Marriage in Name Only - By Anne Oliver Page 0,2

libido awakening so fast and so hard.

He watched her drop a quick kiss on Sadiq’s cheek. His own lips tingled at the memory of how they’d felt beneath his. Soft and sweet. What the hell had possessed him? Sheer momentary madness obviously, because in that pulse-pounding moment he sure as hell hadn’t been himself.

She didn’t hang around. He’d barely blinked and she was gone in a flash of sparkles and skin. The sort of shimmering flash that lingered on your retina long after the moment had passed.

He shook his head to clear the image. Soft and sweet was just a facade. No matter that she’d played the innocent mistake game, she was the type of out-there, attention-grabbing, rich-man-hungry woman he avoided. And that costume—what there was of it—was obviously intended to over-enhance her curves. Even if said curves were every man’s fantasy, it was hardly appropriate for this occasion.

And she couldn’t sing to save herself.

He picked up his glass, drained the bubbly mineral water to moisten his throat, which he realised had gone dust-dry, and watched Sadiq blow out his candles. A hovering waitress whisked the cake away to cut and distribute to the roomful of elite guests.

The band struck up a party number and dancers hit the polished floor amongst the bobbing helium balloons. Jordan gazed at the ceiling as the rope snaked upwards and disappeared over a balcony. ‘Well. That was … interesting.’

Sadiq chuckled. ‘Not as interesting as the look on your face when the lady landed on your lap, my friend. And that kiss … Want to tell me what you were thinking?’

Jordan scowled. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’ And that was the problem. He had to be grateful for Sadiq’s request to ban the media from inside the venue or he’d be front and centre in tomorrow’s gossip rags.

His friend leaned closer and spoke over the noise. ‘A discreet word here or there and you could get lucky tonight.’

‘I make my own luck.’ A sultry image involving him peeling that costume from her lithe and voluptuous body danced on his eyelids. He blinked it away. ‘And she’s hardly my type.’

Another chuckle. ‘You have a type?’

Jordan didn’t bother to reply, just reached for the water carafe and filled his glass. Not his type? Hell, certain parts of his anatomy obviously begged to differ. She was hot, no question. And wasn’t that all he was looking for in a woman these days? Hot and single and temporary?

The sounds of merriment swirled around him as the music quickened, its throb beating low and heavy in his sensitised groin. He drained his glass, then tugged at his collar. Ever since she’d plonked that sexy butt on his lap and he’d felt her womanly assets graze his chest, his clothing had felt two sizes too tight. He could still smell her fragrance—warm and spicy and sensuous, making him think wicked thoughts; like lying naked with her in front of a roaring fire, her skin flushed with heat from their love-making.

Then there were the eyes. The colour of aged Scotch. He hadn’t missed that initial flare of attraction, that quick clash of heat on heat, gone before he could think hot night in paradise. No, he hadn’t misinterpreted that, but recognition …? He frowned. Had he got it wrong?

Because after the kiss and the accusation, those eyes had burned with a very different kind of heat—indignation. If there hadn’t been an audience, he had a suspicion he’d have felt the hot sting of that anger in one way or another.

And now that he thought about it, quite possibly he’d have deserved it. Maybe she was already in a relationship? But she hadn’t worn rings—and why he’d noticed was beyond him.

He relegated the confounding incident to the back of his mind, glanced at his watch and pushed up. Unfortunate timing, but his mate’s thirtieth birthday bash clashed with important business. He clasped Sadiq’s shoulder on his way. ‘Gotta go. Teleconference with Dubai in an hour.’

His friend nodded. ‘Good luck. You’re still on for lunch tomorrow?’

‘I’ll be there.’ He dropped a light kiss on Sadiq’s wife’s cheek. ‘‘Night, Zahira. Great party. By the way, I loved your surprise.’

Zahira’s dark exotic eyes smiled. ‘Wasn’t she delightful? And so brave to step in at literally a moment’s notice.’

Jordan, who’d already turned to leave, swung back. ‘Is that so?’

‘The original artist had an accident earlier tonight,’ she explained. ‘A member of Dana’s staff volunteered to take her place.’

Jordan felt a prick of guilt. Not a professional entertainer then, but