, she reasoned that with all the Acosta siblings having been raised by Nacho, after their parents had been killed in a flood, Kruz had enjoyed no softening influence from a mother—which accounted for the air of danger surrounding him. It was no more than that. Her overworked imagination could take a rest. Pausing at a crossroads, she picked up the lights and followed them. She couldn’t afford to lose her nerve now. She had to get her copy away. The money Romy earned from her photographs kept her mother well cared for in the nursing home where she had lived since Romy’s father had beaten her half to death.

When Romy had first become a photojournalist it hadn’t taken her long to realise that pretty pictures earned pennies, while sensational images sold almost as well as sex. Her success in the field had been forged in stone on the day she was told that her mother would need full-time care for the rest of her life. From that day on Romy had been determined that her mother would have the best of care and Romy would provide it for her.

A gust of wind sweeping down from the Andes made her shudder violently. She wondered if she had ever felt more out of place than she did now. She lived in London, amidst constant bustle and noise. Here in the shadow of a gigantic mountain range everything turned sinister at night and her chest tightened as she quickened her step. The ghostly shape of the wedding tent was far behind her now, and ahead was just a vast emptiness, dotted with faint lights from the hacienda. There were no landmarks on the pampas and no stars to guide her. The Acosta brothers were giants amongst men, and the land they came from was on the same impressive scale. There were no boundaries here, there was only space, and the Acostas owned most of it.

Rounding a corner, she caught sight of the press coach again and began to jog. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stopped to listen. Was that a twig snapping behind her? Her heart was hammering so violently it was hard to tell. Focusing her gaze on the press coach, with its halo of aerials and satellite dishes, she fumbled for the key, wanting to have it ready in her hand—and cried out with shock as a man’s hand seized her wrist.

His other hand snatched hold of her camera. Reacting purely on instinct, she launched a stinging roundhouse kick—only to have her ankle captured in an iron grip.

‘Good, but not good enough,’ Kruz Acosta ground out.

Rammed up hard against the motorcoach, with Kruz’s head in her face, it was hard for Romy to disagree. In the unforgiving flesh, Kruz made the evidence of her camera lens seem pallid and insubstantial. He was hard like rock, and so close she could see the flecks of gold in his fierce black eyes, as well as the cynical twist on his mouth. While their gazes were locked he brought her camera strap down, inch by taunting inch, until finally he removed it from her arm and placed it on the ground behind him.

‘No,’ he said softly when she glanced at it.

She still made a lunge, which he countered effortlessly. Flipping her to the ground, he stood back. Rolling away, she sprang up, assuming a defensive position with her hands clenched into angry fists, and demanded that he give it up.

Kruz Acosta merely raised a brow.

‘I said—’

‘I heard what you said,’ he said quietly.

He was even more devastating at short range. She rubbed her arm as she stared balefully. He hadn’t hurt her. He had branded her with his touch.

A shocked cry sprang from her lips when he seized hold of her again. His reach was phenomenal. His grip like steel. He made no allowance for the fact that she was half his size, so now every inch of her was rammed up tight against him, and when she fought him he just laughed, saying, ‘Is that all you’ve got?’

She staggered as Kruz thrust her away. She felt humiliated as well as angry. Now he’d had a chance to take a better look at her he wasn’t impressed. And why would he be?

‘How does a member of the paparazzi get in here?’

Kruz was playing with her, she suspected. ‘I’m not paparazzi. I’m on the staff at ROCK!’

‘My apologies.’ He made her a mocking bow. ‘So you’re a fully paid-up member of the paparazzi. With your own executive office, I presume?’

‘I have a very nice office, as it happens,’ she lied. He was making her feel hot and self-conscious. She was used to being in control. It was going too far to say that amongst photojournalists she was accorded a certain respect, but she certainly wasn’t used to being talked down to by men.

‘So as well as being an infamous photojournalist and an executive at ROCK! magazine,’ Kruz mocked, ‘I now discover that the infamous Romy Winner is an expert kick-boxer.’

Her cheeks flushed red. Not so expert, since he’d blocked her first move.

