Marriage in Name Only

Chapter SEVEN


HEART 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 …’

‘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.