When I'd explained my plan to Rania in the car last night, her long silence followed by a quiet, "There's no other way?" told me what she thought of the idea.

But here she was beside me, dressed in a hastily purchased shift dress that did everything for her ass and nothing to calm the half chub I got from looking at her wearing it. High heels, a string of fake pearls, a twinkling cubic zirconia ring, and RJ's Porsche completed the illusion of a young but well-to-do couple out for brunch.

The dining room at Lanefield Park could blind a man if he looked directly at the lights. Heavy chandeliers hung at intervals, glittering like the eyes of the gold-digging trophy wives hanging onto the arms of their geriatric meal tickets below. Rania's hand shook in my grip, but thanks to my parents' influence during my formative years, I'd had plenty of practice at putting on the snooty, entitled air required to dine in an establishment like this one.

"Table for two, sir?" the maître d' asked.

"I have a reservation under Lawson."

"Certainly, sir. Please follow me."

I should have booked in RJ's name—I bet a double-barrelled surname like his would have got us a top-notch table. As it was, we ended up in the far corner next to the kitchen with waiters walking past every twenty seconds, their steps silent on the plush carpet.

But no matter. The scrambled eggs and toast topped by artfully arranged slivers of smoked salmon were merely the entrée, and I doubted we'd be dining here again.

"Food okay?" I asked Rania.

She'd only taken a few bites.

"The food is fine."

Fine. A word to strike fear into any man's heart, but her answer didn't surprise me, not when her posture was stiffer than a corpse. I forked a mouthful of eggs into my own mouth, but Rania was wrong. It didn't taste fine at all. I might as well have been chewing RJ's three-day-old socks.

Usually, I got a thrill out of undercover work—the buzz of hiding in plain sight while I balanced on a knife edge between getting paid and getting caught. But today, with Rania dragged into the mess? I just wanted to take her home and spend the day watching lousy game shows while we cuddled on the sofa.

Yeah, cuddled. I wasn't normally the type, but with the right woman...

"I can't eat any more," she whispered, dropping her fork on her plate with a metallic clatter. "Can we just get this over with?"

I pinged a quick message to RJ: In place?

When he returned a thumbs up, I nodded. "Let's do it."

I braced my hands on my thighs, fingernails digging into my trousers, but the sting of her palm against my cheek still hurt like hell. Yes, I'd told her not to hold back, but the force of her slap still shocked me.

"You bastard!" she screamed.

The entire dining room fell silent, and light glinted off a thousand jewels as every head turned to stare at us. So far, so good.

"Who is she? Who?" Rania yelled.

"Loretta," I said quietly.

"Our next-door neighbour?"

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. Everyone looked horrified enough as it was.

Rania leapt up, hand out. "Give me the car keys."

I got to my feet more slowly. "Why?"

"So I can go and pull her damned hair extensions out."

"Honey, you're not driving anywhere. You had two dry martinis for breakfast."

Gasps all around.

Rania flew at me, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at my pockets. I stumbled backwards into the next table, and I didn't need to look behind me to know I'd just knocked some posh woman's meal into her lap. The rattle of china and her outraged scream told me everything.

Her dining companion, too young and handsome to be her husband, stood and took a step forward.

"Do you realise—"

"Butt out. This is a private argument."

A woman at a nearby table snorted, but before I could glare at her, Rania made me double up with an elbow to the guts. Fuck! I almost brought the little brunch I'd eaten up on the carpet as I staggered sideways. Where did she learn to fight?

As she came in for another go, I managed to snake an arm around her waist, spinning and lifting at the same time so her legs flew out and kicked the tray out of a nearby waiter's hands.

Beautiful. I could have kissed her at that moment.

The maître d' shouted for security, and it was all I could do not to grin. RJ, time to do your thing.

Rania wriggled free and flung a bagel at me, followed by a salt shaker and a spoon. I ducked those, then got caught in the nuts by a flying saucer.

Her hesitation as I groaned gave me enough time to grab her again, and I started dragging her towards the door as she informed me and the rest of our dining companions exactly which body parts of mine she'd be chopping off when we got home. And poor Loretta—she'd certainly think twice before she shagged another girl's fiancé again.

The hotel's security guys came sprinting around the corner, all four who were on duty according to the rota RJ had found on their intranet. Now we just needed to keep them busy for a few more minutes.

I let Rania slip out of my grip again, and she did us proud by hurling a sugar bowl in my direction followed by a choice selection of obscenities.

An old lady sitting next to me cackled, pausing her round of applause to pass Rania a plate of toast.

"Try this, dear. I bet he'll think twice about letting it out of his pants next time."

Good grief.

The toast flew in my direction, hitting butter-side down as dictated by Sod's Law, and the security team skidded to a halt beside me.

"What's going on?" the tallest one asked.

"My fiancée's a little upset."