‘I suppose kick-boxing is a useful skill when it comes to gate-crashing events you haven’t been invited to?’ Kruz suggested.

‘It’s one of my interests—and just as well with men like you around—’

‘Men like me?’ he said, holding her angry stare. ‘Perhaps you and I should get on the mat in the gym sometime.’

‘Over my dead body,’ she fired back.

His look suggested he expected her to blink, or flinch, or even lower her gaze in submission. She did none of those things, though she did find herself staring at his lips. Kruz had the most amazing mouth—hard, yet sensual—and she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him, though she had a pretty good idea…

An idea that was ridiculous! It wouldn’t happen this side of hell. Kruz was one of the beautiful people—the type she liked to look at through her lens much as a wildlife photographer might observe a tiger, without having the slightest intention of touching it. Instead of drooling over him like some lovesick teenager it was time to put him straight.

‘Kick-boxing is great for fending off unwanted advances—’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Romy.’

Kruz’s eyes had turned cold and she shivered involuntarily. There was no chance of getting her camera back now. He was good, economical with his movements, and he was fast.

Who knew what he was like as a lover…?

Thankfully she would never find out. All that mattered now was getting her camera back.

Darting round him, she tried to snatch it—and was totally unprepared for Kruz whipping the leather jacket from her shoulders. Underneath it she was wearing a simple white vest. No bra. She hardly needed one. Her cheeks fired up when he took full inventory of her chest. She could imagine the kind of breasts Kruz liked, and perversely wished she had big bouncing breasts to thrust in his face—if only to make a better job of showing her contempt than her embarrassingly desperate nipples were doing right now, poking through her flimsy top to signal their sheer, agonising frustration.

‘Still want to take me on?’ he drawled provocatively.

‘I’m sure I could make some sort of dent in your ego,’ she countered, crossing her arms over her chest. She circled round him. ‘All I want is my property back.’ She glanced at the camera, lying just a tantalising distance away.

‘So what’s on this camera that you’re so keen for me not to see?’ He picked it up. ‘You can collect it in the morning, when I’ve had a chance to evaluate your photographs.’

‘It’s my work, and I need to edit it—’

‘Your unauthorised work,’ he corrected her.

There was no point trying to reason with this man. Action was the only option.

One moment she was diving for the camera, and the next Kruz had tumbled her to the ground.

‘Now, what shall I do with you?’ he murmured, his warm, minty breath brushing her face.

With Kruz pinning her to the ground, one powerful thigh planted either side of her body, her options were limited—until he yanked her onto a soft bed of grass at the side of the cinder path. Then they became boundless. The grass felt like damp ribbons beneath her skin, and she could smell the rising sap where she had crushed it. Overlaying that was the heat of a powerful, highly sexed, highly aroused man.

She should try to escape. She should put up some sort of token struggle, at least. She should remember her martial arts training and search for a weakness in Kruz to exploit.

She did none of those things. And as for that potential weakness—as it turned out it was one they shared.

As she reached up to push him away Kruz swooped down. Ravishing her mouth was a purposeful exercise, and one at which he excelled. For a moment she was too stunned to do anything, and then the sensation of being possessed, entered, controlled and plundered, even if it was only her mouth, by a man with whom she had been having fantasy sex for quite a few hours, sent her wild with excitement. She even groaned a complaint when he pulled away, and was relieved to find it was only to remove his jacket.

For such a big man Kruz went about his business with purpose and speed. His natural athleticism, she supposed, feeling her body heat, pulse and melt at the thought of being thoroughly pleasured by him. Growing up with a pillow over her head to shut out the violence at home had left her a stranger to romance and tenderness. Given a choice, she preferred to observe life through her camera lens, but when an opportunity for pleasure presented itself she seized it, enjoyed it, and moved on. She wasn’t about to turn down this opportunity.

Pleasure with no curb or reason? Pleasure without thought of consequence?

Correct, she informed her inner critic firmly. Even the leisurely way Kruz was folding his jacket and putting it aside was like foreplay. He was so sexy. His powerful body was sexy—his hands were sexy—the wide spread of his shoulders was sexy—his shadowy face was sexy.

