Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 20

AS THOUGH it was someone else who was actually speaking, Petra heard her own voice, thick and openly panicky, demanding, ‘What are you doing in here?’

She could have sworn that her nervousness was amusing him. There was quite definitely a distinct glint in his eyes as he replied easily, ‘Waiting for you, of course.’

‘In here and… and like that?’ Petra couldn’t stop the indignation from wobbling her voice. ‘What if someone else had been with me… my aunt…?’

Carelessly he gave a small shrug.

‘Then you would have achieved your purpose, wouldn’t you? Besides, we needed to talk, and I needed to shower, so it made sense for me to deal with both those needs together.’

He looked so totally at home in her suite that she felt as though she was the interloper, Petra acknowledged, and she wasn’t even going to begin to ask just how he had managed to gain access to it.

‘You could have showered in your own accommodation,’ she told him primly. ‘And as for us talking—I had planned to come down to the beach later.’

‘Later would have been too late,’ he told her. ‘This is my afternoon off. And as for my own accommodation—’ he gave her a wry look ‘—do you honestly suppose that the hotel staff are housed as luxuriously as its guests?’

Petra’s throat had gone dry—not, she quickly assured herself, because of that sudden and unwanted mental image she had just had of him standing beneath the warm spray of the shower… his naked body gleaming taut and bronzegold as he soaped the sculptured perfection of the six-pack stomach that was so clearly revealed by the brevity of the towel that did little more than offer the merest sop to modesty—hers and quite obviously not his, Petra reflected indignantly as he strolled round the room, patently unconcerned that the towel might slip!

‘How… how did you manage to find me? I didn’t tell you my name and you didn’t give me yours.’

‘It wasn’t hard. Your grandfather is very well known.’

Petra’s eyes widened. ‘You know him?’

The dark eyebrows rose mockingly.

‘Would a mere itinerant worker be allowed to “know” a millionaire?’

‘And your name is?’ Petra pressed him.

Was she imagining it, or had he frowned and hesitated rather longer than was necessary?

‘It’s Blaize,’ he told her briefly.

‘Blaize?’ Petra looked at him.

‘Something wrong?’ he challenged her.

Petra shook her head.

‘No, it—it’s just that I had assumed that you must be Southern European—Italian, or… or Spanish or Greek. But your name…’

‘My mother was Cornish,’ he told her almost brusquely.

‘Cornish?’ Petra repeated, bemused.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, boredom beginning to enter his voice as he informed her, ‘According to my mother, her ancestors belonged to a band of wreckers!’

Wreckers. Well, that no doubt accounted for his colouring, and for that sharp air of danger and recklessness about him, Petra reasoned, remembering that Cornish wreckers were supposed to have pillaged galleons from the defeated Spanish Armada, taking from them not just gold but the high-born Spanish women who were sailing on them with their husbands as well.

Blaize. It suited him somehow. Blaize.

‘So now that we’ve got the civilities out of the way, perhaps we can turn our attention to some practicalities. This plan of yours—’

‘I don’t want to discuss it now,’ Petra interrupted him. ‘Please get dressed and leave…’

She was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly agitated and aware of the effect his virtual nudity was having on her!

‘What’s wrong?’ he questioned her sharply. ‘Have you changed your mind? Has your family perhaps managed to persuade you to consider this man they have chosen for you after all? After all, there are worse things to be endured than marriage to a very wealthy man…’

‘Not so far as I am concerned,’ Petra told him sharply. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse than… than a loveless marriage,’ she told him passionately.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ he questioned her, answering his own question as he said softly, ‘No, of course you haven’t. Otherwise…’

There was a glint in his eyes that was making Petra’s heart beat far too fast. She was still in shock from discovering him in her room and, even worse, her senses were still reacting to the totally relaxed and arrogant male way in which he was now lounging against the wall, arms folded across his chest, tightening the muscles in them in a way that for some reason refused to allow her to withdraw her fascinated female gaze from them.

‘Whether or not I have ever been in love has nothing whatsoever to do with our… our business arrangement,’ Petra reproved him sternly.

‘When are you supposed to be being introduced to Rashid?’

