Marriage in Name Only? (8 page)

‘Is he?’ He smiled and sliced off another piece of mango but she could tell he thought she was making up one of her fairy stories.

‘Yes. He is. Was. It was my favourite storybook when I was young and … I’m going to take one of the hotel’s famous rain showers before we head out.’ In that luxury shower room big enough for an entire football team. Or one blue-eyed golden man. She caught his hopeful look as she stood up, and shook her head. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘Can’t stop a man thinking,’ she heard him say as she walked away.

A couple of hours later, they were wandering the narrow alleyways of the textile souq with its shuttered shops and rainbows of colourful silks and exotic fabrics. Everything from jewelled Arabian slippers to belly-dancing costumes to the latest fashion in business suits.

Desert heat and unfamiliar scents and a lone Arabic voice chanting prayerfully assaulted Chloe’s senses. Tourists and
locals in Western dress rubbed shoulder to shoulder with those in more traditional clothing.

She chose a couple of skeins of silken fabric for the simple reason that she couldn’t imagine leaving Dubai without them, so Jordan insisted she visit one of the resident tailors and have something made up while they were there. He offered extra cash for the garments to be constructed and delivered to the hotel by the end of the day.

‘But you paid me already,’ she told him, feeling awkward about the expense. ‘I’d not have bought it if I’d known. I pay my own way.’

‘Not this time. I want you to play the role you’ve accepted, and play it well. My wife’s wish is my command.’

Jordan was a proud man and she knew his tone well enough not to argue about it for now.

So Chloe made it her Pretty Woman adventure. But it didn’t end with the textile souq; it was on to the Burjuman Centre with its high-end fashion labels where she purchased off-the-rack garments. Business attire for their meetings and attractive, modest casual-wear.

And one of the best surprises she discovered was that shopping with a man could actually be fun. Well, shopping with Jordan was fun. He had a good eye for women’s fashion; little wonder with the gorgeous types she’d seen draped on his arm in the media pictures. He was protective of her when he saw other men, even women, staring at her blonde hair as if she were some sort of curiosity. And the way he looked at her every time she modelled something for his advice or approval … well, it was … flattering.

More than flattering. It was hot. And she hadn’t felt the kind of hot Jordan made her feel in a long time. The kind that spread like nettle rash over sensitised skin. The kind that made you itch and burn and yearn for something to ease and soothe.

And he knew it.

He was playing the role of adoring, indulgent husband to the hilt. His not-so-subtle, underhanded way to lure her with the promised pleasures of afternoon delights didn’t faze her, oh, no.

It only cemented her decision to maintain that professional distance. Men like him were far too sure of themselves, and she was getting in over her head with this one. That yearning ache was a reminder of her vulnerability where relationships were concerned. Any relationship.

I don’t fit in
.

After this charade was over and done they’d go their separate ways because what would a millionaire gold-mining magnate want with a short-stack wandering adventurer like her?
Walk away first
.

So after lunch in one of the mall’s shaded courtyards, when Jordan suggested—with a twinkle in his blue eyes—that they return to the hotel because he had business to catch up on, Chloe stayed in town to do some exploring on her own.

Jordan closed down his laptop and scowled at the magnificent ocean view from the suite’s magnificent gold-and-mahogany desk. He hadn’t expected to end up spending the rest of the afternoon on his own. His suggestion to return to the hotel had been business motivated—he
had
left Australia sooner than he’d anticipated, sending his PA into a spin—but not entirely. He’d hoped Chloe would have accompanied him back here, given the looks they’d exchanged while she’d modelled some of the world’s great fashion labels for him.

Contrary Chloe
. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had held out for so long, given the obvious attraction. There was something about anticipation that heightened the senses, but it came with an impatience that staccato-tapped up and down his spine.

His phone buzzed on the desk and he reached for it with a grin—not so long after all. ‘Miss me already, Blondie?’