Kruz’s confidence in her unquestioning acceptance of everything that was about to happen was so damn sexy she could lose control right now.

A life spent living vicariously through a camera lens was ultimately unsatisfactory, while this unexpected encounter was proving to be anything but. A rush of lust and longing gripped her as he held her stare. The look they exchanged spoke about need and fulfilment. It was explicit and potent. She broke the moment of stillness. Ripping off his shirt, she sent buttons flying everywhere. Yanking the fabric from the waistband of his pants, she tossed it away, exclaiming with happy shock as bespoke tailoring yielded to hard, tanned flesh. This was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. Liberally embellished with tattoos and scars, Kruz’s torso was outstanding. She could hardly breathe for excitement when he found the button on her jeans and quickly dealt with it. He quickly got them down. In comparison, her own fingers felt fat and useless as she struggled with the buckle on his belt.

‘Let me help you.’

Kruz held her gaze with a mocking look as he made this suggestion. It was all the aphrodisiac she needed. She cried out with excitement when his thumbs slipped beneath the elastic on her flimsy briefs to ease them down her hips. His big hands blazed a trail of fire everywhere they touched. She couldn’t bear the wait when he paused to protect them both, but it was a badly needed wake-up call. The fact that this man had thought of it before she had went some way to reminding her how far she’d travelled from the safe shores she called home.

Her body overruled the last-minute qualms. Her body was one hundred per cent in favour of what was coming. Even her tiny breasts felt swollen and heavy, while her nipples were cheekily pert and obscenely hard, and the carnal pulse throbbing insistently between her legs demanded satisfaction.

Kruz had awakened such an appetite inside her she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want to discover what sex could be like with someone who really knew what he was doing. She was about to find out. When Kruz stretched his length against her she could feel his huge erection, heavy and hard against her leg. And that look in his eyes—that slumberous, confident look. It told her exactly what he intended to do with her and just how much she was going to enjoy it. And, in case she was in any doubt, he now spelled out his intentions in a few succinct words.

She gasped with excitement. With hardly any experience of dating, and even less of foreplay, she was happy to hear that nothing was about to change.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE EXCLAIMED WITH shock when Kruz eased inside her. She was ready. That wasn’t the problem. Kruz was the problem. He was huge.

Built to scale.

She should have known.

Her breath came in short, shocked whimpers, pain and pleasure combined. It was a relief when he took his time and didn’t rush her. She began to relax.

This was good… Yes, better than good…

Releasing the shaking breath from her lungs, she silently thanked him for giving her the chance to explore such incredible sensation at her leisure. Leisure? The brief plateau lasted no more than a few seconds, then she was clambering all over him as a force swept them into a world where moving deeper, harder, rougher, fast and furious, was more than an imperative: it was essential to life.

‘You okay?’ Kruz asked, coming down briefly to register concern as she screamed wildly and let go.

It seemed for ever before she could answer him, and then she wasn’t sure she said anything that made sense.

‘A little better, at least?’ he suggested with amusement when she quietened.

‘Not that much better,’ she argued, blatantly asking for more.

Taking his weight on his arms, Kruz stared down at her.

It didn’t get much better than this, Romy registered groggily, lost in pleasure the instant he began to move. She loved his hard, confident mouth. She loved the feeling of being full and ready to be sated. She even loved her grassy bed, complete with night sounds: cicadas chirruping and an owl somewhere in the distance hooting softly. Kruz’s clean, musky scent was in her nostrils, and when she turned her head, groaning in extremes of pleasure, her bed of grass added a piquant tang to an already intoxicating mix. She was floating on sensation, hardly daring to move in case she fell too soon. She didn’t want it to end, but Kruz was too experienced and made it really hard to hold on. Moving persuasively from side to side, he pushed her little by little, closer to the edge.

‘Good?’ he said, staring down, mocking her with his confident smile.

‘Very good,’ she managed on a shaking breath.