Petra frowned. ‘I… I don’t know! You see at the moment I’m not even supposed to know what my grandfather has planned. My aunt has dropped several discreet hints about Rashid, pretending that he is just a kind family friend who has offered to… to show me round the complex, but…’

When Blaize’s eyebrows rose, Petra explained defensively, ‘It seems that he doesn’t merely have a large financial interest in it, but that he helped design it as well. According to my aunt, he’s a trained architect.’

Petra wondered uncomfortably if Blaize could hear the slight breathlessness in her voice. If so she hoped he would assume it was because she was impressed by her would-be suitor’s academic qualifications rather than by the sight of Blaize’s own muscles!

‘When is he to show you around?’

Petra shrugged her shoulders.

‘I don’t know. According to my aunt, Rashid the Sheikh has been called away on business.’

‘And you are no doubt hoping that by the time he returns enough damage will have been done to your reputation to have him questioning your suitability to be his wife? Well, if that is to be achieved we should not waste any time,’ Blaize told her, without waiting for her response. ‘Tonight everyone who is anyone on the Zuran social scene will be out and about, looking to see and be seen, and the current in place for that is a restaurant here on this complex called The Venue. It has a Michelin-starred chef and boasts a separate music room where diners can dance. I think that you and I should make our first public appearance there tonight. Dress is formal, and there is a strict admissions policy, but as a guest of the hotel and a woman that won’t be a problem for you!’

‘It sounds expensive,’ Petra told him doubtfully.

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But surely that isn’t a problem? You did tell me that you are staying here at your family’s request, and as their guest, and since the cost of dining in the restaurant can be debited to your room—’

‘No! I couldn’t possibly do that,’ Petra denied immediately, unable to conceal either her distaste or her shock. But far from being contrite, Blaize merely looked amused.

‘Why ever not? You have to eat, don’t you?’

‘I have to eat, yes,’ Petra acknowledged. ‘But I can’t possibly expect my family to pay for…’

As she paused, struggling to find the right words to express her feelings, Blaize shrugged and told her bluntly, ‘Either you were serious about this plan of yours or it was just a childish impulse that you’re now regretting. In which case, you’re wasting my time as well as your own—’

‘I am serious,’ Petra interrupted him quickly.

‘Very well, then. We eat late here, so I shall meet you downstairs in the foyer at nine-thirty—unless of course you want me to come up to your room to collect you a little earlier, which would give us time to…’

‘No,’ Petra said firmly, her face burning as she saw the amused look he was giving her.

‘How very much the epitome of a nervous virgin you look and sound right now! Are you one?’

Her face burning even hotter, Petra told him fiercely, ‘You have no right to ask me that kind of question.’

Laughing softly, Blaize shook his head. ‘Who would have thought it? Now you have surprised me! A nervous virgin who wants to be considered openly sexually available. You really don’t want this marriage, do you?’

‘I’ve just told you I am not prepared to discuss my… my personal private life with you…’

‘Even though you expect me to publicly convince others that I am very much a part of that personal private life… very, very much a part of it?’ he said softly.

There was a look in his eyes that was making Petra’s insides quiver with tension and indignation. How dared he make fun of her? It occurred to her that somehow or other he had managed to turn their relationship around so that he was the one who was in control of what was happening rather than her. A presentiment shiver brushed over her skin, warning her that she might be in danger of getting herself involved in a situation that she ultimately could not control. But before she could analyse her fears properly the doorbell to her suite suddenly rang, the shrilling sound activating her inner alarm system and throwing her body into immediate anxiety.

‘It’s okay,’ Blaize informed her easily. ‘That will be Room Service. I ordered something to eat.’

‘You ordered…’ Petra stared at him, and then looked frantically towards the suite door as the bell rang again. ‘You can’t—’ she began, and then stopped, pink-cheeked, as she realised Blaize was laughing softly at her.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think that this is going to be fun. Have you any idea how tempting it is to really shock you, little Miss Prim?’

Still laughing, he leaned forward and cupped her face with his hand, brushing her unsuspecting mouth with his own before releasing her and disappearing into the bathroom just before the suite door opened and the meal he had ordered was brought in.

