The Twelve Nights of Christmas (14 page)

‘Breathe—' His voice was husky and he lowered his mouth to hers. ‘Breathe,
tesoro
.'

‘Can't—' Her body was on fire and he gently brushed her mouth with his, tracing her lower lip with his tongue as he eased deeper.

She felt an agonizing flash of pain, immediately followed by excitement as he moved against sensitive flesh and she dug her nails hard into his back, feeling the tension shimmering in his powerful frame.

He was holding back.
Holding back for her.

Her heart was pounding, her cheeks were flushed and her blood raced with every agonizingly slow stroke. Pleasure streaked through her and she cried out his name, telling him how much she wanted him, how much she needed him and he answered with his body, driving into her with controlled force, attacking her senses with a savage sensuality.

The storm inside was fierce and furious, raging through her like a wild beast, ready to burn up everything it touched. What they shared was primitive and elemental and she knew deep down in the very fibre of her being that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

She felt his fingers dig hard into the soft flesh of her thigh
and then faster, harder, he built the rhythm until there was nothing in her head but a thundering roar, until everything inside and around her shattered into a million tiny fragments and she fell, spinning and tumbling, into a different world.

 

When she woke, she was alone in the bed. At some point during the early hours he'd transferred her to the bedroom, tucking her under the soft duvet. She had a vague recollection of pleading with him to join her and an equally vague recollection that his response to her request had been to pull away and return to the living room, making good on his earlier warning that their intimacies would be physical, not emotional. He'd returned to his laptop—to his own silent world. A world that didn't include Christmas or people.

A world that didn't include her.

Dizzy with lack of sleep, her body aching in unusual places, Evie slid out of the bed, blushing as she realised her nightdress was probably still lying in pieces on the floor of the living room.

So this was how it felt to sleep with a man you weren't in love with.

Padding across the thickly carpeted floor, she gazed in the mirror at herself, trying to see the differences. Same blue eyes. Same freckles. Same crazy morning hair.

She looked the same. Outwardly, nothing had changed. Maybe she could live a life that included sex without happy endings. Other women did it all the time. Maybe she could too.

Hearing his voice from the living room, Evie quickly pulled on a robe and followed the sound. He was on the phone, talking to someone in a time zone more alive than theirs. He'd made love to her for most of the night, but that hadn't stopped him working. Nothing stopped him working. But now she was wondering whether work was a refuge rather
than a goal. A place to escape rather than a strategy for global domination.

The first thing she saw when she entered the room were newspapers stacked on the low table between the sofas.

Her stomach lurched and she felt sick with apprehension.

This was it. This was the moment she'd been dreading. This was the reason for the charade.

Had they printed that horribly revealing photograph?

Was that why he was on the telephone?

Hardly daring to look, she sank onto the sofa and stared at the newspaper on top of the pile, forcing herself to breathe slowly. It was one of the tabloids. If anyone had printed the picture of her naked, surely it would be them. Her hand shaking, she reached out and lifted it onto her lap. The headlines blurred and suddenly she didn't want to look, as if postponing the moment could alter the outcome. ‘
Calma, tesoro
. It's all right.' His voice was deep and firm. ‘They printed a lovely picture of you with your arms around my neck. The caption is “Tycoon tumbles” or something equally unimaginative. I expect your grandfather will be satisfied with it.'

What did he mean by that? ‘So you were right.' Even though he'd reassured her, her fingers were damp with sweat as she forced herself to turn the pages. ‘Because we gave them another photo opportunity and a bigger story, they used that instead. Thank you.' The relief was almost painful. ‘Thank you so much.' Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him. ‘I don't know what I would have done if they'd used that photograph. I'm so grateful to you.'

A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘You have no reason to be grateful to me, Evie.'

‘Yes, I have. It was your idea to give them a better story. I would have tried to pay them off and that never would have
worked because I suppose they would have just kept coming back for more money.'

He drew his hand over the back of his neck and she saw the muscles in his forearm flex, revealing a tension she didn't understand. ‘Evie—'

‘You don't have to say anything,' she said hastily. ‘I do realise that this is just one day and that they could use that photograph tomorrow, but I'm not going to think about that now. We'll take it a day at a time. Maybe we can make sure they take another photograph of us tonight. Keep giving them something else to print. I promise not to dance on the table again, no matter how Christmassy I feel. What are our plans?'

