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his faithful hound was sure to get a spoiling. The dog bounded up to him, seeming as excited as he was at the prospect of returning home.
    Not excited, Ruiz told himself firmly. Certainly not excited to get back to the penthouse and find Holly waiting for him. It had been a long, hard day, and when he opened the door on what was supposed to be a luxurious hideaway in the best part of London, there would be girl stuff everywhere. No doubt the kitchen would be a mess, and, having seen the state of the hall, he had no doubt Holly would have trialled every bathroom by the time he got back, strewing damp towels all over the place. All he longed for was a good night’s sleep, but with a big dog to care for checking into a hotel was out of the question. The penthouse, with its stunning views of London and seductive luxury, should have been perfect, and it might have been, had he not had an unexpected—and frustratingly unsettling—lodger to entertain.
    Okay, so he’d set some ground rules.
    ‘Come on, Bouncer,’ Ruiz prompted, snapping the leash onto the dog’s collar. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

 

     
     

    CHAPTER THREE
     
    Research. And that’s all it would be. I wouldn’t be breaking rule two—no men. I would simply be observing this man from a purely clinical point of view. My ‘Living with a Playboy’ idea would be like one of those fly-on-the-wall documentaries. I wouldn’t be hands-on—I should be so lucky. More, all hands to the pump—gulp—as I try to do my bit to save the agony-aunt column. (Though I can’t deny the thought of living so close to this particular playboy has done wonders for my metabolic rate. I’ve eaten a whole tub of double chocolate chip in anticipation of his return and I can still get into my jeans.)
    (Imagine how slim I’d be if we lived together permanently.)
    (Not that I’d ever consider living with anyone after my experience with the ex.)
    Love life? Vicarious. Active. Very active indeed. Lustful thoughts? Are there any other kind?
    And the playboy? This might all be over by tomorrow. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, and I have yet to discover how he feels when he returns from the gym to find I’m still here.
    HAVING finished her London diary entry, Holly was still tinkering with her first ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature when Ruiz arrived back. The new headline looked fabulous on the top of the agony-aunt column. If that didn’t attract reader interest, nothing would.
    She listened as Ruiz went into one of the bathrooms to take a shower and tried her hardest not to imagine him stripped naked. That proved a lot harder than she’d thought. The secret of successful cohabiting was not getting in Ruiz’s way, Holly concluded, tensing as the shower turned off. If she was going to make a success of the ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature, she had to make sure Ruiz didn’t think of her as a nuisance, always watching him and asking questions. She wasn’t in any danger, she told herself repeatedly, counting the seconds until he entered the room, since she had vowed off men, and anyway there was no chance Ruiz would look at her that way. The main thing was not to give him an excuse to throw her out if she was going to make him the subject of her column.
    Buttering-up time had arrived. While he’d been gone she had tidied away all her things and knocked up a tasty soup, using the fresh ingredients she had bought earlier. She’d also made sure there was plenty of ice for the large gin and tonic she guessed a sophisticated man like Ruiz might want, and had even put on some make-up—not very expertly, and certainly not enough to suggest she was after him. She hoped that assuming the role of unthreatening temporary lodger might work. She would even play housekeeper at a stretch. She’d do anything to salvage her career. She’d even iron a few shirts if she had to. She couldn’t see any man objecting to that. Whatever it took for Ruiz to agree to become the