And then he did something that lifted her onto an even higher plane of sensation. Slowly withdrawing, he left her trembling and uncertain, before slowly thrusting into her again. Whatever she had imagined before was eclipsed by this intensity of feeling. It was like the first time all over again, except now she was so much more receptive and aroused. She couldn’t hold back, and shrieked as she fell, shouting his name as powerful spasms gripped her.

When she finally relaxed what she realised was her pincer grip on Kruz’s arms, she realised she had probably bruised him. He was holding her just as firmly, but with more care. She loved his firm grip on her buttocks, his slightly callused hands rough on her soft skin.

‘I can’t,’ she protested as he began to move again. ‘I truly can’t.’

‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ he whispered.

Incredibly, he was right. It didn’t seem possible that she had anything left, but when Kruz stared deep into her eyes it was as if he was instructing her that she must give herself up to sensation. There was no reason to disobey and she tumbled promptly, laughing and crying with surprise as she fell again.

It turned out to be just the start of her lessons in advanced lovemaking. Pressing her knees back, Kruz stared down. Now she discovered that she loved to watch him watching her. Lifting herself up, she folded her arms behind her head so she had a better view. Nothing existed outside this extreme pleasure. Kruz had placed himself at her disposal, and to reward him she pressed her legs as wide as they would go. He demanded all her concentration as he worked steadily and effectively on the task in hand.

‘You really should try holding on once in a while,’ he said, smiling against her mouth.

‘Why?’ she whispered back.

‘Try it and you’ll find out,’ he said.

‘Will you teach me?’ Her heart drummed at the thought.

‘Perhaps,’ Kruz murmured.

He wasn’t joking, Romy discovered as Kruz led her through a lengthy session of tease and withdraw until her body was screaming for release.

‘Greedy girl,’ he murmured with approval. ‘Again?’ he suggested, when finally he allowed her to let go.

Bracing her hands against his chest, she smiled into his eyes. For a hectic hook-up this was turning into a lengthy encounter, and she hadn’t got a single complaint. Kruz was addictive. The pleasure he conjured was amazing. But—

‘What?’ he said as she turned her head away from him.

‘Nothing.’ She dismissed the niggle hiding deep in her subconscious.

‘You think too much,’ he said.

‘Agreed,’ she replied, dragging in a fast breath as he began to move again.

Kruz didn’t need to ask if she wanted more; the answer was obvious to both of them. Gripping his iron buttocks, she urged him on as he set up a drugging beat. Tightening her legs around his waist, she moved with him—harder—faster—giving as good as she got, and through it all Kruz maintained eye contact, which was probably the biggest turn-on of all, because he could see where she was so quickly going. Holding her firmly in place, he kept her in position beneath him, and when the storm rose he judged each thrust to perfection. Pushing her knees apart, he made sure they both had an excellent view, and now even he was unable to hold on, and roared with pleasure as he gave in to violent release.

She went with him, falling gratefully into a vortex of sensation from which there was no escape. It was only when she came to that she realised fantasy had in no way prepared her for reality—her fantasies were wholly selfish, and Kruz had woken something inside her that made her care for him just a little bit. It was a shame he didn’t feel the same. Now he was sated she sensed a core of ice growing around him. It frightened her, because she was feeling emotional for the first time with a man. And now he was pulling back—emotionally, physically.

No wonder that niggle of unease had gripped her, Romy reflected. She was playing well out of her league. As if to prove this, Kruz was already on his feet, pulling on his clothes. He buckled his belt as if it were just another day at the office. She might have laughed under other circumstances when he was forced to tug the edges of his shirt together where she had ripped the buttons off. He did no more than hide the evidence of her desperation beneath his tie. How could he be so chillingly unfazed by all this? Her unease grew at the thought that what had just happened between them had made a dangerously strong impression on her, while it appeared to have washed over Kruz.

And why not? What happened was freely given and freely taken by both of you.

‘Are you okay?’ he said, glancing down when she remained immobile.

‘Of course I am,’ she said in a casual tone. Inwardly she was screaming. Was she really so stupid she had imagined she would come out of something like this unscathed?

