Marriage in Name Only? (12 page)

‘No. We were going to get married. It just didn’t happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘We wanted different things.’

‘But you kept the ring,’ she said softly. ‘You wanted a reminder.’

Hell, yes
. ‘Not for any foolish sentimental reason. I keep it to remind me that I’m not, and never will be, a marrying man.’

Her eyes welled up with sympathy. ‘What did she do to destroy that for you?’

Frustrated that she’d assume a woman could wield that kind of power over him, he grabbed the damn thing, jammed it on his finger. ‘What makes you think it was her? What makes you so sure I didn’t break
her
heart?’

‘I’m
not
sure. Because you haven’t told me. But your words and actions since we agreed to this arrangement would indicate she’s the one who did a number on you and not the other way round.’

The woman’s insight and gentle compassion weren’t something Jordan knew how to deal with. She was scraping dangerously close to a raw spot he’d almost forgotten he had. ‘It’s in the past—leave it there.’

As a distraction, he touched her bare shoulder with a finger—smooth ivory—and felt a little shiver run through her. ‘We’re never going to have another night like this, Blondie. Let’s not waste it.’

Whisky eyes turned black in the amber candlelight and a
slow smile drifted over her lips. ‘Let’s not.’ She rose and stood before him, gaze locked on his, confident in her femininity.

Sensing she wanted his attention for the moment but not his touch, he remained where he was. A messy flaxen halo around that elfin face with her too-big eyes that drew you in until you lost a part of yourself. Confident, yes, but also small and delicate and easily damaged. He wanted to tuck her inside the pocket of his jacket and keep her safe, next to his heart.
Just keep her …

She pushed the garment off her shoulder and the silk slithered to the floor in a vibrant kaleidoscope of colour, leaving a vision of alabaster skin and lush curves and violet lace.

His heart pounded, his groin tightened and he curled his hands into fists on his thighs to stop himself reaching for her. Maybe it was the mystical romance of the silken tent or their exotic location or the drift of beeswax and sandalwood from the candles, but no woman had ever enchanted him so.

Was he ready for another woman in his life? he wondered. Then stopped wondering anything at all because all his blood drained from his brain as she unclasped her bra and dropped it at her feet. Her breasts were perfection, like succulent ripe fruit waiting to be relished.

She pushed the lace panties down over her hips and stepped out of them. A symphony of shadows and light played over her body. He might have groaned but he was no longer certain of his own responses, so absorbed was he with the vision in front of him.

Deep, intimate silence shimmered in the air between them, broken by the intermittent sputtering of a candle, a night creature fossicking in the palms outside, the sound of their own heightened breathing.

She held out her hands, candlelight gilding her eyes. ‘Take me to bed, Jordan.’

He needed no second bidding. Scooping up her slender
form, he held her against his chest, and as he watched the emotion flicker over her face he lost himself for a moment in a fantasy.

She was as light as the desert breeze wafting through the hanging silks as he carried her to their bed. Because he just wanted to watch her a moment, he made a place for her amongst the mountain of pillows and laid her down. Stripping off his shorts, he climbed onto the bed, his thighs straddling hers.

To please himself, he fanned her hair out on either side of her head. To please her, he stroked her body from neck to thighs with feather-light touches that roused goose bumps along her flesh. To please them both, he lowered his mouth to one breast and closed his lips over the puckered tip while he brushed his fingers slowly over the curve of its twin.

They had all night so he lingered where he might have rushed. Took the time to enjoy the nuances of flavour and texture and fragrance—of her skin and hair, mouth and tongue. And she responded like a dream. Low intimate murmurs, the slow, sensuous glide of flesh on flesh, her hands and mouth unerringly seeking out places where he liked to be touched.

Rumpled silk sheets and air warm with the scent of passion. Candles sputtered and died. The velvet night seduced and soothed as the moon drifted across the sky, its cool light shafting through the tent’s open flaps, painting skin an ethereal silver.

And when at last he lost himself inside her and the sounds of shared passion filled the air, it wasn’t with a rush of speed, but with an abiding tenderness he’d never known he possessed.

