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

By the time she had reached Sydney, the employment contract had already been in her email in-box. All she’d had to do was print it out, sign it and fax it to the number supplied. Within an hour of doing so, she had received a flight ticket, which had surprised her, as there had been no mention that her travel expenses would be paid. The following day, she had received the lease to her new apartment in the mail, and had sent a certified copy off to her welfare caseworker.

Bonny introduced her to another very efficient older woman called Maris, who took her through to Gabriel’s large, sleek office, which was dominated by a large mahogany desk. Although the most notable feature by far was that one wall contained a collection of computer screens flashing up nonstop financial information.

Maris indicated she should take a seat while she fetched coffee, but Gemma, her gaze glued to the screens, was too wired to sit.

Moments later, Gabriel, larger than life and broodingly attractive in a dark suit, a pristine white shirt and a red tie knotted at his throat stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

Despite coaching herself for this moment, her heart slammed in her chest and a highly inappropriate image of Gabriel naked and sprawled in silk sheets popped into her mind.

“How was your flight?”

Before she could reply, his brows jerked together. “What have you done to your hair?”

The sudden switch in topic threw Gemma even more off balance. “I needed a change.”

He was close enough now that she could see the fine lines fanning out around his eyes, the dark circles beneath, as if lately, like her, he’d been losing sleep.

“And it’s not just the hair.” His gaze raked over the biscotti suit. He frowned at her glasses. “Since when did you need glasses?”

She drew a breath at his proximity, the sheer energy of his presence, the knowledge that, just days ago, she had woken up in his bed. “Since last week.”

Knowledge registered in his gaze. “The story in the press.”

The one that very wrongly stated that she had jumped out of Zane’s bed, but had unfortunately got it right by saying she had jumped straight into Gabriel’s. “I got tired of being a target.”

“So this is a disguise?”

“I prefer to call it a reinvention.”

His frown deepened. “If you needed protection, you should have asked me. I could have made sure you got home without being bothered.”

Gemma’s fingers tightened on the strap of her handbag. “The only reason I get ‘bothered’ is because of my connection to your family.”

“That’s regrettably true.” Reaching out, he wrapped a finger around a tendril that had escaped the French pleat, his attention once more diverted by her hair. “How long will the brown color last?”

“Sable,” she corrected.

The heated patience in his 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.