He didn't answer immediately and she turned her attention back to the newspaper, turning the pages until she found the photograph. ‘It's big. I had no idea they'd be that interested.' And she saw instantly why he'd made that comment about her grandfather liking the photograph. She was in Rio's arms, smiling up at him, looking completely smitten. No one looking at that picture would have questioned the authenticity of their relationship. A strange feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. Was that really the way she'd looked at him? Had he noticed? ‘We look good. They were obviously convinced.'

‘Champagne certainly brings out an interesting side to you,' he drawled softly and she glanced up to find his eyes on her face.

‘I really wasn't drunk.'

‘But you were a virgin.'

Fire rose in her cheeks and she sat in silence for a moment, trying to find the right response. ‘So what?'

‘Why didn't you tell me?'

Was that the reason for his tension? Was it simply the fact that she was so much less experienced than him? ‘Well, it isn't exactly something that comes up in conversation,' she said lightly, ‘and I don't see that it matters. You wanted someone
wholesome. If the press choose to dig around in my past they won't find anything. Isn't that what you wanted?' She kept noticing small things about him—like the bold curve of his eyebrows and the cluster of dark hairs revealed by the open neck of his shirt. Knowing what she knew now, she could easily picture the rest of his body—his chest shadowed with the same dark hair, concealing well defined muscle and breathtaking power. Knowing what she knew, everything was different. More sharply defined, more acutely felt.

The unspoken sexual component to their relationship had been there from the first moment they'd met but it had been enhanced a thousand times by the intimacies they'd shared in the flickering glow of firelight.

‘You told me you were engaged.'

‘I was.'

‘But you didn't have a physical relationship?' His tone was incredulous.

‘If you saw the house where I grew up, you wouldn't find it so surprising.' Evie pushed her hair away from her face with a hand that wasn't quite steady. ‘I was all set to go to university, but after my grandmother died I couldn't bear to leave my grandfather on his own. I got a job in the village and went to night school to study languages. Jeff and I started dating because we were the only two people under fifty in the village. There was no way I was going to have sex in Grandpa's house. Even if it had been possible, it wouldn't have felt right.'

‘Presumably, you didn't conduct your entire relationship with your grandfather looking on. There must have been
some
moments when you were alone.'

‘Yes, I suppose there were—' Evie hesitated. ‘But neither of us…we didn't really… Honestly, I think we were just friends. We should never have been anything else but I think we were swept along by the expectations of everyone around us.'

‘Friends?' His dark brows locked in a puzzled frown and she smiled, thinking how much she'd learned about him in such a short time.

‘I bet you've never been friends with a woman in your life, have you?'

‘If by “friends” you mean no sex, then the answer is no. So you were engaged, but you never had sex.'

‘I don't think either of us was in any hurry.'

‘You were in a hurry last night,' he said silkily. ‘Or was the champagne to blame for your sudden transformation from virgin to vamp?'

She sucked in a breath, mortified at his blatant reminder of her own desperation. ‘No,' she said softly. ‘It was you.'

‘Let's test that theory, shall we?' He drew her to her feet and a thrill of expectation shot through her.

‘Now?'

‘Was it the champagne, Evie?' He murmured the words against her mouth and her eyes closed, her heart racing crazily as she rose on her toes and slid her arms around his neck. He slid his hands down her back and pressed her into him, his kiss tasting of hunger and passion.

Evie opened her mouth under his, matching his erotic demands with her own. Dimly, she registered that she shouldn't be feeling this way. They'd made love for most of the night and yet the fierce hunger inside her was as acute as if they hadn't ever touched. She was greedy for more of what they'd shared.

Rio pushed the robe down her arms with confident hands and the silky fabric slid over her hips and pooled on the floor, leaving her naked.

‘It's daylight—' Evie could feel her face burning and he gave a slow smile as he tightened his hands on her shoulders and moved her away from him slightly.

‘I know.'

‘Stop staring at me,' she muttered. ‘You've been with so many seriously beautiful women—'

‘And none have excited me the way you do,' he said huskily, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom. ‘You have the most incredible body.'

‘You only think that because you're tall—and strong, which is why you can carry me without putting your back out—'

‘You are extremely slender—' he lowered her onto the mattress ‘—most of your weight is your breasts and your astonishingly long legs and I have no complaints about either so you have no reason to be shy.' He stripped off his shirt and came down beside her in a fluid movement. ‘I've never been with a woman as inexperienced as you—'

‘I think I prefer the word “wholesome”.' Her confidence faltered. ‘Is it a problem?'

