Page 31 of Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

He could hear the doubt, and an echoing inner voice questioned the sanity of the suggestion. It appeared that he was launching from stupidity to stupidity in an ever-increasing circle.

‘Yes, friends. Why not? We both accept that physical attraction exists and can’t be acted on, but that doesn’t mean we have to be afraid of it. We should face it down.’

‘Combat it with friendship? I guess it’s worth a try...’

‘Friends it is.’ He held out his hand. ‘Deal?’

‘Deal,’ she echoed and placed her hand in his.

The simple touch called the whole pact into question, causing a temptation to hold on, to circle his thumb round the tender pad of her palm. Instead he shook it and dropped it.

‘I’ll call the office.’

‘I’ll call the surf school.’

* * *

Gabby tried and failed to subdue the odd buzz of anticipation that laced her veins as they left the house and headed for Sintra and the tram station. True, there was a knot of anxiety in the pit of her tummy at the thought of the forthcoming swim, sea and surf experience, but her nerves were overlaid by the reassurance offered in the sheer bulk of Zander at her side. Perhaps they were also helped by the drops of herbal remedy she’d hastily taken whilst changing.

The idea of the next few days caused a fizz inside her she knew she should subdue. Three days with Mr Wrong—remember, Gabby? But the reminder did nothing to dispel the bubble of happiness. And why not? It was OK to enjoy the company of a friend. And friendship was a good thing. Plus, maybe getting to know each other better would help dilute their physical attraction.

Inside her that little voice of reality dissolved into hysterical laughter. Yeah, right, it jeered, but Gabby refused to acknowledge it. This would work.

And so she revelled in the sunshine as it soaked her skin, and in the feel of the streets under her sandals—as if she could absorb the historic beauty of Sintra through its cobbles.

Central to the town, the Gothic National Palace was a monument to history, with its whitewashed rambling walls and the iconic coned chimneys that reached for the unending blue of the sky.

‘Apparently Hans Christian Andersen said they looked like champagne bottles,’ she told Zander, suddenly happy that she could talk to him as if to a friend, no longer using the words as small talk.

He glanced down at her and suddenly he smiled—a smile that scorched her and sent all thoughts of friendship rushing into the shadows.

‘More research?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely. The history of the palace is fascinating. I’ve always loved history. I nearly did it at uni.’

‘What stopped you?’

‘Not vocational enough. I wasn’t really sure what I would do with a history degree—and I really didn’t want to come out of university with a massive student loan.’ Gabby had always known that her priority was her grandparents—ensuring she could care for them. ‘So I decided to skip uni—go a different route. I worked in a library and studied for a diploma in librarianship at the same time, and luckily I love it. And I get to keep history as a hobby.’

‘So tell me about the palace.’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m interested and because I like the way your face lights up when you talk about things that interest you.’

They were words a friend might use, but it didn’t feel like that. His eyes held warmth and his gaze caressed her skin.

‘OK. Um...’ For a moment all her research deserted her, but then finally memory kicked in. ‘The palace was built on the site of a Moorish fortress way back in medieval times, and Portuguese royals used it as their home. Some of them were born and died here. One of the best stories about it is that in 1582 four ambassadors from Japan visited Europe and came to Sintra—how brilliant is that? Wherever they went they were treated with respect; they were seen as a living letter from Japan. I think that’s wonderful—that centuries ago people showed respect to other cultures...cultures that must have been so different.’

Gabby came to a stop, aware that her voice had quickened into a torrent of words.

‘Sorry. Too much information.’

‘Nope. I’m genuinely interested.’

And still his gaze rested on her with a glint that quickened her pulse.

‘The tram station is this way.’

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