Free The Twelve Nights of Christmas by Sarah Morgan Page B

taught me self-defence.’
    Distracted by that unexpected confession, Rio looked at her in a new light. ‘I’ll remember that.’
    â€˜You should. But, to repeat, you’re not solving our problem, Mr Zaccarelli, you’re solving your problem.’
    â€˜Call me Rio. I think we moved on to the first name stage about an hour ago. And, if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have a problem.’ His observation appeared to act as fuel to her already happily burning temper.
    â€˜If creepy Carlos hadn’t used me, then he would have used someone else and frankly I wish he had because then I wouldn’t be in this mess.’ She paced the room, trying to work off her stress.
    Watching all that fabulous hair ripple down her back, Rio fought the urge to flatten her against the nearest hard surface and conduct in-depth research into the impact of extremely long legs on the enhancement of sexual pleasure.
    He had no idea what her true role had been in what he now recognised as a final desperate attempt to stop this deal going through. Maybe she was innocent. Maybe she wasn’t. Either way, she was the means by which he was going to extract himself from the catastrophic mess he now found himself in.
    The upside of his plan was that he didn’t need to struggle to keep his hands off her. In fact, the more hands the better.
    He was slightly puzzled by her lack of confidence. Accustomed to women so narcissistic that they used every reflective surface to admire themselves, it came as a shock to discover one who didn’t seem to spend her time in endless self-admiration. When she’d confessed that men found her too tall it had been on the tip of his tongue to point out that height was irrelevant when you were horizontal, but he’d managed not to voice that thought aloud. Rio wondered whether it would count as a charitable act to demonstrate just how well those endless legs of hers would wrap around his waist.
    â€˜You look perfect in that dress.’
    â€˜I look like a politician or something.’ Keeping her back to him, she paced towards the window and Rio frowned.
    â€˜Don’t go near the windows.’ His clipped command earned him a challenging glance.
    â€˜Why? We’re too high up for anyone to see.’
    â€˜In today’s world of long lenses?’ Watching her lose more colour from her face, he let the observation hang in the air. ‘The next photograph they take of us will be when I’m ready and not before.’
    â€˜I don’t want any more photographs taken!’ But she moved away from the window, fiddling nervously with the fabric of her dress as she paced in the other direction. ‘Look—this whole engagement thing is ridiculous. Can’t you just stop that photo being printed?’
    â€˜No.’ Rio recoiled from the sheen of tears he saw in her eyes. ‘But I can stop it looking like a sleazy one-night stand. We’re going to make people believe we’re in a relationship—serious about each other.’ Looking at her now, those high heels elongating her spectacular legs, he was even starting to believe it could work. No red-blooded male would question his interest.
    â€˜It’s a really s-stupid plan.’
    Rio, who had been congratulating himself on a truly genius idea, was insulted. ‘It’s an incredible plan.’ His tone cooled. ‘You’re lucky I’m not currently involved with anyone.’
    â€˜Lucky?’
    Rio dismissed thoughts of the Russian ballerina. ‘It’s unusual for me not to be in a relationship.’
    â€˜Well, I suppose that’s one of the advantages of being filthy rich. Where there’s money, there will always be women.’
    Taken aback by that diminution of his qualities, Rio breathed deeply. ‘Women are generally interested in more than my wallet.’
    â€˜How do you know? They’re not going to tell you, arethey? And I don’t