Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

by Nina Milne

  ‘It sounds like you made her last months happy.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then weeks after she died I started my business. I’m not proud of that, but there it is.’

  ‘You should be proud—Claudia would be, I’m sure. I wish she could have seen it, been part of it,’ she said simply. ‘I hope that somehow, somewhere, she can.’

  ‘It wouldn’t make her proud. Why would it?’ The words were tinged with bitterness and he sipped his wine, hoped the rich spiciness would remove the taste, but knew nothing could.

  ‘Because she loved you. She’d want you to be happy, to have achieved your dream.’

  Suddenly he couldn’t let her believe that. He wouldn’t share the whole truth—couldn’t betray Claudia’s memory—but he could at least burst the bubble that painted him as someone he wasn’t.

  ‘It wasn’t her dream,’ he stated. The words had never before been uttered, and they felt full of portent. ‘Claudia didn’t share this dream, this ambition. And so it took her death for me to get all my wealth and success. The worst thing of all is that I have enjoyed it—every step of my path to success. I’ve loved it all. So what sort of man does that make me? No need to answer that. It makes me a number-one bastard.’

  There was a long silence. He kept his eyes on the sea, rougher now, the dark waves crested by moonlight.

  Then, ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘Actually, it isn’t easy. Because I know how you feel. I know.’

  Her voice was low, the words caught by the light evening breeze. The dusk had deepened and the warm night air held a different scent now. Cooking smells, sea spray, deeper and stronger.

  ‘I know how it feels for a life to benefit from a death.’

  Her tone was weighted with sadness and he moved closer to her so they sat shoulder to shoulder.

  ‘My life. My mother was an addict. Drink, drugs... She was the all-time party girl. And becoming a parent didn’t make any difference to her at all. She just took me along for the ride. My father was a drug dealer, a criminal... He eventually died in a prison brawl. Not that I ever knew him. My mother had moved on by then. She broke my grandparents’ hearts—only came home when she needed money or when she needed somewhere to dump me. Sometimes it was a day, sometimes a week, sometimes a month.’

  Zander was sure he heard the crack of his heart as a surge of impotent anger coursed through his body for tiny Gabby, tossed from pillar to post, never knowing where she would be from one minute to the next. No wonder she craved security.

  ‘Anyway... When I was seven she left me with Gran and Gramps and she didn’t come back. Eventually we were told that she’d died—overdosed. And you know what stinks? When I found out, my first emotion, my first thought, was, maybe I can stay here. With my grandparents. Where there is food and safety and security. So if you’re a bastard, what does that make me?’

  The words froze him in his tracks. They were an echo of his own feelings, only so very different.

  ‘It makes you human. Gabby, you were a child. Your mother—the one person in the world who should have put you first, cared for you—didn’t or couldn’t give you the fundamental safety you deserved. It was a completely natural reaction. There is no fault.’

  ‘That is logic speaking—but it doesn’t change the burn of guilt inside me. For better or worse she was my mother, but her death benefited me. Gave me security, love and a home. So I understand how you feel about Claudia and it’s a sucky feeling. But I’m sure that Claudia wouldn’t begrudge you your success or blame you for it. She loved you and you loved her. Nothing is more important than that. I’m not sure my mother and I even had that.’

  Only Gabby still didn’t know the full truth. Once he and Claudia had loved each other, but his love had faded, withered, had not been strong enough to withstand their different approaches to life. But that was his cross to bear, and more important right now was Gabby—Gabby, who must have had such complex feelings for her mother.

  He knew empty platitudes would be rightly rejected as inadequate, and he thought carefully before he spoke. ‘I can’t pretend to know how your mother felt, but addiction is a very terrible thing. It changes people—changes their priorities, their very nature. It can make them choose actions they know to be wrong.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. I’ve done a lot of research into it. But I do wish I’d been worth enough to her for her to try to turn it all around. Wish I’d been good enough’

  ‘No one could have been good enough—it wasn’t a flaw in you, it was a fault in her.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like that.’

  He wondered if it still didn’t.

  ‘And still I wish that my first reaction to her death had been different.’

  ‘I think that your mother would have understood, and she’d be happy that you ended up with love and security. I don’t think she would begrudge you that, either.’

  ‘Thank you. I mean that.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I’m even talking about her. I never do, really. It upsets Gran and it makes me feel guilty.’

  ‘You told me to make me feel better, and I appreciate that. Thank you.’

  For a long moment they sat, and slowly the atmosphere began to morph and shimmer. His whole being was acutely aware of her closeness, her warmth and beauty.

  She caught her breath. ‘That’s what friends are for.’

  ‘Yes.’ He turned to look at her, her chestnut hair sheened by moonlight, her features dappled by the beams casting them into shade and brightness. ‘Problem is, right now I don’t feel like just a friend.’

  Her hazel eyes were luminous in the moonbeams as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. ‘So...like a friend...with benefits?’

  Her voice was small, but clear, her gaze unwavering, and now the awareness that had simmered, muted by the sheer emotional warmth of their conversation, shifted, almost as if the moon’s haze had cast a sparkling net of magical awareness around them.

