Marriage in Name Only?

CHAPTER TWO

JORDAN GAVE HER a few moments to order and waited until she’d taken up residence at a table before following her inside. She was munching on a burger by the time he sat down opposite her with his own and a side order of fries.

He slid a foam cup in front of her. ‘I didn’t know what you like. Most people like cappuccino.’

‘Not at ridiculous o’clock in the morning if you want a decent night’s sleep,’ she said around a mouthful of bun. ‘But thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘So are you a movie star or something? On one of those Aussie soaps? I’ve been out of the country for eight years. I’m not up on the latest celebrities.’

Obviously fame didn’t impress her, which made for a refreshing change. ‘I’m in the mining industry.’

She studied him curiously. ‘Why did you think I’d know you, then?’

He shrugged, wishing he’d never made the accusation in the first place. Except he wouldn’t have been sitting here sharing burgers with her if he hadn’t. ‘The company’s had some publicity over the past couple of years.’ Which he didn’t want to go into. ‘What I said … What I did …’ He was unwrapping his snack but paused. ‘I apologise. I was out of line. And you’re right, it was rude and arrogant.’

‘Something we can agree on.’ She arched a slim brow. ‘Do you make a habit of kissing random women?’

‘Only beautiful ones who fall into my lap at birthday parties. About that—I’m hoping we can do it again sometime.’

She blinked, her burger halfway to her mouth. ‘My sixty seconds of fame. I’m not likely to be repeating that any time soon.’

But he knew she knew exactly what he meant. As he watched her cheeks turned pink, her eyes darkened and met his for a few unguarded seconds before she reached for her coffee. She took a sip, leaving a tempting fleck of foam on her upper lip.

‘I didn’t know you filled in at the last minute until Zahira told me,’ he went on. ‘That was a pretty game stunt you pulled. I’m ashamed to say, I’d have had second thoughts about the safety of that rope myself.’

‘Yes, well, that’s me. Always up for a challenge.’ She licked the foam off with the tip of her tongue and said, ‘Apology accepted, by the way. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you follow me home.’

‘You don’t need to worry.’ No matter how he’d have preferred to end the evening.

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

‘Eight years is a long time to be away.’ She only looked around twenty. ‘How old were you when you left?’

‘Nineteen. I’m an adventureholic, couldn’t wait to leave.’ She snaffled one of his fries. ‘The freedom and independence. No one telling you what to do. No one to tell you you’re doing it wrong.’ Her voice turned sombre and the light faded from her eyes.

A man? he wondered. And things hadn’t ended well. ‘So what brought you back?’ Or chased you away.

She chewed a moment, studying the table. When she looked up again, she was smiling, but she didn’t fool him for a second. ‘Family,’ she said brightly, mask in place. ‘You know how it is.’ A haunted desperation flickered in her eyes before she looked away again, fingers tense around her bun.

Yes, he thought, those same emotions running through him, he knew how it was to owe family, but his bet was still on the man. He waited until she met his gaze once more then murmured, ‘What did he do to you?’

Colour drained from her cheeks. ‘Who?’

‘The guy who put those clouds in your eyes.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—there’s no guy, I was talking about my family.’

He nodded slowly. ‘They’re glad to have you back, then? Your family?’

‘They live in Sydney.’ Biting her bottom lip, she rewrapped the remains of her meal in record time, screwed it up and stood. ‘I have to go.’

‘Hang on.’ He stood too. ‘Can I see you again?’

‘I don’t think so.’ She swung her backpack onto her shoulders, swiped up her helmet. Cool, guarded eyes met his. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ Her tone was reasonable enough but the message was clear and final. A one-eighty-degree turnaround from the vibes he’d felt earlier in the evening when she’d swung down towards him.

Fine. He didn’t need the complication in his life right now, anyway. ‘You’re welcome, and ride safely.’