"Ex," Rania shouted. "Ex-fiancée."

One of the men made a grab for her, but she sidestepped neatly and bounced a croissant off his head.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask both of you to leave the hotel."

I plastered on a smile. "Honey? You heard the man. We have to go home."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, you cheating bastard."

"Is that true?" the security guard asked. "You cheated?"

"It was an accident. If our next-door neighbour hadn't been sunbathing topless..."

Yes, I was a complete arsehole.

Security guy looked about as impressed with me as Rania did. "You'll need to discuss this elsewhere. Our guests want to eat their meals in peace."

"I'm enjoying the show," the old lady piped up, her diamond necklace glinting. "So nice to see a young lady with spirit."

The maître d' crouched beside her. "Lady Fordingham, we really can't encourage this."

"Oh, be quiet, Harold." Then to Rania, "You stick up for yourself, darling."

Rania took a couple of steps back, breathing hard, that thick, dark hair flowing around her shoulders. Was it wrong that I was just a tiny bit turned on? If she could show that much spirit in a fake argument, then I bet she'd be passionate in the bedroom.

A teaspoon to the chest shook me out of my reverie, and Rania quirked one eyebrow as if to say, Hey! Have you forgotten what we're doing here?

Time to grovel. "Sweetheart, please... Can we just talk about this?"

Hands met hips, a pissed-off goddess. "Fine. Talk."

I glanced at our audience and caught movement by the door. RJ. And the grin he flashed before sliding out of sight told me he'd got what we came for. I reached up to scratch my right ear, a signal to Rania to finish this up.

"Let's talk at home, okay? We've bothered these people enough." I turned to Harold. "I'll pay for any damage. Will two hundred cover it?"

The last of my savings. Lloyd Weston had better settle my bill quickly.

Harold opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Lady Fordingham cut in.

"Put any costs on my tab, Harold. This is the most entertaining brunch I've had in years." And to Rania, "Make him grovel, darling."

"I will, don't worry about that."

Still in character, Rania marched off, nose in the air, and I had to tear my eyes away from her arse. In that dress and those heels... I wanted to take her shopping every damn day.

"Thank you," I muttered to the old lady before hurrying off in the footsteps of my wayward fake fiancée.

RJ had already taken off in my car as I opened the door of the Porsche for Rania, itching to smile but playing the apologetic bastard to the end. Only when we'd driven a hundred yards along the road did I allow myself to grin.

"Darling, you were perfect." I reached out to squeeze her hand and realised it was shaking. "You okay?"

"Thank goodness that's over," she whispered. "I thought I was going to be sick with everyone staring at me like that. Do you think RJ got the video?"

"I'm more worried about you at the moment. If there had been any other way..."

"I'm fine."

Fine. That damn word again. A small sign pointed out a car park, a rough, gravelled area used by walkers heading for the nearby woods, and I skidded into one of the spaces so I could get a proper look at Rania.

She stared straight ahead.

Oh, hell. I unbuckled both of our seat belts and pulled her into my arms. She went rigid, but she didn't push me away. Good idea or bad idea?

"I'm sorry, Nia." The pet name fell out of my mouth without me even thinking about it. "I'll never put you in that position again. And I won't shag Loretta either."

That at least got me a strangled sob of laughter.

"A man would have to be insane to want anyone but you, and if you'll let me, I'll spend my life proving I'm not that man."

What was I saying? Feelings came pouring out of me uncensored.

"But I might be crazy. You've taken over my mind."

Silence. Too much silence.

"Nia?"

"I'm no good at this people stuff," she mumbled into my shoulder.

"Good thing I like you just as you are, then."

I kissed her hair, and she rewarded me with a quiet sigh. Happy Christmas Eve, Will.

But good things never lasted, and the buzz of RJ's email arriving on my phone made us both sit up.

"Fingers crossed," I said, scrolling down and hitting play on the video attachment.

Helene walked through the doors we'd narrowly avoided being thrown out of, hand in hand with a blond guy. Only one suitcase between them, and he was carrying it, so either she wasn't staying the night or they knew each other well enough to share. From the way she stood on tiptoe to kiss him as they waited to check in, I was betting on the latter.

"I recognise that man," Rania said. "He works for Weston Corp. Aiden? He's in marketing, I think."

"Aiden Rafferty, and he's in sales. I interviewed him on the same day I met you."

Less than three weeks ago, but so much had happened since then, it was an effort to recall the details.

More so because nothing had stuck out about the guy. Sure, he'd bounced one knee under the table as he talked, but most of the people I'd spoken to had been edgy. A couple of the girls had even broken down in tears.

No, neither Aiden's answers nor his demeanour had hinted at more than a business relationship with Helene, but the video didn't lie. Was he a closet sociopath or merely a good actor?

Time to head to work and find out...