‘No. It's a complete turn-on. But I'm probably going to shock you.' His dark eyes held hers for a moment and then he gently brushed away a strand of hair from her forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘I'm going to teach you everything you don't know,
tesoro
.'

The brief flicker of trepidation was swiftly transformed into breathless excitement as he kissed his way across her jaw and down her body to her exposed breasts. When he fastened his mouth over one straining peak the pleasure shafted through her and when his skilled fingers toyed with the other the torment rose to screaming pitch.

By the time he eventually pushed her thighs apart she was writhing against the sheets, the excitement ripping through her body like a vicious storm.

With no concession to the bright rays of sun spotlighting the room, Rio parted her with gentle fingers, placed his mouth against her and proceeded to subject her to the most extreme degree of erotic torture. With infinite skill, he explored her with tongue and fingers until Evie was on fire, her whole
body burning in the flames he'd created. Tortured by the heat, she tried to move her hips to relieve the unbearable ache but he pinned her flat with his free hand, channelling the whole erotic experience into that one molten part of her until there was nothing in her world but him and the feelings he created.

Overwhelmed, she writhed and sobbed. ‘Please—oh—how can you do those things at the same time—?'

He gave a husky laugh. ‘I told you I was good at multi-tasking—'

Out of her mind with desire, Evie barely registered the fact that he was now above her before he sank into her with a single possessive thrust that filled her completely. The force and power of him stretched her sensitive flesh and she immediately shot into a climax so intense, so exquisitely agonizing, that her nails dug hard into the sleek muscle of his shoulder as her body convulsed around his.

He captured her mouth, kissing her with erotic intent as he slowly built the rhythm again, driving them both back towards that same peak. And this time, when she tumbled, she took him with her and he kept his mouth on hers, sharing every cry and every gasp, their bodies locked together in a shimmering heat created by the intensity of their own passion.

‘Y
OU'RE
insatiable. It's been more than a week—you should be bored with me by now.' Laughing, Evie rolled onto her stomach and leaned on Rio's chest. ‘Aren't you ever tired?'

He watched her from beneath lowered lids, his gaze slumberous and unmistakably sexual. ‘No. I find sex with you incredibly energizing.'

‘So that's how you manage to work such long hours—'

‘You should be grateful for that,' he said huskily. ‘Otherwise, you wouldn't be getting any sleep at all,
tesoro
.'

‘It's only two days until Christmas. You shouldn't be working.' Sometimes, when she woke in the dark, she discovered that he wasn't in bed with her. On one occasion she'd tiptoed sleepily from the bed to find him and discovered him working on the laptop, his gaze fixed intently on the ghostly green glow of the screen.

‘I don't need much sleep. I had a few hours.' He slid his hand into her hair, pulled her head down and kissed her. ‘Ready for breakfast?'

Evie felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. Breakfast and mornings meant one thing to her. ‘Have the newspapers arrived yet?'

He frowned. ‘I have no idea and I don't care.'

‘
I
care—I keep thinking about that stupid, horrid photo
graph.' The mood punctured, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

‘Forget it.' Rio shifted over her in a smooth movement, his weight pressing her into the mattress. ‘Yesterday they took photographs of you in the front row of the charity fashion show—they'll use one of those. Not one of you naked.'

‘But you don't know that for sure—' She felt the sudden tension emanating from his powerful frame.

‘I do. You need to trust me.'

Reasoning that he knew a great deal more about the media than she did, Evie forced herself to relax. ‘OK. I trust you. But you
do
care, you know you do. That's why we're doing all this. You're worried about your deal going through. Is that still all right? I mean—' Suddenly she felt awkward asking. He didn't talk about stuff, did he? ‘I know you don't talk about it but you're always on the phone and I can tell you're stressed about it.'

‘I'm not stressed.' Only moments before he'd been relaxed. Now he was frighteningly detached, his handsome face an expressionless mask. ‘And everything is fine.'

She shouldn't have asked.
‘Good. Whatever it is must be worth a lot for you to care about it so much.'

‘Yes. It's worth a lot.' Without warning, he sprang from the bed and prowled towards the bathroom. ‘I'm going to take a shower. Order yourself some breakfast.'

His casual dismissal chilled her and Evie pulled the duvet over her naked body, feeling vulnerable and exposed. One minute they were incredibly close—the next, he shut her out.

Listening to the sound of the shower, she wondered what it was about this particular deal that was so important to him. She wished again she'd never raised the subject. Why was he so touchy? Was he worrying about it, or was it just that he didn't like talking about it?

