he said.
‘They’re not words I associate with myself,’ she replied, still studying herself critically.
‘Well, you should start associating them, because they suit you—the words and the jewellery.’
Sophisticated? Chloe Montgomery? He meant it but with every second that ticked by she felt less like herself and more like a woman she’d never met and didn’t know.
Or maybe he’d brought out the real Chloe, the one she could be if given a chance. She spun away towards the elevator, tossing her compact in her purse. ‘You do not want to be late. I’m making sure you’re not.’
‘Aren’t you going to give me a kiss for luck?’
‘You don’t need luck—you already have enough of everything else to make this work.’
Their meeting was scheduled in one of the hotel’s private meeting rooms. They were received by one of Sheikh Qasim’s advisers and ushered into a luxurious blue room large enough to hold fifty people. The man promptly disappeared, leaving them in a kind of limbo. Which Jordan seemed to expect.
Not to worry—smiling waiters served them spiced tea and a variety of delicacies while they waited. And waited. And waited. If Jordan was nervous, he didn’t show it. He assured Chloe waiting was the norm here.
A long, fraught hour or more later, the door opened and the elderly man walked in, his robes swirling about him.
Jordan and Chloe both stood. Jordan stepped forward, extending his hand. ‘Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid. Salam alaykum.’ Peace be upon you.
The sheikh met Jordan and clasped his hand firmly. ‘Wa alaykum as-salam.’
‘Sheikh Qasim bin Omar Al-Zeid, I’d like to introduce my wife.’ He placed a light hand on her back and smiled into her eyes. ‘This is Chloe Montgomery.’
The sheikh turned to Chloe, nodded respectfully. ‘Salam alaykum.’
‘Wa alaykum as-salam.’ Smiling, Chloe inclined her head.
A short time later, the introductions over, pleasantries exchanged and sincere thanks given for the ‘honeymoon special’, Chloe was finally able to escape to her massage appointment. Gratefully. Very gratefully. Tricky etiquette in this part of the world. For Jordan’s sake, she hoped she’d got it right. He’d paid for her services and she’d smiled and acted the docile, adoring wife and just prayed it had worked. If it was successful, they were booked on tomorrow’s flight. Which meant tonight was their last night.
Her heart was already bleeding. So she did what any woman would do under the circumstances—she distracted herself. If she didn’t do something, she’d end up pacing a bald track in their suite’s very expensive carpet. And she needed, desperately, to maintain some control over her circumstances.
Hours later Chloe received a call. ‘Break out the champagne,’ Jordan told her with a grin a mile wide in his voice. ‘I’m on my way up to the room.’
And she could visualise that familiar spark in his eyes, the way his cheeks creased when he smiled, and wished she could be there right now to plant one on him. ‘Jordan, that’s wonderful news, congratulations. I’m so happy for you, but I’m not there.’
Jordan frowned as he stepped into the elevator, his effervescent mood losing some of its fizz. What did she mean, she wasn’t there? Surely a massage didn’t last that long? ‘It’s gone three—where are you?’
‘I’m in the Burjuman Centre making the most of what’s left of my time here.’
‘Shopping.’ A ridiculous feeling of disappointment rolled through him. He stared unseeing at the world falling away as the elevator soared skywards. She was shopping while he’d been making one of the most important deals of his life.
‘I’m sorry,’ he heard her say. ‘I lost track of time. I’m leaving right this minute. Don’t start without me, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He disconnected, stepped out into their suite muttering to himself. Her stories must be having an effect on him because for some insane reason he’d expected her to be waiting with bated breath for his triumphant return, the way a lady waited in the castle for her battle-weary hero.
Blimey, what an idiot.
When it came right down to it, why would it matter to Chloe how his meeting went? She’d done her bit. For her this whole business was over. She could walk away now, well recompensed for her time and trouble, and never have to see him again.
The question was, would she?
The more disturbing question was would he let her?
He ordered the most expensive bubbly on the menu then strode to the windows and watched the afternoon sun shimmering on the gulf. Forty-eight hours ago they’d been making love in a desert oasis under that afternoon sun. Now