‘Panic over?’

Automatically Petra looked towards Blaize as he emerged from the bathroom, still wearing merely the towel, with an electric razor in one hand whilst he smoothed the skin of his newly shaved jaw with the other. Then she quickly looked away as her heart did a triple-flip before losing its balance and slamming heavily into her chest wall.

What on earth was the matter with her? So he was having a shave. So what?

So what? The voice of moral female indignation inside her retorted angrily; what he was doing was an act of deliberate male intimacy… shaving in her suite… in her bathroom…

‘Mmm. I could get used to this,’ he told her appreciatively as he studied the well-laden trolley. ‘Pour me a cup of coffee, would you?’ he called out to her as he turned back towards the bathroom. ‘Black and strong, no sugar.’

Pour him a coffee! Who on earth did he think he was?

‘Oh, by the way,’ he told her, pausing as he reached the bathroom door. ‘I’ve already booked us a table at The Venue for tonight, and told them to bill it to your room. We were lucky. They were virtually fully booked. Are you sure you don’t feel like short-circuiting things? I could move in here and…’

‘No!’

Petra’s denial was an explosive sound of outrage and panic, but far from shaming him it just seemed to add to her tormentor’s amusement.

Relaxing against the open doorway, he told her wickedly, ‘You know, I think I could really enjoy making this seduction the real thing, if you want me to.’

‘No.’ This time her denial was even more vehement, her eyes huge and storm-lashed as she added in a strangled voice, ‘Never.’

‘Ah, yes! I forgot that you’re saving yourself for the man of your dreams! Well, take care he doesn’t turn into a nightmare… Is that my coffee?’ he added easily, coming to rescue the cup that she was in danger of overfilling.

Furious with herself for her automatic response to his original request, Petra snatched the cup back from him.

‘No, it isn’t’ she denied. ‘It’s mine. You can pour your own.’

Unperturbed, he shrugged and reached for the coffee pot, leaving Petra to digest her hollow victory along with the bitterly strong coffee she had claimed.

Broodingly she watched as Blaize tucked into the meal he had ordered with obvious relish. This wasn’t what she had envisaged when she had initially approached him. What she had had in mind was an open and obvious flirtation on the beach, perhaps a couple of very public outings and maybe a meal together thrown in.

‘Come and sit down and have something to eat. I ordered enough for both of us,’ Blaize told her.

‘So I see,’ Petra agreed waspishly.

There was no way she could let her family pay for whatever Blaize had added to her bill. Thankfully she had come away with plenty of traveller’s cheques and her credit cards, and her godfather—no doubt motivated by guilt—had pressed a very generous sum of money on her before he had left for the far east.

‘I’m a working man,’ Blaize told her cheerfully.

‘I’m glad you reminded me,’ Petra replied. ‘And, talking of your work, shouldn’t you…?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I had some leave owing to me, so I’ve arranged to take some time off. That way I can be free to do whatever you want me to do. If our Rashid is prepared to take you sight unseen, so to speak, then I dare say he’s going to be pretty hard to shift. So you and I are going to have to make sure that we’re convincing. Are you sure you don’t want me to move in here?’ he pressed, looking wistfully at her large bed.

‘Perfectly sure,’ Petra told him through gritted teeth. ‘And just as soon as you’ve finished I would be grateful if you would get dressed and leave.’

‘Leave? So soon? I thought we could spend some time getting to know one another a little better.’

To Petra’s chagrin she knew that her expression had betrayed her even before he started to laugh.

‘You’re going to have to do much better than this if you expect to convince anyone that you’ve ever done anything more than exchange chaste kisses with a man—never mind that you and I are lovers,’ he warned her when he had stopped laughing.

‘The whole purpose of my paying you is that your reputation is dire enough to do the convincing for both of us!’ Petra reminded him flintily.

‘You look very hot and uncomfortable,’ Blaize responded, ignoring both her comment and her ire. ‘I can recommend the shower. In fact, if you like—’

‘No! Don’t you dare…’ Petra stopped him, hot-cheeked.

‘Dare what?’ he asked her mock innocently. ‘I was only going to say that I could alter the height of the shower head for you if you wanted me to.’