‘Mr Blackstone?’ The unfamiliar Arabic-accented male voice brought Jordan crashing down.

Hell and damn
. ‘Yes—
na’an
. I apologise, sir, I was expecting Chl—my wife to call.’ Jordan reined in his sudden tension and tried to remember the Arabic he’d learned for the trip.
‘Marhaba
. How can I help you?’

‘Marhabtayn
. I am calling on behalf of Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid.’

Jordan straightened, his fingers tightening on the phone. ‘Yes?’ His voice came out clipped and terse.

‘Sheikh Qasim will not be able to meet with you tomorrow as planned. A family emergency has occurred. He will be in contact soon. Meanwhile he sends his apologies and would have you accept a special gift instead. You are on your honeymoon,
na’an
?’

‘Na’an.’

‘Please be ready to depart on the helipad of your hotel with your wife at noon tomorrow. It will be an overnight stay, so you may want to bring any essential items with you.’

‘
Shukran
. That’s very generous. Please convey my thoughts regarding his family and my gratitude to Sheikh Qasim on behalf of myself and my wife.’

The words ‘my wife’ felt strange and foreign on his lips but Jordan shook off the odd discomfort and disconnected with a smile. His would-be business partner had not changed his mind as Jordan had briefly feared. He’d given a show of faith and arranged something special for their honeymoon.

Pushing up from the desk, he punched the air and thanked whatever good luck demon had been riding on his shoulder when he’d decided an accompanying ‘wife’ would be a clever tactical move.

Meanwhile, he had a surprise evening of his own to plan,
which included sand, sea and celestial sights. He walked to the bathroom to shower and change before Chloe returned. Sex might also be on the agenda if he played his cards right.

But his anticipation in sharing the evening with his woman of the moment was marred somewhat when he recalled his sheer stupidity in answering a call without checking caller ID. He
never
answered without checking caller ID. Thoughtful, he narrowed his gaze as he stripped off and stepped under the spray. Was his fascination with Chloe interfering with his work?

No. Fascination equated to captivation, which implied a weakness on his part. That he wasn’t in full control, that Chloe wielded some sort of power over him. Switching the spray to cold—and full power—he let it pummel his back and assured himself what he felt was lust. Honest to goodness lust.

And women did
not
interfere with his work. This small blip was nothing to worry about. It was just his pent-up libido demanding action. He set the lather to his hair and worked his fingers hard. Soon everything would return to normal. It would all settle down once they’d had sex. Then he could focus on what he’d come to Dubai to do.

‘I’
M GOING TO
knock your socks off tonight, husband of mine,’ Chloe announced when she returned late in the afternoon with purchases trailing behind her, carried by staff who discreetly disappeared as soon as they’d set the bags down. ‘At least I hope I am.’

He was rather hoping she’d be knocking—or, rather,
taking
—more than his socks off. When she plonked herself on the nearest brocade chair, kicked off her shoes and massaged a foot, he couldn’t help but notice the slender shape of her ankle. His groin tightened. He wanted to put his hands there. His mouth. He wanted to kiss his way over that sexy arched instep and up her calf. Her thigh. All the way to paradise … ‘Let me do that for you.’

He half rose but she shook her head and waved him away, hugging one knee to her chest, whisky eyes flashing a warning. ‘Uh-uh. You do
not
want to smell my feet after a day in the desert.’

He grinned. There was that. ‘Okay. Later maybe.’

She didn’t look at him, chin resting on her knee as she squeezed and flexed her foot. ‘I’m going to need an hour to get ready for this romantic dinner package you arranged for your devoted wife, and you need to be somewhere else while I do.’

‘Ah, a little mystery, I like that in a relationship. Keeps it alive, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘No.’ She yanked the band from her hair and shook it out like a cloud of curly sunshine but thunder darkened her expression. A moment later she shrugged and lost some of that vehemence as she met his eyes and acknowledged, ‘It depends on the mystery.’

