The Sheikh's Virgin Bride

CHAPTER THREE

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 bronze-gold 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 jew-ellery 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.

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