Free Marriage in Name Only? by Anne Oliver Page B

phone on loudspeaker.
    She answered on the second ring—’’Lo’—filling the room with her husky, sleepy, too-close-for-comfort murmur.
    ‘You’re not still in bed, are you?’
    A pause, followed by a shushing, shifting, tantalisingly erotic sound that seemed to reach through the speaker to stroke his crotch. ‘Why?’
    Why?
Because he didn’t want her to be still in bed
because
he didn’t want to imagine her still warm and soft with sleep, firm flat tummy exposed beneath rumpled flannelette pyjamas. He stepped up his pace on the bike and said, ‘I took you for an early riser.’
    ‘Did you? Why?’
    Hell if he knew. ‘So you’re not?’
    ‘Not what?’ Breathless pause. ‘In bed?’
    ‘No—an early riser.’ He blew out a harried breath. ‘Are you still in bed or not?’
    ‘No. Actually I’ve just stepped out of the shower.’
    Naked
. Worse, much worse. She was naked, and the shifting sound was more like a rubbing sound now that he knew it had to be a towel. Against heat-pinkened flesh. He let out a long, low groan.
    ‘Are you okay?’ she said sharply. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘You shouldn’t ask a man that question first thing in themorning when you’re naked and rubbing yourself with a towel.’
    He heard a slight catch of breath then, ‘Oh … Oh.’
    ‘I’m riding a bike, Chloe.’ And damn uncomfortable it was, too.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Home gym. I’d invite you over for breakfast,’ he said, dismounting and heading to his en-suite, ‘but the traffic’s chaos.’
    ‘I’ve eaten already.’
    So she was a step ahead of him. ‘Flannelette pyjamas,’ he murmured, toeing off his trainers along the way.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Never mind.’ He turned his attention to more immediate matters as he stripped down and flung his jocks in the laundry basket. ‘We need to shop this morning. I’ll drop by around twelve. Be packed, we won’t be going home after.’
    ‘I thought we were going shopping in Dubai?’
    ‘There’s something we need to get before we leave.’
    ‘Twelve’s okay … but—’
    ‘I’ll see you then,’ he told her before she could quiz him further, and disconnected.
    He padded back to his bedroom for a change of clothes. He had two more calls to make. ‘Hey,’ he replied when Sadiq answered. ‘Hope I’m not catching you at an inconvenient time?’
    ‘On my way out but I was going to call you later this morning anyway since I hadn’t heard from you. What’s happening with Dubai?’
    ‘Yeah. I’ve talked with Qasim again. The meeting’s all set and I’ll be flying out later this evening.’
    ‘Sounds promising.’
    Jordan pulled a caramel toffee-coloured jumper from a drawer. ‘I’m taking Chloe with me.’
    ‘Chloe.’ Jordan could almost hear Sadiq’s ears prick up.
    ‘I took your advice.’
    ‘So you’re stealing her away from Dana?’ Sadiq chuckled. ‘Dana won’t be pleased—Chloe’s her new favourite worker.’
    ‘I’ll write dear Dana a cheque to cover a fill-in temp’s wages for a couple of weeks—she’ll be pleased enough.’
    ‘How did you manage it?’ Sadiq queried. ‘Chloe didn’t look too happy to see you at Sunday brunch. Did you work the Blackstone charm again?’
    Jordan rifled through his sock drawer for his favourites, tossing a couple of orphans on the floor in the process. ‘I simply made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.’
    ‘And …’
    ‘Let’s just say we have an arrangement.’
    ‘Sounds … cosy.’
    ‘A business arrangement. And not for public knowledge.’ Not even Sadiq need know the details, except Jordan had the feeling the man had it figured out already. ‘Not a word to anyone, my trusted friend,’ he cautioned as he headed for the shower. ‘I want the press kept well out of it.’ He paused. ‘And if Qasim and you talk at any stage and I happen to come up in conversation … just play along with whatever he says, okay?’
    ‘Aah.’
    Perceptive man, Sadiq. ‘Thanks. Gotta go.’
    ‘Good