The Twelve Nights of Christmas (12 page)

And he hadn't answered her question.

Wondering once again what it was about this particular deal that was so important, Evie followed his gaze and gasped. ‘We're at the Natural History Museum.' The famous building was illuminated against the winter night and thousands of tiny sparkling lights had been threaded through the branches of the trees. In front of the building was an ice
rink and the whole place had been transformed into a winter paradise. ‘I had no idea they held events here.'

‘This is a very prestigious fund-raiser.'

‘Can we ice skate?'

‘Absolutely not.'

‘But it's snowing.' Evie leaned forward, captivated by the atmosphere. ‘It would be magical. Do you think we'll have a white Christmas?'

‘I couldn't care less. Do you want an umbrella?'

‘You don't like snow? Seriously?'

‘It's useful when I'm skiing. The rest of the time it's an inconvenience.'

‘When did you last make a snowman or throw a snowball?'

Rio frowned. ‘We need to get out of the car, Evie.'

Evie didn't budge. ‘You don't write to Santa, you hate decorations, you don't like snow, you won't ice skate—there must be
something
you like about Christmas. Turkey? Meeting up with friends? What's the best thing about Christmas for you?'

The door was opened by his security chief and a blast of cold air entered the car.

Rio stared at her for a long moment, his face unsmiling. ‘The best thing about Christmas for me is when it's over,' he gritted. ‘Now, get out of the car and smile.'

 

‘So the rumours are true, Rio? You're engaged? You do realise you've just ruined every single woman's Christmas, and half the married ones, too?' Tabitha Fenton-Coyle stroked her long red fingernails over his sleeve. ‘Tell me what it is about her that induced a hardened cynic like yourself into marriage.'

‘You need to ask?'

‘Well, she's pretty, of course, in a slightly unsophisticated way that a man might find appealing—' There was a flinty
glint in Tabitha's eyes and Rio turned his head and noticed Evie laughing uninhibitedly with the two Russian billionaires, both known for their arrogant refusal to speak English at social events. They were taciturn, remote and notoriously unapproachable and yet both appeared to be listening to Evie with rapt attention.

How was she making herself understood?

From across the table, Rio tried to hear what she was saying. She was chatting non-stop, her hands moving as she illustrated her point. Occasionally she paused to sip champagne or listen to their response.

‘Clever of you to find a woman who speaks Russian,' Tabitha said, ‘given your business interests in that country. Is that how you met? Is she an interpreter or something?'

Evie spoke Russian?

Unable to hear her above the noise from the surrounding tables, Rio focused his gaze on her lips and realised that she was indeed speaking Russian.

His hostess was watching him. ‘You didn't know, did you? Well, if she can persuade them to open their wallets when the charity auction begins, then she'll certainly get my vote.'

Where had Evie learned to speak Russian?

Why hadn't she mentioned it when he'd told her that Vladimir didn't speak good English and that she wouldn't be able to communicate without an interpreter? And then he remembered her responding that she wouldn't need an interpreter. At the time he'd assumed she'd meant that she'd be using sign language and lots of smiles—not once had it occurred to him that she spoke fluent Russian.

Coffee was served as the auction began and there was a sudden flurry of movement as people swapped seats.

Her cheeks pink with excitement, Evie swayed to her feet and found her way to the seat next to him. ‘I'm having
such
a nice time. Those men are so sweet. You should have mentioned how funny they were.'

Rio tightened his grip on the glass. ‘Just as you should possibly have mentioned the fact that you're fluent in Russian.'

‘You were being arrogant and I thought it would be more fun to just surprise you. I thought it might teach you not to underestimate people.' Craning her neck, she looked over his shoulder towards the stage and the dance floor. ‘What's happening now?'

Rio fingered the stem of his glass. ‘I do
not
underestimate people.'

‘Yes, you do. But you probably can't help it,' she said kindly. ‘Is there going to be dancing?'

‘It's the auction first. The bidding will raise money for the charity.' Rio was still watching her. ‘Do you speak any other languages?'

