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He damn well hoped so.
Because he hadn’t been able to rid himself of the feel of her compact body against his. Because she’d distracted him during an important conference call. Because she’d made him forget his coat, which was why he was back here at two o’clock in the morning.
And she was going to give him an exceedingly restless night.
Her scooter sputtered into life and took off down the street in a cloud of fumes. He gave her—and himself—a minute, then pulled away from the kerb and headed for home.
A short time later, he caught sight of her again when he drew up behind her at a red traffic light. The lights changed and she zoomed off ahead, her hair streaming behind her from beneath the helmet. Dammit—he wanted a chance to apologise, preferably while running his hands through that silky gold.
And that was the thing; he didn’t go for blondes—especially small mouthy blondes. He preferred his women tall and dark, poised and sophisticated. But he’d felt the tiny quivers running through her limbs, the surprising fit of her small body against his. The fury in her eyes, all the more eloquent for its silence.
An almost-grin tugged at his lips. Any other night he might have enjoyed the challenge—a night to slake his lust with a nameless woman. A woman who didn’t know him. A feisty woman who’d give as good as she got. He had a feeling the little surprise package riding ahead of him ticked all three boxes.
But his conference call to Dubai hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped and his fist tightened on the steering wheel. Yes, he could have done with a bloody good distraction.
Suddenly, without warning, she veered to the side of the street. By the time Jordan had pulled over and climbed out with the honourable intention of asking if she was okay, she was standing on the footpath, helmet in hand, windswept hair tangled around her face, expression stony. Her free hand was curled into a fist and tapping against her thigh. Music floated from an all-night jazz bar nearby. A light rain misted the air.
‘So I can add stalker to my list.’ She shuffled her feet on the concrete, drawing his attention to clumpy knee-high boots.
He raised his hands to shoulder height. ‘I’m on my way home. Forgot my coat earlier.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘R-i-ght.’
‘Look, I—’
‘No, you look, whoev—’
‘Stop!’ He jabbed the air with a finger. ‘Give me a chance to open my mouth, will you?’
A beat of silence filled the air between them. ‘Fine.’ She huffed out a breath, her spine stiff, mouth tight. ‘Say what you have to say and leave.’
‘This is my usual route home. I am not following you. And I will not follow you.’ He paused, hopeful. ‘Unless you ask me to.’
She didn’t reply but he imagined he saw the tiniest glimmer of that earlier heat in her eyes, instantly doused.
‘Though I do have to ask,’ he continued carefully, ‘are you sure it’s safe for a woman to be riding that thing alone late at night?’
‘I don’t need a bodyguard.’ She glanced skywards. ‘And I’d like to make it home before I drown.’
‘Think that’s possible?’ He glanced at the scooter. ‘That’s not the most reliable-looking transport I ever saw.’
‘The Rolls is in for a service.’ She flicked at her dampening hair as the rain thickened but there was a touch of humour around her mouth and her voice had lost some of its sting.
‘My name’s Jordan. Jordan Blackstone.’
She studied his face a moment. ‘Should I have heard of you?’
‘Dana knows me,’ he said, then, ‘I’ve had one hell of a night, and I know you have.’ He gestured to the nearby bar. ‘I’ll buy you a nightcap. I think we could both use one.’
‘I don’t drink and drive on an empty stomach, ‘specially when I’m tired.’
‘Coffee, then.’
‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’ She turned towards her bike.
Something inside him snapped—he didn’t want to be alone tonight. He didn’t want to go home and think about his messy situation. And he wasn’t used to women turning him down cold.
‘Wait.’ He reached out, his hand encircling her wrist, keeping his touch light, giving her a choice. Her eyes widened at the contact but she didn’t pull away. The tip of her head barely reached his shoulders, arousing his protective instincts. ‘Is anyone expecting you?’
She hesitated. ‘No. But my housemates will know if I’m … late.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Chloe.’
‘Chloe.’ He smoothed his thumb over the delicate skin at her wrist, felt her rapid pulse thrumming in time with his own. ‘I want a chance to explain about earlier.’
She shook her head but left her hand in his, confusing him further. ‘Why?’ Dark eyes skewered into his. ‘It wasn’t as if it was memorable or anything.’
That brought a smile to his lips. ‘You enjoyed it as much as I did.’ He couldn’t resist; he shifted closer, smelled leather and spice and warm woman.
She didn’t back away and he heard the tiny hitch in her breath, saw the flare of heat in her eyes even as she said, ‘You really are an arrogant piece of w—’
‘Ring Dana. If anything happens …’
‘Nothing’s going to happen.’ She withdrew her hand and pointed up the street. ‘See that neon sign? I’m going to sit down in there in the nice bright public light where there are people and eat a burger.’ Then she pulled on her helmet.
He watched her shapely black-clad legs, the curve of her backside as she climbed onto her scooter, and his groin hardened at the mental image of her astride him, thighs clenched around his hips, her head thrown back in passion as she tangled her fingers in her own hair and shouted his name. His blood simmered and smoked in his veins. I could give you the ride of your life.
She didn’t so much as glance his way before she zoomed off. Which was probably a good thing.
But it was a clear invitation and he jumped into his car and followed. The evening might not end so badly after all.
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.
