Marriage in Name Only? (7 page)

‘Morning.’ He smiled—a tempting smile that reminded her all over again of last night’s kiss—and raised a hand in greeting. The wind tossed his hair so that it stood up in short tufts on top of his head.

‘Morning.’ She’d not seen him in casual clothes before. He almost looked like a different man—more accessible, more fun perhaps, than the corporate suited guy she was still getting acquainted with—but no less impressive. Or gorgeous, or sexy. Or beddable.

Bad thought, very bad thought
. She mentally berated herself and whisked her trolley bag to the kerb. There was going to be none of that. She exchanged greetings with the uniformed driver as he loaded her bag into the boot.

‘Right on time.’ Jordan gestured her into the car.

‘You sound surprised,’ she said, climbing in.

‘More like pleased.’ He shut the door, rounded the boot, and climbed in beside her on the other side. Even though the car was more like a limo, his long legs took up most of the floor space, leaving her to cram up alongside. Or maybe he’d just engineered it that way.

‘You make it sound as if men are the only ones capable of time management.’

‘I’ve yet to meet a date who hasn’t kept me waiting.’

With the high-maintenance, salon-treatment-three-times-a-week siliconed and Botoxed beauties she’d seen hanging on his arm in the glossy magazines, she didn’t doubt it.

Or was she being unkind? Worse, jealous?

No, of course she wasn’t. And because she was a big believer in punctuality being all about respect, she couldn’t resist saying, ‘You’ve been dating the wrong women, then.’

He was checking inside the pocket of his jacket that lay on the seat between them but his gaze shifted and focused on her. Not smiling. Prickles of heat rose up her neck, into her cheeks. He seemed to take an eternity before he said slowly, ‘Maybe I have.’

Oh, no, she
had
sounded jealous. She wished she knew how he felt about that but she couldn’t read his eyes behind his dark glasses. And she so wished she’d never spoken those petty little words just because those glossy glams got to her. Who was Chloe to tell Jordan Blackstone, millionaire, what kind of woman he needed?

Rather than try to explain her way out, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared out of the window as they neared the city. A tram rattled past as they drove along Collins Street, congested with lunch-time office workers. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, this is not a date.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. It’s much more important than that. Chloe, look at me.’

She continued to stare at the street-scape but his powerful
gaze on the back of her head drew her against her will—how did he continually manage that?

‘Are you still okay with everything?’ he asked. ‘Because being defensive and prickly around me isn’t going to help us.’

‘I’m not being prickly … am I?’ She deliberately breathed out, smoothed and relaxed taut muscles. ‘I don’t mean to be.’

‘Just be aware of it when we’re with other people,’ he said as the car pulled into the kerb in front of a shiny black granite office building. ‘Here we are.’

‘Where, exactly?’

‘We have an appointment.’ Jordan withdrew his wallet from his jacket, slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘You might want to put on your sunglasses,’ he said, opening his door. ‘I promised to protect you from the press but they’re always where you least expect.’

She fished around in her bag while he came around the car to her side, then slid them on her face.

He hustled her towards the revolving glass door. ‘What about our driver?’ she asked as they approached the bank of elevators. ‘I assume you know him?’

They stepped into an empty lift and he pressed the button for the tenth floor. ‘He’s a member of my staff here. I pay him to be discreet.’

She took off the glasses, put them in her bag. ‘What do you mean by “here”?’

‘Rivergold’s head office is in Perth. I divide my time between the two cities.’

The doors slid open and they stepped out into a foyer with deep violet walls and concealed lighting. The word
Gilded
hovered above the reception desk in flowing gold script.

Jewellery, Chloe realised. Expensive, exclusive jewellery. She discovered first up that Jordan and the receptionist—Trudi—were on a first-name basis.

Trudi was all smiles for Jordan—naturally—and led them
down a wide corridor, keyed a code into a heavy door and showed them into a comfortable room overlooking the city. She offered them refreshments, Jordan ordered water for the both of them, then another staff member called Trudi away, which left the two of them alone.

Chloe had always insisted jewellery didn’t match her lifestyle. She’d choose an airline ticket to an exotic destination over pretty but essentially useless baubles any day. ‘I … urn. I’m not much of a jewellery person.’

He glanced at her hands. ‘I’ve noticed. But we need wedding rings.’

