Marriage in Name Only

Chapter NINE


‘OH, NO.’ THEIR fantasy vanished like moon dust down a black hole. A mine emergency could change everything they’d come here to do. ‘Is it serious?’

‘No one seems to know yet.’

‘Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to wait with you till you find out?’

He was too busy on his mobile to look at her, the screen casting a pale glow across the grim slash of his mouth. ‘Not your problem, Chloe. Go on up to the room.’

‘But I … You might …’ She trailed off. The man was in no need of her assistance. The tone, the body language clearly told her he didn’t want her here. ‘If you change your mind …’

He glanced her way as if suddenly remembering he had a dinner companion. A wife. ‘I’ll escort you up, then I have to make some calls, find out what the hell’s going on. I’ll do that down here or in the lobby.’

‘Please …’ Chloe gave a half-laugh ‘… I can find my own way.’

‘I said I’ll see you up.’

‘No. I’d prefer you didn’t.’ She touched his arm lightly. ‘Stay and make your calls. I’m perfectly safe and you’re busy.’ She stepped away. ‘Just remember I’m here if you need someone.’

‘Right …’

She didn’t exist to him and she turned away, pointed herself in the direction of the hotel and didn’t look back. She didn’t know why he’d opted not to avail himself of the luxurious office in their suite to make his calls. After what had just happened between them, perhaps he needed space and privacy to get on with the job. No distractions. Perhaps he thought she did.

Or perhaps he was more like her than she’d imagined—used to doing everything on his own. Except that he did so by choice whereas she’d learned through necessity.

Some instinct whispered that maybe it hadn’t always been his choice either, and as soon as she reached their suite she opened her laptop and logged on to the internet. She’d seen something so sad, so haunted in his eyes when they’d spoken of family. Up till now, she’d refrained from learning more about the man than was necessary for the job requirement, but his expression earlier this evening had aroused her curiosity.

She found an article on his charity. Rapper One was a fund he’d set up that took troubled teenage boys from broken homes and situations of neglect into the bush for some team-building and adventure every six months. He didn’t stop at fund-raising. He hired the services of counsellors and psychologists and mentored these kids personally, teaching them how to pan for gold while building trust and self-esteem amongst the group.

There was so much more she wanted to know, but tonight was about being here for him if there was bad news and he needed someone to talk to. She closed the computer and prepared to wait up.

Jordan dragged off his tie and swiped a hand over his hair, willing his phone to ring, waiting for word and feeling so helpless. What the hell was happening on the other side of the world? If he didn’t hear something soon, he—they—would be on tomorrow’s first flight to Australia. He needed to be there; his mine, his responsibility. Was it some safety issue he’d not addressed? Some management concern he’d overlooked?

At the first flicker of life, Jordan stabbed the answer button, barked, ‘What’s going on?’ then listened as relief poured through him. Seemed there wasn’t a problem after all. It had been a misunderstanding. A couple of miners they’d thought missing underground had turned up safe and well. Very sorry to have troubled him, to have worried him. Enjoy the rest of your trip.

He swore long and hard as he disconnected—even though it was the best outcome possible—and headed to one of the empty tables, ordered a double Scotch, no ice, from the waiter who appeared at his side.

He glared at the recliner chairs where he’d last seen Chloe and his jaw tightened. He’d almost chosen not to answer his phone because he’d been too focused on the red-hot blonde all but coming apart in front of him. He’d been tempted to put a woman before his work. The repercussions of that choice echoed with eerie familiarity.

Eight years ago he’d allowed a woman he barely knew to persuade him to ‘stay a little longer’. He’d missed his flight and his father had died that day. He’d put personal desires before what was important in his life.

And then there’d been Lynette. He’d been willing to put her first without question until he’d learned she’d been using his feelings for her all along.

The waiter placed his crystal tumbler on the table. Jordan thanked him and raised it to eye-level. The colour of Chloe’s eyes—ah, yes, she’d made damn sure he’d never forget her, with that whisky gaze of hers, hadn’t she? He downed the contents in one go, needing its full-bodied burn as it slid down his throat.

Women manipulated.

But tonight, he had to admit that generalisation wasn’t fair. This evening with Chloe, he’d been the one doing the manipulating. He’d known precisely what he was doing and where it was leading.

Then when his phone had rung with such incredibly bad timing, had she told him to ignore it like some women he knew would? No, he’d been the one telling himself to ignore it. When he’d told her the problem, he’d seen genuine concern and caring in her eyes. She’d put his problems before her own needs or any promise of mutually satisfying pleasure.

And he’d almost been tempted to share the uncertainty, to ask her to wait with him for news, good or bad. The way a husband would with his wife. But he never involved the women he dated in his business concerns. His father was a not-so-shining example of what could happen if you did.

She wasn’t a date.

Half an hour later he let himself into their suite and walked straight to the bedroom. Chloe wasn’t there but she’d put every available cushion down the centre of the bed. A half-grin hooked the corner of his mouth. If he wanted, he could have her lush little body arching wantonly—and willingly—beneath him in a matter of moments, cushions or no. But it was a symbolic action and he’d respect her decision. He wouldn’t even try to change her mind.

