Marriage in Name Only?. Anne Oliver
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Some gut instinct was telling him this was no ordinary fairy tale.
He watched her lean close to the child, blonde to brunette. ‘She went home because they were her parents and she loved them and one day they’d get old and d—She’d miss them. On the way she met a handsome prince.’
Tamara nodded, approval sparkling in her eyes. ‘Ooh, a prince.’
‘He promised to help her find some real gold if she’d give him her skateboard. And she was so happy because now she could go home and take the palace back from the wicked witch and they could all live happily ever after.’
‘With the prince too?’
‘Ah, but he wasn’t a prince, Tamara. He was an evil sorcerer in disguise. He turned her skateboard into a yucky slimy log.’
‘Uh-oh …’ Tamara clapped her hands to her cheeks in true drama mode. ‘He didn’t give her the gold?’
‘No, he didn’t. He put on his special invisible cloak and Princess Chloe didn’t know where he’d gone …’
Chloe trailed off, suddenly aware that the light from the doorway had dimmed, and that they were no longer alone. Uncomfortable heat flooded her cheeks. She turned to see Jordan, one shoulder leaning on the doorjamb, hands in his tailor-made trouser pockets, his expensive-looking silk tie flapping in the breeze.
With his height and the cubby’s elevation, his face was in her direct line of vision and he was making no secret of watching her. Or listening in. And judging by his preoccupied expression, he’d been there for some time. Thinking.
Thinking what? It had been too easy to put too much of herself into the story—a familiar habit, but not one she shared with others. Sweat sprang to her palms and she swiped them down the front of her jeans.
‘What happened then?’ Tamara demanded.
Jordan pushed away from the door. ‘Tams, Mummy’s looking for you. It’s nearly time to light the candles.’
‘Now?’ She pursed her lips. ‘But Chloe hasn’t finished her story.’
‘Tell you what,’ Chloe said, while her mind whirled. ‘Why don’t you be the storyteller? Think about how it ends and tell me later.’
Tamara nodded. ‘Okay. I’ve got to light the candles now.’ She shot up off her cushion and ran to the door, launching herself at the man. ‘Lift me down, Jordan.’
He swung her down with a chuckle. ‘There you go.’
Which left Chloe alone in a cubby with no place to hide. Not for long though because somehow Jordan squeezed through the doorway and took Tamara’s place on the cushion.
He looked so incongruous against the mini furnishings, dominating the tiny space with his size, his masculine scent, his charisma. Under different circumstances, Chloe might have laughed. Or leaned in and got reacquainted with those lips. Instead, she sucked in air that suddenly seemed in short supply. ‘What are you doing? The cake …’
‘We’ve got a moment. They won’t miss us.’ He stared at her hair. ‘It looks good on you, Princess Chloe.’
‘What?’ Oh. She pulled off Tamara’s crown, set it aside, her laugh coming out hoarse and strained and fake. ‘I love kids’ stories, don’t you? Kids’ games are so much fun,’ she rattled ahead as she pushed up onto her knees. ‘I promised Tamara I’d watch—’
‘She’s got herself in a bit of a tight spot—the princess.’
The way he said it … How much did he know? Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Yeah, but she’s independent and clever, she’ll find a way out. She’ll win.’ The game, the gold, the guy, it didn’t matter. Right now, Chloe would settle for the gold.
‘She should find herself a real prince and marry him,’ Jordan said. ‘Isn’t that how the story should end?’
‘Ah, but does she want to marry this real prince? He’s not like her and she hardly knows him. Maybe he’ll turn out to be the evil sorcerer’s apprentice …’
‘Or maybe he can help. Chloe.’ He reached out, encircled her wrist with a warm hand. ‘Stories aside, maybe I can help.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t need help—yours or anyone’s.’ She tried to pull her hand away but his grip firmed.
‘I think you do.’
‘Who are you to think what I need?’ She lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Come on, Chloe. You’ve spun enough fantasy for me to draw some very real conclusions. You’re short on cash.’
He released her and she sank back down, clasping her hands around her knees and feeling like a deflated balloon. ‘You should have made your presence known.’
‘I wasn’t hiding. You were too involved in your story to notice. Can we talk about this?’
‘What’s to talk about? I already told you, I don’t need anything. Or anyone.’
‘Give me a minute here, Chloe. I’m considering making you an offer I’d like you to think about.’
She regarded him warily. ‘What kind of offer?’
‘A partnership. A business partnership. With no risk on your part.’
‘Well, that sounds risky for a start.’ He continued watching her without speaking for a moment until her curiosity got the better of her. ‘Why would you want to help me? You barely know me.’
‘I reckon we can help each other,’ he said slowly. ‘You need money, right?’ When she didn’t answer, he continued. ‘You’re adventurous, you say you’re up for a challenge, you enjoy travel. That makes you the right kind of girl to make what I have in mind work.’ His gaze slid to her mouth. ‘The fact that I’m attracted to you has nothing to do with it.’
She refused to melt into a mindless puddle of lust at the way his last huskily spoken words slid through her insides like sun-warmed treacle. ‘You kissed me last night to make me feel bad.’
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