C
HLOE WOKE WITH
the dawn—a rim of gold against the sand dunes and a chill in the dry air. She wanted to sigh and smile at the same time and hold the last few precious hours in her heart forever. Their magical Arabian night was over.

She didn’t move lest she wake the man beside her. She wanted to look her fill of him first. Long black lashes swept down over his cheeks but that was where the innocent appearance stopped. A disreputable-looking night’s growth dotted his square jaw; those lips, almost curving into a smile, were made for sin.

And she was tempted to sin some more. To taste, and touch and tease again. Tempted beyond all sane, logical reason.

Instead, she slid carefully out of bed, and, drawing a light shawl around her bare shoulders, she crept to the tent’s flap and watched the harsh landscape welcome the day.

She needed to think where this thing with Jordan was going. Its speed and intensity scared her.
There’s nothing that says we can’t continue to see each other
. She remembered the expression in his eyes when he’d said those words. As if he meant it. The same look she’d seen when he’d made love to her in the moonlight.

I’m not a marrying man
.

He confused her. She felt as if she were on a seesaw. He didn’t want commitment—had made no secret of it. He
wanted no-strings for as long as whatever it was they had lasted. Wasn’t that what she wanted too? Free to walk away. No complications, no regrets, no tears.

I want to belong
.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ a sleep-husky voice said behind her.

And maybe it was his tone or something in the air between them because she imagined him saying that to her a year from now. Two. Twenty.

But she must keep it simple because he wouldn’t be around; even a month was stretching it. Just sex, just for now. She dashed a suspicious moisture from her eye before she turned, her smile in place. ‘Waiting for my lover to come find me.’

Warm hands drifted over her shoulders, then slipped beneath the shawl to stroke bare skin, but he’d seen her furtive action.

‘He’s here,’ he murmured. ‘And he wants to know who the low-life who hurt you is so he can go run him through with his sword.’

Her breath caught and she shook her head. She couldn’t tell him how she really felt—how he would hate that. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The scumbag who hurt you.’ His voice tightened on the words. ‘I asked you in the diner that first night we met. It’s not Mr Despicable—he was never in your heart. There’s someone else. Who was he, Blondie?’

Jordan’s perceptiveness surprised her but the image that rose behind her eyes no longer harmed and humiliated. She was a stronger person than that naive young woman Stewart had used then tossed aside. More experienced. Wiser. It had taken Jordan to show her that.

‘He doesn’t matter. Not anymore.’ Stewart was less than nothing. A faded scar. A lesson learned.

‘You’ve never got him out of your system,’ Jordan murmured against her neck. ‘Now’s a good time.’

He was right—the lying SOB needed to go. ‘Rich English aristocrat. Widower. Huge country home. I was his son’s nanny. Naive little Chloe fell in love and thought her love was returned. I was in such a hurry to tell my family the good news of my success and too stupid to realise that success didn’t mean finding a rich man and falling in love.

‘When he …’
threw me out
‘… when I left, I didn’t mention my failures to my family or that I’d moved on. Because we didn’t keep in touch, they still think …’ She shrugged.

‘You are
not
a failure, Chloe.’ He lifted her hair to kiss the back of her neck. ‘You’re a remarkable woman. You’re gutsy and trustworthy. Someone others can count on.’

‘Thank you.’ He’d never know how much his words meant, more so because she knew they weren’t empty platitudes. They lifted her up and made her want to sing. ‘You can slay my dragons and demons for me any time.’

‘Consider him slain.’ His breath tickled the hairs at her temple. ‘What would you have your lover do now?’

‘I’d have him carry me back to bed and then …’ She turned her head and whispered something in his ear that had that gorgeous mouth tilting up at the edges.

‘My lady’s wish is my command,’ he said, and swung her up into his arms.

Twenty-four hours later they were preparing to meet the man Jordan hoped to forge a business deal with. The reason they’d come to Dubai. The reason she was here, Chloe reminded herself, checking her appearance in the mirror.

Satisfied she looked the part of wife with her conservative navy blue business suit and demure cream blouse and her hair swept back into a neat chignon by the hotel’s stylist, she exited the bathroom in search of Jordan.

