LITMIR.BIZ

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… 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.

      And now that long-ago promise he’d made to his father was so close he could almost reach out and kiss it.

      But apparently the elderly gold manufacturer had a reputation for extreme conservatism. Blowing out a slow breath that seemed to take a part of him with it, Jordan stepped out of the restaurant and into the chill evening. He’d never been one to toe the line, but for this long overdue deal he’d do whatever it took.

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHLOE’S 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

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