by Nina Milne
Panic escalated in her voice, shone from her wide hazel eyes, and he recognised the signs of a person about to back out of a deal. ‘Gabby? Slow down. Listen to me. I really don’t think we’ll have a problem. I could probably get people to invest in our smoulder factor.’
‘You don’t understand...’
‘Maybe not. But I do understand this.’
Instinct took over and he twisted his chair to face her, angled himself into exactly the right position to lean forward and claim her lips.
A small gasp escaped her, and then without hesitation she pressed against him, her lips parted and her hands twined round his neck. Then he was lost, the last vestiges of common sense fled, and all he could think about was the moment, the vanilla scent of her hair that tickled his cheek with exquisite softness, the tang of citrus on her lips, the fierceness of his desire for her. For Gabby.
The intensity was too much—until the sound of laughter from a group of people as they sat down at a nearby table penetrated the fog, pulled him back to reality and the realisation that if they didn’t stop he wouldn’t be able to. Even so, pulling away was way harder than it should be, and the level of reluctance blared a klaxon of warning.
This was meant to be fake. The kiss was supposed to have been a tactical exercise to keep Gabby at the table, in the deal.
They sat for a moment and simply gazed at each other, until she gave a small half laugh followed by a muttered curse. ‘I don’t know what else to say. That was...’
‘Awesome?’
‘An awesome mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because neither of us wants to make this real.’ She touched her lips as if in wonder. ‘And that was real. A more important reality, though, is that you don’t want the complication of any sort of relationship with anyone, and I’m—’
‘Waiting for Mr Right.’
And she didn’t do temporary. Both absolutely excellent reasons why that kiss should never have happened. Gabby had made it more than clear that she didn’t want a purely physical relationship. She was holding out for the real thing. What her grandparents had had. What he knew he couldn’t offer. Hell, what he didn’t even want to offer. So...
‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have kissed you.’
Yet it was nigh on impossible for him to regret it.
‘Hey. There are two of us at the table. But it can’t happen again.’
‘You’re right. No more kisses.’ A nascent emotion that he knew to be regret surfaced and he pushed it down. ‘But we will have to play our parts, and that will necessitate a certain level of closeness.’ Heaven help him.
‘I understand that.’
Somehow he had to get this back on to a business footing, because right now—dammit—he wanted to kiss her again. Madness.
‘Then we’re good to go. You need to give me your bank details. This...arrangement...will continue until my sister’s wedding in three months, so I’ll pay you in three monthly instalments. I’ll also set out a schedule of our dates, starting with the charity event on Friday.’
Gabby clicked her pen again, the sound a signal of her relief at the turn of the conversation. ‘OK. Shall I meet you there?’
‘No. Seeing as the gala is in London, it will be easier and look better if you come to my flat before. You can get ready there and stay the night after. I have two spare rooms you can choose from, which will make it less awkward than our staying in a hotel—if that’s OK with you.’
The idea of Gabby in his apartment already felt heavy with awkward portent. The idea of any woman there filled him with unease; the idea of Gabby there gave him a severe case of the collywobbles.
And, although she nodded in agreement, the agitated click-click-click of her pen indicated that the collywobbles were mutual.
CHAPTER SIX
GABBY STOOD OUTSIDE the imposing block that overlooked the Thames—the whole edifice was ridiculously overwhelming. The thought of the combined worth of all the apartments made her eyes cross.
The butterflies that had occupied her tummy for the better part of the day swooped and dived. For most of the week she had toyed with the idea of backing out, all the while knowing she wouldn’t. She couldn’t walk away from the money for her grandmother’s sake, and wouldn’t renege on a deal for the sake of her own pride. Yet the knowledge that in a moment she would enter a penthouse apartment on the edge of the Thames, and would then attend a celebrity charity gala with Zander, felt madly surreal. Too much.
Her arm felt heavy as she buzzed for entry, then pushed the communal door open, entered the state-of-the-art lift and pressed the button for the sixth floor.
Seconds later the lift door opened and Zander stood outside, clad in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, his dark blonde hair shower-damp. Her heartbeat escalated.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey. Come on in.’
The words were polite, but she sensed a reluctance that matched her own as he led her to his flat and pushed open the heavy-looking door. Somehow the act of stepping over the threshold felt stupidly personal, an invasion of his privacy.
Shaking off the sensation—this was all Zander’s idea, after all—she looked around with burgeoning curiosity. The hall stretched forward in its immensity, with rooms off to the sides. Yet it wasn’t just the size she noted—it was the utter starkness of the decor, the swathes of beige on the wall not enlivened by a mirror, a picture—anything. The luxurious cream carpet ran clear, with hardly any furniture to impede its length.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, coffee—something stronger?’
‘No. Thank you.’ Suddenly the sheer size of the apartment combined with his presence brought on a desire to escape. ‘It’s probably best if I go straight to get ready. I don’t want to make us late.’
A quick nod of his head and he set off down the hall before pausing outside a door. ‘Here you go.’