He resumed his seat, studying her through the windows as she walked into the damp night, her blonde hair washed moon-pale beneath the car park’s lighting. What was her story? She’d said she’d come back for family but hadn’t caught up with them? She’d tripped over her tongue with that one and hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough.

Nope. She could deny it all she wanted—only a love gone wrong would elicit that lost-soul response he’d seen in her Scotch-coloured eyes.

And he ought to know.

His gaze lingered on her a moment more, then he turned away. She worked for Dana; she’d be easy to find. Tonight he had more important things on his mind than casual sex and other people’s problems.

Such as how he was going to sweet-talk Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid into buying his gold.

Jordan’s mother had inherited the majority shares in Rivergold when his father had died, and she’d nearly bankrupted the company—his father’s love and life’s work. Jordan had finally bought her out with the trust fund he’d inherited on his thirtieth birthday, but it had taken him two years of solid work and little sleep to bring it up to anything approaching its former glory.

His fingers automatically felt for the leather thong beneath his shirt. And he was back in time to eight years ago and he could see his dad lying on his office floor, barely breathing when Jordan had found him. He’d not been there in time because he’d been too busy heating up the sheets with a fellow student when his elderly father had demanded he come home to Perth to discuss his latest poor academic performance at one of Melbourne’s finest unis.

He was the reason his father had died that day… .

‘Jordan … you came …’ His old man’s voice was barely audible.

He dropped to his knees beside his father, knowing it was already too late. ‘I’m here, Dad, the ambulance is on its way. Just hang in there a few more moments and they’ll be here and we can have that talk.’

‘I don’t have … that long …’

He barely raised a trembling hand, and Jordan grasped it, felt the thin, papery skin, saw the grey pallor of his lined face, the glazed eyes sunken into his skull. When had his dad grown so old? But seventy-nine was old. He should have known the bull of a man wouldn’t last forever. Jordan should have been here. He should have made his father proud. ‘Hang on, Dad, just hang on. Please.’ One more chance to show you I’m worthy.

‘Jordan, promise me …’ Even through the pain he was fighting, the way he’d fought all his life.

Jordan leaned closer, heard the wheezing sound in his father’s chest. ‘What, Dad? Anything.’

‘You’ll inherit Rivergold one day. My dream, the gold … for you and your mother. Study hard, make Rivergold proud. Make me proud …’

He closed his eyes, the effort of talking taking its toll, and Jordan watched him fading away through misted eyes even as the wail of approaching sirens split the air. ‘I promise. Dad, you’ll—’

‘My nugget. Wear it for me.’

Jordan looked at the irregular thimble-sized chunk of gold on its leather thong resting on his father’s chest—the first gold he’d discovered while prospecting in the remote Western Australian outback.

‘It’s yours now, son. Rivergold needs you.’ He spoke faster now, wanting to get it all out before the end. ‘I want my … gold in a necklace … give your mother. Those negotiations in the UAE … so important to me …’

‘I’ll make it happen, Dad,’ Jordan said, and meant it down to the last cell in his body.

‘Tell Ina I love …’

Then he was gone, his empty shell a shadow of his former self.

The paramedics hadn’t been able to revive him. If Jordan had been there earlier, as requested, he might have been able to get him help in time. The man might not have had a heart attack at all. If he’d been there.

Jordan gulped down the remains of his coffee, bitter-tasting now, and reflected on the evening’s tele-conference. Qasim hadn’t mentioned it, but Jordan had heard via a source close to Sadiq that the prestigious Dubai jewellery manufacturer billionaire was also considering X23 Mining. X23’s owner, Don Hartson, was Jordan’s most bitter rival. And married to Jordan’s mother.

How was that for irony? Not that she’d been any kind of mother to Jordan. The woman had married Hartson five minutes after Dad’s death. Which had left Jordan to draw the obvious conclusion—Ina Blackstone had been having an affair behind her elderly husband’s back.

Too distracted by her glamorous new lifestyle with a younger man, she’d let the company slide over the next few years, and, with Jordan powerless to prevent it, those negotiations his father had set up had fallen through.