Not tonight anyway.

From the corner of his eye he saw movement in the semi-dimness of the adjacent room. Chloe was standing at the window and staring out at the moonlit sea, framed by the structure’s white lattice and looking little-girl lost in a too-big sweatshirt that might have been red once but was now a sad pink flecked with grey. ‘Chloe.’

She whirled around, anxiety etched on her face, fatigue smudges beneath her eyes. ‘What happened? Have you heard? Is everything okay?’ She rapid-fired questions at him as she crossed the gold-brocade-edged carpet towards him.

‘Everything’s fine. There was no emergency after all.’

She huffed out a breath. ‘Well, why the heck didn’t they get their facts straight before calling you and worrying you like that when you’re so far away? I hope you gave them a piece of your mind.’

Her indignation on his behalf made him smile. ‘I expect them to keep me informed with up-to-date info. Maybe they just didn’t like the idea of me over here enjoying myself.’ The lines bracketing her mouth didn’t relax and his smile faded almost before it began. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now.’

Her eyes flashed, concern shifting to annoyance. ‘You thought wrong. Did you assume I’d just go to sleep and think nothing of your emergency?’ She shoved her hands into her hair, making it stand up like a wild halo. ‘Of course I waited up. You wouldn’t let me wait with you but that didn’t stop me from worrying right along with you anyway.’

He frowned. His assumptions had been way off, and something vaguely disquieting skittered down his spine. He fiddled with his shirt cuffs, slid the buttons free. ‘I didn’t expect you to do that. I don’t expect you to do that.’

‘Isn’t that what a good wife would do?’ she demanded, a fire in her eyes that twisted something inside him. ‘Wouldn’t she be there to support her husband anyway she can?’

‘I didn’t pay you to be involved in my business problems, Chloe.’

Rather than soothe that fire, it inflamed. ‘Pay me,’ she repeated, tersely. ‘You paid me to be your wife. I don’t know why but you make it sound cheap. You make this whole arrangement sound cheap.’ She flicked her hand and her ten-thousand-dollar wedding ring glinted in the half-light.

He raised a brow but not his voice. ‘That’s not my intention since this whole arrangement’s costing me a great deal of money.’ Keep emotion out of it; stick to the facts. ‘You’re tired, Chloe. Go to bed.’

‘I intend to.’ She walked past him then stopped and met his gaze full on. ‘For the record, I wasn’t worried because you were paying me to be worried. I happen to care.’

Her words struck him like a velvet fist mid-chest. He started unbuttoning his shirt. ‘That’s not necessary,’ he bit out. Care was not a part of their deal.

‘So sue me for breach of contract,’ she tossed back, and climbed into bed.

Hell. He didn’t answer because for once in his life he didn’t know how to respond. He suspected that any further conversation at this point wouldn’t end well, and he could allow nothing to jeopardise their agreement.

He told himself her disposition would perk up with tomorrow’s getaway, which he’d surprise her with over breakfast. And he’d do what he knew how to do best. She’d return to Dubai refreshed and satisfied, her cheeks bright with a lover’s glow, her eyes sparkling.

And the deal with the Dubai gold buyer would be in the bag.

Chloe dragged the heaven-soft quilt over her shoulders and lay stiff and tense and facing away from Jordan’s side of the bed. Clearly, he didn’t want her involved in his personal life. She’d been paid to be his wife. But not a wife who mattered in the great scheme of things. Not a wife who could be a support if he’d let her.

Not even a friend or someone to confide in.

She closed her eyes. But her ears were working fine. Too fine. She heard the shoosh of fabric shifting over all that golden skin as he removed his shirt, the clink of his belt buckle, the zzzz of a zip as he shucked off his trousers …

Was he still wearing underwear or was he going to get into bed naked? She’d lay bets on the latter because that was the type of man he was—arrogant and cocky where women were concerned. Especially the women sharing his bed.

If she wanted, she could roll over and see if the reality lived up to her vivid imagination, and—no doubt in her mind—he was counting on her to do just that. She squeezed her eyes tighter and wished she’d thought to bring earplugs because he sounded as if he was scratching … somewhere. She did not want to know.

There was a slight disturbance in the air as he slid beneath the quilt but the mattress remained as still as a lake at sunset, and almost as wide. With the Great Dividing Range between.

She’d half expected him to sweet-talk her into finishing what they’d started but she didn’t hear so much as a murmur. Was he waiting for her to make the move? It’ll be you inviting me. His words echoed in her head.

Her body was still wide awake and tingling and he hadn’t laid a hand on her. Imagine what the real deal would be like … The residual heat between her thighs intensified once more and spread to every yearning and unfulfilled place he’d awoken with nothing more than his voice and eyes.

She pressed her lips together to stifle a moan and forced her restless legs to remain still. She only had to slide across the silky lake, climb over the mountain range and she could live the fantasy for real.

She feared it was only a matter of time before Jordan’s charisma and smooth talking overcame her resistance. And worse, much worse, it wasn’t only his charm that she was falling for, it was the man. He’d been fun today, a great sightseeing companion, good-humoured and patient while she’d trawled the fashion boutiques. He was also a man who took responsibility seriously, cared for his staff and troubled teens.

