to go with you! But you shall tell me all about it! I shall inform your hotel that Kahrun will be collecting you to bring you here once you return.’
He was beginning to look tired, but instinctively Petra sensed that his pride would not allow him to admit any weakness. Whatever else she had been lied to about, Petra could see now that so far as his health was concerned he had genuinely been ill. It was there in the greyish tinge to his skin, the vulnerability of his frail frame. An unexpected—and unwanted—emotion filled her: a sense of kinship and closeness, an awareness of the blood tie they shared that she simply had not been prepared for and which it seemed she had no weapons to fight against. He was her grandfather, the man who had given life to the mother she had loved so much, a potential bridge via which she could recapture and relive some of her most precious memories.
Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Petra got up, and as her grandfather reached out his hands to her, Petra placed hers in them.
‘Beloved child of my beloved child,’ he whispered brokenly to her, and then the door opened and Kahrun, his manservant, arrived to escort her back to the hotel.
It was only when she was finally being driven back to her hotel by Kahrun that Petra mentally questioned just why she had not challenged her grandfather with her knowledge of his plans for her. Had the emotions he had displayed been genuine and as overwhelming as they had seemed? Or had he simply been manipulating the situation and her for his own ends? Surely she wasn’t foolish enough to be influenced by her own unwilling acknowledgement of his frailty, a long-ago letter from her father, and a few emotional words?
But there was more to the situation than that! A lot more! In his presence, in the home which had once been her mother’s, Petra had abruptly been forced to recognise and acknowledge a deep subterranean pool of previously hidden emotions.
Her parents’ deaths had forced her to grow up very quickly, to become mature whilst she was still very young, and in many ways had forced her to become her own parent. Her godfather, kind though he was, was a bachelor, a man dedicated to his career, who had had no real idea of the emotional needs of a seventeen-year-old girl. Had she been a different person, Petra knew, she might quite easily have gone off the rails. Her godfather’s lifestyle meant that she had been allowed a considerable amount of unsupervised freedom, and she had been called upon to make decisions about her life and her future that should more properly have been made by someone far more adult. The result of this had been that she’d had to ‘police’ her own behaviour, and to take responsibility for herself, emotionally and morally.
Now, today, in her grandfather’s room, she had suddenly realised just what a heavy burden those responsibilities had been, and how much she had yearned to have someone of her own to carry them for her—to counsel and guide her, to protect her, to love her! How much, in fact, she had needed the family which had been denied to her! And how much a small, weak part of her still did…
That was where her real danger lay, she recognised. It lay in her wanting the approval and acceptance of her ‘family’ so much that she could fall into the trap of allowing herself to exchange her freedom and independence for them!
The weight of her own thoughts was beginning to make her head ache.
CHAPTER SIX
GRIMLY Petra blinked the slight grittiness from her eyes as she studied her reflection in her bedroom mirror. She had barely slept, and when she had she had been tormented by confusing dark-edged dreams in which she was being pursued by a white-robed persecutor, his features hidden from her. In her nightmare she had called out to Blaize to rescue her, but although she could see him he had not been paying any heed to her pleas, had instead been engrossed with the scantily clad bevy of women surrounding him.
Only once had he actually turned to look at her, and then he had shaken his head and told her cruelly, ‘Go away, little virgin. I do not want you.’
And now, even though the night was over, Petra felt as though its dark shadow still hung over her. There was hardly any time left for her to convince Rashid that she was not a suitable bride, and once again Blaize had made no attempt to get in touch with her.
Lethargically she moved away from the mirror. She had already packed an overnight bag, as instructed by the fax she had received from the tour operator, and she was dressed in what she hoped would be a suitable outfit of short-sleeved tee shirt and a pair of khaki combat-style pants with sturdy and hopefully sand-proof trainers. She had, as instructed, a long-sleeved top to cover her arms from the heat and the sand, a hat, a pair of sunglasses and a large bottle of water. But the sense of adventure and intrigue with which she had originally booked the trip had gone, leaving in its place a lacklustre feeling of emptiness.
Because she hadn’t heard from Blaize? A man she had known less than a week? A man who quite patently cynically used his sexuality to fund a lifestyle that was in direct opposition to everything that Petra herself believed in! She couldn’t possibly really be trying to tell herself that she was emotionally attracted to him? That in such a short space of time he had become so necessary to her that a mere twenty-four hours without him had left her feeling that her whole life was empty and worthless?
Now she was afraid, Petra admitted shakily, and with good reason! What she was thinking truly was cause for the horrified chills running down her spine! There was no way she could allow herself to be in love with Blaize.
Be in love? Since when had love entered the equation? she tried to mock herself.
Only two days ago she had been finding it hard to admit that she just might find him sexually attractive. Two days before that she had barely known that he existed. Yet here she was, trying to talk herself into believing she loved him! No, not trying to talk herself into it, trying to talk herself out of it, Petra corrected herself swiftly.
Her telephone rang. Quickly she picked up the receiver. It was the front desk informing her that her transport had arrived.
Picking up her overnight bag, Petra told herself sternly that a little breathing space would do her good. What a pity she was living in the modern century, though, and not a previous one where it might have been possible for a traveller attached to a camel train to pass through a country’s borders without the necessity of producing a passport…
A group of newly arrived holidaymakers were filling the foyer, and the concierge staff had no time to do anything more than point Petra in the direction of the waiting vehicle she could see outside, a logo painted on its side.
Even with her sunglasses the sunlight was so strong that she was momentarily blinded as she headed for the four-wheel drive vehicle, and it was whilst she was still trying to accustom her eyes to the brilliance that she felt strong hands relieve her of her overnight bag, and then grasp her waist to help her into the front passenger seat of the vehicle.
She heard the slam of the passenger door, and then the closing rear door. As her driver climbed into the driving seat she turned her head to look at him, her eyes widening in shock as she realised just who her driver was!
‘Blaize!’ she exclaimed weakly. ‘What are you doing here?’
Petra tried to drag her gaze away from him as she gulped in air. Her chest had gone so tight it hurt, and she could feel the heat surging through her body as it reacted with telltale swiftness to his presence.
‘You booked a trip into the desert,’ he told her laconically as he set the vehicle in motion and drove off.
‘Yes… But…’
‘But what?’ he challenged