Petra gave him a fulminating look.

‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of doing that for myself,’ she told him.

She bitterly regretted having let slip to him the fact that she was still a virgin. He obviously thought it hugely entertaining and would no doubt continue to goad and tease her about it. Unless she found a way of stopping him!

Petra tensed as the telephone in her suite started to ring. Before answering it she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She had almost finished getting ready and she was wearing her new cream trouser suit. Warily she picked up the receiver, only to discover that her caller was her aunt.

‘I meant to ring you earlier,’ she apologised. ‘Are you all right? I feel so guilty about leaving you on your own.’

As she assured her that she was fine, Petra waited for her aunt to make a firm arrangement for her to visit her family and finally meet her grandfather. But instead of issuing any invitation there was a small awkward silence from her aunt, and then an unconvincing and rushed explanation that certain family obligations meant it would not be possible for them to spend any time with her on the following day.

‘At least your grandfather is feeling a little better. Although the doctor says that he must still rest. He is longing to see you, Petra, and—’

If anything her aunt’s voice sounded even more unconvincing, Petra reflected bitterly.

Well she certainly wasn’t going to turn herself into a liar by saying that she was longing to see him. She had no idea what he was hoping to achieve by what he was doing, unless it was to make her feel so isolated and alone that she practically fell into her proposed suitor’s arms out of gratitude to him for rescuing her from her solitude.

‘It is such a pity that my own family, my sisters and their children, are out of the country right now,’ her aunt was continuing. ‘But as soon as Rashid gets back—’

‘You mustn’t worry about me, Aunt,’ Petra interrupted her. ‘I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself. As a matter of fact…’ Petra paused, wondering how much she ought to say.

But her aunt obviously wasn’t listening properly because she cut across what Petra was saying, telling her, ‘There are several escorted trips from the resort that you might enjoy taking, Petra, whilst you wait for Rashid to return. The gold souq, for one. Oh, I must go. I can hear your grandfather calling for me.’

There was barely time for Petra to wish her goodbye before her aunt had rung off.

As she turned towards the mirror to apply her lipstick Petra discovered that her hand was shaking slightly.

Because she was angry, she told herself—not because she was nervous at all at the thought of spending the evening with Blaize. She was angry because she knew instinctively that her aunt was not being entirely honest with her.

Mentally she tried to picture her grandfather, using the vivid verbal images her mother had drawn for her, and those she had gained herself from studying the robed men she had seen moving with imperious arrogance through the hotel. He would be bearded, of course, his profile hawk-like and his expression harsh, perhaps even vengeful as he confronted her, the child of the marriage he had fought against so bitterly and so unsuccessfully.

It was impossible for Petra to get her head round the mindset of a father who had turned from being protective and loving to one who refused so much as to hear his once beloved daughter’s name spoken, simply because she had chosen to marry the man she loved.

In the mirror her own reflection confronted her. At home in England she was often conscious of looking out of place, her colouring and the delicacy of her fine-boned body giving her an almost exotic beauty, but here in her mother’s country, conversely, she felt very Celtic.

Her mother! What would she think of the course of action Petra was taking? What would she think of Blaize?

Snatching up her purse, Petra refused to allow herself to pursue such potentially unsettling thoughts.

The lobby of the hotel was the busiest Petra had seen it since her arrival. A large group of designer-clad women and their male escorts were standing by the entrance to the piano lounge and Petra’s eyes widened as she saw the jewellery the women were wearing.

Her own outfit was provoking a few assessing and appreciative female glances, as well as some much more openly male admiring ones, but Petra was unaware of them as she looked round anxiously for Blaize.

‘There you are. I was just about to come up and collect you.’

Whirling round, Petra rounded her eyes as she stared at Blaize. He was dressed formally in clothes she immediately recognised as being the very best in Italian tailoring, and which she knew must have cost a small fortune. No wonder more than one of the diamond-decked women were studying him with such open sexual interest!

On the wages he must earn there was no way he could possibly afford such clothes, Petra decided, which must mean…

She didn’t like the unpleasant cold feeling invading her stomach, or the lowering realisation that she was probably far from being the first woman to pay Blaize for his ‘services’—although of course the services she was paying him for were no doubt very different from those normally expected by his benefactresses.