‘Wedding rings …’ she echoed.
Of course, wedding rings
.

‘You’re okay with that, I hope.’

‘I just hadn’t given it a thought. But this place is …’
ridiculously expensive and overpriced
. She waved her hand to encompass the leather armchairs, the glass-topped table for private showings with its neatly rolled up little black velvet mat on one end. ‘We could’ve gone somewhere cheaper, is all I’m saying. After all, it’s not as if it’s for real.’

But for a brief heartbeat in time, she wondered how it would feel if it were and something inside her yearned before she shoved it away, deep in that place where she’d never find it again. Never wanted to find it again. Not with a man like Jordan—rich, powerful, gorgeous. Like Stewart.

A heartbreak waiting to happen.

She realised he was staring her down, his eyes a shade of cool logic. ‘I own a
gold
mine, we’re meeting a
gold
manufacturer in the hope that he and I will do business. With
gold
. What if he or his wife asks to look at your shiny new ring? And even if they don’t ask, do you think he’s not going to notice?’

‘Oh … of course.’ She closed her eyes briefly, embarrassed at her own stupidity. ‘I hadn’t thought about it.’ And she needed to start—thinking about it. All of it. Like how
not
in
his class she was and how impossible anything long-term or meaningful between them could ever be.

A smartly dressed middle-aged man entered the room with half a dozen jewellery trays. ‘Jordan. So good to see you.’ He beamed as he set the trays on the glass table and shook hands with Jordan, then extended his hand to Chloe. ‘And Miss Montgomery, welcome.’

‘Chloe, this is Kieron,’ Jordan said as she shook the man’s hand.

‘Thank you, and call me Chloe.’

‘This must be an exciting time for you.’ He smiled, clearly expecting an answer.

‘Yeah … um …’ How much did he know? She glanced at Jordan for help but he was checking out the goodie trays. Damn him. ‘We’re … um … looking forward to it …’ Whatever
it
was.

‘What’s your colour preference in gold?’ Jordan asked without turning around.

She shifted, vaguely awkward in Kieron’s presence and cursing Jordan some more for not paying attention. ‘I’m not particular.’

‘In that case we’ll go with yellow,’ he said. ‘Sit down and let’s get started.’

Kieron spread out the mat and placed a tray on the table, exquisite rings, all embedded with diamonds and other precious stones and sparkling in the down lights.

Jordan selected a couple of highly visual and elaborate rings and set them on the mat. ‘Which do you prefer?’

‘Do you have a plain gold band?’ she almost pleaded with him. ‘Thin. Plain.’

Jordan met her eyes. ‘Kieron, can you give us a few moments, please?’

‘Of course. I’ll see what I can find in plain gold—’

‘No need,’ Jordan said, his gaze not leaving hers. ‘I’m
sure we’ll find something here. I’ll give you a call when we’re done.’

‘What do you mean?’ she demanded in a tight, low voice almost before the man had closed the door behind him. ‘I don’t want—’

‘It’s not about what you want. You—rather,
we
—need something ostentatious.’

‘What about you? Your ring? Is this marriage going to be one based on inequality?’

He opened his palm, revealing a thick gold ring. ‘Men’s wedding band channel-set with black diamonds.’ He set it in front of her. ‘I can’t have mine outshining yours.’

‘Why can’t
you
choose something simpler?’

‘Because the ring has to make a statement. It has to shout, “We’re married and exclusive and we want the world to know”. It also says only Rivergold’s gold is good enough for the love of my life.’

‘So Gilded is your business?’

‘One of them. What about this?’ He picked up a smaller ring from the tray, a band of gold filigree, its dainty vine-leaf pattern studded with tiny diamonds. Kind of classic yet modern and delicate.

She told herself it wasn’t the most gorgeous ring she’d ever seen. It wouldn’t fit. It wasn’t practical. But this time perhaps she could have the exotic destination
and
the pretty bauble. And oh … She sighed at the misty-eyed romance of it.

And just for once, she
wanted
misty-eyed romantic and impractical. It wasn’t forever, she reassured herself. It didn’t mean she was going to fall into bed with him—or worse, into love. No way. No how. No—

‘I think it’ll suit you. Try it.’ Jordan reached across the table and took her hand.