She used the second bathroom to shower and change and was relieved when he joined her for breakfast.

Watching him cautiously, gauging his mood, Evie helped herself to a bowl of fruit. ‘I checked the papers. You were right—they printed the photo from the fashion show.'

He poured himself a coffee. ‘And what was the headline?'

Evie blushed. ‘Something stupid.' She wondered if he minded the media preoccupation with his love life but Rio simply smiled.

‘The world appears to be revelling in my rapid and extremely public conversion from never to forever. We're obviously very convincing,
tesoro
.'

Captivated by that smile, Evie felt her breath catch and her heart gave a dangerous lurch. They were so convincing that she was starting to believe it herself. If it weren't for his occasional moments of icy detachment, it would have been frighteningly easy to forget that this wasn't real.
That some day soon he was going to expect her to dump him.

Reminding herself to live in the moment, she ate a spoonful of fruit. ‘We'd better make sure we give them something even more interesting to photograph today then. What are we doing tonight?'

‘We have been invited by the Russians to watch a performance of the Bolshoi Ballet at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden.'

‘Wow.' Evie licked her spoon. ‘I've never been to the ballet. That's really exciting!'

‘Is it? I confess that men in tights don't excite me one little bit.' Rio rose to his feet as his phone rang. ‘But, given that you're their new best friend and you speak fluent Russian, I'm sure we can make some use of the evening. Excuse me—I need to take this.'

‘Of course.' Basking in the heady knowledge that she was useful to him, Evie felt a rush of pleasure that lasted through
the day and the evening. She adored the ballet, was in awe of the elegant grandeur of the world famous Opera House and enjoyed acting as interpreter.

Vladimir was as charming to her as ever, but it was Rio who drew her attention. Cocooned in the private box, under the protection of darkness, she found herself looking at him every other second, her eyes drawn to the perfect symmetry of his arrogant features, fatally fascinated by the breathtaking power and masculinity stamped in every angle of his body.

Once, he caught her looking and raised an eyebrow in silent question. Evie simply smiled, relieved to be able to hide her fascination behind the charade of their ‘relationship'. That was what she was supposed to do, wasn't it? She was supposed to look.

Again, the photographers were out in force, stealing photographs at every opportunity, but Evie felt nothing but relief because she knew by now that, providing they managed to get an interesting shot, they were unlikely to use the one she dreaded appearing.

They went from the ballet to another ball and this time Rio needed no persuasion to dance with her. His hand was warm on her bare back as they moved together, the rhythm of their bodies perfectly in tune after so many hours spent locked in intimacy.

‘You're not singing tonight?' He murmured the words against her lips and Evie reminded herself that it was essential to breathe or she'd fall over. But, when he held her like this, she felt as though everything inside her was suspended.

No wonder no woman had ever dumped him.

He was so insanely gorgeous, who in their right mind would not want to be with him?

‘No singing. They've already had that picture.' Her arms were locked around his neck and she could feel the heat of his body against hers. ‘Grandpa liked it, by the way—he said
it reminded him of last year when I did the same thing at the village hall.'

‘You danced on the table?'

‘No—fortunately, they didn't have champagne.' She smiled up at him. ‘I'd love to do something really Christmassy. Can we go ice skating? I really envied those people skating when we were at the ball. Or maybe we could go and sing Christmas carols. I noticed an invitation for a celebrity carol concert at St Paul's Cathedral—are we going to that? I know you see Christmas as nothing more than an interruption in your working day, but I love this time of year.'

He didn't answer. At first, she thought he hadn't heard her question and Evie was about to open her mouth and ask again when she saw his eyes. It was like staring into a dark pool, knowing that beneath the still, glassy surface lay nothing but danger.

She shivered.

They'd stopped dancing. Stopped moving. Among the streamers and balloons, the people laughing, dancing and singing, they alone stood still, locked in the small private bubble they'd formed for themselves. Evie felt frozen and she thought absently that there was no reason to be cold when the room was so warm, but then she realised that the chill came from him. His skin was cold to touch, his eyes reflecting not celebration but an acute and bitter pain.

‘Rio?' She spoke his name softly. She had no idea what was wrong, but she wanted to help and not just because of what they'd shared. She would have felt the same way about anyone who was suffering as much as he clearly was. ‘Are you—' She broke off, frustrated with herself. What was she planning to say?
Are you all right?
Well, obviously, the answer to that was a resounding
no,
but he was hardly likely to tell her that, was he? He was the most fiercely private man she'd ever met.