Even inward reasoning didn’t help—she was still waiting for him to say something encouraging. How pathetic was that? She had never felt like this before, and had no way of dealing with the feelings, so, gathering up her clothes, she lost herself in mundane matters—shaking the grass off her jacket, pulling on her jeans, sorting her hair out, then smoothing her hands over her face, hoping that by the time she removed them she would appear cool and detached.

Wrong. She felt as if she’d come out the wrong end of a spin dry.

Her thoughts turned at last to her camera. It was still lying on the bank, temptingly close. She had learned her lesson where lunging for it was concerned, but felt confident that Kruz would give it to her now. It was the least he could do.

Fortunately Kruz appeared to be oblivious both to her and to her camera. He was on the phone, telling his security operatives that he was patrolling the grounds.

She eased her neck, as if that would ease the other aches, most of which had taken up residence in her heart.

Hadn’t she learned anything from the past? Had Kruz made her forget her father’s rages and her mother’s dependency on a violent man?

Kruz hadn’t been in any way violent towards her—but he was strong, commanding, and detached from emotion. All the things she had learned to avoid.

She was safe in that, unlike her mother, she had learned to avoid the pitfalls of attachment by switching off her emotions. In that she wasn’t so dissimilar from Kruz. This was just a brief interlude of fun for both of them and now it was over. Neither of them was capable of love.

Love?

He swung round as she made a wry sound. Love was a long road to nowhere, with a punch in the teeth at the end. So, yes, if she was in any doubt at all about the protocol between two strangers who’d just had sex on a grassy bank, she’d go with cool and detached every time.

‘Right,’ he said, ending the call, ‘I need to get back.’

‘Of course,’ she said off-handedly. ‘But I’d like my camera first.’

He frowned, as if they were two strangers at odds with each other. ‘You’ve had your fun and now you’re on your way,’ he said.

She’d asked for that, Romy concluded. ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere without it,’ she said stubbornly. It was true. The camera was more than a tool of her trade, it was a fifth limb. It was an extension of her body, of her mind. It was the only way she knew how to make the money she needed to support herself and her mother.

‘I’ve told you already. You’ll get it back when I’ve checked it,’ he said coldly, hoisting the camera over his shoulder.

‘You’re my censor now?’ she said, chasing after him. ‘I don’t think so.’

The look Kruz gave her made her stomach clench with alarm.

‘You can sleep in the bunkhouse,’ he said, ‘along with the rest of the press crew. Pick up your camera in the morning from my staff.’

She blinked. He’d said it as if they hadn’t touched each other, pleasured each other.

They’d had sex and that was all.

Except for the slap in the face she got from realising that he saw it as no reason to give up her camera. ‘By morning it will be too late—I need it now.’

‘For what?’ he said.

‘I have to edit the photographs and then catch the news desk.’ It was a lie of desperation, but she would do anything to recover her camera. ‘There is another reason,’ she added, waiting for a thunderclap to strike her down. This idea had only just occurred to her. ‘I need to work on the shots I’m donating to your charity.’

As if he’d guessed, Kruz’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Acosta charity?’

‘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.

CHAPTER THREE

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.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with her back to him as she sat down at a desk.

‘You’ll need this,’ he said, handing over the camera.

She thanked him and hugged it to her as if it contained gold bars rather than her shots.

He had more time than he needed while she logged on. He used it to reflect on what had happened over the past hour or so. Ejecting Romy from the wedding feast should have been straightforward. She should have been on her way to Buenos Aires by now, then back to London. Instead his head was still full of her, and his body still wanted her. He could still hear her moaning and writhing beneath him and feel her beneath his hands. He could still taste her on his mouth, and he could remember the smell of her soap-fresh skin. He smiled in the shadows, remembering her attacking him, that tiny frame surprisingly strong, yet so undeniably feminine. Why did Romy Winner hide herself away behind the lens of a camera?