‘French, Spanish and Mandarin. So am I allowed to bid for something?'

‘You speak
four
languages?'

‘Five, if you count English. How much am I allowed to bid?'

‘You don't speak Italian?'

‘No.' She helped herself to a chocolate from the plate. ‘That CD was always out of the library whenever I looked.'

Rio shot her an incredulous look. ‘You taught yourself all those languages?'

‘I'm good at languages. I taught myself the basics and then there was a teacher at school who helped me and I had a friend who spoke Mandarin and Russian.' She was looking across the room. ‘Don't look now but there's a huge Christmas tree next to the stage—you'd better close your eyes or it will probably give you a nervous breakdown. I'm surprised you didn't phone ahead and ask them to remove it.'

Still absorbing the fact that she spoke five languages, Rio dragged his gaze to the stage and saw the Christmas tree. She was right; it was huge—a massive symbol of the unspeakable horrors of his childhood. There was a rushing sound in his
ears and suddenly the voices around him seemed far away. Instead of staring at glittering baubles, he was staring into a deep, dark black hole. Memories formed pictures in his brain, taking on shapes he didn't want to see, like a gruesome kaleidoscope. That hideous morning. The discovery he'd made. The shock. And the emptiness.

Suddenly every sparkle in the room seemed to intensify the dark feelings swirling in his brain. Every silver star and rope of tinsel was a silent mockery.

Promising himself that they'd leave as soon as the auction was over, Rio sat still, ruthlessly wrestling his feelings back under control.

From inside a fog of unwelcome memories, he was dimly aware of Evie leaning across the table, coaxing the Russians into bidding enormous sums of money in the charity auction. Even Tabitha was looking impressed as Evie switched between Russian and English, extracting more money from the billionaires than they'd sucked oil from the Caspian Sea.

If the circumstances had been different, Rio would have laughed. As it was, he just wanted to leave.

They'd been seen together. The ring had been photographed. Rumours were spreading.

It was done.

Rio watched with a frown as Tabitha made sure that Evie's glass was kept topped up. She was drinking the champagne as if it were soda, and he realised that if he didn't remove her from this table quickly she was going to be drunk.

As the auction ended and a band started warming up on the stage, Rio drained his glass and turned to Evie. ‘We're leaving.'

‘No way! Not this time. I missed almost all of the film—I'm not missing the rest of the ball. The dancing hasn't started yet.' She started to sway in her seat in time to the music while Tabitha looked on with a mixture of condescension and amusement.

‘If you can persuade Rio to dance with you, then I'm willing to believe he's in love. I've never known him to dance. If I didn't know better, I'd think he didn't have rhythm.' She gave Rio a knowing look and he saw Evie's happy smile falter as she digested the meaning behind those words.

Rio cursed silently.

She might be tipsy, but she wasn't so under the influence that she didn't recognise a barb when it was poked into her flesh.

Removing the champagne glass from her hand, he dragged her to her feet. ‘You're right—we'll dance.' Without giving himself time to think about it, he led her onto the dance floor and slid his arm around her waist. ‘Smile.'

‘What is there to smile about? She's flaunting the fact she's had sex with you. She's
vile
. And you have no taste. No wonder you've never wanted to settle down with anyone if she's the sort of person you've been seeing.'

‘I have
not
had sex with her,' Rio breathed, bending his head so that he spoke the words in her ear and couldn't be overheard. Immediately, her perfume wound itself round his senses. ‘She was trying to cause trouble. Trying to hurt you. Don't let her. You're just over-emotional because you've had too much champagne. Now smile, because the whole purpose of tonight is to convince people our relationship is real.'

‘Well, if this relationship were real, I would have punched her. And I'm not over-emotional, I'm justifiably emotional. That woman is a man-eater. She ought to be fenced in on a game reserve. Do you know that she's on her
fourth
husband? Evgeni and Vladimir told me that she only marries them for their money.'

Rio's tension levels rocketed up several more notches. ‘You're on first name terms with the Russians?'