As if from a distance, she watched him slide the ring onto her finger. The abrading sensation of his fingertips against
hers, every nerve ending he touched tingling like tiny pinpricks of fire. Her hand looked so small in his. His fingers were long and tanned, his wrist thick and dusted with dark hair.

She couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from their linked hands. It was like being in someone else’s dream—someone else’s because Chloe no longer allowed herself to dream such fantasies.

He eased the ring over her knuckle. Perfect fit. Perfect design. Perfect.

‘Chloe …’ he said, deep and dreamy and masculine.
Will you be my wife?

H
EART SONG FOR
the romantic soul
.

Chloe might have sighed or murmured, but the touch of Jordan’s finger beneath her chin as he tilted her face up to him shattered her dreamy illusions as loudly and irrevocably as fine glass smashing on marble.

‘The ring,’ she heard him say over the echoes still reverberating in her mind. The
only
thing he’d said.

She stared up at him, caught in the blue depths of his gaze. ‘Yes?’

‘What do you think?’

I think I’m starting to imagine stuff
. ‘About the ring?’

A perplexed expression crossed his face. ‘Yes, the ring—what else?’

‘Right. The ring …’
Of course, what else?
She breathed in deep, ordering herself to focus, adjusting to the sight of it glittering on her hand. ‘It’s lovely.’ Oh, she could so spin a softly romantic story out of this—

‘Good. Let’s go, then.’

His emotionless tone brought her back to reality with a thud. She rubbed the fingers of her right hand over her left knuckles, then flexed them. ‘Shall I leave it on?’

He nodded once. ‘Wouldn’t do to lose it now, would it?’

She noticed he was already wearing his when he pressed a buzzer on the table and she felt a flutter around her heart.
Even though it was for show purposes only, that no words had been exchanged—not even a meaningful glance—the symbolism gave her the odd feeling that they were connected somehow. That they belonged together.

Of course, that was dumb and stupid and very, very dangerous. She’d return the ring when they were done and that would be the end of it.

Still, she needed a moment to get over herself, so when Kieron met them at the door Chloe did a quick trip to the restrooms while the two men continued to Reception.

As she washed her hands she checked that the precious band wasn’t too loose on her finger. Where had his ring appeared from? she wondered. She’d seen no men’s rings on the tray. But everything was happening so fast, she could forgive herself for getting confused.

When she returned, they were deep in conversation. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where we’d be,’ she heard Kieron say.

‘Okay, all set,’ she said, to announce her presence in case she heard something she wasn’t supposed to.

Jordan clasped the other man’s shoulder. ‘Look after that special lady of yours.’

Kieron clasped him back and Chloe wondered what Jordan had done for his employee and his special lady that inspired such awe and gratitude.

She decided to ask him about it as his driver chauffeured them to a restaurant for lunch.

‘Kieron worked for us in Perth. His wife’s chronically ill and the specialised treatment she needs is only available in Melbourne, so we transferred him.’

His manner was casual, almost dismissive, but Chloe had seen the admiration on the man’s face and sensed there was more to it than a simple location transfer. ‘And …?’ she prompted.

‘And what?’

‘Tell me more. What else does Jordan Blackstone do for his staff?’

He looked away, out of the window. ‘The man had no private health insurance; they were renting basic accommodation. I’m his employer—I do what I can.’

A warm feeling spread across her chest. ‘Good for you. You’re a compassionate boss. More than that, you’re a generous one.’

‘I can afford to be.’ He sounded curt and irritated. ‘Don’t make a big deal of it.’

‘Okay.’ She smiled at him and reached out to touch his arm. ‘I won’t mention that you’re a generous boss again.’

She could have sworn he flinched at her touch. ‘Just so we’re clear,’ he said, still watching the traffic. ‘I’m not
your
boss—we’re equals. Partners.’

‘‘Business
partners,’ she finished, in case he had the wrong idea. It was nothing more. Right?

In a private dining room with a view of the Docklands and Westgate Bridge, they discussed the finer details of the trip, covering etiquette, customs and dress code. They were keeping their story simple and as close to the truth as possible. They’d met in Melbourne a couple of months ago and it had been love at first sight.

Jordan explained that after the formal introductions, Chloe wouldn’t be expected to participate in any business discussions. Any strong feminist ideals she might have were to be left at Tullamarine Airport. She would be entertained by the sheikh’s wife and the women in his family. There would be an evening dinner or two but during the day she’d be free to do as she chose. A driver had already been arranged to take her wherever she wanted to go.