‘What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve just swallowed something extremely unpleasant.’

His intuitiveness triggered a sharp spiral of warning.

‘I was just wondering what’s going to be on the menu tonight,’ she replied smoothly.

He might have caught her off guard this afternoon, but tonight was going to be different. This time she was going to make it plain to him that she was the one in charge of events and not him!

‘These days Zuran is renowned for the variety and standard of its restaurants, as you are about to discover.’

As he spoke he was guiding her across the foyer, one hand protectively beneath her elbow. Petra would have liked to pull away, to put some distance between them, but the crush of people in the lobby made it impossible, and besides, she firmly reminded herself, the whole point of being with him was that she was seen to be with him!

However, instead of heading for the exit, as she had expected him to do, Petra discovered that he was guiding her in the direction of the large glass doors that opened out into one of the formal garden courtyards, beyond which lay the largest of the network of canals which criss-crossed the complex.

‘I thought we were going out to dinner,’ she said, hanging back a little as two uniformed men held open the doors for them.

‘We are,’ Blaize told her, giving her a quizzical look as he ushered her outside. ‘What’s wrong?’ he teased her. ‘Did you think I was taking you out into the courtyard so that I could indulge in a little private tuition before we faced our public?’

He laughed softly, the hand which had been beneath her elbow suddenly grasping her upper arm and holding her so close to his own body that she could feel the laughter vibrating as they walked out into the heavy satin warmth of the indigo-dark night.

‘In a garden? Where anyone might see us. Oh, no… If that was my intention I would have taken you somewhere far, far more private…’

‘Like your official accommodation, you mean?’ Petra challenged him bitingly, determined not to let him think that she was in the least bit affected by what he was saying.

‘You remind me of a little cat, all sharp claws and defensive temper. Take care that you don’t tempt me to teach you how to purr with pleasure and use those claws only in the heat of passion…’

‘We aren’t in public, yet,’ was all Petra could think of to say in retaliation and she mentally blessed the darkness for concealing her hectically flushed face. ‘So you can save the practised seduction scenario until we are!’

They had almost crossed the garden now, and the canal lay in front of them. As they reached it Blaize raised his hand to summon one of the gondoliers waiting several yards away.

‘This isn’t the quickest way to reach the restaurant, but I think it is certainly the most… relaxing,’ he informed her in a soft murmur as the gondola was brought to a halt in front of them.

As Blaize helped her into the gondola Petra wondered helplessly if anything could possibly be more romantic—or more hackneyed!

Clever lighting had transformed the daytime appearance of the resort into a place of magic and mystery, designed to appeal to the senses. Strawberry-scented vapour floated over their heads in a pale pink cloud, and in the distance Petra could see and hear fireworks. As they passed the souq, a fire-eater performed for a watching group of teenagers whilst a ‘merchant’ loaded his wares onto a waiting camel train, causing Petra’s heart to give a small unsteady thump.

The one thing she wanted to do whilst she was in Zuran was take a trip into the desert. Her aunt might speak enthusiastically about shopping malls and the fabulous gold and diamond souq, but it was the desert that called most strongly to Petra in a siren song that whispered to her that to know it was her heritage.

Deep in her own private thoughts, she jumped when Blaize touched her arm. The gondola swung into an ornately decorated private landing from which a red carpet led towards a building so unmistakably Parisian in concept that Petra could only stare at it in bemusement.

Several other people were already standing in front of the entrance to the restaurant, and as she felt Blaize’s hands on her body when he helped her from the gondola Petra immediately tensed in rejection of the sexual intimacy, instinctively uncomfortable about other people witnessing it.

‘Don’t do that!’ she protested when Blaize bent his head and allowed his breath to graze intimately against her skin as he brushed her hair from her face. ‘The women who paid for your clothes might have enjoyed being pawed in public, but I don’t.’

The minute she had finished speaking Petra knew that she had gone too far. It was there in the sudden stiffening of his body and the glacial glitter in his eyes.

