Penny Jordan Tribute Collection

Her flesh was melting like ice cream covered in the sensuality and irresistibility of pure hot chocolate, Petra decided, and what Blaize was doing to her was making her long to have his hands… his body against her own body. Her naked body…

The small sound of longing she made was smothered by the heat of his kiss. The sound of their mutually charged breathing filled the room, and then, disconcertingly, Petra heard the mood-destroying clatter of the fax machine. Automatically she tensed, just as Blaize released her and then stepped back from her.

‘That should not have happened,’ she heard him saying tersely as he turned his back to her. ‘It isn’t part of our deal.’

Not part of their deal! Chagrin, discomfort, shame and angry humiliation—Petra felt them all in an icy shock wave that brought her back to reality.

Stiffly she headed for the fax machine, more to give herself something to do than because she was anxious to read its message. When she eventually managed to get her gaze to bring it into focus properly, through the turbulence of her thoughts, it turned out to be merely a flyer from a local tour company, highlighting one of their special offers.

As she focused on the wavering print, willing herself not to turn round and look at Blaize, she heard the door to her suite quietly open and then close again.

Even though she continued to focus on her fax message Petra knew just from the feel of the air around her that Blaize had left.

Some time… one day, maybe… she would be glad that this had happened, she told herself fiercely. She would be glad that they had been interrupted and that he had left her! One day. But not now!

CHAPTER FIVE

MISERABLY Petra pushed her uneaten breakfast away and focused determinedly on the brilliantly sunlit scene beyond the windows of the hotel’s breakfast room.

She had decided to eat here this morning rather than on her own in her room, primarily because she had hoped that the busyness of having other people around her would take her mind off the events of the previous evening—and Blaize.

Blaize! Every time she thought about him—which was far, far too often for her own peace of mind, she was swamped by opposing feelings of longing and angry self-contempt, plus a sense of bewilderment and disbelief that she could have ever got herself in such a situation. How could she possibly want him?

Petra frowned as she glanced from the informal breakfast dining area into the hotel foyer, which this morning seemed to be filled with far more uniformed and slightly on edge-looking members of staff than she could remember seeing there before.

The waiter had come to clear away her virtually untouched breakfast, and to spend time before going to meet her aunt Petra walked over to study the board outside a small private office, advertising the trips organised by the hotel. One in particular caught her eye, and she read the details of it a second and then a third time.

An escorted drive into the desert, plus an overnight stay at an exclusive oasis resort where it was possible to experience the wonder and majesty of the desert at first hand! The desert… Quickly, before she could change her mind, Petra went into the office, emerging ten minutes later having made herself a booking. A full night away from Blaize should surely give her time to assess the damage her physical reaction to him was having on her moral beliefs and get herself back in balance again—give her some ‘time out’.

As she walked towards the foyer a subtle voice whispered inside her head that there was an even more reckless and dangerous way of stopping a conflagration in its tracks: namely fighting fire with fire. But by using what? Her own sexual need to destroy itself? As in not just giving in to it but actively encouraging it, fanning it into an inferno that would turn and destroy itself?

There was just enough time for her to go to her suite and tidy up before meeting her aunt. Petra smiled at the nervous-looking group of uniformed staff hovering close to the private lift that went to the penthouse suite.

‘Everyone looks very busy today,’ she commented.

One of the uniformed men rolled his eyes and explained in a semi-hushed whisper. ‘There is a meeting upstairs of the hotel owners.’

The hotel owners. Petra’s heart did a nervous little shimmy. Did that mean that Rashid had returned? And if he had how long would it be before he sought her out?

‘Mmm… it smells heavenly,’ Petra acknowledged with a smile as she sniffed the golden nugget of frankincense her aunt was holding out to her. They were in the spice market, where her aunt had haggled determinedly and very professionally for some spices before picking up the frankincense and offering it to Petra to smell. A little wonderingly now, Petra studied the nugget in her hand.

There was something really awesome about standing here in the new millennium handling something which had been familiar to people from civilisations so ancient it was barely possible to comprehend the time that separated them. There was something about this land that did that to a person, Petra recognised as she handed the nugget back to the robed vendor, nodding her head in agreement as her aunt suggested a cooling glass of pressed fruit juice.

‘I have some good news for you.’

Petra saw that her aunt was beaming, as she handed Petra her drink.

‘Your grandfather is feeling much better and he has asked me to invite you to visit him this afternoon.’