By mutual agreement, they filled in some of their time at
the airport separately so as not to attract any unwanted media attention. Chloe wandered the duty-free shops for a couple of hours then returned to the relative privacy of the business lounge and read a couple of women’s magazines while Jordan studied some heavy-looking manual he’d brought with him and surfed the net on his laptop.

And every so often she’d feel the ring’s unfamiliar weight on her finger or catch its prettiness winking in the light. Then her eyes would flick to Jordan’s hand and she’d see his wide band and a strange feeling like silken ribbons would flutter through her, twining around her heart, making her restless and cheated somehow. Dissatisfied.

Over a late light meal served on board the flight, they relaxed and enjoyed a movie together, although at times Chloe sensed Jordan’s tension. Whether it was business related, she didn’t know, but he didn’t seem inclined to pursue anything romantic and that was a huge relief. Really. She was
not
disappointed.

This trip wasn’t the travel experience she was accustomed to. The aircraft’s business-class luxury gave them privacy in their individual wraparound fully reclining seats, and at midnight Chloe donned her eyeshades to try to get at least a couple of hours’ sleep.

It didn’t help. Excitement buzzed through her limbs so that in the end she tossed away the eyeshades and let her flickering personal TV screen lull her rioting thoughts. She couldn’t wait till morning when she’d step into a different world and a different life.

She just needed to remember that the life part and the
wife
part weren’t for real. It was short and it was temporary.

The glint of gold caught his eye as Jordan turned the page of the document on the aircraft’s table in front of him. He stared at the sight of the familiar ring on his finger. How long had it
been since that day he and Lynette Dixon had decided they were getting married?

Six years.

And in the madness of that moment they’d walked into a local jewellery shop along the coast and bought their wedding rings—a man who owned his own gold-mining company, for God’s sake. He still didn’t know how she’d managed it. How she’d manipulated him into it. The way his mother had manipulated and deceived his father his entire life.

He turned to the night-dark window where the aircraft’s flashing red light swept rhythmically over the engine, but it was Lynette’s picture-perfect face he saw reflected there.

He’d met the blonde bombshell at uni and fallen for her with the speed—and devastation—of an avalanche down a ski-slope. Jordan Blackstone, who could charm any girl he set his sights on with a virtual crook of his little finger, had become the charmed. At twenty-six, when he’d been old enough and wise enough to know better, he’d lost his brains, his willpower, his self-respect. And his heart.

Because on the morning they’d arranged to elope to Las Vegas, he’d learned he’d been played for the fool he was.

He twisted the ring that suddenly felt thick and heavy and confining. Yes, he should have known better. Hadn’t he lived through a prime example of what not to do? He’d seen the power his mother had wielded over his father, and all because Fraser Blackstone had loved Ina without reservation. All his life Fraser had been a slave to that love. Blind to his wife’s treachery—or he’d chosen to ignore it. Either way, it just went to prove that love made you weak.

Which was why he’d kept the ring. A reminder of his foolishness. A reminder that, without due care, women could be a costly distraction. A reminder of his vow never to allow it to happen again.

He would be no woman’s slave. His will would prevail.
When he wanted a woman to share his bed,
he
would do the choosing, not the other way round. And that woman might touch his body—in any way she pleased—but no woman would touch his heart.

At sunrise the aircraft touched down in Dubai. The desert air was dry and cool after the plane’s stale air conditioning as they walked out of the terminal.

Chloe breathed deeply. Aside from the odour of aviation fuel, everything smelled foreign and exciting.

‘Ready to go, Mrs Blackstone?’ Jordan said beside her.

‘Ready, Mr Blackstone.’

A uniformed driver was waiting to take them to the city and opened the limo door.
‘Ahlan wa Sahlan.’
Welcome.

‘Ahlan bik.’
Jordan waited while Chloe settled herself, then slid in beside her. ‘Get ready to be amazed,’ he said.

‘Okay.’ He sounded little-boy excited and she glanced at him, saw the enthusiasm reflected in his eyes. ‘Are we talking about something in particular?’

He smiled but didn’t enlighten her. ‘Wait and see.’

