A Very Fake Fiancée: The Fiancée Charade / My Fake Fiancée / A Very Exclusive Engagement

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?

Seven (#ue314a0d7-f5ba-5014-8563-e9063c8a61c4)

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 you so sure I don’t have motives?”

Gemma gave him a preoccupied look, as if her attention had just switched to something else. “It’s been six years since we last met. I seem to remember you saying that we had very little in common, so I don’t see how that’s changed.”

“We did have one thing in common.”

She checked her watch, although her cheeks had taken on a pink tinge, so she wasn’t entirely oblivious to their exchange. “I don’t think sex counts.”

It did in his world. “So any motives on my part other than chivalry are doubtful?”

Her blush deepened. “It’s been six years. You never called. I think that about settles it.”

Gabriel frowned. Thinking about what Gemma might have needed from him was not an aspect he had dwelled on, because he’d been so absorbed with fixing the scandal that had erupted after his father’s death. But he was thinking about it now. “Did you want me to call?”

Her gaze locked with his for an electrifying moment. “I slept with you. That was not something I did lightly. Of course I wanted you to call.”

Blinking, as if she couldn’t quite believe that she had said the words, Gemma set the bag, which she was still keeping annoyingly close, down beside one of two leather chairs grouped around a coffee table.

“I thought about calling.” And a couple of times it had been more than that. He had actually picked up the phone and started pressing numbers before he had come to his senses.

She sent him a level look. “It wasn’t a problem. I understood why you couldn’t afford to be involved with me. Banks and scandal don’t really go together.”

Gemma began investigating the racks of wine lining the walls as if she were riveted by his wine collection. Gabriel suppressed a surge of frustration. It was not the response he’d hoped for.

She pulled out a bottle of a rare French vintage worth a staggering amount of money. “I know for a fact that if anything about you appears in the papers, it’s always in the financial, not the social pages.”

Suddenly intensely irritated at the way Gemma insisted on reinforcing his image as a staid, boring banker, Gabriel drained his water and set the glass down on the counter with a click. “I didn’t know you were interested in the financial pages.”

She gave the label of the award-winning burgundy a distracted look and slipped the bottle back onto the rack. “When I’m stuck on a long haul flight, I’ve been known to read anything I can get my hands on, even the financial pages.”

She glanced at the narrow watch on her wrist again, and despite the optimism that had gripped him when Gemma had agreed to spend the night at his house, his mood plummeted. “One step up from the classified ads.”

“Only just.” She abandoned her perusal of the wine racks and strolled over to the counter. “Speaking of finances, I read somewhere that you’re a qualified economist as well as an accountant—”