It was useless to try to explain that her own panic at her body’s helpless reaction to him had motivated her rash words—and besides, her pride would not allow her to do so. So Petra tensed and bent her head beneath the savage lash of his softly spoken retaliation.

‘For your information no woman has ever… ever… paid for my clothes. And as for your comment about “pawing”—be thankful that your innocence protects you from the consequences of such a comment—for now!’

In silence, but with her head held high, Petra turned towards the red carpet. Not for anything was she going to admit—even to herself—how much she longed for the protective warmth of Blaize’s hand beneath her elbow as she watched the other diners entering the restaurant, the men in their robes and their women couturier-clad and holding themselves with a proud elegance Petra secretly envied.

‘More wine?’ Blaize asked as their waiter hovered solicitously, holding the wine bottle. Immediately Petra shook her head and covered her still half-full glass with her hand. The meal they had just been served had been outstandingly good—with every mouthful Petra had been reminded of her first grown-up meal in Paris, a birthday treat from her parents. Everything from the decor and the whole ambience of the place, right down to the subtle perfume of the candles on the tables, replicated the chicest of Parisian restaurants, and Petra knew she would not have been surprised to hear French itself being spoken.

‘Coffee, then?’ Blaize was asking as he signalled her refusal to the hovering waiter.

Nodding her head, Petra warned herself that if she was not careful she might be in danger of falling for her own fiction, so well was Blaize playing the part of attentive and adoring lover. But then, of course, no doubt he had had plenty of practice, she reminded herself grimly.

Petra dreaded to think about the impact the cost of the meal was going to make on her credit card, but there was no way she could feel comfortable allowing it to be debited to her suite.

As she waited for the waiter to bring her coffee she was suddenly aware of being studied by the occupants of a nearby table—a group of three couples.

The arrival of the waiter with her coffee momentarily distracted her, but as she glanced away from them Petra could have sworn that Blaize gave the tiniest warning shake of his head when one of the men started to get up, as though he was about to come over to their table.

As soon as the waiter had gone, Petra demanded, ‘Who is that…?’

‘Who do you mean?’ Blaize questioned her, frowning slightly.

‘The man you just looked at,’ Petra said. ‘He was about to come over, but you—’

‘I didn’t look at anyone,’ Blaize denied.

‘Yes, you did,’ Petra insisted. ‘I saw you…’

‘You’re imagining things,’ Blaize told her. ‘Which man do you mean? Point him out to me.’

Irately Petra did so, but when Blaize looked deliberately in his direction the man Petra had pointed out looked pointedly through them before averting his gaze.

Giving her an ironic look, Blaize shrugged his shoulders meaningfully whilst Petra’s face burned. She had obviously been wrong after all, but she wasn’t going to give Blaize the satisfaction of admitting it!

‘When you have finished your coffee perhaps you would like to dance,’ Blaize suggested. ‘After all, we are supposed to be lovers, despite that virginal look of yours…’

Petra’s mouth compressed and she put down her coffee cup with a small clatter.

‘That’s it!’ she told him forcefully. ‘From now on every time you so much as mention my… my… the word “virgin” I shall fine you five pounds, and deduct the money from your fee! I am paying you to help me escape from a marriage I don’t want. Not to… to keep on bringing up something which has nothing whatsoever to do with our business arrangement!’

‘No? I beg to differ,’ Blaize informed her softly. ‘I am supposed to create the impression that I am seducing you,’ he reminded her. ‘Who is going to believe that if you insist on looking like a—’

‘Five pounds,’ Petra warned him.

‘Like a woman who does not know what it is to experience a man’s passion,’ Blaize finished silkily.

She had finished her coffee and Blaize had summoned the waiter to ask for the bill.

Immediately Petra reached for her bag to remove her credit card.

‘What are you doing?’ Blaize demanded curtly, when he saw what she was doing.

‘I can’t let my family pay for this. It would be… immoral…’ Petra told him.

‘Immoral… To allow them to pay for a meal? But not apparently immoral to allow them to believe that you are sleeping with me… a man you picked up on the beach…’

‘My body is mine to do with as I wish,’ Petra hissed furiously to him as the waiter arrived with the bill. She already had her credit card in her hand, but to her disbelief before she could place it on the saucer Blaize had picked up the bill.