A blaze of colour hit the screen as she began to work. What he saw answered his question. Romy Winner was quite simply a genius with a camera. Images assailed his senses. The scenery was incredible, the wildlife exotic. Her pictures of the Criolla ponies were extraordinary. She had captured some amusing shots of the wedding guests, but nothing cruel, though she had caught out some of the most pompous in less than flattering moments. She’d taken a lot of pictures of the staff too, and it was those shots that really told a story. Perhaps because more expression could be shown on faces that hadn’t been stitched into place, he reflected dryly as Romy continued to sort and select her images.

She’d made him smile. Another first, he mused as she turned to him.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Do you like what you see?’

‘I like them,’ he confirmed. ‘Show me what else you’ve got.’

‘There’s about a thousand more.’

‘I’m in no hurry.’ For maybe the first time in his life.

‘Why don’t you pull up a chair?’ she suggested. ‘Just let me know if there any images you don’t feel are suitable for the charity.’

‘So I’m your editor now?’ he remarked, with some amusement after her earlier comment about censorship.

‘No,’ she said mildly. ‘You’re a client I want to please.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of this. He could think of a million ways she could please him. When she turned back to her work he thought the nape of her neck extremely vulnerable and appealing, just for starters. He considered dropping a kiss on the peachy flesh, and then decided no. Once he’d tasted her…

‘What do you think of these?’ she said, distracting him.

‘Grace is very beautiful,’ he said as he stared at Romy’s shots of the bride. He could see that his new sister-in-law was exquisite, like some beautifully fashioned piece of china. But did Grace move him? Did she make his blood race? He admired Grace as he might admire some priceless objet d’art, but it was Romy who heated his blood.

‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ Romy agreed, with a warmth in her voice he had never noticed before. She certainly didn’t use that voice when she spoke to him.

And why should he care?

Because for the first time in his life he found himself missing the attentions of a woman, and perhaps because he was still stung, after Romy’s enthusiastic response to their lovemaking, that she wasn’t telling him how she thrilled and throbbed, and all the other things his partners were usually at such pains to tell him. Had Romy Winner simply feasted on him and moved on? If she had, it would be the first time any woman had turned the tables on him.

‘This is the sort of shot my editor loves,’ she said as she brought a picture of him up on the screen.

‘Why is that?’

‘Because you’re so elusive,’ she explained. ‘You’re hardly ever photographed. I’ll make a lot from this,’ she added with a pleased note in her voice.

Was he nothing but a commodity?

‘Though what I’d like to do,’ she explained, ‘is give it to the charity. So, much as I’d like to make some money out of you, you can have this one gratis.’

As she turned to him he felt like laughing. She was so honest, he felt… uncomfortable. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a guarded expression. ‘If you’ve just taken a couple of shots of me you can keep the rest. ‘

‘What makes you think I’d want to take more than one?’

Youch.

What, indeed? He shrugged and even managed to smile at that.

Romy Winner intrigued him. He had grown up with women telling him he was the best and that they couldn’t get enough of him. He’d grown up fighting for approval as the youngest of four highly skilled, highly intelligent brothers. When he couldn’t beat Nacho as a youth he had turned to darker pursuits—in which, naturally, he had excelled—until Nacho had finally knocked some sense into him. Then Harvard had beckoned, encouraging him to stretch what Nacho referred to as the most important muscle in his body: the brain. After college he had found the ideal outlet for his energy and tirelessly competitive nature in the army.

‘There,’ Romy said, jolting him back from these musings. ‘You’re finished.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ he said, leaning in close to study her edited version. He noticed again how lithe and strong she was, and how easy it would be to pull her into his arms.

‘I have a deadline,’ she said, getting back to work.

‘Go right ahead.’ He settled back to watch her.

The huge press coach was closing in on her, and all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing erect at the thought of Kruz just a short distance away. She could hear him breathing. She could smell his warm, sexy scent. Some very interesting clenching of her interior muscles suggested she was going to have to concentrate really hard if she was going to get any work done.

‘Could you pass me that kitbag?’ she said, without risking turning round. She needed a new memory card and didn’t want to brush past him.

Her breath hitched as their fingers touched and that touch wiped all sensible thought from her head. All she could think about now was what they had done and what they could do again.

Work!

She pulled herself back to attention with difficulty, but even as she worked she dreamed, while her body throbbed and yearned, setting up a nagging ache that distracted her.

