A Very Fake Fiancée: The Fiancée Charade / My Fake Fiancée / A Very Exclusive Engagement. Nancy Warren
dark eyes told her he didn’t care about the shade. “How long?”
For a split second, caught in the blatant possessiveness of the demand, as if he had a right to know intimate details about something as personal as her hair color, she was spun back to the night on Medinos. His intense focus on her then had been utterly seductive—the possessiveness of his touch, the way he’d held her after they had made love, even in sleep, as if he truly hadn’t wanted to let her go.
Although that had been a sham. After she had left, Gabriel had not contacted her except in an official capacity, which had proved that their night of passion hadn’t really been important to him. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
She drew a sharp breath, the proximity of his closeness, his intense focus weaving its spell as her breasts tightened against the fit of her jacket and the slow ache of arousal shimmered to life. Her jaw firmed as she cleared her mind of any crazy romantic illusions. Gabriel’s attitude toward her appearance was purely about image. With her appearance toned down, she no doubt didn’t quite fit his vision of a fiancée. “Well, it shouldn’t.”
He shrugged, let the strand of hair go and strolled around behind his desk. “Then I guess we should talk about what’s really important. Why did you walk out on me on Medinos?”
She blinked. There it was again—the illusion that he was her lover, that he genuinely cared. “I left a note.”
“I read it.”
Heart tight in her chest, she rose to her feet, too tense to sit, and found herself staring blindly at the bank of screens flowing with financial data. “I can’t have a relationship with you and work for you at the same time.”
“But that’s exactly what you agreed to do.”
She frowned. “We both know I agreed to a pretense, not—”
“Sex.”
She threw Gabriel an irritated look, but his face was oddly bland and devoid of emotion. “That’s right.”
A heavy silence descended on the room. Out in the next office she could hear a phone buzzing, and farther afield she could hear the blare of a car horn, the hum of city traffic. Suddenly Gabriel was close enough that she could feel his heat all down one side.
“You did agree to be my fiancée. We can’t do that without touching.” To illustrate, he picked up one hand and deliberately threaded his fingers through hers.
A new tension flooded her. She drew a deep breath and tried not to respond. “I’ve got no problem with appearing to be close in public.”
“Good. And you’re going to need to dress a little more—” His gaze skimmed the biscotti suit again as if something about it displeased him intensely. He shook his head. “Where did you get that suit?”
She snatched her hand back. “Does it matter?”
“Not really.” He had his cell in his hand. He pressed a number to speed dial. A quick conversation later and he hung up. “I’ve just rung one of the twins, Sophie. She has a designer boutique at the Atraeus Hotel. She should be able to help us.”
Gemma blinked at the fact that Gabriel was actually involving a member of his family in the charade. “What do you mean, ‘us’?”
His expression was oddly bland. “‘Us’ as in an engaged couple. We’re going shopping.”
A brief tap on the door cut through the thickening silence that had followed Gabriel’s pronouncement.
Gabriel clamped down on the edgy impatience that, lately, seemed to have become a defining characteristic as Maris walked in with a tray and set it down on the coffee table.
Gemma accepted one of the paper cups that Maris must have sourced from a nearby café as Maris chatted cheerfully. Jaw locked, Gabriel picked up the remaining coffee and stoically waited out the interruption.
Gemma, looking irritatingly unruffled and disarmingly sexy in her secretarial outfit despite the boring color, fielded Maris’s superficial questions with a smooth expertise that reminded him that she had been Zane’s very competent PA for some years.
As Maris left, he deliberately strolled to the bank of windows that overlooked the street, forcing himself to ease back on the pressure.
Before Gemma had arrived, he had done a standard security check on her. It had been simple enough, given that, courtesy of this temporary position as CEO of Ambrosi Pearls in Auckland, he had access to the Atraeus personnel database.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find out that she had a degree in performance arts. He could see her creative flare in the scenario with Zane on Medinos and now in this morning’s performance.
Finding out that Gemma was trained to act had cast a new light on the impression he had received that she could walk away from him easily. The knowledge that Gemma hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d gotten pregnant told him that she didn’t give her affections lightly. Put together, those two pieces of information suggested that the fact that he had gotten her back at all was significant.
Cancel significant. He was almost sure that beneath the brisk, professional facade Gemma was still in love with him.
It was the only thing that made sense of her allowing him to make love to her on Medinos.
Every instinct told him that if he messed up now and she walked out, he wouldn’t get another chance. On Medinos he had blundered in, locked into his own need and been determined to get his way.
This time, he was determined to keep her close. For a week, maybe longer, he had carte blanche to spoil Gemma, and he intended to do just that.
He finished the coffee and dropped the cup in the trash can beside his desk. He began to outline what would be involved with the temporary engagement. “A week, at least—”
“You said a week on Medinos.”
“It could take longer.”
There was a small silence as Gemma digested his pronouncement.
Gabriel decided the best tactic was to continue on as if the gray area didn’t exist. “Tonight we’re having dinner with Mario and Eva. She’s a wedding planner—”
Gemma’s head came up. “Eva Atraeus? Is she the one your mother and Mario want you to marry?”
Gabriel logged the look of horror on Gemma’s face that his family was lobbying for a marriage between first cousins.
The whole idea was archaic, dynastic, downright Machiavellian in his opinion, and despite the tension amusement tugged at him. “Mario’s pushing that one. I think my mother could be looking outside the family.”
When Gemma appeared outraged rather than amused, he shrugged and gave up on the joke, although a part of him was loving it that Gemma was mad on his behalf. “Now you’re beginning to see what I’m up against,” he murmured. “High maintenance doesn’t cut it with my family. But, to put your mind at rest, Mario’s not trying to sell his daughter into an incestuous marriage. Eva Atraeus isn’t a blood relative, she’s adopted.”
Her gaze flashed. “I’m relieved. If that’s the case, I don’t know why you didn’t ask her—”
“No.”
Gemma was silent for a long drawn-out moment, as if trying to gauge whether there was any flexibility in the one short word he’d used. “So why, exactly, do you need to take me shopping?”
Gabriel dragged at his tie, feeling suddenly way out of his depth. “Both Mario and Eva will expect you to be wearing designer clothes and jewelery.”
Gabriel frowned as Gemma extracted a small diary and pen from her purse and made a note, as if she was an efficient employee following instructions. “What time is dinner, and where?”
“Eight.