Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

‘Absolutely.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GABBY ROLLED OVER, felt the last vestige of sleep slip away from her and tried to hold on to it. She knew that she didn’t want to wake up just yet.

Drowsily she reached out a hand, expecting to encounter Zander’s warm, comforting bulk next to her. Instead her hand met cool sheets and now she did open her eyes. Remembered. This was it. The morning of their flight back. She needed to be up and packing. It was over.

A queasily familiar sense of impending unhappiness washed over her but she forced herself to jump out of bed instantly, to infuse her movements with purpose even as memory strummed a chord. This was akin to how she’d felt as a child, when her mother had returned to pick her up from her grandparents’. She’d packed her suitcase then with the same dread, with the knowledge that her safe time was over and she didn’t know when or even if it would come again.

To her horror, this was actually worse. Back then there had been hope—even the probability that she would return, perhaps in days, perhaps in months. But this was different. This would never happen again. She’d asked him to be her Mr Right for the Weekend—and the weekend was over.

But she would not, could not regret it. Their moment had been joyous and joyful—and, dammit, she’d had fun. So now she would act with dignity and she would not repine.

Gabby snapped her suitcase shut and switched on her brightest smile, preparing to descend from the mezzanine and face him.

‘Good morning!’ Her words came out too cheerful, too shiny and bright, but he didn’t comment.

‘Good morning.’

His voice was pleasant, courteous—and so formal. Hurt twanged her nerves. The man she had come to know over the past forty-eight hours had vanished as completely as a mirage in the desert. That Zander had gone and she would never see that aspect of him again.

‘I’ve made coffee if you would like some.’

‘Thank you.’

For a moment she wondered if he’d ask if she took milk or sugar—perhaps the past two days had been a figment of her fevered imagination. He handed her the mug with exaggerated care, careful to avoid even a brush of their fingers. On the table his netbook was open, and she had little doubt he had already been in contact with his office.

The silence held a cloud of awkwardness and she forced herself to fill it. ‘Hopefully the flight won’t be delayed.’

‘Hopefully not. We should leave within the next half hour, if that’s OK with you.’

‘Traffic shouldn’t be too bad,’ she stated, as if she had any knowledge of traffic congestion in Portugal. Oh, God—they’d gone full circle. Their break had started with stilted conversation and so it would end. As if the middle had been no more substantial than a dream.

They left the villa in silence and she forced herself to walk to the car without a backward glance. Better for it be preserved in her treasure trove of memories as a magical place untouched by shadows of regret.

The whole car journey consisted of her fight to remain still, to contain her agitation and to focus on the scenery as it whizzed past rather than on Zander. Yet she couldn’t resist the occasional glance at his profile. His expression was unreadable—not even a hint of the man who’d just hours ago held her in his arms.

Anger suddenly sparked that he could be so calm, so uncaring—that he could switch off his emotions so easily. But then again his emotions hadn’t been engaged, and in theory neither had hers. She shifted on her seat again, realising that now Zander’s fingers were drumming a tattoo on the steering wheel. An apology hovered on her lips but she bit it back—she had nothing to apologise for.

Then in a smooth movement Zander put on the indicator and pulled into a lay-by. ‘Is something wrong with the car?’

‘No.’

He unclicked his seat belt and turned to face her. ‘But something feels wrong. On the beach we decided to change the parameters of our relationship for the weekend, but we didn’t stop to think about what would happen next. And now we’re acting like strangers.’ His shoulders lifted in a shrug as his lips tipped up ruefully. ‘I’m not sure I even understand why, but I don’t like it.’

Relief touched her that he didn’t want this stilted awkwardness, either. ‘I guess we need to figure out how to go back to friendship.’ Right, Gabs. Because that worked out so well last time. ‘Or to a working relationship at least. You’re paying me for a reason. We don’t want to blow it now.’ The reminder tasted bitter on her tongue.

He nodded but made no attempt to restart the car. Instead, his fingers continued to drum the wheel as he gazed ahead at the dusty vista of the road.

‘There is another way,’ he said finally. ‘An option that has nothing to do with money. Whatever we decide I will pay you the agreed sum, because I’m paying you to convince my family that I have moved on. But, given that we are going to see a lot of each other until the wedding, we could make this into a real fun fling. Just for the next few weeks.’

‘I...’

Yes! Hurry up and say yes, urged every instinct. For heaven’s sake, please don’t think about it. Even her brain chimed in. Go on, it makes sense.

She had made the decision on those sands to grab the moment. This was her chance to extend it. To continue to enjoy the benefits that she knew with every millimetre of her body were infinitely pleasurable.

Only her gut urged caution, informing her that it was too dangerous, that it would be too much.