‘I sat with them all evening, what did you expect? When I saw that awful Tabitha woman had separated us I almost
had a heart attack. She put me there thinking I'd struggle, didn't she? She was trying to be unkind.'

Rio gave a faint smile. ‘I think you won that round.'

‘They told me that she takes men to the cleaners and lives off the settlement.'

‘It's a popular career choice in certain circles.'

‘Well, I think it's awful. No amount of money would make up for being married to someone I didn't love.' Evie slid her arms around his neck, her eyes slightly bleary. ‘I mean, actually, when you think about it, that's not so far from prostitution, is it?'

Conscious of the shocked glances from those nearest to them, Rio smiled. ‘Absolutely right,' he purred, vastly entertained by how outspoken she became when she'd had a few glasses of champagne. ‘You might want to lower your voice before you cast any more aspersions on the character and profession of our illustrious hostess.'

Evie gulped. ‘Oops. Do you think they heard me?'

‘Definitely. They're doubtless all now engrossed in a fascinating debate as to whether our hostess is a prostitute or not.'

Evie leaned her forehead against his chest. ‘Sorry. I may have drunk just a little bit too much champagne—I've never had it before and it's
delicious
.'

‘You've never had champagne before?'

‘Never. Last year, Grandpa and I treated ourselves to a bottle of Prosecco but it wasn't the same.'

Rio winced. ‘No. It definitely isn't the same. Prosecco is excellent in a Bellini but it's not champagne.' He lifted his hand and removed a strand of fiery red hair that had somehow managed to tangle itself around his bow tie. ‘I think I'd better take you home.'

‘I don't want to go home. I want to dance. Anyway, I like it here and we're supposed to be seen.' Still clinging to him tightly, she swayed in time to the music and then looked up
with a smile as everyone started singing
The Twelve Days of Christmas
.

‘Oh, I
love
this. This used to be my party piece at school. I do all the actions. Wait till you see my Seven swans a-swimming—'

Rio inhaled deeply. ‘Evie—' But she was already lifting her hands like a conductor, waving her arms and singing at the top of her voice along with everyone else.

‘—partridge in a pear tree—'

‘I'm taking you home.'

‘No.' She dug her heels in like a stubborn horse. ‘I'm not going anywhere. I've never been to a party as amazing as this one. I don't want it to end.'

Rio gritted his teeth. ‘We have two more to attend tomorrow. And this time I won't make the mistake of giving you champagne beforehand.'

‘I don't care about tomorrow. I want to live for today. I like
this
party.' She slid her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, her breath warm against his neck. ‘Please, Rio, dance with me. You know you want to.'

He locked his fingers around her wrists, intending to remove her arms, but then she smiled up at him and he found himself so captivated by that smile that instead of removing her arms, he slid his hands down her warm skin. Her back was bare, her skin warm and smooth and tempting and raw lust shot through him. Without thinking about what he was doing, Rio lowered his mouth towards hers.

‘Four calling birds, three French hens—'

Rio froze as she started to sing again. ‘Evie—'

‘Two turtle doves, and a—'

‘Evie!' Rio felt tension prickle down his spine.

‘I like singing. If you want me to stop singing, you're going to have to gag me.'

‘Good idea.' Rio closed the distance and captured her mouth with his. The chemistry was instantaneous and
explosive. Because he had his hand on her bare back he could feel the tremors that shook her and he welded her closer to him, ignoring the curious looks of those around him.

After two of the most intoxicating, arousing, exciting minutes of his life, he lifted his head fractionally and tried to regain his balance. The kiss had done nothing except make him crave more. He wanted to touch and taste—he wanted to bury his face in her hair and feast on her body.

Around them, everyone was still singing but this time Evie wasn't joining in.

‘When you kiss me, I don't ever want it to stop,' she murmured, her eyes slightly glazed. ‘It feels incredible. Are you as good at everything else? If so, then it's no wonder every woman in the room is looking at me as if they hate me. They think we're having mad, crazy sex all the time. I wish. Maybe we should. It seems a shame to disappoint everyone.'