The Sheikh's Virgin Bride. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
Petra told him firmly.
‘Aren’t you afraid that if you finally meet this paragon he might be deterred by the fact that your reputation—?’
‘No.’ Petra interrupted him swiftly. ‘Because if he loves me he will accept me and know and understand my values. And besides…’ She stopped, her face burning as she realised just how close she had come to telling him that the fact that she had so far not met such a man and was still a virgin would tell its own story to the man who eventually claimed her love. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’ she demanded sharply instead.
‘No reason,’ he replied laconically.
Through the darkness Petra could sense him evaluating her.
‘So,’ he announced at last. ‘You are offering to pay me five thousand pounds to pursue and seduce you and publicly ruin your reputation.’
‘To pretend to,’ Petra corrected him immediately.
‘What’s wrong?’ he taunted her. ‘Having second thoughts?’
‘Certainly not!’ Petra denied indignantly, and then gasped in shock as he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, demanding shakily, ‘What are you doing?’
He smelled of clean night air and warm male skin, of the dangerous heat of the desert and the cool mystery of the night, and her whole body quivered in helpless reaction to his maleness. The slow descent of his head blocked out the light and the glitter of his eyes mesmerised her into unmoving stillness.
‘We have made a pact! A bargain!’ she felt him murmuring against her lips.
‘And now we must seal it. In the desert in times gone by such things were sealed in blood. Shall I prick your skin and release the life blood from your veins, to mingle it with my own, or will this suffice?’
Before Petra could protest his mouth was on her own, crushing the breath from her lungs. Oh yes, she had been right, she recognised weakly. He was as swift and as deadly as the panther she had mentally likened him to earlier…
A tiny frantic moan bubbled in her throat as she felt her body’s helpless response to the mastery of his kiss. She had been right to fear the passionate expertise indicated by that full bottom lip. There was a slight roughness about his face that chafed slightly against her own soft skin, and she had to fight to control the instinctive movement of her hand towards his face to touch that distinctive maleness. As he released her lips it seemed for some inexplicable shaming reason that they were determined to cling to his. Panic flooded over her, and before she could stop herself she bit fiercely into his lip in defiant pride.
The shock of the taste of his blood on her tongue held her immobile.
As she tensed herself for his retaliation she felt his hand wrapping round the slenderness of her throat.
‘So…you prefer to seal our bargain in blood after all? There is more of the desert in you than I had realised.’
And then before she could move his mouth was on hers again, crushing it with the pressure of a kind of kiss that was totally outside anything she had ever experienced. She could taste his blood, feel the rough velvet of his tongue, hear the frenzy of a desert storm in her own heartbeat and the relentless, unforgiving burn of its sun in the touch of his hand against her throat.
And then abruptly he had released her, and as he raised his head for a brief moment Petra saw his face fully illuminated for the first time.
His eyes were open and shock reeled through her as she discovered that they were not, after all, as she had imagined dark brown, but a pure, clear, cool, steely silver-grey.
‘We have the whole morning at our disposal, Petra. I thought you might like to go shopping. There is an exclusive shopping centre nearby, which has some wonderful designer shops, and…’
With a tremendous effort Petra tried to concentrate on what her aunt was saying to her.
She had telephoned Petra the previous evening to suggest that she show her something of the city and its shops. Whatever she thought about her grandfather’s behaviour, Petra could not help but like her aunt by marriage—even if she had been the one to speak to Petra self-consciously the very day her godfather had left.
‘Your grandfather knows how disappointed you must be that his doctor’s orders mean that he is unable to see you just yet, Petra, and so he has arranged for a…a family friend who…who has a major financial interest in it, to give you a guided tour of the hotel complex and to show something of our country. You will like Rashid. He is a very charming and very well-educated man.’
Petra had had to bite on her tongue to prevent herself from bursting out angrily that she knew exactly who and what Rashid was—thanks to Saud’s innocent revelations!
She had been awake for what felt like virtually the whole of the night, reliving over and over again those moments on the beach and wondering how she could ever have been stupid enough to allow them to happen, and had then fallen into a deep sleep which had left her feeling heavy-eyed.
The combination of that and the nervous edginess that was making her start at every tiny sound had exhausted her, and shopping was the last thing she felt like doing. Besides, what if he should try to get in touch with her? Would he do that, or would he expect her to seek him out on the beach and perhaps throw herself at him in the same shameless way she had heard that the other women had done? The thought made her stomach tense nauseously. No, their arrangement was that he was the one who had to pursue her, she reminded herself. Pursue and seduce her, a tiny inner voice whispered dangerously to her…
Seduce her. A fierce shudder ran through her, causing her aunt to ask in concern if she was cold.
‘Cold? In nearly thirty degrees of heat?’ Petra laughed. Her aunt might protest that in Zuran it was winter, but to Petra it felt blissfully warm.
‘Your grandfather hopes to be well enough to see you very soon,’ her aunt continued. ‘He is very much looking forward to that, Petra. He keeps asking if you look anything like your mother…’
Petra tried not to be affected by her aunt’s gentle words.
‘If he really wanted to know he could have found out a long time ago—when my mother was still alive,’ she pointed out, remaining unforgiving.
It was so tempting to tell her aunt that she knew the real reason she was here in Zuran, but she had no wish to get her young cousin into trouble.
‘What do you think of the hotel complex?’ her aunt was asking her, tactfully changing the subject.
Petra toyed with the idea of fibbing but her conscience refused to allow her to do so.
‘It’s…it’s breathtaking,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t explored all of it yet, of course. After all it’s almost like a small town. But what I have seen…’
She particularly liked the traditional design of the interconnecting hotel and villa complexes, with their private courtyards filled with sweetly scented plants and fruit trees, and the musical sound of fountains which had reminded Petra immediately of both the Moorish style of Southern Spain’s architecture and images her mother had shown her as a child of Arabian palaces.
‘When Rashid shows you round you must tell him that. Although unfortunately it may be several days before he is able to do so. He sent word to your grandfather this morning that he has been called away on business on behalf of The Royal Family…Another project he is working on in the desert.’
‘He works?’ Petra made no attempt to conceal her disbelief. From what Saud had told her, her prospective suitor sounded far too wealthy and well-connected to do something so mundane.
‘Oh, yes,’ her aunt assured her. ‘As well as having a large financial interest in this complex he also designed it. He is a very highly qualified architect and greatly in demand. He trained in England. It was his mother’s wish that he should go to school there, and after her death