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
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
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