‘I shall deal with this,’ he told her coolly, ‘You may reimburse me later.’

Turning to the discreetly waiting waiter, he murmured something to him that Petra couldn’t catch, handing the man the bill which he immediately walked away with.

Several minutes later, as they made their way to the separate music room, Petra felt as though everyone else in the restaurant was watching them. She was being over-sensitive, of course. She knew that. No doubt it was only the female diners who were watching Blaize, she told herself wryly.

The music room and its dance floor were very dimly lit, and as she heard the provocative strains of the sensual music that was being played, watched the way the dancers already on the floor were moving, she automatically pulled back. This wasn’t dancing. It was… it was sex on the dance floor—and there was no way she was going to allow Blaize to hold her like that. No way she dared allow him to hold her like that.

Why not? It wasn’t, after all, as though he was her type, she reminded herself robustly, and she knew that no matter how outwardly sensual and romantic he might appear he felt nothing whatsoever for her. They were here for a purpose, and the sooner it was achieved the sooner she would be free to return home.

Squaring her shoulders, she allowed Blaize to guide her towards the dance floor.

Seconds later, held in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder whilst his hand smoothed its way down her back, coming to rest well below her waist, Petra acknowledged that she had perhaps been over-confident about her ability to control her body’s physical reaction to him.

He was a practised seducer, she told herself in her own defence. A man who had perfected his seduction technique on an unending stream of women…

‘Relax… We’re supposed to be lovers, remember…’

‘I am relaxed,’ Petra told him through gritted teeth.

‘No, you aren’t!’ he corrected her. ‘You’re petrified that I’m going to do something like this to you…’

As he finished speaking he slid his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, gently tugging her head so that his lips could graze along her throat and then nibble tormentingly against her ear. Just the feel of his breath made her whole body quiver in shocked delight as his thumb tracked the betraying pulse beating increasingly fast at the base of her throat.

‘Have you any idea how very, very much I want you…?’

The throaty words he whispered against her mouth caused Petra’s eyes to widen—until she remembered that he was simply acting… playing the part she was paying him to play.

‘Shall I take you back to your room and show you how much? Remove the clothes from your delectable sexy body and stroke and kiss every inch of it before—’

Petra gasped as he reached for her hand and told her rawly, ‘Feel what you’re doing to me…’

She tried to pull free but it was too late. He was already placing her hand against his body, and she could feel the heavy thud of his heart against her palm.

‘Come closer to me,’ he said, drawing her deeper into his embrace, and then whispering, ‘Closer than that! So close that I can pretend I have you naked in my arms, your silky skin next to mine…’

Petra knew that the heat filling her could not be blamed on the lack of air in the room, but stubbornly she refused to acknowledge what was really causing both it and the shivery, achy, tight pangs of longing that were running riot inside her body, inciting a rebellion she was terrified she might not be able to control.

Somehow she managed to put enough distance between them, to raise her head and tell him huskily, ‘I want to leave.’

‘So soon? It’s only just gone midnight?’

Petra could feel her panic increasing. If he kept her here on the dance floor, holding her the way he was, for very much longer—It was all very well for her brain to know that he was simply acting, but her body seemed to be finding it almost impossible to differentiate between fact and fiction. It was responding to him as though… as though… she… actually wanted him!

‘It’s been a long day, and my aunt will probably be telephoning me early in the morning to update me on my grandfather’s condition!’

‘I thought you weren’t interested in his health.’

‘I’m not,’ Petra denied immediately. ‘It’s just…’

Blaize had released her now, and was standing in front of her searching her face with far too sharp a gaze. Instinctively Petra wanted to hide herself—and her feelings —from him—to protect herself from something, someone she was rapidly coming to realise might potentially offer a far more serious threat to her future happiness than she felt comfortable acknowledging.

Why was he affecting her like this? After all, he wasn’t the first male she had danced intimately closely with, or been kissed by; he was not even the first male who had caused her to want him! She might not as yet have had a lover, but she knew what it was to feel desire, to feel emotionally drawn to someone. She had gone through all the normal early teenage crushes on a variety of male icons, from popstars to football heroes, and she had even fancied herself in love a couple of times. But this was the first time she had been so powerfully and intimately aroused that she felt in fear of not being able to control those feelings!

