A Very Fake Fiancée: The Fiancée Charade / My Fake Fiancée / A Very Exclusive Engagement. Nancy Warren
always been working. I’ve spent most of my time either at the airport or the resort.”
And any spare time she had spent either studying, talking with Sanchia via the internet or troubleshooting endless problems with nannies.
Gabriel took a turn into a quieter section of town, dotted with villas. “I have a beachside villa with a security gate. If you want to stay the night you’re welcome.”
Gemma risked a glance at Gabriel’s profile. With his longer hair and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, he looked far more broodingly dangerous and exotically Medinian than she remembered.
The thought of spending further time with him in a private setting with no one but perhaps an odd servant around tightened the tension humming through her. Although with the Ambrosi Pearls launch it was entirely possible there would be other family members staying. “I was thinking a small pensionato.”
Gabriel pulled over against the curb and stopped. “Unless you’ve prebooked one, you might have trouble getting a room. It’s the height of the tourist season, plus there are a lot of press and extra people on the island for the Ambrosi Pearls launch.”
He lifted a brow. “And unless you’ve got some extra clothing, even if you find a room, you could still have a problem with that scenario.”
Gemma’s stomach sank. She had temporarily forgotten that Medinos was a place that hadn’t quite shaken off its medieval traditions, particularly with regard to women. Caught halfway between the east and west, no bikinis, and no cleavage or overtly sensual clothing were allowed in public areas. Unless in a private setting, which the Castello had been, women were expected to dress modestly.
Until she could either get into her room at the resort, or go shopping, all she had to wear was what she had on. No respectable pensionato—and that was the only kind on Medinos—would rent her a room while she was wearing a black lace dress and high heels, and with no luggage.
Although her bag, despite holding champagne and a negligee, could pass for luggage.
Gabriel extracted his phone from his pocket. “If you want I can ring a couple of places.”
“Okay.”
Fifteen minutes and ten calls later, Gabriel set the phone down. “The offer of a bed at my place is still good.”
Gemma stared out of the Maserati’s window and tried not to feel a forbidden jolt of excitement that she would be extending her time with Gabriel. “All I need is a bed for a few hours.”
It was the lesser of two evils.
Just one night. How dangerous could that be?
A small thrill shot down Gemma’s spine as Gabriel’s villa, which occupied the bay next to Medinos’s central business district, loomed in the darkness. Set against the pure dark backdrop of sea and sky, it was an arresting mixture of ancient and modern. The crenellated stone tower of an old fortress blended seamlessly with the blunt addition of smoothly rendered walls, the windows stark sheets of glass.
The view slid away as Gabriel drove into a cavernous, empty garage. As the remote-controlled door came down behind them, Gemma unbuckled her belt and climbed out of the car, eager to assert her independence before Gabriel could get around to open her door.
Grabbing her bag, she tried to suppress a renewed surge of awareness. Desperate to at least give the appearance of normality, she examined the garage space, which was big enough to hold at least four cars. It was empty, but that could be because everyone was out for the night. “Does your family stay here?”
Gabriel closed the door of the Maserati with a quiet thunk. “No. This is something in the nature of a retreat for me. My family usually arranges their own accommodations.”
Her heart beat once, hard. So they really would be alone.
Despite her determination to be brisk and superficial, to clamp down on the spellbinding intensity of the attraction, she found herself once again caught in the net of Gabriel’s gaze. Despite the fact that, in theory, Gabriel shouldn’t have the least interest in her, the sense of being herded was suddenly suffocatingly strong. “I guess that explains why your mother was at the Atraeus Resort.”
His gaze sharpened. “You saw my mother at the Atraeus Resort?”
“I helped settle her and her friend into their room.”
He opened a door that led out onto a covered deck and gestured that she precede him. “Mom mentioned she had seen someone who looked like you, but she couldn’t be sure because you’ve lost so much weight.”
Gemma frowned, remembering the awkwardness of the scene. Although most of that had been generated by the shock she’d received when she’d heard that Gabriel was about to be engaged.
The remembrance of that made her stiffen. In all the turmoil of the night, the tingling heat of the kiss they’d shared, she had managed to gloss over the fact that Gabriel wasn’t free. “I didn’t think your mother recognized me.”
Feeling suddenly depressed, she stopped at a heavy door and looked upward at old fortress rock, weathered by time. “This looks like an old watchtower.”
“It’s the remnants of the Messena Fortress, given to an ancestor during the Crusades. It was a crumbled ruin even before the bombing in the Second World War.”
Without waiting for him, she grasped the heavy iron ring and attempted to open a door that looked ancient and clunky.
When the door didn’t budge, Gabriel stepped in. “Unless you know the security codes, you’re going to have to let me do that.”
Lifting a metal flap fitted into a niche in the rock wall, he pressed in the key and alarm codes. The lock disengaged with a smooth click.
As she pushed the door open into pooling silence, despite her confusion another electrifying thrill shot up Gemma’s spine. At the Castello there had been people everywhere. Now there were no reporters, no pressure, just the two of them and the night.
* * *
A sense of inevitability heightened all of Gabriel’s senses as Gemma stepped into the ancient watchtower, now a wine cellar filled with extremely expensive wines. He flicked a switch. Soft golden light filled the room, highlighting the rich color of Gemma’s hair, the creaminess of her skin, and he was gripped by the conviction that in the space of a few minutes his life had swung in a totally new direction.
He had felt that kind of internal shift before, the night his father had died. That night had been marked by grief and grim resolve. The way he presently felt was the exact opposite. The calm deliberation that had become his hallmark had utterly deserted him and in its place was a humming, restless energy.
A cliché or not, he knew the exact moment the change had taken place: when he had seen Gemma across the width of the crowded reception room.
Stepping inside, he swung the heavy door, with its medieval double thickness of timbers designed to stop both arrows and spears, closed behind him. The sound of the lock reengaging echoed.
Gemma, who was already at the far end of the circular room that opened out at one end into a large barnlike lounge, was busy checking out the impressive view across the sea. She swung around, her expression professionally brisk. Gabriel couldn’t help thinking that it was a look he had gotten used to seeing from his own very efficient PA.
“If it was anyone else, I might suspect your motives in locking the door.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Although Gabriel’s sense of irritation increased that, evidently, even Gemma didn’t think he was capable of doing anything either remotely edgy or borderline. Strolling to the wine counter, he poured some of the water, which was still sitting there from his afternoon session with Constantine, into two clean glasses. “What makes