‘Shall I put this other memory card in the pocket for you?’ Kruz suggested.

She realised then that she had clenched her hand over it. ‘Yes—thank you.’

His fingers were firm as they brushed hers again, and that set up more distracting twinges and delicious little aftershocks. Would she ever be able to live normally again?

Not if she kept remembering what Kruz had done—and so expertly.

Her mind was in turmoil. Every nerve-ending in her body felt as if it had been jangled. And all he’d done was brush her hand!

Somehow she got through to the end of the editing process and was ready to show him what she’d got. She ran through the images, giving a commentary like one stranger informing another about this work, and even while Kruz seemed genuinely interested and even impressed she felt his aloofness. Perhaps he thought she was a heartless bitch after enjoying him so fully and so vigorously. Perhaps he thought she took what she wanted when she wanted. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps they deserved each other.

So why this yearning ache inside her?

Because she wanted things she couldn’t have, Romy reasoned, bringing up a group photograph of the Acostas on the screen. They were such a tight-knit family…

‘Are you sure you want to give me all these shots?’

‘Concerned, Kruz?’ she said, staring at him wryly. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve kept more than enough shots back.’

‘I’d better see the ones you’re giving me again.’

‘Okay. No problem.’ She ran through them again, just for the dangerous pleasure of having Kruz lean in close. She had never felt like this before—so aware, alert and aroused. It was like being hunted by the hunter she would most like to be caught by.

‘These are excellent,’ Kruz commented. ‘I’m sure Grace can only be thrilled when she hears the reaction of people to these photographs.’

‘Thank you. I hope so,’ she said, concentrating on the screen. Grace’s wedding was the first romantic project she had worked on. Romy was better known as a scandal queen. And that was one of the more polite epithets she’d heard tossed her way.

‘This one I can’t take,’ Kruz insisted when she flashed up another image on the screen. ‘You have to make some money,’ he reminded her.

Was this a test? Was he paying her off? Or was that her insecurity speaking? He might just be making a kindly gesture, and she maybe should let him.

She shook her head. ‘I can’t sell this one,’ she said quietly. ‘I want you to have it.’

The picture in question showed Kruz sharing a smile with his sister, Lucia. It was a rare and special moment between siblings, and it belonged to them alone—not the general public. It was a moment in time that told a story about Nacho’s success at bringing up his brothers and sister while he was still very young. They would see that when they studied it, just as she had. She wouldn’t dream of selling something like that.

‘Frame it and you’ll always have a reminder of what a wonderful family you have.’

Why was she doing this for him? Kruz wondered suspiciously. He eased his shoulders restlessly, realising that Romy had stirred feelings in him he hadn’t experienced since his parents were alive. He stared at her, trying to work out why. She was fierce and passionate one moment, aloof and withdrawn the next. He might even call her cold. He couldn’t pretend he understood her, but he’d like to—and that was definitely a first.

‘Thank you,’ he said, accepting the gift. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘I’ll make a copy for Lucia as well,’ she offered, getting back to work.

‘I know my sister will appreciate that.’ After Lucia had picked herself off the floor because he’d given her a gift outside of her birthday or Christmas.

The tension between them had subsided with this return to business. He was Romy’s client and she was his photographer—an excellent photographer. Her photographs revealed so much about other people, while the woman behind the lens guarded her inner self like a sphinx.

DAMN. She was going to cry if she didn’t stop looking at images of Grace and Nacho. So that was what love looked like…

‘Shall we move on?’ she said briskly, because Kruz seemed in no hurry to bring the viewing session to an end. She was deeply affected by some of the shots she had captured of the bridal couple, and that wasn’t helpful right now. Since she was a child she had felt the need to protect her inner self. Drawing a big, thick safety curtain around herself rather than staring at an impossible dream on the screen would be her action of choice right now.

‘That was a heavy sigh,’ Kruz commented.

She shrugged, neither wanting nor able to confide in him. ‘I just need to do a little more work,’ she said. ‘That’s if you’ll let me stay to do it?’ she added, turning to face him, knowing it could only be a matter of minutes before they went their separate ways.