An hour later Gabby paced up and down the bedroom—the size at least allowed scope for long strides—and paused in front of the mirror. Again. Stared at her reflection. Again. Wondered whether she’d got this all wrong. Again.
Panic at the idea of all those guests—the rich and famous, the reporters from Glossip, the photographers and Zander’s family—everyone watching her, twisted her insides. They would all see through her. They would know that she was an impostor. Especially in this dress. What had she been thinking?
Chill out. Hopefully the herbal remedy she’d taken to calm her anxiety would soon kick in. The concoction bought from her local health food shop had come highly recommended by a student who suffered from exam nerves, and Gabby had figured she might as well give it a try.
Resisting the urge to recommence the pacing, she studied her image instead and started to talk herself off the ledge of anxiety, exactly as her childhood self had done.
First, she looked at her surroundings, focused on objects and decor—an exercise in grounding. The bedroom continued the beige theme, and the room was furnished as if from a tick list. Double bed, wardrobe, bedside cabinets. The End. The room had an unused feel to it, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was its first ever occupant.
Next she turned her attention back to her reflection. The dress was fine—it suited her and muted her, would hopefully allow her to fade away into the background. For better or worse, she’d decided to go the high-street route. She had visited the most exclusive boutique in Bath and been unable to justify the prices, despite the generous expenses allowance Zander had transferred into her account. She’d donated most of it to the dyslexia charity Zander was supporting.
In truth, it hadn’t all been altruism—the thought of wearing one of those expensive designer dresses had brought the aphorism ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ to mind. Although she knew in theory she would fit in better if she wore the same sort of thing as the other guests, in reality she knew it wouldn’t work like that
—in some way she would still be recognised as an impostor. Better to remain true to herself, play the part of a temporary fling who didn’t want to be dressed by her...lover.
Lover. The word brought the panic back in a waterfall of nerves, and she focused on the dress itself.
Black. Strapless. Long. Bodice boning ensured the top half contoured her curves. The satin skirt fell to the floor in a satisfying sweep and swish of elegance and modesty. Her hair fell in a simple curtain to her bare shoulders, her make-up was a study in the art of discretion.
Somehow she would get through the evening, pull off this nonsensical fantasy and this time tomorrow it will all be over. Plus, she had a new secondary mantra in place now—think of the money.
The reminder steadied her. Because at the end of the day, no matter what personal humiliation or social anxiety she had to endure, she’d get to walk away with enough money to ensure her grandmother would get the care she deserved. So she would hold nerves at bay and go and do the job she had agreed to do.
After all, she’d played a role before when the stakes had been way higher—the part of a well-adjusted child when she’d been an inner wreck. So this would be fine.
Yet the knock at the bedroom door triggered a further burst of butterflies, along with a stupid thrill of anticipation. Ridiculous.
She pulled the door open and stepped outside into the hall. The anticipation was justified—one look at him and all her brain could think was, Yum. Every instinct told her to use her arms to pull him up close and personal. Every instinct except the one of self-preservation. But Zander looked gorgeous—the tuxedo emphasised every lithe muscle, added a devil-may-care twist to his dark good looks, emphasised by the glint of his dark blonde hair.
The silence lengthened and she stepped backwards, reminding herself that they could not let physical attraction overcome common sense. And yet a deep yearning sparked inside her, curiosity as to what it would be like simply to succumb. To grasp the lapels of his tux, drag him towards her, kiss him senseless and pull him into the bedroom.
As if. That would be so far out of character that she would suspect she’d been possessed. So instead she said, with a brightness that rung false, ‘Hey!’
‘Hey...’
It occurred to her that despite the aura of drop-dead gorgeousness he was nervous—acting as awkwardly as it was possible for Zander Grosvenor to be. Oh, God. Had he taken one look at her and realised what she’d been trying to tell him all along? That she couldn’t cut the mustard—or any other condiment for that matter? That no one would believe this ridiculous charade?
‘You look great,’ he said eventually.
Yet she didn’t believe him as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his stance the epitome of discomfort. Was it her? She needed to know the truth.
‘If I don’t look right you need to tell me. We can’t make this work if I look wrong.’ If she was not a plausible date for Zander Grosvenor.
Zander frowned, gave his head a small shake and then he looked at her—properly looked at her—and her skin rippled with a shiver of desire.
‘You don’t look wrong. You look fantastic.’ A small smile tipped his lips. ‘I promise. This will work. We’ve got this.’
His voice deep, full of promise of a different type, and there it was again, that desire to close the gap and kiss him. But that way lay a road she would not walk—she could not be an interlude, a temporary rung on his ladder to getting over Claudia.
Claudia. The reminder was stark—and needed.
‘Thank you. Now, we’d better go.’
* * *
We’ve got this... We’ve got this... We’ve got this.
As Zander drove with easy competence through the London streets Gabby concentrated on the role she would play. This was no different from her careful preparations before each social worker’s visit, her daily preparations when she’d first moved in with her grandparents. She’d moulded herself a persona back then and she would use those skills to pull this off.