But the day he’d turned thirty he’d bought out her shares, taken control of the company and reaffirmed the promise he’d made to a dying man.

He’d spent the last two years modernising Rivergold, refusing to lay off staff, some of whom had given his father years of loyalty. It had been tough—still was—but he was now consolidating. Increasing his exports. With Sadiq’s contacts in the UAE, Jordan had been able to turn his negotiations to the reputed City of Gold once again.

And now that long-ago promise he’d made to his father was so close he could almost reach out and kiss it.

But apparently the elderly gold manufacturer had a reputation for extreme conservatism. Blowing out a slow breath that seemed to take a part of him with it, Jordan stepped out of the restaurant and into the chill evening. He’d never been one to toe the line, but for this long overdue deal he’d do whatever it took.

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE’S HEART SKIPPED a beat when she checked her phone for messages while dressing for Sunday brunch and saw an email from her sister. It wasn’t tragic news, thank God, but it was disturbing news just the same.

Donna’s message was brief and clear and to the point and included a bank account number. Their parents were facing tough times. Losing the family home was more than likely. And since neither her brother nor Donna could help out financially at this time—her sister outlined their perfectly valid reasons why they couldn’t in bullet point format—they’d really appreciate Chloe’s financial support since she had a high-paying job and lived in a virtual palace with a member of the aristocracy.

Stewart. Chloe beat back the pain with a sharp stick and thwacked that stick at the man she’d fallen in love with. The gorgeous hunk of widower who’d employed her to care for his son then used her for sex, except she’d been too naive and blinded by love to see it that way until it was too late.

Of course she’d told her family; she’d relished telling them about her successes, her career as a nanny, the palatial home in rural England. The man in her life.

And four years ago when it had all turned to crap, telling them she’d made a mistake and that she didn’t fit into the world of the rich and famous and never would hadn’t been on her list of priorities.

She flicked the email off, tossed her phone in her bag. She’d have to come clean and tell Donna the bad news, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

An hour later, she swiped sweaty palms down her best jeans then adjusted the belt over her thigh-length tunic and hoped she’d dressed appropriately. She’d caught public transport to avoid the dreaded windswept, helmet-hair look. Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, she stared at the massive two-storey mansion as she walked up the long, curved drive. Dana’s early-morning phone call had come out of the blue. Sadiq and his wife had extended an invitation to Chloe to attend an informal meal as a thank-you for helping to make last night’s entertainment a success.

She’d been stoked. Dana’s Events was one of the city’s premier event-planning businesses, catering to the elite, and this was a brilliant opportunity for Chloe to get to know the clients.

The only downside was the probability that Jordan Blackstone would be there. And after the relentless dreams she’d had of the two of them last night … The residual heat was still stroking her abdomen, and her skin felt tight and tingly. Worse, she was mortally afraid he’d see it in her eyes. He was the type of man who could read women’s minds. He’d read hers last night, hadn’t he? She should never have stopped for that burger. A momentary weakness she would not be repeating no matter how attracted she was to him.

Rich and influential, like Stewart. Not the type of man she needed in her life—a lesson she’d learned the hard way. And there were limits to how much risk one should take, both personally and financially. She’d learned that lesson the hard way too.

A smartly uniformed staff member welcomed her at the front door. Chloe followed her across a huge tiled foyer where a heavy chandelier threw rainbows over brass and honeyed wood, along a wide passage hung with a mix of Eastern and European art.

The aroma of barbecued meat and Asian cooking wafting from the garden met her nose as she walked through an airy glass atrium filled with tropical potted plants.

Zahira turned from the intimate group of guests as Chloe stepped outside. ‘I’m so glad you could make it, Chloe,’ she said in her lightly accented voice, her dark eyes smiling. ‘Welcome. Here’s our brave little entertainer from last night,’ she announced, and had every head turning their way. ‘Chloe Montgomery, a member of Dana’s capable team.’

