Jessica Gilmore - Honeymooning With Her Brazilian Boss

‘In Brazil,’ he said, ‘we would say querida, minha amada, me amor .’

Where had that come from? He never spoke Portuguese any more. Thanks to the private international school he’d attended for his first ten years he’d grown up bilingual, unusual in Brazil, and as soon as he had moved to the UK he’d worked hard to speak, think and even dream in the language of his adopted country. When he could control his dreams that was.

So why was it so easy to imagine saying such words to Harriet?

‘Yes,’ she said a little unsteadily, stepping back. ‘That’s the kind of thing. So you see why it would be easier to forget about the whole honeymoon thing.’

‘I disagree, querida.’ Again the endearment slipped out with ease. ‘I’m sure we can manage, if we try.’

‘Plus—’ another step back ‘—we haven’t factored in a honeymoon wardrobe. I own nothing that says bride or rich husband—and I would be surprised if you have a single item suitable for a beach holiday. We’re much better sticking to what I assumed was the original script, a wife accompanying her husband on a business trip and dressing accordingly.’

‘What do you need?’

‘Need?’

‘For a honeymoon?’

‘Dresses and swimsuits and nice shoes. I don’t know, clothes that make me feel special. Sexy.’ She bit her lip on the last word as if wanting to recall it, but it hung in the air, thickening it, until Deangelo could hardly breathe.

‘Okay then. Take the rest of the afternoon and buy whatever you need. You still have your company card?’ Harriet nodded mutely. ‘I’ll meet you once I’ve finished here. We can put in some practice at being newlyweds. Book us in somewhere appropriate. That will be all.’

He didn’t allow himself to look up until Harriet had finally left the room, but he could feel her wide blue eyes fixed disbelievingly on him, her scent lingering along with the echoes of that word. Sexy . Harriet was bright, incisive, tactful. She was tall and curvy and too demure. She hid her attractiveness behind shapeless clothes and her glorious hair spent most of its life tied up in a tight bun but Deangelo had always seen—seen and resolutely ignored—her potential for real beauty. He had never considered her sexy, though, but now the thought was in his head there was no recalling it. And tonight they would be getting to know each other as newlyweds should.

Only this was all business, and the blood rushing around his body, the thrum of his pulse beating through every pressure point, needed to remember that. Attraction was one thing, acting on it quite another. Not that he had any intention of acting on anything. Fake honeymoon or no fake honeymoon.

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