The Sheikh's Virgin Bride. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
of other children she knew who talked easily and confidently about their adoring grandparents.
She was letting her feelings undermine her common sense, she warned herself. Her grandfather had only brought her here for one reason and it had nothing to do with adoring her! To him she was merely a suddenly valuable pawn in the intricate game he so enjoyed playing with other people’s lives, using them to advance his own lust for power.
But if he was ill…seriously ill…if…something should happen before she had the chance to meet him….
Swallowing against the sharp lump in her throat, Petra headed for the lift. She would go upstairs to her room and decide how she was going to spend the rest of the day.
The suite her family had booked her in to was elegantly luxurious and large enough to house a whole family. Not only did it have a huge bathroom, complete with the largest shower Petra had even seen, as well as a sunken whirlpool bath, it also had a separate wardrobe-filled dressing room, and a bedroom with the most enormous bed she had even slept in, as well as a private terrace overlooking one of the complex’s enclosed gardens.
Letting herself into the suite, Petra walked over to the dressing table and put down her bag. As she did so she glanced into the mirror and then froze as in it she saw the reflection of the bed—and more importantly the man lounging on it: her would-be seducer and partner in crime! His hands were clasped behind his head as he watched her, his body covered in nothing more than the towel he had wrapped around his hips. Tiny drops of moisture still glinting on his skin testified to the fact that he must have only recently stepped out of the shower—her shower, Petra reminded herself, unable to stop her eyes widening in betraying shock as she turned round and stared at him in disbelief.
Her suite, like the others on the same floor, and like the palatial owners suite above them, could only be reached by a private lift for which one needed a separate security card!
But for a man like this one anything and everything was possible, Petra suspected.
Like someone in a trance, she watched as he swung his feet to the floor and stood up.
If that towel he had wrapped so precariously around his body should slip…
Nervously she wetted her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. His own mouth, she suddenly realised on a flush of dangerous raw heat, bore a small fresh scar. Mesmerised, she tried to drag her gaze away from it…from him…
Had someone turned off the air-conditioning? she wondered dizzily. The room suddenly seemed far too warm…
He was walking towards her now, and in another few seconds…Automatically she backed away.
CHAPTER THREE
AS THOUGH it was someone else who was actually speaking, Petra heard her own voice, thick and openly panicky, demanding, ‘What are you doing in here?’
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