Marriage in Name Only?. Anne Oliver

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