A Silverhill Christmas. Carol Ericson

sight? He swept you off your feet beneath a full Glazkova moon?” Rio’s jaw tightened. For some reason that scenario left a bitter taste in his mouth.

      Tori gave a short laugh and dragged a fry through a puddle of ketchup on her plate. “Not exactly.”

      “A slow courtship? He wined and dined you. Introduced you to the beauty of his country, the magnitude of his wealth and power?”

      She compressed her lips and smashed the fry on her plate. “Not. Exactly.”

      The blood pumped in Rio’s veins, fast and hot. Had the SOB coerced her in some way? He knew it. No chance a classy woman like Tori would fall for scum like Alexi.

      Rio reached for her hand, entwining his sticky fingers with hers. “What happened, Tori? How’d you become Princess Victoria of Glazkova?”

      For the second time that night, someone knocked on the hotel door. Gasping, Tori disentangled herself from Rio and jumped from the sofa. She shushed him and tripped toward the door.

      Standing on tiptoes, she peeked out the peephole. Then she spun around, and with her face as white as a sandy beach, she drew her index finger across her throat.