Marriage in Name Only?

He lifted his darkening gaze to her eyes and the puddle grew to a lake. ‘The next time I kiss you, I can promise you, you won’t feel bad.’

She pressed her lips together to stop the sudden rush of blood there at the thought of an encore. She didn’t doubt he was up to the task. If she let him. Which, she told herself, she didn’t have a mind to, no matter how prettily he promised. He had made her feel bad with his arrogant assumption that she knew him. ‘You didn’t mention anything about kissing. You said business.’

His mouth twitched and what looked like humour danced in his eyes. ‘So I did.’

She shut off all thoughts of carnal pleasure. ‘Business is hardly my forte.’

He leaned closer so that all she could see was him. All she could smell was his musky scent. ‘It doesn’t need to be—it’s mine. But I want to think on it before I decide, so I’d like you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. We could get better acquainted.’

His voice made her think of a still river with hidden depths. And something in his expression, something she recognised because she knew that feeling of desperation too, drew her interest. He pressed his advantage. ‘How does seven p.m. suit you?’

She studied him a moment. The way his eyes changed from cobalt to denim to azure depending on the mood and the moment. The clean-shaven jaw that smelled pleasantly of some exotic aftershave, the modern spiky cut to his dark hair, the precise fit of his perfectly tailored clothes.

An evening out with a gorgeous guy—why not? And that was all it would be. ‘Dinner, then.’

The following day Chloe worked a busy corporate luncheon, which didn’t leave her time to think about the evening ahead or to quiz Dana about Jordan in a busy kitchen—except to learn that he was a long-standing friend and an absolute ‘darling’. Uh-huh. No men Chloe knew had ever deserved that rep so she’d reserve judgement on that.

She made it back to the semi-detached house she shared with a couple of flight attendants fifteen minutes before Jordan was due to pick her up.

And yes, he’d made it clear before he’d left for his meeting in the city yesterday afternoon that he intended picking her up, and in the end she’d given him her address and they’d swapped phone numbers. It was a given he’d have her references checked out with Dana before he offered whatever business partnership he had in mind.

Fine. She had glowing reports from her overseas employers. Nothing to hide. Unless … She shook her head determinedly. Almost impossible to trace—unless he was looking for a nanny. She’d been innocent, used. Betrayed.

Chloe threw on her seasons-old black dress of soft wool and pulled on matching leather boots while she searched for her clutch bag. She refreshed her make-up and ran a brush through her hair, deciding his gentlemanly insistence was appreciated in this instance.

Her quick search last night had revealed that Jordan Blackstone owned a gold mine in Western Australia. He was involved in some charity called Rapper One and, according to a recent magazine poll, was one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. His love interests were plenty and varied and colourful, not to mention stunning and sophisticated, but it seemed there was nothing remotely dodgy about the man’s business reputation.

And nothing remote about her body’s response when she answered the knock on her door either. Yet another dark suit, expertly fitted and accentuating his broad shoulders, but tonight he wore a black shirt and tie, giving him a temptingly devilish air. Even his eyes looked black in the hallway’s dim light.

‘Hi,’ she murmured in a breathy voice she hardly recognised. She felt herself sway towards his enticing scent and gripped the door handle tight to stop from grabbing his lapels and launching herself at him.

‘Evening, Chloe.’

His smile … A sigh rose up her throat and her knees went weak. Had she forgotten the effect those lips had on her? ‘Hang on …’ Water. She dashed back to the kitchen and filled a glass, gulped it down.

She smoothed her dress, took a deep breath, then marched down the hall, her boots echoing briskly on the worn wood in time with the words in her head. I am not going to fall for good looks and charm ever again.

He was leaning against the doorjamb but straightened as she approached. His smile had worn off and he looked concerned, as if she might have changed her mind. ‘Are you ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’ She pulled the door shut behind them.

He gestured to his shiny car parked at the kerb. ‘After you.’

She spent the short journey to the city on a razor’s edge beside him, so flustered she couldn’t remember what they talked about besides her busy day, yesterday’s brunch. Melbourne’s traffic.

The up-scale French restaurant was glamorous but intimate with cosy candle-lit alcoves. ‘Bon soir, monsieur, mademoiselle.’ A polished waiter showed them to their private corner table, fussed over their napkins and poured water into glittering glasses. Jordan asked Chloe’s wine preference, then ordered expensive champagne, which arrived almost before she’d finished speaking. The wine was poured, the bubbles fizzed. Lights danced over crystal and silver.

In the corner, a lone musician in a felt beret squeezed early-twentieth-century French tears out of a piano accordion, the soft sound reminding Chloe of a favourite brasserie in the heart of Paris.

Jordan raised his glass. ‘To a successful evening.’

‘Bon appétit.’ She clinked her glass with his. The cold liquid tickled her throat on the way down.

‘What do you fancy?’ he asked, putting his glass down and reaching for his menu.

Was that a trick question?

But he showed no sign of meaning anything other than food, and, pushing erotic images from her mind, she cast her eyes quickly to the menu in front of her. Concentrate on your stomach, Chloe.

When they’d decided on their choices, Jordan signalled the waiter. ‘Nous voudrions l’assiette des fruits et fondue de Brie pour les deux, s’il vous plaît. Pour le plat principal, mademoiselle voudrait le filet de saumon au beurre rouge et je voudrais l’entrecôte è la bordelaise.’ He placed the menu on the table. ‘Merci.’

The waiter inclined his head. ‘Merci, Monsieur.’

Chloe spoke French well enough but listening to Jordan speak it was like having the back of her neck stroked with rich velvet. She indulged in the sensation a moment before forcing her thoughts back to the reason she was eating expensive French cuisine without prices in the first place.

‘So what’s the deal here?’

He rotated the base of his wineglass on the cloth and met her eyes. ‘I spoke with Dana today. With your references and what I’ve learned about you so far, I’m satisfied you’re the best woman for the job.’

‘Oh? And what if I don’t want this job?’

‘You will,’ he said smoothly.

She took a sip of wine and studied him over the crystal rim. ‘So confident?’

‘I’m always confident.’ He leaned forward slightly. ‘For the record, though, how badly do you need cash, and just as important, why?’

She hesitated, then decided what the hell? She had nothing to lose and maybe something to gain. ‘My sister emailed me that my parents could lose the family home. They always put us kids first, sent us to the best schools and paid our tuition fees because they hadn’t had the opportunity themselves and wanted it for us. I was the only one who disappointed them and now they’re elderly. Donna expects me …’

They’d not been in touch for years except for birthdays and Christmas and Chloe had never got around to telling them about her humiliating breakup. ‘I want to help.’

He nodded. ‘Sounds reasonable. And I need someone to help me win a lucrative contract overseas. Which makes it perfect.’

‘Huh?’ She stared at him, incredulous. ‘How can a woman with no business expertise possibly help you win an overseas contract?’

His voice was polished business professional. ‘You’d accompany me to Dubai as my wife.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Excuse me?’

‘In return for a very large sum of money.’

In the ensuing silence she clamped her hands to her head to keep it from spinning away. ‘How large?’ she said, finally. Faintly.

She thought she saw a smile of satisfaction flicker at the corner of his mouth, then he named a figure that had her head spinning in the other direction. And it wasn’t just the money; everything about this proposal had dangerous plastered all over it.

‘You like to play games, Chloe, so let’s play Mr and Mrs Jordan Blackstone for a couple of weeks.’

She almost choked on an invisible lump in her throat and all she could think was, ‘Why?’