So she immersed herself in the scenery, from the low sand dunes that came up to the edge of the road in some places to the sky’s palette of pink and tangerine against unique silver-glinting architecture spiralling into the stratosphere. They travelled over the Dubai Creek, and everywhere she looked construction was frenetic. Cranes, roadworks and traffic hazards, dust.

Dubai’s famous seven-star hotel suddenly reared up in front of them, its proud billowing shape catching the sun. ‘Now that’s something amazing. Is this what you meant …?’ She trailed off as the vehicle turned onto the dedicated road that led to the grand entrance. ‘Are we staying here?
Here? Really?’

Bubbles of excitement fizzed through her veins. She
shifted to fling her arms around him, reining herself back just in time. She needed to maintain a respectful distance while she was here. Not only because this was the United Arab Emirates but because right now she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop if she started.

But he didn’t seem bothered about the etiquette they’d discussed the other night. They were in a private car with tinted windows, after all. Leaning close so that his lips touched her hair, he murmured against her ear. ‘A honeymoon to remember, Blondie.’

She told herself flirting was okay. Harmless. ‘I’m sure it will be.
Pookie.’

His brows shot up, his lips forming the word, but no sound came out. She meant the whole Arabian experience, not what he was obviously thinking she meant with that name—sex on tap—but she smiled and patted his arm, feeling safe in the knowledge he’d not touch her unless she allowed it.

Moments later as they entered through the massive revolving door her breath eased out in awe. The outside view of golden sand curving around the ultramarine to turquoise sea was echoed in the atrium that seemed to rise forever.

A row of staff greeted them as if they were royalty, offering miniature steaming towels, dishes of dates, coffee poured from exotic-shaped carafes.

It was all about the bling—in the mirrored walls, the ceilings, the rich crimson drapes, the waterfall over blocks of green and gold tumbling down beside an escalator. They were still sipping from tiny coffee cups as they shot skywards in a glass-walled elevator.

Their split-level suite had breathtaking views of the beach framed by the building’s white bars and steel rope. While staff delivered their luggage and immediately unpacked their belongings, Jordan took charge of a master remote that controlled
everything from curtains to TV and music to opening the door and calling up room service.

Chloe explored. A swimming-pool-sized spa set in polished granite, gold fittings, a gallery of mirrors and a view of the skyline. An opulent office with every amenity at one’s fingertips. Bowls of tropical flowers on polished tables.

By the time she found the bedroom, their luggage had been unpacked, their cases removed out of sight. The vast purple-hued Arabian nights fantasy bed with its gold trimmed canopy dominated the room, reminding her of a flying carpet.

But there was only one.

And there were two of
them
… Images of soaring into the night sky filled her head … and those images didn’t involve aircraft. She turned away.
Remember why you can’t. Remember why you’re here
.

She didn’t want to jeopardise this important deal that meant so much to Jordan because of something she’d done or not done. She was being paid a sheikh’s ransom to support him. Her feelings for him weren’t professional, never had been, so it was already a struggle to stick to the business relationship she herself had insisted on.

She found him sitting in a bright alcove overlooking the sea and slicing a mango onto a gold-rimmed plate. She sat down opposite him and looked at the opulence about her. ‘I could get seriously used to this.’

‘Enjoy, but don’t get used to it,’ he suggested. ‘It’s a one-off.’

‘Ah, yes, the honeymoon. And you’re writing it off as a business expense, right?’ She smiled. ‘As your bride, I’m still annoyed about that.’

He offered her the plate. ‘But you couldn’t wait to be married, remember?’ He raised a brow. ‘Which reminds me—
Pookie?’

‘It was your idea to have pet names.’ She took a slice of
the fruit, slipped it between her lips and savoured its cool, pungent taste on her tongue.

‘There’s a certain eroticism attached to that particular endearment, however, and it
does
conjure images.’ Hot cerulean eyes lapped at her.

‘It does?’ It did. She felt the mango sliding down the wrong way and cleared her throat, which suddenly felt tight and scratchy.

‘Maybe you’ve been subconsciously considering my suggestion?’

Nothing subconscious about where her mind had been
. ‘What suggestion? Sorry, haven’t given it a thought.’ Heat was spreading over her neck and even in the air conditioning she felt her T-shirt sticking to her skin. ‘Pookie’s just a little white rabbit with wings …’