Untamed Bachelors: When He Was Bad... / Interview with a Playboy / The Shameless Life of Ruiz Acosta

The last words didn’t surprise him, but the emotions they invoked did. Feeling the fragility of her bones beneath his hands and that tiny slender frame against his…it drew up a well of tenderness he’d not known existed. He wanted to go on holding her and—Protect what was his?

His whole body tightened. Where the hell had that come from? He’d seen the broken lock and Ellie on the floor and had simply reacted. He was no knight in shining armour.

Loosening his hold, he stepped back, uneasy with the emotions she’d conjured in him. Assured himself it was a momentary thing. She’d proclaimed herself an independent woman; she had no need for such masculine displays of chivalry.

‘I can manage,’ she said, backing up at the same time. As if she’d read his thoughts. But beneath that I-don’t-need-you-to-take-care-of-me facade he could see the little-girl-lost lurking in her eyes and he had to clench his fists at his sides so as not to reach for her again. If he touched her, he might give her more than she was willing to accept. More than he was willing to give.

Swinging away, he paced to the other side of the room. ‘I’ll double-check everything’s okay—you might have missed something. I’ll look into finding you alternative accommodation tomorrow.’

‘But I don’t have the finances to—’

‘Don’t worry about that now.’ He waved a hand. ‘I’ll arrange something. I know people. There are studio apartments near the university. Safe and clean. It’ll be fine, trust me. I’ll make those calls, then we’ll get something to eat. Takeaway’s probably best under the circumstances.’

‘Something hot with a bite to it,’ she said, swiping at her damp-kneed sweatpants with a muttered curse. ‘Beef vindaloo with teeth.’

Over the next twenty minutes he rang the police, organised a cleaning service and someone to fix the door and add extra security—no way was he waiting around for some absent landlord—while Ellie showered and changed.

A couple of hours and a police report later, they were in the car on the way back to Belle’s place with Ellie’s requested Indian takeaway.

How had she gone from living in relative comfort as a child to…this? ‘You don’t have to answer this, Ellie,’ he said as the car idled at an intersection. ‘But wasn’t there some sort of inheritance when your mum passed away?’

She was silent a moment and he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally she said, ‘My family invested in a company that went bust. They lost a substantial amount of their wealth only months before the accident.’

‘That’s tough.’ Damn, he should have kept his mouth shut. As the lights changed, he set the car in motion again. ‘Forget I asked.’

‘I don’t mind.’ From the corner of his eye he saw her chin lift. ‘I’m not ashamed.’

‘Nor should you be.’

‘Mum left what she had to my father. When Dad walked out on us, she obviously gave no thought to changing her will, which she’d made before I was even born. I only learned about it when I was old enough to understand.’

So that’s why Ellie’s father had turned up after her mother’s death—not out of any sense of parental duty but because he thought he’d come into wealth. Matt’s lip curled in disgust. ‘What about his family?’ he asked. ‘Your paternal grandparents? Couldn’t they help?’

‘Both dead, back in England. He emigrated here on his own. Of course he used what money there was to keep us together,’ Ellie hurried on. Seemed she was determined to defend him. ‘Even though we moved around a lot, we lived in nice places, ate at the best restaurants. But he was a gambler,’ she finished quietly.

Ah. It didn’t take a PhD to figure the man had left his daughter again when the money had run out. ‘Didn’t the courts make provisions for you as her daughter?’

‘They did. It was kept in trust for me until I turned eighteen…’

Something in her voice alerted him, pushed him to say, ‘Let me guess, your father turned up.’

She didn’t reply.

He shook his head. ‘Ellie, Ellie. Don’t you know feeding a gambling problem only makes it worse?’

‘He said he’d changed. He’s my father. The only family I have left.’

Her tone tugged at something deep down inside him. ‘He used that against you—you know that, don’t you?’

He could feel the pain his words caused across the space between them and felt like a jerk, but she said, ‘I insisted he use it to get help. And at least I used some of it to finance most of my horticultural course.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you.’

‘I know. It’s just that people like you don’t have a clue about people like me.’

He let it pass. You don’t want to talk about yourself, Matt—don’t bring it up.

They turned into the driveway; the gates swung open, revealing the magnificent home in all its eccentric splendour. Proclaiming wealth from the tip of its spired turret to the landscaped front garden with its statues, ponds and carefully tended topiary.

He knew how it must look, but Ellie had no idea how much they had in common.

Matt switched on the TV and left Ellie in the lounge room while he found plates and set their meal out on the table.

Then since they weren’t eating out, he headed upstairs to change into something casual. A shadow of movement alerted him as he passed Belle’s room. He saw Ellie place Belle’s angel on the night stand.

‘Ellie?’

She jerked at his voice and spun to face him. ‘Don’t sneak up on me like that. I’m jittery enough as it is.’

He stepped into the room, intrigued. ‘Why would you return a gift?’

She turned her attention back to the angel, caressed it. ‘It’s safer here. Thank you. For helping me out. And for this afternoon with the kids.’

She looked over then, and smiled at him—just a hint but, ah, God, it was as if the sun came out. He wanted to pull her close, kiss away the demons he saw in her eyes, but that special kind of intimacy was more than he had in him to give. He didn’t want to get emotionally involved. For her sake as well as his own. He turned away. ‘Anyone would do the same. Let’s go put a dent in that curry.’

They sat down to tandoori chicken and beef vindaloo with rice, servings of crisp pappadums, cool cucumber raita and tangy mango chutney. Ellie attacked her meal with a vengeance which appeared to be borne of anger rather than hunger.

Finding your apartment ransacked was a rotten end to anyone’s day. He picked up his glass, took a few mouthfuls of water—she’d refused his suggestion of wine so he’d opted out too—and watched her. The way her lips closed over the spoon, lightly glossed with oil. Her fingers, slender with short, unpolished nails.

He could almost feel those fingers drifting over him in pleasure, clutching at him in passion. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. In the silence he could almost hear his own blood rushing through his veins and making his jeans two sizes too tight.

Timing again.

The best he could do was to take her mind off her troubles and his mind off his libido. ‘What do you do when you’re feeling down, Ellie?’

‘I’m not down, just angry.’ She stabbed a cube of beef, shoved it in her mouth and chewed vigorously.

‘So what do you do when you’re angry?’

‘Run.’ A small smile lifted the edges of her mouth. ‘Not the running-away quitting kind of running, the simple mind-clearing act of pushing one’s self to the limit. That nervous energy I mentioned? I channel it. If there was a beach nearby that’s what I’d do. With the wind on my face and the sound of surf in my ears. I’d run until I couldn’t run another step, then I’d stand on a cliff and watch the waves roll in. And pray for a storm.’

He set his glass down, laid his hands on the table. ‘How about now?’

Ellie’s brow pleated. ‘It’s hardly beach weather.’

‘Does that stop you?’

‘Well, no…’