Petra almost spilled her drink. Was it merely a coincidence that her grandfather should invite her to visit him at the same time as Sheikh Rashid had returned to Zuran? Her body stiffened defensively.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I… I have other plans.’ Petra was proud of the way she managed to keep her voice so calm and cool, even though she was unable to either meet her aunt’s eyes or prevent herself from turning her glass round and round in her hands.

She could sense from the quality of silence that her response was not the one her aunt had been expecting, and immediately she felt guilty and uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted to do was upset or offend her aunt, who had been unstintingly kind to her—but she knew just what her grandfather’s real plans for her were, Petra firmly reminded herself.

Her aunt was smiling, but Petra could see that her smile was a little strained.

‘Your grandfather will be disappointed, Petra,’ her aunt told her quietly. ‘He has been looking forward to meeting you, but of course if you are busy…’

‘I… I have arranged to take a trip into the desert tomorrow,’ Petra heard herself explaining, almost defensively, ‘and there are things I need to do beforehand…’

A little gravely her aunt inclined her head in acknowledgement of Petra’s explanation.

Her aunt insisted on accompanying Petra back to her hotel, but once there refused Petra’s suggestion of a cup of coffee.

Her aunt was on the verge of stepping into the taxi the concierge had summoned for her when, on some instinct she couldn’t begin to understand, Petra suddenly hurried after her, telling her huskily, ‘I’ve changed my mind. I… I will come and see my grandfather…’

Petra sank her teeth into her bottom lip, mortified by her own weakness as her aunt beamed her approval and gave her a warm hug.

‘I know this cannot be easy for you, Petra, but I promise you your grandfather is not an ogre. He has your best interests at heart.’

A tiny little trickle of warning ran down Petra’s spine as she absorbed her aunt’s unwittingly ominous words. But it was too late for her to recall her change of mind now.

‘Your grandfather rests after lunch, but I shall arrange for a car to collect you and bring you to the villa to see him. The driver will pick you up here at four thirty, if that is convenient?’

There was nothing Petra could do other than nod her head.

She had been half expecting that Blaize would try to make contact with her—after all she had as yet still not paid him anything for his services—but there were no messages waiting for her, and no Blaize either!

Petra tried to tell herself that the lurching sensation inside her chest was simply because she was anxious to discuss the day’s developments with him—on a purely business basis, of course—and to determine what course of action should follow. It was only natural, surely, that she should feel both anxiety and a sense of urgency now that Sheikh Rashid had returned. And as for last night—well, what was a kiss, after all? If she had blown both it and her reaction to it a little out of proportion, only she knew it! She wasn’t so naïve as to deceive herself that kissing her had meant anything special to Blaize.

So why hadn’t he been in touch with her? And why hadn’t she insisted on him furnishing her with a means of getting in touch with him?

It was gone two o’clock, but despite the fact that she had not been able to eat her breakfast she did not feel hungry. Her stomach was churning in apprehensive anticipation of her coming meeting with her grandfather, and her tension was turned up an unpleasant few notches by the added anxiety of Rashid’s return and the lack of contact from Blaize.

It was time for her to get changed, ready for her meeting with her grandfather. Petra hesitated as she surveyed the contents of her wardrobe. The linen dress and jacket would be a good choice, modest but smart, or perhaps the cool chambray… or… Her hand trembled slightly as she removed a plain dark trouser suit from the cupboard. Simply cut in, a matt black fabric it was an outfit that would always be very special to her. It was the suit her mother had bought her just weeks before her death—a good luck present to Petra for her pre-university interviews.

Instead of wearing it for her interviews, Petra had actually worn it for her parents’ funeral. But whenever she touched the soft fabric it wasn’t that bleak, shocking day she remembered, but the teasing love in her mother’s eyes as she had marched her into the boutique and told her that she was going to buy her a present—the happiness and pride in her smile as she’d insisted that Petra parade in front of her in virtually every suit in the shop before she had finally decreed that this particular one was the right one.

This suit held her very last physical memory of her mother’s touch and her mother’s love, and sometimes Petra would almost swear she could even smell her mother’s scent on it—not the rich Eastern perfume that had always been so much a part of her, but her scent, her essence.

Sharp tears pricked Petra’s eyes. Her mother might not be here with her now, but in wearing this suit Petra somehow felt that she was taking a part of her at least with her—that they were both together, confronting the man who had caused her so much pain.

The suit still fitted, and in fact if anything was perhaps slightly loose on her, Petra acknowledged as she studied her reflection in the mirror.

It was almost half past four. Time to go down to the foyer.

Her business-like appearance attracted several discreet looks as she made her way to the exit. Once again a red carpet was very much in evidence, leading to where several huge shiny black limousines were waiting, flags flying.