Chapter Four
Rio gave his Director of Communications a volley of instructions over the phone and then updated his lawyers.
Listening to Pietro’s dire predictions, he felt his stomach clench.
Whiter than white…
He should have anticipated this.
He should have known they’d do something to try and stop this deal going through. He’d been arrogant, allowing himself to relax and think that the whole thing was in the bag.
Sweat cooled his brow and he realised that his hand was shaking. Making a conscious effort to control his breathing, he hauled his emotions back and buried them deep. Emotions had no place in negotiation, he knew that. And this was the most complex, delicate negotiation he’d ever conducted.
‘Whatever it takes,’ he promised his lawyer. ‘You wanted wholesome—I’m giving you wholesome.’
When the delivery arrived at the Penthouse, he dismissed the staff member and took the boxes through to the bedroom himself. He then handed them to the girl without breaking off his conversation and without risking another look at her luxuriant red hair.
Why the hell had he kissed her?
He was well aware that his own libido had catapulted him into this situation. If he’d taken one look at her and left the room, the photographer wouldn’t have been able to get his shot.
As it was…
With a low growl, Rio focused his mind on the present.
Having hammered out the plan with his team in Rome, he was about to call his team in New York when he heard the bedroom door open.
The girl stood there, her eyes blazing with anger, her hair flowing like liquid fire down her back. ‘Excuse me! In case you’ve forgotten, this affects me, too. Do you intend to discuss any of this with me or are you just going to do your own thing?’
‘I don’t problem solve by committee.’ Congratulating himself on his brief to the stylist, Rio scanned the discreet, elegant dress with satisfaction. It was perfect. She managed to look wholesome and sexy at the same time. This could just work. ‘I’m busy sorting out our problem right now.’
‘No, Mr Zaccarelli, you’re sorting out your problem—I’m incidental.
You haven’t once asked what I want to do about this mess which, by the way, is ultimately the fault of you and your stupid, slimy hotel manager, who can’t keep his hands to himself.
’ She stalked across to him and shoved the redundant housekeeper uniform into his hands while Rio dissected that sentence into its relative parts.
‘What do you mean, he “can’t keep his hands to himself”?
Are you saying he touched you?’ Astonished by the sudden explosion of anger that was released by that unexpected revelation, Rio was suddenly glad he’d fired Carlos on the spot.
His voice cold, he probed for the details.
‘Did you report him for sexual harassment?’
‘No. I broke his finger.’
‘You broke his finger?’
‘My grandfather taught unarmed combat during the war. He taught me self-defence.’
Distracted by that unexpected confession, Rio looked at her in a new light. ‘I’ll remember that.’
‘You should. But, to repeat, you’re not solving our problem, Mr Zaccarelli, you’re solving your problem.’
‘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.
‘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.
‘You look perfect in that dress.’
‘I look like a politician or something.’ Keeping her back to him, she paced towards the window and Rio frowned.
‘Don’t go near the windows.’ His clipped command earned him a challenging glance.
‘Why? We’re too high up for anyone to see.’
‘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.’
‘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?’
‘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.
‘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.’
‘Lucky?’
Rio dismissed thoughts of the Russian ballerina. ‘It’s unusual for me not to be in a relationship.’
‘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.’
‘How do you know? They’re not going to tell you, are they? And I don’t suppose gold-diggers come with a warning hanging round their neck.’
‘I can spot a gold-digger in the dark from a thousand paces.’ He ignored the discordant image in his head that reminded him that on at least one occasion that statement had proven not to be true.
‘Good for you.’ Her slightly acidic tone matched her growing agitation.
She explored the room, picking things up and putting them down again.
First the vase on the table, then a notepad, then a remote control.
She squinted down at it and pressed a button mindlessly and a gas fire flared to life behind a glass panel in the wall.
Swearing under his breath, Rio crossed the room and turned her to face him. ‘I know you’re anxious that they’re going to print your photograph but, trust me, it will be fine providing people think we’re together. This is the best way of dealing with it.’
‘That’s just your opinion.’
Rio, who had never before had his opinion dismissed, ground his teeth. ‘If you have an alternative suggestion, then I’m listening.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re pretending to listen while secretly thinking that you’ll let me say my piece and then just do what you were planning to do all along, but it isn’t going to work. I won’t pretend to be engaged to you.’
Assuming that her reluctance was rooted in her insecurity, Rio sought to reassure her. ‘By the time we’ve done something about your wardrobe, your nails and your hair, it will be easy to convince people that we are involved with each other.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ She put the remote control down slowly and carefully, as if it were a potential murder weapon.
‘You’ll look fine, Evie, once I’ve turned you into something decent.
Is that what you’re saying?’ Her tightly worded question triggered all the alarms in Rio’s internal warning system.
‘If this is going to be one of those, Does my bottom look big in this? conversations, then don’t go there,’ he warned, his tone thickened with frustration.
The clock was ticking and her resistance was an obstacle he hadn’t anticipated.
Not for one moment had it entered his head that she’d be anything other than compliant.
‘If you hadn’t been lying naked on my bed, I would not have been tempted to kiss you,’ Rio exploded with the tension that had been building since the photographer had chosen to elbow his way into his life.
‘If you had worn clothes or at least slept under the covers—’
‘If you had shown some self-control—’
Rio breathed deeply because that was a charge from which it was almost impossible to defend himself and that particular aspect of this whole seedy situation disturbed him far more than he was prepared to admit.
He was always extremely careful with his liaisons and he never indulged in one-night stands.
And yet where had his self-control been a few hours ago when he’d seen her lying on his bed?
Not for the first time, he wondered what would have happened had the photographer paused before taking his photograph.
How much more revealing and incriminating would a later picture have been?