Marriage in Name Only

Chapter TWELVE


CHLOE 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.

‘We made a good team today,’ she said, quickly busying herself kneading his shoulders with her thumbs and nipping at his jaw with her teeth.

He walked his fingers all the way down her spine and tucked her close so she fitted against him, snug as moss on a log. ‘We’re good together.’

‘Yes …’

Rucking up her skirt then winding her arms around his neck, she practically climbed up him and hooked her legs around his waist. Her feminine heat pressed against his pelvis, her intoxicating eyes … he could drown in those eyes … If he wasn’t careful. If he was honest …

‘There’s something I want to tell you first,’ he said, holding her close. ‘I came clean with Qasim. I told him we weren’t married.’

She leaned back to look at him, her hands still around his neck. ‘After all the trouble and expense you went to? Why?’

‘It just seemed wrong. It was wrong. I’ve wanted this for so long. Winning this meant so much to me that I lost sight of everything else. But I realised today when I walked into that room that I wanted to win it without resorting to deception.’

She nodded. ‘I’m glad. It’s much better this way.’

He saw the questions in her eyes and he suddenly wanted to share his story with her. ‘I want to I tell you why this is so important to me.’

‘Okay,’ she said quietly, and slid down his torso until her feet touched the ground.

Without letting her go, he led her to a window seat and sat her down and looked into those liquid amber eyes. ‘You already know my father died before he could close an important deal he’d set up in the UAE. But what I didn’t tell you was that I was a selfish, self-centred undergraduate who was flunking his course and should have been there for him when he needed me …’

When he was done telling her, she squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with understanding and respect. ‘You’d have made him so proud today.’

‘I promised him I’d fix it if it was the last thing I did and I think I managed that.’ He felt lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted. Finally, after all the years of hard work, he’d found some sort of closure. And sharing the moment with Chloe was something he’d always remember.

‘So, what did Qasim say when you told him about us?’ Chloe asked.

‘That he appreciated my honesty. He told me I was the best man for the job whether I was married or not.’

She nodded. ‘You didn’t need me after all.’

He shook away a sudden melancholy her words invoked and dragged her onto his lap, spreading her thighs on either side of his. ‘It was much more fun with you along.’

‘It has been fun.’ She seemed as keen as him to change the mood. ‘And I’ve made plans. Tonight’s on me. And you too, if you like.’ She grinned and he caught her meaning.

‘I like.’ Grinning back, he spread his hands beneath her buttocks, fingers skimming the edge of her panties. ‘Very much. But I thought you liked being on top?’

‘I like being any which way with you. But about dinner—why don’t we go back to our little beach-side place? This is our Last Supper—I’d like to end where we began. Closure and all that.’

‘We don’t have to leave tomorrow,’ he decided. He’d change their flights. ‘We could take a couple more days …’ He wasn’t ready to go home to his all-work no-play world yet. They weren’t done. In fact, they’d only just started.

Her agile body stilled. ‘And then what?’

‘Try skiing Dubai style and sleeping in till noon with not much sleeping going on …’ He trailed off because the eyes staring into his weren’t the let’s-have-fun ones he’d just been looking at.

‘It’s not going to change anything, Jordan.’

What wasn’t? ‘Not sure what you mean.’

‘It’s only delaying the inevitable. We agreed to do this. And now it’s done. Over.’

Jordan stared at her, a not-so-good feeling in his gut. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t want us to linger on and die a slow, painful death. And that’s what’s going to happen with us. We might have a fantastic meal tonight and follow it up with equally fantastic sex—Pookie—but if we let it continue eventually it’s going to fade because that’s all we have in common. And that’s not taking into consideration your busy schedule and my propensity for not sticking around.’

‘Yeah, but until then—’

‘So when we get home—’

‘That’s it.’

She nodded, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘I told you, I finish what I start. No loose ends before I move on.’

Or did she leave before someone else finished whatever it was for her?

‘Chloe …’ He trailed off because what could he say? She had it right. No loose ends. They’d had fun and they’d always known it was only about the business deal with a little diversionary side-trip along the way. She didn’t want to live in his world, nor had he asked her to. Sometimes he didn’t want to live in it either. There were days he wished he could chuck the whole thing in and be like Chloe—free as the wind, no employees depending on him for an income. An unknown face in the crowd.

If she wanted to leave tomorrow, so be it. ‘We’d better make the most of the rest of the time we have left, then.’

She leaned in so that every luscious part of her touched every wire-taut part of him, then reached for his belt buckle. ‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say …’

Chloe was determined to make the evening special—a time to remember. She’d arranged the table with the best view over the beach, best French champagne to toast their success. She recounted her adventures and challenged Jordan to pick the fake—the near disastrous white-water rafting expedition, her night in a haunted castle with a team of paranormal investigators, the evening she and a girlfriend had ended up in a well-known movie star’s suite sipping bubbly with the cast of her latest blockbuster.

He listened to her as if what she had to say was worth something. Not only listened, but actually conversed with her on topics they’d never covered. He seemed to understand her on so many levels and, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt uplifted, valued, appreciated.

After dinner they strolled along the beach talking of anything and everything, then sat on the sand, stared up at the northern constellations and shared the evening’s silence. Their fingers were barely touching yet it was as if he’d become an integral part of who she was. Warming her body, unlocking her heart and breathing life into her soul.

She couldn’t allow herself to fall further and yet she feared it was already too late.

Later, in their suite with the moonlight casting bars across the floor, he took his time removing her clothes, lingering over every centimetre of skin he bared as if each were a rare jewel. When she was naked, he knelt before her and worshipped her body with a skill and expertise she could only shiver and sigh and moan over.

And when she could no longer stand, he laid her on the bed and continued his homage to her womanhood with hands and mouth, teeth and tongue. Time drifted like the gentle lap and wash of the tide and she clung to him to keep from floating away. Who knew a man’s touch could be so slow and easy? Or his body so finely crafted that he was masculine perfection?

He slid his perfect body on top of her then—hard muscle and warm skin a spine-tingling friction. She drew a luxurious breath, inhaling his personal scent and the faint fragrance of Eastern spices. Then forgot to breathe at all as she looked into his midnight-blue eyes and flew with him over the edge of their magic carpet fantasy.

I love you.

Simple.

Impossible.

Finally, energy spent and desire sated, tangled together on the silken sheets, they slept.