The Sheikh's Virgin Bride

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.