‘Hi.’ She smiled at the group in general but there was only one pair of eyes she saw. Jordan Blackstone’s. Blue and even more intense in the winter sunshine. Startling against his tanned complexion and spiky dark hair, which riffled around his temples in the breeze.

No avoiding him, she thought, as he said something to the knot of people he was standing with and began walking towards her. Her pulse thrummed fast and her breathing quickened while she watched him approach.

Unlike the rest of the guests who wore casual, he was dressed for business. A suit and tie for a Sunday brunch? Still, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the clean-cut corporate image. Hopefully he was on his way to forge some milliondollar deal with some other mining magnate and she could relax and not think about sharing Sunday brunch with him in an entirely more intimate way.

‘Morning, Chloe.’ His smile was polite, his tone precise, almost professional. Only his eyes betrayed the hint that he hadn’t forgotten last night’s kiss either.

‘Jordan. Hello.’ She felt her face warm and prayed her expression didn’t give away her inner turmoil. Her dreams, her restless night.

Not to mention the fact that she’d almost blurted out her most private personal problems at the diner.

Then Zahira smiled enigmatically and made some vague comment about leaving her in Jordan’s capable hands—which had her body tingling anew—and walked away, leaving the two of them standing alone together in the middle of the lawn.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked, motioning a waiter who was at her side in three seconds flat.

‘Soda water, please. I skipped breakfast. Running late,’ she added, though why she felt she had to explain …

‘You didn’t sleep well?’

Was that humour in his voice? ‘Slept like a baby, thanks for asking.’

‘The coffee didn’t keep you tossing and turning all night?’

Not the coffee. But she knew he already knew that and was relieved when the waiter returned with her glass of bubbles. ‘I was tired—that usually does it.’ She took a cooling sip of her water and deflected his attention from her hot cheeks with, ‘Do you always dress so formally for a barbecue?’

‘I have a meeting in the city later.’

‘Hello.’

Chloe looked down at the sound of the young voice to see a small girl with dusky skin and long black hair looking up at her. ‘Hello, there.’

‘What’s your name?’ she asked, fiddling with a gold brooch pinned to her dress. ‘My name’s Tamara. It means date tree. Mummy’s is Zahira and it means blossoming flower and Daddy’s is Sadiq and it means trooful. Daddy says I should always tell the troof.’

Chloe glanced at Jordan and they exchanged a smile before she leaned down. ‘Your daddy’s right. And my name’s Chloe.’

‘What does Chloe mean?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to find out, won’t I?’

Tamara’s inquisitive gaze flicked between them. ‘Is Jordan your boyfriend?’

‘No,’ Chloe said, startled. ‘We … don’t know each other very well.’

‘Not yet,’ Jordan murmured, sending ripples of awareness down Chloe’s spine. He didn’t look at Chloe as he ruffled the small girl’s hair. ‘How’s it going, Tams?’

‘I’m five now,’ she announced proudly, holding up her fingers. ‘And I go to school so I’m allowed to help light the candles on my daddy’s birthday cake later.’

Chloe nodded. ‘I’ll be sure to be watching.’

‘I think your daddy has something for you,’ Jordan said, jutting his chin in the direction of the barbecue.

Tamara followed his gaze. ‘Yum, sausages. Bye.’ She waved a hand, setting a dozen gold bangles jangling along her arm, her frilly party dress shimmering in the sun as she skipped across the lawn to her father.

‘She’s a cutie,’ Chloe said, meeting Jordan’s eyes, still unsettled by the boyfriend question but determined not to let him see. ‘And obviously likes to be the centre of attention.’

‘Reminds me of someone else last night.’ His eyes twinkled at her.

Oh, no. Too awkward. She loved attention but singing to an audience in a costume two sizes too small? And worse, kissing the wrong man? She coughed out a laugh. ‘Please, I’d rather forget.’