‘It’s just what?’ Blaize prompted her, breaking into her anxious thoughts.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Petra replied, stubbornly shaking her head.

‘Very well, then. If you’re sure you want to leave, and you’re not just making an excuse to escape from my arms because you’re afraid that you might enjoy being there too much…’

Petra glared at him, outwardly angry but inwardly horrified by his insouciant comment. He was probably just testing her… teasing her, she reassured herself. After all, he couldn’t possible know what she was feeling… could he?

‘Oh, I could never do that,’ she told him firmly, giving him a carefully manufactured smile as she added sweetly, ‘After all, I’ve never liked crowds!’

She had expected her put-down to silence him, but instead he simply demanded softly, ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that the space within your arms is crowded with the women who have already been there,’ Petra answered him forthrightly.

However, instead of being abashed, Blaize simply shrugged and told her carelessly, ‘I am thirty-four years old. Naturally there have been… relationships…’

It was on the tip of Petra’s tongue to tell him that it wasn’t his ‘relationships’ she was referring to, but the other women whom she suspected had paraded in and out of his life—and his arms—in an unending and highly impermanent line. But instead she simply shook her head and started to walk away from him.

He caught up with her by the door, just as the doorman and his uniformed attendants sprang into action—almost as though they were royalty, Petra thought as she stepped onto the red carpet which led from the restaurant door to the pathway and the car park and canal.

‘I think I’d rather be driven back,’ Petra announced hurriedly. There was no way, in her present vulnerable mood, that she wanted to share the intimacy of a moonlit gondola ride back to her hotel with Blaize!

She had half expected him to talk her out of her decision, but instead he simply raised his hand to summon one of the waiting buggies.

Their silent return to the hotel was somehow more unnerving for Petra than even those moments on the dance floor. She couldn’t understand how it was that a man in Blaize’s position, who behaved as he did and who was after all being paid by her, could somehow manage to be so convincingly autocratic and superior!

Once inside the hotel, as he pressed the bell for the lift for her, Blaize told her firmly, ‘The more obviously we are seen in public together, the better. So tomorrow I suggest that we make arrangements to that end. There are several organised trips we could take together.’

‘Organised trips?’ Petra interrupted him, frowning. ‘But surely it won’t be enough for you to simply be seen with me by my fellow visitors? We need to be seen together by people who are known to Rashid.’

‘Zuran is a small place. I am sure that our… friendship… will soon come to his ears,’ Blaize replied as the lift arrived.

He stepped into it with her and pressed the button for her floor.

‘You don’t need to come up with me,’ Petra protested immediately, but the doors had already closed and the lift was in motion.

‘What is it you are so afraid of?’ Blaize mocked her when the lift had stopped. ‘That I might kiss you, or that I might not?’

‘Neither!’ Petra denied forcefully.

‘Liar!’ Blaize taunted her softly. ‘You are a woman, after all, and of course you want—’

‘What I want,’ Petra interrupted him angrily outside her suite door, ‘is for you to remember that I am paying you to act as my lover in public, and that is all!’

As she spoke she was fumbling in her bag for her key card, thankfully finding it and swiping it.

Blaize’s hand was on the door handle and Petra held her breath as he pushed the door open. What would she do if he insisted on coming into her room? If he insisted on doing even more than that? Her heart suddenly seemed to have developed an over-fast and erratic heartbeat, and instinctively Petra put her hand on her chest, as if she was trying to steady it.

As he held open the door for her Blaize switched on the suite lights. Petra’s mouth felt dry, her body boneless and soft, the blood running hotly through her veins. She closed her eyes and then opened them again as she heard the small but distinctive click of the suite door closing.

Whirling round, she opened her mouth to tell Blaize that she wanted him to leave, and then closed it again as she stared at the empty space between her own body and the closed door where she had expected him to be.

Blaize had gone. He had not come into her suite! He had simply closed the door and left. Which was exactly what she had wanted… wasn’t it?