HEART SKIPPED a beat when she checked her phone for messages while dressing for Sunday brunch and saw an email from her sister. It wasn’t tragic news, thank God, but it was disturbing news just the same.
Donna’s message was brief and clear and to the point and included a bank account number. Their parents were facing tough times. Losing the family home was more than likely. And since neither her brother nor Donna could help out financially at this time—her sister outlined their perfectly valid reasons why they couldn’t in bullet point format—they’d really appreciate Chloe’s financial support since she had a high-paying job and lived in a virtual palace with a member of the aristocracy.
Stewart. Chloe beat back the pain with a sharp stick and thwacked that stick at the man she’d fallen in love with. The gorgeous hunk of widower who’d employed her to care for his son then used her for sex, except she’d been too naive and blinded by love to see it that way until it was too late.
Of course she’d told her family; she’d relished telling them about her successes, her career as a nanny, the palatial home in rural England. The man in her life.
And four years ago when it had all turned to crap, telling them she’d made a mistake and that she didn’t fit into the world of the rich and famous and never would hadn’t been on her list of priorities.
She flicked the email off, tossed her phone in her bag. She’d have to come clean and tell Donna the bad news, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
An hour later, she swiped sweaty palms down her best jeans then adjusted the belt over her thigh-length tunic and hoped she’d dressed appropriately. She’d caught public transport to avoid the dreaded windswept, helmet-hair look. Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, she stared at the massive two-storey mansion as she walked up the long, curved drive. Dana’s early-morning phone call had come out of the blue. Sadiq and his wife had extended an invitation to Chloe to attend an informal meal as a thank-you for helping to make last night’s entertainment a success.
She’d been stoked. Dana’s Events was one of the city’s premier event-planning businesses, catering to the elite, and this was a brilliant opportunity for Chloe to get to know the clients.
The only downside was the probability that Jordan Blackstone would be there. And after the relentless dreams she’d had of the two of them last night … The residual heat was still stroking her abdomen, and her skin felt tight and tingly. Worse, she was mortally afraid he’d see it in her eyes. He was the type of man who could read women’s minds. He’d read hers last night, hadn’t he? She should never have stopped for that burger. A momentary weakness she would not be repeating no matter how attracted she was to him.
Rich and influential, like Stewart. Not the type of man she needed in her life—a lesson she’d learned the hard way. And there were limits to how much risk one should take, both personally and financially. She’d learned that lesson the hard way too.
A smartly uniformed staff member welcomed her at the front door. Chloe followed her across a huge tiled foyer where a heavy chandelier threw rainbows over brass and honeyed wood, along a wide passage hung with a mix of Eastern and European art.
The aroma of barbecued meat and Asian cooking wafting from the garden met her nose as she walked through an airy glass atrium filled with tropical potted plants.
Zahira turned from the intimate group of guests as Chloe stepped outside. ‘I’m so glad you could make it, Chloe,’ she said in her lightly accented voice, her dark eyes smiling. ‘Welcome. Here’s our brave little entertainer from last night,’ she announced, and had every head turning their way. ‘Chloe Montgomery, a member of Dana’s capable team.’
‘Hi.’ She smiled at the group in general but there was only one pair of eyes she saw. Jordan Blackstone’s. Blue and even more intense in the winter sunshine. Startling against his tanned complexion and spiky dark hair, which riffled around his temples in the breeze.
No avoiding him, she thought, as he said something to the knot of people he was standing with and began walking towards her. Her pulse thrummed fast and her breathing quickened while she watched him approach.
Unlike the rest of the guests who wore casual, he was dressed for business. A suit and tie for a Sunday brunch? Still, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the clean-cut corporate image. Hopefully he was on his way to forge some milliondollar deal with some other mining magnate and she could relax and not think about sharing Sunday brunch with him in an entirely more intimate way.
‘Morning, Chloe.’ His smile was polite, his tone precise, almost professional. Only his eyes betrayed the hint that he hadn’t forgotten last night’s kiss either.
‘Jordan. Hello.’ She felt her face warm and prayed her expression didn’t give away her inner turmoil. Her dreams, her restless night.
Not to mention the fact that she’d almost blurted out her most private personal problems at the diner.
Then Zahira smiled enigmatically and made some vague comment about leaving her in Jordan’s capable hands—which had her body tingling anew—and walked away, leaving the two of them standing alone together in the middle of the lawn.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked, motioning a waiter who was at her side in three seconds flat.
‘Soda water, please. I skipped breakfast. Running late,’ she added, though why she felt she had to explain …
‘You didn’t sleep well?’
Was that humour in his voice? ‘Slept like a baby, thanks for asking.’
‘The coffee didn’t keep you tossing and turning all night?’
Not the coffee. But she knew he already knew that and was relieved when the waiter returned with her glass of bubbles. ‘I was tired—that usually does it.’ She took a cooling sip of her water and deflected his attention from her hot cheeks with, ‘Do you always dress so formally for a barbecue?’
‘I have a meeting in the city later.’
‘Hello.’
Chloe looked down at the sound of the young voice to see a small girl with dusky skin and long black hair looking up at her. ‘Hello, there.’
‘What’s your name?’ she asked, fiddling with a gold brooch pinned to her dress. ‘My name’s Tamara. It means date tree. Mummy’s is Zahira and it means blossoming flower and Daddy’s is Sadiq and it means trooful. Daddy says I should always tell the troof.’
Chloe glanced at Jordan and they exchanged a smile before she leaned down. ‘Your daddy’s right. And my name’s Chloe.’
‘What does Chloe mean?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to find out, won’t I?’
Tamara’s inquisitive gaze flicked between them. ‘Is Jordan your boyfriend?’
‘No,’ Chloe said, startled. ‘We … don’t know each other very well.’
‘Not yet,’ Jordan murmured, sending ripples of awareness down Chloe’s spine. He didn’t look at Chloe as he ruffled the small girl’s hair. ‘How’s it going, Tams?’
‘I’m