But it would be a dangerous mistake to let him close. So she would fight him and his charms with every ounce of will power she had.

When Jordan surfaced from a disturbed sleep interrupted by erotic dreams, Chloe’s side of the bed was empty. Which was just as well, he decided, all things considered. He could smell her fresh-from-the-shower scent overlaid with the equally enticing aroma of a full English breakfast.

Pulling his jeans on over his boxers—not an easy task in his state—he followed his nose in search of the coffee pot. He found Chloe sitting at the breakfast table flicking through sightseeing brochures. She’d tied her hair back and he approved the conservative elbow-sleeved navy dress that met Dubai’s fashion etiquette. ‘Good morning.’

She looked up, her eyes instantly drawn to his chest, then quickly looked back to her reading material. ‘Good morning.’ She waved a hand at the table and said, ‘I didn’t know what you liked so I ordered everything.’

‘Everything.’ His eyes roamed over the sea of silver domes on the table and he had to grin. It appeared she was serious.

‘The staff were waiting to serve you but I sent them away … I didn’t know what time you’d be getting up.’

He stepped up to the table. ‘And you wanted to make sure you wouldn’t still be in bed when I did.’

Bingo. Chloe felt the blush explode into her cheeks. She lowered her head farther and reached for another pamphlet. ‘I … I’m an early riser.’

‘So am I,’ he murmured, all lazy innuendo. The tips of her ears burned like a furnace, and she felt him lean in so that his lips grazed one to whisper, ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

Honey over sand. Her breath caught, her pulse blipped. That sleep-husky voice was a reminder of last night and how she’d come so close to losing control, and in the glaring light of day she felt the flames of embarrassment all the way to her toes.

She gritted her teeth and decided a women’s-only spa session was on this morning’s agenda. Maybe she could make it last all day. ‘We both know the reason for that.’

‘I wonder if it’ll still hold true for tomorrow?’ Thankfully, he moved away, lifting domes and piling a plate with bacon and eggs. ‘You’ve eaten, then.’

‘Yes.’ She replayed his words in her head then turned, studying him with narrowed eyes. ‘Tomorrow morning won’t be any different.’

He looked far too smug as he poured himself a coffee. ‘Ah, yes, it will. Because tonight, Mrs Blackstone, we’re to be treated to an Arabian honeymoon special, courtesy of Sheikh Qasim.’

Her heart thumped once, hard. ‘What?’

‘The sheikh’s had some family emergency. It’s an apology for postponing our meeting.’

‘Postponing?’ Chloe stared at him, a spurt of panic trickling through her bloodstream. ‘How long for?’

‘I don’t know yet. I’m sure we’ll hear very soon.’ He smiled—a hint of wicked fun—over the gold rim of his cup. ‘Don’t look so worried.’

That devil’s smile was supposed to reassure? ‘So what’s this honeymoon special we’re being treated to?’ More importantly, what did it involve and how did it impact on her decision to keep that space between them?

‘It’s a magical mystery tour for me too. We have to be ready with an overnight bag by noon.’

All night. Just the two of them in some romantic getaway spot? This wasn’t good. She shook her head. ‘You go. I … have a salon appointment this afternoon.’

His eyes cooled, as rapidly as molten steel turned black when dropped in water, and a muscle tensed in his jaw. ‘Then cancel it.’

His reaction and demand stunned her. She’d never heard him speak that way to her and shock curdled with something akin to fear beneath her breastbone. That loss of control feeling reminded her of Markos and the subtle but dangerous power he’d had over her. It was her worst nightmare and she struggled against it. ‘I … don’t want to cancel.’

His expression hardened further, the lines around his mouth deep, drawn. He set his cup down with a snap. ‘Have you forgotten why you’re here?’

‘No.’ She lifted her chin, determined not to let him forget either. ‘And it’s not to please you in bed.’

Something in his eyes warned her she’d overstepped some boundary. ‘You’re here as my wife.’ He wasn’t the smooth charmer now; he was all sharp spikes and business. ‘This is our honeymoon and we’re going to smile and act like honeymooners.’ His jaw was tight. ‘For our host at least.’

‘But our host won’t—’

‘His staff, Chloe.’ His eyes pinned her in place, his warning as clear as thunder over water. ‘The status of your bank balance is testament to our new and happy marriage’

‘Yes … fine. Okay.’ She gulped, embarrassed and humiliated that he’d had to point it out, then nodded. He was right, of course. All the way right. And Jordan had every one of those rights to point out his expectations and her responsibilities. She was glad this incident had happened because for a time there she’d lost focus on the real reason she was in Dubai with Mr Blackstone, gold-mining magnate.

And relieved because now there was no way he’d want anything to do with her beyond their written agreement. He thought she’d tried to weasel her way out of it because she had a nice deposit in her bank account. His opinion of her would be rock-bottom.

He wouldn’t know why she’d said what she had—that she was afraid of her developing feelings and her increasing vulnerability. That the more time they spent together was increasingly dangerous. Let him think she was someone who couldn’t keep her promises. As agreed, she’d play the part of happy honeymooner for an audience, but anything more wasn’t going to happen.