‘And the man. Don’t let one bad experience with a Mr Despicable spoil everything for you, Chloe,’ he told her softly.

‘Jordan …’ She stopped, then said slowly, ‘Mr Despicable hasn’t spoiled everything.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ As she turned away to fiddle with her hair he got the distinct feeling Despicable wasn’t the only man who’d hurt her.

Grabbing his suit jacket and a tie, he went downstairs to wander the plethora of fountains and gardens in the hotel complex before heading back to the lobby to wait.

Chloe appeared punctually at the top of the escalator as arranged. And taking his breath away in a long, loose sheath that flowed like an emerald river to her feet where shimmering amethyst sandals peeked beneath the hem. An embroidered purse no bigger than a CD and suspended on black silk rope hung on her shoulder. Everything about her was casually elegant and perfect for intimate dining on the water’s edge.

Even as she descended he could smell her skin, as if she’d soaked in a bath of jasmine, then been dusted with golden cinnamon. Her hair was scrunched in a tortoiseshell clip on top of her head, and as she reached him he had to restrain himself from burying his nose against her neck and filling his hands with her sweet flesh.
No PDAs, Blackstone, remember?

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets instead and said, ‘Consider me sockless.’

Her smile danced across her features, topaz eyes reflecting
the setting sun’s brilliance a thousandfold. ‘Thank you. And you look pretty snappy too, as usual.’

He held out his arm. ‘Shall we?’

‘We shall.’ She tucked her hand around his elbow, her wedding ring glinting. ‘Such a glorious evening.’

‘And it’s only just begun.’

She flicked him a glance from beneath her lashes but didn’t reply. At least she hadn’t shattered his vision and hopes yet.

They walked the short distance to their reserved table. The romantic package lived up to its name with crisp white-covered chairs protected from the sand by a Persian carpet, Moroccan brass lanterns, the scent of incense on the marine air mingling with the delicate tropical blooms on the cloth-topped table. Gleaming gold cutlery, sparkling crystal.

And Chloe.

‘Does your friend Sadiq know about this arrangement between us?’ she asked when they’d ordered their meal and toasted the evening with one of his favourite Australian whites, chilled and fizzing to perfection.

‘He knows you accompanied me. What about you? Have you told your family yet?’

She shook her head, then sipped again, thoughtful. ‘Maybe I should. Then when we go home we could …’

We
. The word speared through him—not a word he wanted to hear in the context of home and family—and his muscles tensed.

Then she sighed, her gaze focused inward. ‘No. That wouldn’t work.’

He dared ask, ‘What were you thinking?’

She barely flicked a hand and he glimpsed something in her eyes—defeat or resignation? ‘Nothing sensible, that’s for sure.’ Straightening, she set her glass on the table with a decisive
plunk
. ‘I’ve deposited ample funds in their account, so now I’m thinking maybe I’ll stay on in Melbourne for a bit,
work for Dana. Who knows? They don’t need to know I’m back in Australia just yet.’

‘You wouldn’t go see them?’

‘Why? I’m their mistake. I
am
a mistake.’ She spoke matter-of-factly, no malice, no anger. ‘The “clever” genes had run out by the time I was conceived.’

Jordan frowned, angry on her behalf that her parents and even her siblings had made her feel she was worthless in their eyes. At the same time he understood where she was coming from because Ina had also blamed him for being born and punished him for it every day of his young life.

In Jordan’s eyes, Chloe owed her family nothing. ‘Why would you want to bail them out?’

‘Because whoever they are, whatever they’ve done or not done, they’re family.’ She looked at him, honest eyes reflecting the vermilion hues of sunset. ‘I know you understand. This trip, your goal here in Dubai, is about family.’

He couldn’t respond to that because what she said was true. And it wasn’t as if his dad had been perfect. Far from it. The man could’ve done much more for Jordan as a child. He could’ve been a stronger father and banished Ina from their lives years ago instead of turning a blind eye for love. Because Dad had loved his cheating wife more than he’d loved his only son.