  ‘What sort of benefits did you have in mind?’

  Now she smiled—a slow, almost languorous smile. ‘I’m thinking of the exact type of benefits you have in mind.’

  All he wanted to do was kiss her, but some innate sense of honour pulled him back, kept him still.

  ‘Unless I’ve got this all wrong?’ Hurt, fear of rejection, crossed her eyes.

  She made to move backwards and instantly he reached out, covering her hand in his.

  ‘No! You haven’t got it wrong. Jeez. I want this. I want you more than I can say. But I need to be sure you want it, too. You said that fun flings aren’t your thing, that you don’t want to feel second-best. I don’t want you to feel like that.’

  ‘I don’t. This isn’t about being second-best—this is about what we both want in the here and now.’ Her hand picked up some sand, trickled it through her fingers. ‘For once I don’t want to be cautious—the one who clings to the shore, who won’t take a risk, won’t have fun. For once I want to let go. Just for a weekend. I want to break free from common sense and reason and all the shibboleths and worries that govern my life. One weekend. That doesn’t complicate anything.’

  His brain made a last-ditch attempt to tell him that it wasn’t that easy—that this would complicate everything—but he shut it down. One weekend—what could be wrong with that?

  ‘Are you sure?’ His breath caught in his lungs as he waited for her answer. ‘Sure this is what you want?

  CHAPTER TEN

  GABBY STARED INTO his eyes, then glanced around the beach, wanting to imprint it for ever on her memory. Then she looked back at Zander. Took in every detail. The darkness of his blue-grey eyes, the contained, controlled aura of desire that she knew was for her, and revelled in that knowledge.

  ‘I’m sure. One hundred per cent.’ She could see doubt fighting desire in his stance.
‘You can be my Mr Right for the Weekend.’

  For a second inexplicable sadness touched her, but then she pushed it away. Zander could not be her Mr Right for Ever. His life goals were utterly different from hers—and, of more importance perhaps, she couldn’t keep up with him. She wasn’t in his league and it wasn’t a league she wanted to be in—not a world she wanted to be part of. Lord knew she loved her niche, the place in the world she’d forged and carved out for herself. Secure, safe... A place where she could be content.

  But right now that didn’t matter—nothing mattered except the here and now, and for once she was going to grab the moment. And him.

  ‘I want this. I want you.’

  And finally he smiled and her heart soared.

  ‘Then what are we waiting for? It would be my pleasure. Our pleasure, in fact.’

  She could hear the rough edge of desire in his voice and it thrilled her. His eyes, molten in the moonlight, were completely focused on her as he leant forward and brushed his lips across hers with a tantalising slowness, caressing her shoulders. Her skin shivered under his touch and desire surged inside her in a swirling vortex of need that only he could assuage.

  She couldn’t hold back the moan of protest when he pulled away.

  ‘We need to go. Get back to the villa.’

  Together, their fingers made clumsy by the sheer need for speed, they cleared away the remnants of their picnic, rolled up the rug and half walked, half ran up the beach to where the lighted streets still showed couples out for a stroll, bars lit up and where there was the sound of late-night diners, laughter and the hum of conversation.

  Within minutes he’d found a taxi, tugged her towards it and their journey began. A silent journey, broken only by a few courteous platitudes to the driver. There was no need for words to each other, nothing to say that could eclipse the mounting anticipation inside her. Not a single doubt was allowed to surface—she knew that she couldn’t stop now, propelled by a desire so deep, so consuming, it wouldn’t be possible to deny it.

  As she alighted from the taxi she felt as though she was walking through a sea of sensation. Every sound was magnified, every chirp of a cricket, every rustle of a tree’s branches in the wind. The breeze lifted her hair against the nape. Her skin was supersensitive. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as Zander pulled her into his arms and kissed her—a deep searing kiss in which their mutual passion met and matched, a kiss that branded her very soul.

  Time lost meaning, and it could have been minutes or hours that they stood lip-locked, surrounded by the late-night garden scents. But finally he took her hand and they walked unsteadily towards the front door.

  Once inside they wasted no time, practically sprinting for the stairs, and she gave a small laugh of relief as they reached the mezzanine level—until he dropped an expletive.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I haven’t got any protection...’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m on the pill.’

  She had remained on it after her split with Steve, as it regulated her periods. It was a decision she had been unsure about, but now she welcomed it with a wash of relief, matched by Zander’s and shown in the force of his answer when she explained.

  And then the need for words was over; his expression said it all, and he was utterly focused, almost reverent, as he gently pushed the straps of her dress down, bent his head and whispered kisses across her shoulder. How was it possible to feel boneless, to be so caught up, so focused on the thrills that ricocheted through her?

  She reached out in wonder. Finally this was allowed—to slide her hands under the soft fabric of his T-shirt and feel the muscular solidity of his chest, to rest her palm over the accelerated beat of his heart. And then he was kissing her again, and Gabby gave herself up to the sensory onslaught...

  * * *

  Zander opened his eyes and stared up at the whitewashed ceiling, aware of the rays of bright sunshine that filtered through the slatted blinds they had forgotten to close properly. A feeling of immense well-being filled him—an urge to throw open the windows and sing. Instead he shifted slightly, aware that next to him Gabby still slept.

