As he spoke, he tugged off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt with an exhalation of relief. Gabby’s gaze fell on the small triangle of exposed skin and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers itched with an insane desire to step forward and unbutton the next button, and the next. A reaction presumably brought on by panic and tiredness and his sheer proximity.
‘Did you choose the furniture?’ It was the best small talk she could conjure up as her gaze focused on his hands, studied the strength of his fingers, the broad wrists, the way he pushed his shirtsleeves up to reveal his muscled forearms.
‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘I just ordered online. I seem to spend more time in the office or travelling on business anyway, so this is more than enough for my needs. It’s just a place to eat and sleep, really.’ As if sensing her bemusement, he folded his arms in an almost defensive position. ‘I take it you disagree?’
‘It’s not that I disagree—it’s more that I don’t get it. My flat is where I eat and sleep, but I think of it as more than that. It’s my home.’ Her sanctuary. She utterly loved the security, the familiarity, the fact that it existed, was there every day. ‘I have a lovely landlord who has let me decorate and paint how I want to. I scoured the markets and charity shops in Bath and I’ve picked up and restored some gorgeous furniture.’
‘So you rent?’
‘Yes.’
If she wanted, she could buy rather than rent, but the deposit needed would take all her savings—which were earmarked for care for Lucille. Plus a certain amount of her salary went each month on providing a home help for her gran. But that wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with Zander.
She sat down on the armchair, which despite its meh-ness was at least comfortable. ‘Anyway, we have more important things to discuss. What are we going to do? About Portugal?’
He walked over to a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Drink?’ The suggestion was accompanied by a rueful smile that, despite the situation, made her tummy dip.
‘Ha ha!’
‘Obviously I am not suggesting drink as an answer to the problem, but I think it may help deaden the pain of my answer. I can offer you whisky or wine.’
‘Red wine would be lovely.’
Minutes later he handed her a glass and then sat opposite her. ‘We’ll have to go.’
‘Go?’ Her voice reached an octave she’d hitherto thought impossible, and she sipped the rich ruby wine as a palliative.
‘Yes.’
To her irrational chagrin, his voice held no enthusiasm. But it did hold conviction.
‘Unless you have an idea that would get us out of it without hurting my mother’s feelings and unmasking us as impostors.’
‘Can’t you have a work emergency?’
‘Not on a permanent basis.’
‘But if we do go...’
Her voice trailed off. If they did go, what? They’d end up in bed together? That was ridiculous—she was a grown woman, not an adolescent. Yes, she was attracted to Zander, but surely she could get through three days without actually jumping him?
‘Won’t it be awkward?’
‘It doesn’t have to be awkward. Yes, it is meant to be a romantic break, but there won’t be anyone watching us. We can spend our time however we like. I was planning on a working weekend, but I can work from anywhere.’
Hurt pinged, along with a sudden sense of outrage that he could be so unaffected, could imagine sitting there and working rather than spending time with her.
But you know he’s right.
After all, every time they spent any amount of time in close proximity they ended up in a clinch. Plus, this was a fake romance—so why would he want to spend time with her?
Another sip of wine and she studied his expression, wondering if there was just a hint of a clench to his jawline as she told herself that his solution was the correct one. Go to Portugal and spend their time separately. And yet...
‘I don’t think a working weekend will work. Your family will ask questions when we get back...expect some photographs of us together. Julia strikes me as a woman who likes evidence. More to the point, your mum gave you this holiday in good faith. She wants you to have a break. Surely you owe her at least a credible pretence that you’ve done that?’
Colour touched his cheekbones and then he nodded. ‘You’re right. I should have thought of that.’ Now his exp
ression was rueful. ‘I guess I’m so used to working weekends I’ve forgotten how to even fake a break.’ He reached forward and picked up the brochure and the details about the trip. ‘I guess we will have to spend some time together after all.’