Love makes you weak
.

He shook it away. With the lavender sky tossing up flames of scarlet and purple, the air thick with barbecued meats and spices, the sound of water lapping lazily on the sand, not to mention the company of an attractive and interesting woman, he refused to let the past crowd in on the present.

He tilted his glass towards her. ‘Tonight’s not about family, Blondie. It’s about us.’

They sampled each other’s dishes. Moroccan chicken with orange and cinnamon tagine, and Syrian flame-grilled kafta
kebabs with sour cherry sauce on pitta bread and topped with pine nuts.

Jordan found Chloe an intelligent and stimulating conversationalist who wasn’t afraid to challenge or even disagree with his views, unlike so many of his dates who went along with whatever he said, testing the limits of his boredom.

They shared a double chocolate ice-cream fantasy as the blaze of sunset surrendered to the deep purple of evening and the stars blinked on and the air cooled. A waxing moon hung like a misshapen pearl in the sky.

Chloe rested her elbows on the cleared table and stared up at its cold ethereal beauty. No matter where she went in a sometimes unfamiliar world, the moon was a constant. ‘I could watch that pretty ball for hours,’ she said. ‘First an amazing sunset, now this.’

‘I did promise you celestial sights.’

‘Oh?’ Her brow lifted. ‘I think I missed that memo.’

‘Maybe I forgot to mention it.’ He rose, shrugged off his suit jacket, slung it over his shoulder and took her hand loosely in his. ‘Let’s walk. I want to show you something.’ She slipped off her shoes and he led her onto the sand, away from the glare. He stood behind her and pointed to two bright celestial objects in the west and close together. ‘That’s Venus and Jupiter.’

‘Uh-huh.’ She knew her way around the night sky too, loved the changing panorama the different hemispheres brought, but she’d never found it quite as exciting with Jordan standing behind, their bodies not quite touching, his deep voice rumbling by her ear.

The wine in her system had blurred the line she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cross and she turned her head and stared up at his face. Moonlight carved hills and valleys into his strong features and for a moment their gazes meshed in
silence while the marine breeze blew gently across her skin and the water slapped on the beach.

‘So … where’s the Big Dipper?’ she asked, all innocence—buying into his game.

‘Over here. See that star just above that palm …?’ With light hands, he shifted her position—as she knew he would—so that she was facing a more northerly direction, and his right arm lifted in front of her. She smelled soap and fresh cotton and tempting man, and her body started to quiver.

He traced the shape in the air for her. ‘You can’t see it from Australia.’

‘But we can see the three brightest stars in the sky, and the Southern Cross is by far my favourite constellation.’ She turned so that she faced him fully, taking a step away to see him better. ‘And Saturn is visible in the morning this month. Near the Pleiades.’

His grin was slow and wide. ‘You had me fooled for a moment.’

She grinned back. ‘I did.’

His eyes took on a molten silver glint. ‘And this is payback time where I haul you into my arms and kiss you senseless.’ Except he didn’t.

‘And I let you,’ she murmured, melting fast beneath his gaze. ‘But that’s not going to happen. We’re not on Bondi Beach now.’

‘I wouldn’t do what I want to do to you on a public beach, Blondie.’ His gaze flicked to her feet, then strolled all the way up her body to her eyes. ‘I’d take you to a very private place where, short of a tsunami, no one and nothing would interrupt us for a very long time.’

Her nipples tightened viciously in the wake of his leisurely perusal. She knew she shouldn’t poke a tiger but she returned the favour, giving her gaze permission to slow when it reached the suspicious outline of a bulge in his dark trousers.
She was safe here with people not far away—not only from him, but from herself. ‘And what would you do in this private place? Theoretically.’

His jaw firmed, his eyes sparking like a welder’s blowtorch. ‘Come here.’