But once they’d parked, left the car and made their way to their destination, doubts began to slip into her conviction. And as she saw the looming yacht docked in the river she could feel her confidence seep away, escape into the night air and be blown away by the cool breeze.
This was not her milieu—the vessel was too enormous, too redolent of wealth as it glittered and illuminated the water of the Thames and the surrounding London landscape. But this was the world Zander inhabited and was comfortable in.
A glance sideways at him and there it was: the palpable shiver of desire. Suddenly the zing of attraction seemed stark in its utter stupidity, and a swell of panic washed over her at the enormity of the deception they had embarked upon. But it was too late now to turn and run, so somehow she’d have to tough it out.
This time tomorrow it will all be over. Think of the money.
Side by side they boarded the yacht and she braced herself, feeling the warmth of his hand on the small of her back. The heat of his touch through the thin material of her dress sent a message to her whole body, almost like a brand, as she gazed round in wonder.
The enormous wood-decked function room was bathed in light. Chandeliers and fairy lights combined to cast a magical glow of illumination. Glass-topped tables were strategically placed and suited waiters and elegant waitresses were ready to be deployed, standing next to a long table that sparkled with champagne glasses and carried silver trays of canapés.
Then the surroundings faded into irrelevance as a group of people approached them.
The Grosvenor family.
Smile. Remember your role. Play the part.
‘Mum, Dad, Julia, Gemma... This is Gabby. Gabby, this is my mum, Laura, my dad, Frank, and my two sisters, Julia and Gemma.’
Gabby looked at each of them in turn, saw the appraisal in their eyes, homed in on each and every nuance. She knew she would need to read them effectively. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
Keep it cool. Talk, but not too much. Listen carefully and say what they want to hear.
All the old rules were still in play.
‘And you, Gabby. We’ve been looking forward to it.’
Zander stepped forward. ‘OK. As we discussed, there’ll be plenty of time to talk later. But now it’s all men and women to the pumps. I’ll greet the guests as they arrive—the rest of you mingle and make sure everyone’s happy. Any glitches, come and find me. Also, do your best to promote the auction items—subtly.’ As they had prearranged, he glanced at Gabby. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Of course, darling.’
The word was said as naturally as if she used it every day. Damn, she still had it. She could still play a part even if it made her nerves sizzle with anxiety. Even if this was a part that went against every particle of her character.
‘You go—and if there’s anything I can do to help just shout. Don’t worry about me.’
A brief nod and he disappeared. Gabby took a deep breath and turned to face the Grosvenors.
‘Have you had a chance to look at the auction details?’ Frank asked.
She heard the kindness in his voice and knew he was trying to set her at ease. ‘Yes, and I think the list is incredible.’
Items included a luxury weekend break in Portugal, a painting by a famous artist, a share in a yacht, a designer necklace from one of London’s most prestigious jewellers and an afternoon driving a racing car with Alessio Bravanti himself. Each item was another reminder of the wealth of the guest list.
‘I’ll definitely do my best to promote it, but I think it will speak for itself.’
Now Laura smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll do a great job.’
Before she could say more, a couple came towards them with cries of greeting, and both Laura and Frank stepped forward.
‘I hope we have time to talk more later, Gabby,’ said Laura.
‘That leaves you with us.’ Julia smiled at Gabby. Her tone was friendly but her smile didn’t reach her ice-blue eyes.
Gemma darted a frown at her sister and chimed in. ‘Zander asked us to make sure you’re OK whilst he greets the guests, and we thought we could use the time to get to know each other better, too.’
A waiter eased by, offering a tray of champagne cocktails, and Gabby took one, pretty sure that fun flings didn’t ask for orange juice or a nice cup of tea at events such as this. Though she’d make sure she stuck to non-alcoholic beverages after this one—she had no intention of risking letting the mask slip.
‘So...’ Julia said, and Gabby tried and failed not to feel intimidated.
Julia Grosvenor would be formidable in court. Zander’s eldest sister was scarily elegant, her blonde hair swept into an immaculate chignon, the ice-blue dress a vivid echo of her eye colour and a perfect showcase for her figure.
She studied Gabby with disconcerting appraisal. ‘Zander tells me the two of you met recently and hit it off.’
‘Yes. We were at school together, though I was in the year below him. We bumped into each other in Bath and things went from there.’
‘A chance meeting?’ The question was civil, but the faintest stress on the word chance indicated waves of scepticism.
‘Come on, Jules,’ Gemma interpolated. ‘This isn’t a courtroom and we haven’t got time for a whole series of questions. Why don’t we cut to the chase?’
Like Zander, Gemma was dark blonde, tall and slender, and tonight she was dressed in a deep red gown.
‘We all want to know what your intentions are.’
The direct approach—Gabby welcomed it. ‘I don’t have any,’ she said. ‘We’ve only just started to see each other. I like Zander and he likes me, but neither of us is looking for anything serious.’
Stop there. Don’t overdo it.
Both women were looking at her—two super successful, intelligent women, used to judging and evaluating people in their different fields. Yet she had told them nothing but the slightly shaded truth.