They’d returned to the city late yesterday. Their honeymoon night was a beautiful memory but, if last night was an indication, the rest of their time in Dubai promised to be almost as memorable.

She saw him standing by one of the panoramic windows overlooking the beach scrolling through emails on his phone, brows drawn in concentration. His made-to-measure suit accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs and his shirt looked whiter-than-white against his tanned skin. A navy tie completed the corporate image.

But now she knew the body beneath the clothes. The man behind the image. She knew what he liked, what made him come. Who he was when he wasn’t being Jordan Blackstone, gold-mining magnate.

She admired that man. She respected him. He’d given her a new belief in herself and lifted her self-esteem. He’d shown her that not all men were bastards.

Almost reluctant, she stepped farther into the room and announced her presence. ‘When do we leave?’

‘In a few moments.’ He looked up and smiled, checking out her appearance with a nod of approval. ‘Perfect. I swear I’ve never met a more punctual woman. Punctual
and
beautiful.’

‘That’s why you married me, right, Pookie?’

His smile dipped a moment like the sun skimming behind a solitary cloud in a blue sky. ‘Very good, Blondie. Keep it up and it’s going to work to both our advantage. Only a few more hours and if everything goes to plan …’

They’d be going home. She crossed the space between them and straightened his tie even though it didn’t need straightening—everything about Jordan was precise. Understated and refined. His aftershave was cool and subtle. ‘You’ll wow him with that fantastic business plan of yours and with your commitment and morals. He’d be an idiot to refuse you over that other Xmining company.’

‘X23.’ He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes. ‘Thanks for your confidence in me—it means a lot. And thanks for doing this entire thing on such short notice.’

‘You paid me to do a job.’ Hardly aware she was doing it, she twisted the ring on her finger.

He nodded. ‘So it’s the beauty session at last, then. Or is it a spa?’

‘Spa and massage. I can’t wait. You see, I have these tight muscles …’

Jordan chuckled, and she smiled back at him, sharing the humour and fun. She’d been expecting to spend the day with Qasim’s wife and other female members of his family but the elderly woman was still by her sister’s bedside since she’d suffered a severe heart attack. It had been decided that Chloe would meet the sheikh, then be free to choose her own activities for the day.

‘One more thing before we leave.’ Jordan pulled a slim box from his jacket pocket and opened it. ‘This is for you.’

She stared at the slim gold chain and a pair of gold filigree hoop earrings nestled in royal blue velvet. Was this a thank-you gift or a lover’s gift? Or investment pieces to wear for the day? She didn’t ask. Not now.

‘I bought it from one of Qasim’s shops the other day,’ Jordan explained and lifted the chain from its box. ‘He’d expect the owner of a successful gold mine to shower his new wife with gold. Chosen specifically for her, even if she’s not into jewellery. Turn around.’ He fastened it around her neck. ‘I’ll let you do the earrings.’

‘I need a mirror.’ Distracted, she withdrew her compact and removed the tiny sleepers she’d worn for years then slid the golden hoops in. Maybe it was the residual passion from the past couple of days but she looked different wearing Jordan’s jewellery. And he’d chosen it for her.

‘Sophisticated and classy,’ he said.

‘They’re not words I associate with myself,’ she replied, still studying herself critically.

‘Well, you should start associating them, because they suit you—the words and the jewellery.’

Sophisticated? Chloe Montgomery? He meant it but with every second that ticked by she felt less like herself and more like a woman she’d never met and didn’t know.

Or maybe he’d brought out the real Chloe, the one she could be if given a chance. She spun away towards the elevator, tossing her compact in her purse. ‘You do
not
want to be late. I’m making sure you’re not.’

‘Aren’t you going to give me a kiss for luck?’

‘You don’t need luck—you already have enough of everything else to make this work.’

Their meeting was scheduled in one of the hotel’s private meeting rooms. They were received by one of Sheikh Qasim’s advisers and ushered into a luxurious blue room large enough to hold fifty people. The man promptly disappeared, leaving them in a kind of limbo. Which Jordan seemed to expect.