And yet they must be conspicuous, standing there locked
together but not moving, like some elaborate sculpture of lovers.

Evie placed her hand on his cheek, alarmed by how cold he was. ‘Shall we go?'

Finally, he seemed to hear her and he stared down at her blankly, as if he'd forgotten she was there. ‘Yes,' he said at last. ‘I think that would be a good idea.'

Aware that their behaviour was starting to draw curious glances, Evie stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the mouth.
Tomorrow's photograph,
she thought as a camera flashed and a woman sighed with envy.

It was snowing again outside and Evie sat quietly in the limousine as it moved silently through the white streets. Normally snow soothed her, but tonight nothing could ease the tension in the car.

She wanted to know what was going on in his head, but she also knew that he wouldn't want to tell her.

After a moment's hesitation, she reached across and took his hand in hers, oddly pleased when he didn't immediately withdraw his.

Once, during the silent journey, she sneaked a glance at his taut profile but he stared sightlessly into the winter night, apparently oblivious to everything except his own thoughts.

After a silent ride in the elevator, they stepped into the Penthouse and immediately the phone calls started.

So that was it?

Whatever menace lurked beneath the surface had apparently been ruthlessly repressed once more.

Evie stood awkwardly, hovering, while he took one phone call and then another before eventually deciding that she might as well go to bed and wait for him there. She had no expectation that he'd join her this time, but he did—at three in the morning, long after she'd ended her silent vigil.

This time there was no gentle seduction, no talking—just wild, out of control sex that blew her mind.

It was only afterwards, when his side of the bed had long grown cold, that she wondered what he'd been trying to escape. Because he had been trying to escape, of that she was sure. The raw, ruthless passion they'd shared hadn't been energizing sex, it had been oblivion sex.

She had to talk to him.

No one who felt that bad should suffer alone.

Feeling distinctly strange, Evie moved quietly into the living room. How did you approach a man you had wild, crazy sex with but no relationship? What were you supposed to say? Technically, were they friends now?

He had his back to her and he was talking in a low voice, his long fingers toying with a sleek, expensive pen.

She was so busy working out what she was going to say when he finished on the phone that it was a moment or two before she actually paid attention to his conversation.

It was his tone that made her listen. The hardness was tempered by something she hadn't heard in his voice before. There was no hint of the ruthless businessman, or the primitive lover. He was infinitely gentle and it was obvious that the person on the other end of the phone meant a lot to him.

More than a lot.

‘Sì tesoro—ti amo.'
Evie froze.
Ti amo.
She didn't speak much Italian but she knew that meant
I love you.
Unable to help herself, she listened to the rest of the conversation and picked up a few more words. This man, who claimed not to believe in happy endings, was telling someone that he loved her. That he hoped to see her soon.

The scent of him still clung to her skin, as did hers to him, no doubt, and yet he was already making plans to see another woman.

Her skin felt icy-cold.

She'd slept with another woman's man.

Was this the secret that simmered beneath the surface? Was this the reason for his pain?

Nausea rose in her stomach and her legs felt as though they'd been turned to water.

She'd had sex with a man who was deeply involved with someone else.

Angry with him but even more angry with herself, Evie was about to move when he turned his head and saw her.

‘Evie?' His voice was deep and male, surprisingly normal after the emotional tightrope they'd walked the previous night. ‘You're awake early. I didn't see you there.'

‘Don't worry about it.' She stood stiff, shivering slightly, feeling slightly detached from her surroundings. ‘I'm going to get dressed. Then I'm going.'

He frowned. ‘Going where?'

‘I don't know.' Her shocked mind was paralysed. It refused to provide her with the words and the thoughts she needed to move forward. ‘Anywhere but here.'

His eyes hardened. ‘We made a deal. It would be catastrophic if you left now. I need you to stay.'

‘Why? What's the point of this charade when you're already involved with someone else?' Emotion thickened her voice and she hated herself for not being the cool, rational person she wanted to be. She wanted to be sophisticated enough to thank him for a perfect no-strings-attached relationship and walk away. Instead, she wanted to claw his flawless features and thump him. She wanted him to hurt the way she was hurting. ‘Does she know? Does she know about me?'

A muscle flickered in his cheek and he put his pen down, the movement slow and deliberate. ‘You were listening to my phone call.'

‘Not intentionally. And if you're expecting me to apologise for eavesdropping on a private conversation then forget it. There are some things that shouldn't be private.'