This was the moment she had been dreading and yet she needed him to go, Romy realised. Staring at those photographs of Grace and Nacho had only underlined the fact that her own life was going nowhere.

‘Here,’ she said, handing over the memory stick. ‘These are for you and for the charity. You will keep that special shot?’ she said, her chest tightening at the thought that Kruz might think nothing of it.

‘So I can stare at myself?’ he suggested, slanting her a half-smile.

‘So you can look at your family,’ she corrected him, ‘and feel their love.’

Did he have to stare at her so intently? She wished he wouldn’t. It made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know what Kruz expected from her.

‘What?’ she said, when he continued to stare.

‘I never took you for an emotional woman,’ he said.

‘Because I’m not,’ she countered, but her breath caught in her throat, calling her a liar. The French called this a coup de foudre—a thunderbolt. She had no explanation for the longing inside her except to say Kruz had turned her life inside out. It made no sense. They hardly knew each other outside of sex. They didn’t know if they could trust each other, and they had no shared history. They had everything to learn about each other and no time to do so. And why would Kruz want to know more about her?

They could be friends, maybe…

Friends? She almost laughed out loud at this naïve suggestion from a subconscious that hadn’t learned much in her twenty-four years of life. Romy Winner and Kruz Acosta? Ms Frost and Señor Ice? Taking time out to get to know each other? To really get to know each other? The idea was so preposterous she wasn’t going to waste another second on it. She’d settle for maintaining a truce between them long enough for her to leave Argentina in one piece with her camera.

‘Thanks for this,’ Kruz said, angling his stubble-shaded chin as he slipped the memory stick into his pocket.

She felt lost when he turned to go—something else she would have to get used to. She had to get over him. She’d leave love at first sight to those who believed in it. As far as she was concerned love at first sight was a load of bull. Lust at first sight, maybe. Lack of self-control, certainly.

Her throat squeezed tight when he reached the door and turned to look at her.

‘How are you planning to get back to England, Romy?’

‘The same way I arrived, I guess,’ she said wryly.

‘Did you bring much luggage with you?’

‘Just the essentials.’ She glanced at her kitbag, where everything she’d brought to Argentina was stashed. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘My jet’s flying to London tomorrow and there are still a few spare places, if you’re stuck.’

Did he mean stuck as in unprepared? Did he think she was so irresponsible? Maybe he thought she was an opportunist who seized the moment and thought nothing more about it?

‘I bought a return ticket,’ she said, just short of tongue in cheek. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

Kruz shrugged, but as he was about to go through the door he paused. ‘You’re passing up the chance to take some exclusive shots of the young royals—’

‘So be it,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of intruding on their privacy.’

‘Romy Winner passing up a scoop?’

‘What you’re suggesting sounds more like a cheap thrill for an amateur,’ she retorted, stung by his poor opinion of her. ‘When celebrities or royals are out in public it’s a different matter.’

Kruz made a calming motion with his hands.

‘I am calm,’ she said, raging with frustration at the thought that they had shared so much yet knew so little about each other. Kruz had tagged her with the label paparazzi the first moment he’d caught sight of her—as someone who would do anything it took to get her shots. Even have sex with Kruz Acosta, presumably, if that was what was required.

‘Romy—’

‘What?’ she flashed defensively.

‘You seem… angry?’ Kruz suggested dryly.

She huffed, as if she didn’t care what he thought, but even so her gaze was drawn to his mouth. ‘I just wonder what type of photographer you think I am,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘A very good one, from what I’ve seen today, Señorita Winner,’ Kruz said softly, completely disarming her.

‘Gracias,’ she said, firming her jaw as they stared at each other.

And now Kruz should leave. And she should stay where she was—at the back of the coach, as far away from him as possible, with a desk, a chair and most of the coach seats between them.

She waited for him to go, to close the door behind him and bring this madness to an end.

He didn’t go.

Leaning over the driver’s seat, Kruz hit the master switch and the lights dimmed, and then he walked down the aisle towards her.

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