Not to worry—smiling waiters served them spiced tea and a variety of delicacies while they waited. And waited. And waited. If Jordan was nervous, he didn’t show it. He assured Chloe waiting was the norm here.

A long, fraught hour or more later, the door opened and the elderly man walked in, his robes swirling about him.

Jordan and Chloe both stood. Jordan stepped forward, extending his hand. ‘Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid.
Salam alaykum.’
Peace be upon you.

The sheikh met Jordan and clasped his hand firmly.
‘Wa alaykum as-salam.’

‘Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid, I’d like to introduce my wife.’ He placed a light hand on her back and smiled into her eyes. ‘This is Chloe Montgomery.’

The sheikh turned to Chloe, nodded respectfully.
‘Salam alaykum.’

‘Wa alaykum as-salam.’
Smiling, Chloe inclined her head.

A short time later, the introductions over, pleasantries exchanged and sincere thanks given for the ‘honeymoon special’, Chloe was finally able to escape to her massage appointment. Gratefully.
Very
gratefully. Tricky etiquette in this part of the world. For Jordan’s sake, she hoped she’d got it right. He’d paid for her services and she’d smiled and acted the docile, adoring wife and just prayed it had worked. If it was successful, they were booked on tomorrow’s flight. Which meant tonight was their last night.

Her heart was already bleeding. So she did what any woman would do under the circumstances—she distracted herself. If she didn’t do
something,
she’d end up pacing a bald track in their suite’s very expensive carpet. And she needed, desperately, to maintain some control over her circumstances.

Hours later Chloe received a call. ‘Break out the champagne,’ Jordan told her with a grin a mile wide in his voice. ‘I’m on my way up to the room.’

And she could visualise that familiar spark in his eyes, the way his cheeks creased when he smiled, and wished she could be there right now to plant one on him. ‘Jordan, that’s wonderful news, congratulations. I’m so happy for you, but I’m not there.’

Jordan frowned as he stepped into the elevator, his effervescent mood losing some of its fizz. What did she mean, she wasn’t there? Surely a massage didn’t last that long? ‘It’s gone three—where are you?’

‘I’m in the Burjuman Centre making the most of what’s left of my time here.’

‘Shopping.’ A ridiculous feeling of disappointment rolled through him. He stared unseeing at the world falling away
as the elevator soared skywards. She was shopping while he’d been making one of the most important deals of his life.

‘I’m sorry,’ he heard her say. ‘I lost track of time. I’m leaving right this minute. Don’t start without me, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He disconnected, stepped out into their suite muttering to himself. Her stories must be having an effect on him because for some insane reason he’d expected her to be waiting with bated breath for his triumphant return, the way a lady waited in the castle for her battle-weary hero.

Blimey, what an idiot.

When it came right down to it, why would it matter to Chloe how his meeting went? She’d done her bit. For her this whole business was over. She could walk away now, well recompensed for her time and trouble, and never have to see him again.

The question was, would she?

The more disturbing question was would he let her?

He ordered the most expensive bubbly on the menu then strode to the windows and watched the afternoon sun shimmering on the gulf. Forty-eight hours ago they’d been making love in a desert oasis under that afternoon sun. Now … He dismissed the wet and wild images.
Priorities, man
. He’d secured a buyer for his gold as he’d promised his father; that was what was important here.

But when she rushed across the room towards him thirty minutes later, pink-cheeked and pretty in a new fuchsia sundress with a matching bolero, her eyes sparkling with excitement—for
his
success—he wondered for a few mad seconds whether his long-held, sharply focused priorities had blurred.

‘Congratulations!’ She didn’t give him time to clear that haze, dropping her bag and launching herself at him with an enthusiastic ‘You did it!’ and smacking her lips to his.

When she might have pulled away he clamped his hands to her head—he wasn’t settling for anything that brief. Prying
her lips apart with his tongue, he swirled inside and turned a simple kiss into something deeper and a lot more complicated. She yielded without surrendering, her familiar taste spinning through his senses like a favourite whisky.

‘Not without your help,’ he murmured when they finally broke apart, gasping and staring at each other as if they were looking at strangers. As if something had changed.

Everything had changed. It was time to go home. And they both knew it.