  For a long moment he looked down at her and marvelled at the sheer joy they had experienced just hours before. Passion, laughter, discovery and a generosity that still startled him. Now she lay curled on her side, her impossibly long eyelashes on show, one hand tucked under her cheek.

  As quietly as he could, he slipped from the bed, closed the shutters so she could sleep on and tiptoed downstairs, determined to produce a spectacular breakfast.

  Half an hour later her head appeared over the banister. ‘That smells divine!’

  ‘Bacon, eggs, pastries, coffee, toast. They stocked the kitchen in style. I figure we burned off a whole load of calories. I also figure we need a whole load more energy for what I have in mind.’

  An endearing blush and a wicked smile greeted this, and she padded downstairs dressed in an oversized T-shirt. Her hair cascaded wildly to her shoulders and his heart did a funny little dip.

  Whoa, Zander. Any other bit of his anatomy, sure, but his heart really did not need to get involved.

  Turning away, he concentrated on breakfast and on the plunge of the cafetière, and the sheer unfamiliarity of cooking for two smote him. It was a reminder that this was not normal—it was a capsule of time outside reality and away from the usual slipstream of their lives.

  ‘So.’ He placed a heaped plate in front of her. ‘What’s our plan for the day?’

  ‘Well, we could follow our old plan—visit the fairy-tale castle or the palace...’ Reaching out, she concentrated on buttering a piece of toast, her eyes on the knife as if the whole enterprise was a complicated military strategy. ‘Or we could stay here. Play board games, read books, drink coffee, cook...and anything else that takes our fancy.’ A small shrug. ‘Have a complete break from the world.’

  The phrase was an echo of his earlier thoughts.

  Zander poured more coffee, shocked at how very much the idea appealed. Never before had he embraced the idea of doing nothing, let alone doing it wrapped in cosy intimacy.

  A small alarm bell started to sound. ‘Are you sure? I saw yesterday how enthusiastic you were about the castle and the whole history of Sintra.’

  ‘I was. I am. But...’

  Her cheeks flushed and he couldn’t help but smile. ‘But you figure there are better activities on offer than sightseeing?’

  ‘Well...now that you mention it...’

  His brain shut off the growing siren that urged caution and his vocal cords jumped into action. ‘A complete break from the world sounds good. The castle will be there another day.’

  Whereas whatever was happening here had a time limit. It was a reminder to himself—a justification as to why he wanted to spend the next two days cocooned with Gabby in the villa. After all, once they went back to England normal life would resume. The opening of an office in New York, deals and clients and business growth—that was where his focus had to be. But suddenly he didn’t want to think about that.

  ‘I vote we stay right here. And I have a brilliant idea. Let’s go back to bed.’

  ‘Works for me.’

  And so started a day unlike any Zander had experienced before—a day when time seemed to lose meaning as they alternated between conversations about films and books and comfortable silence, as they played Monopoly and ate gigantic ham-and-cheese toasties in bed.

  ‘It’s been an amazing day,’ he said softly as the night drew in and he opened a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Yes, it has. I’ll definitely be putting this day in my treasure trove.’

  Handing her a frothing glass, he settled next to where she was curled up on the sofa, dressed in a fluffy dressing gown. ‘Treasure trove?’

  ‘It’s something Gran came up with when I was a child. It was hard, knowing that
the time I spent with her and Gramps could be snatched away at any time. And I never knew if Mum would bring me back again or not. So Gran said we should make a treasure trove of memories. Special things that I could treasure and take out and remember when I needed them. It was a brilliant idea. When things were tough I’d imagine opening the treasure trove and there they’d be. I’d lose myself in the memories.’

  Her eyes were looking into the past now, and he wondered how bad it had been. ‘I’m guessing it was pretty tough,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sometimes it was.’ Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and then she smiled. ‘But there were some good memories, and that’s where the treasure trove came in. When good things happened I’d make sure to imprint every second on my mind and I’d imagine putting the memory into a special box. And now it’s a habit I’ve got into. It helps sometimes—when things go wrong it’s good to remember there were happy times. Sometimes Gran and I sit and remember Gramps, look into our treasure troves of memories of him.’

  Zander watched Gabby and saw the affection on her face. ‘Your gran sounds like a really special person.’

  ‘She is. I’d do anything for her. Gran is the best person I know. And Gramps was pretty impressive, too. Life wasn’t always easy for them but they never gave up, never despaired. Gran says it’s because they had each other. She says Gramps was her rock, and the knowledge that their love was indestructible gave them both strength in the dark times. One day I hope I can find that kind of love, but I realise it’s probably a pipe dream.’

  ‘Why?’ Conflicting emotions hit him. Right now the idea of Gabby with the love of her life didn’t sit well with him—in fact the idea of Gabby with anyone else caused a knot of anger in his gut. Dog in the manger, or what? He told himself that of course he wanted her to have what she wanted.

  ‘You’re only twenty-nine. There’s plenty of time to find Mr Right.’

  ‘Even if I find him I’d have to figure out how to keep him, how to maintain the relationship.’