Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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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