Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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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?
CHAPTER FOUR
PETRA had finished her breakfast and the waiter had cleared away the room service trolley, leaving her with a fresh pot of coffee and the newspaper she had ordered.
She had eaten her breakfast outside on her private patio, in the pleasurable warmth of the early morning sunshine, and by rights she ought to be feeling contently relaxed.
But she wasn’t!
Her mobile phone started to ring and she picked it up.
‘Petra?’
The unexpected sound of her godfather’s voice banished her mood of introspection.
He was ringing from a satellite connection, he told her, and would not be able to stay on the line very long.
‘How are you getting on with your grandfather?’ he asked.
‘I’m not,’ Petra responded wryly. ‘I haven’t even seen him yet. He hasn’t been well enough, apparently.’
‘Petra—I can’t hear you!’ She heard her godfather interrupting her, his own voice so faint that she could barely hear it. ‘The line’s breaking up. I’m going to have to go. I’ll be out of contact for the next couple of weeks. Government business…’
A series of sharp crackles distorted his voice so much that Petra couldn’t make out what he was saying, although she thought he was telling her that he loved her. Before she could make any response the line had gone dead.
Miserably she stared at the now blank screen. There would be no point in her trying to ring back; she had no idea exactly where her godfather was and she didn’t have a number.
It was a pity that she hadn’t been able to beg him to send her her passport before the line had broken up! Now her only means of escape from her unwanted marriage was quite definitely via Blaize.
As a tiny shower of tingling excitement skittered dangerously down her spine Petra warned herself that she was being foolish—and gullible! Why had she allowed Blaize to manoeuvre her into agreeing to last night’s expensive meal, when surely her purpose could have been just as easily if not even better achieved via a short interlude on the beach with him?
She glanced at her mobile. Perhaps out of good manners she ought to at least telephone to enquire after her grandfather’s health. A little nervously Petra dialled the number of the family