a building so unmistakably Parisian in concept that Petra could only stare at it in bemusement.
Several other people were already standing in front of the entrance to the restaurant, and as she felt Blaize’s hands on her body when he helped her from the gondola Petra immediately tensed in rejection of the sexual intimacy, instinctively uncomfortable about other people witnessing it.
‘Don’t do that!’ she protested when Blaize bent his head and allowed his breath to graze intimately against her skin as he brushed her hair from her face. ‘The women who paid for your clothes might have enjoyed being pawed in public, but I don’t.’
The minute she had finished speaking Petra knew that she had gone too far. It was there in the sudden stiffening of his body and the glacial glitter in his eyes.
It was useless to try to explain that her own panic at her body’s helpless reaction to him had motivated her rash words—and besides, her pride would not allow her to do so. So Petra tensed and bent her head beneath the savage lash of his softly spoken retaliation.
‘For your information no woman has ever… ever… paid for my clothes. And as for your comment about “pawing”—be thankful that your innocence protects you from the consequences of such a comment—for now!’
In silence, but with her head held high, Petra turned towards the red carpet. Not for anything was she going to admit—even to herself—how much she longed for the protective warmth of Blaize’s hand beneath her elbow as she watched the other diners entering the restaurant, the men in their robes and their women couturier-clad and holding themselves with a proud elegance Petra secretly envied.
‘More wine?’ Blaize asked as their waiter hovered solicitously, holding the wine bottle. Immediately Petra shook her head and covered her still half-full glass with her hand. The meal they had just been served had been outstandingly good—with every mouthful Petra had been reminded of her first grown-up meal in Paris, a birthday treat from her parents. Everything from the decor and the whole ambience of the place, right down to the subtle perfume of the candles on the tables, replicated the chicest of Parisian restaurants, and Petra knew she would not have been surprised to hear French itself being spoken.
‘Coffee, then?’ Blaize was asking as he signalled her refusal to the hovering waiter.
Nodding her head, Petra warned herself that if she was not careful she might be in danger of falling for her own fiction, so well was Blaize playing the part of attentive and adoring lover. But then, of course, no doubt he had had plenty of practice, she reminded herself grimly.
Petra dreaded to think about the impact the cost of the meal was going to make on her credit card, but there was no way she could feel comfortable allowing it to be debited to her suite.
As she waited for the waiter to bring her coffee she was suddenly aware of being studied by the occupants of a nearby table—a group of three couples.
The arrival of the waiter with her coffee momentarily distracted her, but as she glanced away from them Petra could have sworn that Blaize gave the tiniest warning shake of his head when one of the men started to get up, as though he was about to come over to their table.
As soon as the waiter had gone, Petra demanded, ‘Who is that…?’
‘Who do you mean?’ Blaize questioned her, frowning slightly.
‘The man you just looked at,’ Petra said. ‘He was about to come over, but you—’
‘I didn’t look at anyone,’ Blaize denied.
‘Yes, you did,’ Petra insisted. ‘I saw you…’
‘You’re imagining things,’ Blaize told her. ‘Which man do you mean? Point him out to me.’
Irately Petra did so, but when Blaize looked deliberately in his direction the man Petra had pointed out looked pointedly through them before averting his gaze.
Giving her an ironic look, Blaize shrugged his shoulders meaningfully whilst Petra’s face burned. She had obviously been wrong after all, but she wasn’t going to give Blaize the satisfaction of admitting it!
‘When you have finished your coffee perhaps you would like to dance,’ Blaize suggested. ‘After all, we are supposed to be lovers, despite that virginal look of yours…’
Petra’s mouth compressed and she put down her coffee cup with a small clatter.
‘That’s it!’ she told him forcefully. ‘From now on every time you so much as mention my… my… the word “virgin” I shall fine you five pounds, and deduct the money from your fee! I am paying you to help me escape from a marriage I don’t want. Not to… to keep on bringing up something which has nothing whatsoever to do with our business arrangement!’
‘No? I beg to differ,’ Blaize informed her softly. ‘I am supposed to create the impression that I am seducing you,’ he reminded her. ‘Who is going to believe that if you insist on looking like a—’
‘Five pounds,’ Petra warned him.
‘Like a woman who does not know what it is to experience a man’s passion,’ Blaize finished silkily.
She had finished her coffee and Blaize had summoned the waiter to ask for the bill.
Immediately Petra reached for her bag to remove her credit card.
‘What are you doing?’ Blaize demanded curtly, when he saw what she was doing.
‘I can’t let my family pay for this. It would be… immoral…’ Petra told him.
‘Immoral… To allow them to pay for a meal? But not apparently immoral to allow them to believe that you are sleeping with me… a man you picked up on the beach…’
‘My body is mine to do with as I wish,’ Petra hissed furiously to him as the waiter arrived with the bill. She already had her credit card in her hand, but to her disbelief before she could place it on the saucer Blaize had picked up the bill.
‘I shall deal with this,’ he told her coolly, ‘You may reimburse me later.’
Turning to the discreetly waiting waiter, he murmured something to him that Petra couldn’t catch, handing the man the bill which he immediately walked away with.
Several minutes later, as they made their way to the separate music room, Petra felt as though everyone else in the restaurant was watching them. She was being over-sensitive, of course. She knew that. No doubt it was only the female diners who were watching Blaize, she told herself wryly.
The music room and its dance floor were very dimly lit, and as she heard the provocative strains of the sensual music that was being played, watched the way the dancers already on the floor were moving, she automatically pulled back. This wasn’t dancing. It was… it was sex on the dance floor—and there was no way she was going to allow Blaize to hold her like that. No way she dared allow him to hold her like that.
Why not? It wasn’t, after all, as though he was her type, she reminded herself robustly, and she knew that no matter how outwardly sensual and romantic he might appear he felt nothing whatsoever for her. They were here for a purpose, and the sooner it was achieved the sooner she would be free to return home.
Squaring