‘Well, I, for one, am not likely to forget any time soon.’ He watched her without speaking a moment. Not that she was looking at him now—she was smiling and giving a finger wave to Tamara, who was holding up her sausage like a trophy—but she could feel the heat of his gaze, bathing her like sunshine and not letting her forget either. ‘You like kids,’ he said.

‘You kinda need to if you want to work as a nanny.’

‘Guess so. That job kept you busy a good while, then?’

Eighteen wonderful months of being a nanny to Brad while falling hopelessly in love with his father … Don’t go there. She forced herself to meet Jordan’s eyes. ‘Only until I had enough money to get me to the next port of call.’

A tiny line furrowed between his brows, as if he was weighing up the truth of what she’d said. ‘So … what else did you do while you were overseas? The usual waitressing to fund the campervan to Europe?’

‘I wanted more than that,’ she went on quickly, relieved the nanny topic was over. ‘I picked grapes in France, trekked Nepal, worked on a trail restoration project in the Grand Canyon. Won a wet T-shirt contest in Rome and lost my money in—’ Appalled, she bit her lips together. Please tell me I didn’t just say that. To a man she barely knew. A rich and successful man who’d never have been so careless where money was concerned. She couldn’t even blame her runaway tongue on too much wine.

This was the however many time in less than twelve hours that she’d said too much to Jordan Blackstone. It was none of his business. She should blame him. It was his fault she wasn’t thinking straight.

‘You ran out of funds,’ he finished for her.

‘Ye—No.’ She chewed on her lip then plastered a smile on her face. He probably thought she had a gambling problem or something. ‘Family—I told you already. Last night.’

‘So you did,’ he said slowly, watching her through eyes that were far too perceptive. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

Now he probably thought she’d come back to sponge off her parents. If he only knew it was the other way round. She eyeballed him back. ‘Money’s not important to me. Never has been, never will be.’

He didn’t believe her, she could tell. And okay, money hadn’t been important until now. She looked away from his unsettling assessment and watched the wait staff setting platters of salads and aromatic Eastern dishes on a long glass table.

When she saw the tray of steaming barbecued delights arrive at the table, Chloe moved fast. ‘Looks like the food’s ready,’ she said over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘I’m starved.’

Chloe used the buffet meal to mingle with the other guests under the covered pergola. She didn’t speak with Jordan again, but as she chatted she knew where he was at any given time by the way the hairs on the back of her neck tingled as if they were mini antennae seeking a signal.

So when Tamara asked her to come and look at her new cubby house, Chloe was only too happy to escape.

The little hideaway stood a metre or so off the ground. It was a perfect replica of a gingerbread house, crammed with child-sized furniture, books and toys. Tamara had just settled on a cushion when she jumped up and scrambled to the door. ‘I forgot my princess crown in my bedroom. Wait, okay?’

‘Okay.’

Chloe watched the child skip off across the manicured lawns in her designer dress and shiny shoes with what had to be a fortune in Dubai gold glittering on her arm and blew out a sigh.

Obviously this child was loved, indulged, no struggle to be accepted by her doting parents. Was just wanting to be loved and accepted for who she was too much for Chloe to ask? She stared around at the cubby, luxurious enough to live in.

Okay, money had never been a priority, but right now she could do with a fraction of that wealth. Who knew where her parents might end up without the home they’d lived in for forty years?

And why should she care? Why should Chloe Montgomery, an accidental offspring who’d never fitted in, never lived up to their expectations and had escaped overseas the moment she was old enough, feel any sort of familial obligation?

She rubbed a dull ache that had taken up residence in her heart since Donna’s email last night. Because they were family, bonded through blood—however fragile that connection was.

As fragile as life itself, Chloe thought, remembering how devastatingly final Ellen’s loss had been. Ellen had argued with her family and left without a goodbye and life had been sweet and exciting. But a couple of months ago her parents’ car had been swept away crossing a flooded river in rural Victoria. Chloe would never forget the despair in Ellen’s eyes as they’d said goodbye to each other at Vancouver airport.