‘Come? Here?’ She glanced around them and stifled a naughty giggle.
‘Here’s
going to get you in a lot of trouble—’

‘Us,’ he said, his voice tight. ‘It’s going to get
us
in trouble. Follow me.’ He set a fast pace across the sand towards a row of luxury recliner chairs on a deck a short distance from the tables where diners were still enjoying their meals.

Jordan had coupled them in a sexual context, sending a thrill zipping down her spine. Shoes dangling from one hand and her feet tripping over themselves in the sand, she followed.

On the decking, he stopped and turned around. Smouldering desire in the eyes that captured hers. For a guy who worked out, his breathing was on the fast and shallow side, drawing Chloe’s attention to his chest as he dragged in air. Her fingers itched to touch, to get to work between those buttons—

He tossed his jacket down, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie with swift sharp movements. ‘You want to know what I’d do and I’m going to tell you. Right here. Right now.’

He sat on the side of a recliner with his shiny black shoes on the ground, and gestured for her to sit facing him on the recliner next to his as if they reflected one another in a mirror. His knees were a hand-span from hers, their torsos within touching distance, but he didn’t reach for her, nor did she for him. To anyone passing by they looked like a respectable couple discussing the weather.

‘Place your hands on the chair either side of your thighs,’
Jordan said. ‘Move them back a bit, so you’re leaning back slightly and I can see the shape of your breasts.’

Her nipples responded instantly to his request, tight buds pressing against her bra as she followed his instruction.

‘Spread your legs a bit—not too much—just enough room for my hand to fit between.’ He must have glimpsed her alarm because he said, ‘Don’t worry, this is sex without touching.’

‘Like phone sex?’ She did as he asked, her loose ankle-length dress hiding any hint of impropriety. To any passer-by she looked as if she was perfectly relaxed and admiring the moon. And she told herself she was—relaxed and totally in control.

‘Better than phone sex because I can see you.’ His voice rolled over her like honey. ‘I can smell you. I can watch your responses and know I’m turning you on.’

For all she knew, he might have been complimenting her perfume, but the earthiness of the image that spun through her mind’s eye was as intimate as it was shocking and a surge of liquid heat pooled low in her belly.

‘I’m turning you on already.’ He cocked his head to one side, studying her. ‘Your breath caught and your eyes have gone wide and dark. What were you thinking about?’

No, he most definitely hadn’t been talking about her choice in perfume. ‘If I tell you, where’s the mystery?’ She squirmed on the seat and cleared the lust frog from her throat. ‘Is this going to be all about me or do I get to return the favour?’

‘All about you, Blondie.’ He waved away her attempt to turn the tables. ‘Your hair’s gorgeous, even at night, but you need to let it down. So I’m removing that torture clip.’ He gestured with a hand. ‘You could do that for me.’

‘I could, but …’ Blue eyes mesmerised and entranced and the rest of her sentence trailed away forgotten. She freed her hair and finger-combed it so that it drifted down around her shoulders.

He nodded. ‘That’s a relief, right? All that tension in the scalp draining away.’

How did he know? she wondered. Of course the answer was obvious—he knew women. He knew what they liked, what they wanted. And he knew how to give it to them.

‘I’m massaging my fingertips against your scalp,’ he continued. ‘You used the hotel’s shampoo—I can smell peaches.’

Yes
. She closed her eyes. To concentrate on his voice or to shut out that piercing gaze that suddenly seemed to know her too well? Maybe she wasn’t as in control as she’d thought.

‘Under the stars your hair looks like milk and feels like satin. I’m caressing your throat with light fingers. Smooth, like china. My lips are there now, where your pulse is galloping with anticipation. I’m lapping your sweetness while my hands slip around and lower your zip, my knuckles grazing every vertebra until I reach the base of your spine. Bra hooks next. I draw the dress and bra from your shoulders. Down your arms in one slow stroke. The heat from your skin rises to my nostrils, bringing your scent. Oriental spices. Jasmine. Arousal. Open your eyes, Chloe. Look into my eyes and see what you do to me.’