might look at a passing antelope before clamping its jaws around it. ‘Not too long?’ she probed. ‘Or too short?’
‘I could think of many ways to describe what you’re wearing, though some of them might shock your tender Welsh ears.’ His soccer game forgotten, Murat lolled back against the cushions littering the sofa. ‘It’s perfect. As are you. And I only have to look at you to want you.’
‘Again?’
‘Always.’ His black eyes grew smoky and she saw his thumb slide down over the white towel to halt at the rapidly hardening ridge at his groin. ‘Do you want to come over here and suck me?’
Catrin could do nothing to prevent the desire which shivered down her spine, but in that instant she recognised that something really had changed. She was appalled to realise that usually she would have said yes, like some obedient woman from the harem. She would have gone over there and pleasured him and then probably had to go and change her dress and reapply her make-up.
But the thought of doing that suddenly left her cold. Maybe her mother’s words had affected her more than she’d thought. Maybe her own troubled thoughts were more potent than she had imagined.
Shaking her head, she walked over to the window seat and sat down on it, pushing her knees close together because she didn’t want him to see that they were trembling. ‘Not now, Murat—if you don’t mind.’
‘And if I do?’ he drawled lazily.
She didn’t rise to it; just kept that same rather serene smile on her lips. ‘I’d rather hear a little more about Niccolo. Tell me again how you met.’
He eyed her speculatively, as if deciding how much to tell her.
‘Da Conti is what is known as an international playboy,’ he said. ‘We met on the ski slopes some years ago and our interests have merged from time to time. There were a group of us who used to race together, which included the Formula One champion, Luis Martinez.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘We were all very young and a little...wild.’
She tried not to react, because sometimes Murat had told her things about his past which she wished he’d kept quiet. But sometimes you found yourself blurting out a question, even if you had no desire to hear the answer. ‘Does that mean you’ve shared women?’
‘Never intentionally and never at the same time.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders in a gesture which Catrin supposed was intended to be apologetic—though at that moment it seemed more like a boast. She wondered if it was intended to remind her that women regularly flung themselves at him and were always trying to lure him into their beds. Maybe he wanted to emphasise that there were plenty of candidates all too eager to take her place...
‘How very commendable of you,’ she said.
‘Not really. You know me, Cat—I don’t like sharing anything, but sharing a woman with your friends is a recipe for disaster.’ He smiled. ‘Niccolo has been threatening to go into the oil business for as long as I can remember and he has finally bought himself an oil well in Zaminzar—’
‘That’s the country which borders the eastern side of your own, isn’t it?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know that?’
She found his sudden change of tone vaguely unsettling and suddenly Catrin forgot all the ‘rules’ she usually applied when she was spending precious time with Murat. She forgot that she always tried to be like a soothing balm and never to stress him. All her good intentions flew straight out of the window as an unfamiliar feeling of belligerence began to bubble up inside her.
‘You mentioned it to me yourself,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you actually let your two worlds collide and sometimes you actually talk to me about your other life. Your desert life,’ she added, more tightly than she had intended.
He studied her thoughtfully. ‘That sounds like a complaint.’
‘Not really. It’s the way it is and I accept that. I’m just stating a fact, Murat—which is a bright thing to do. You’re the one who told me a person should always face facts.’
‘Did I say that?’ He stood up, but the sudden hardening of his mouth showed his displeasure. As if the evening wasn’t panning out the way he wanted it to.
And suddenly Catrin felt exactly the same way. This wasn’t panning out the way she had planned it either. She had wanted the atmosphere to be warm and giving—not filled with the spiky little barbs which they seemed to be at hurling at one another.
You’re ruining what little time you have with him.
So stop it.
Swallowing down her anxiety, she forced a friendly smile onto her lips. ‘Where...where are we eating tonight?’
Murat looked at her and an unfamiliar sense of remorse washed over him as he saw the sudden fear in her eyes. He had often been accused of cruelty by lovers in the past, but he didn’t set out to be cruel—and certainly not to Catrin, who was the longest lasting of all his lovers. He just knew his limitations; it was as simple as that.
Emotion left him cold and duty was his lifeblood. He had no desire to indulge in something as dull as analysing his feelings, for his demanding position as Sultan left him no time for such self-serving pursuits. His father had drummed into him what was expected of a desert king. He knew the future which had been mapped out for him and he accepted the strictures it placed on him. He thought Cat had accepted them too—for he had laid down his terms for the relationship from the very beginning. Yet hadn’t it already lasted longer than anticipated—and weren’t questions now being asked in Qurhah about the Sultan’s English lover and her significance in his life?
He had told his advisors that his private life was exactly that and he did not intend discussing it. And fortunately, his exalted position and power and the sheer force of his personality had guaranteed their immediate silence. But deep down he had known that he could not continue with this double life much longer—especially now that his sister was married and heavy with child. His filial responsibilities had been discharged and now it was his own marital future which was giving his country cause for concern. His people wanted their sultan to marry and they were eager for him to produce an heir. Hadn’t that been why he had agreed to the latest attempt at matchmaking, even though something inside him had told him from the start that it was destined to fail?
His mouth tightened as he looked at her trembling lips and knew he should tell her.
But when?
He remembered the old saying which his palace tutor had taught him. This year? Next year? Some time? Never?
He certainly didn’t want his sweet Welsh lover to wear that look of hurt which her smile couldn’t quite disguise, or for her beautiful green eyes to darken when she looked at him like that.
He walked over to where she sat on the window seat, before bending down to brush his lips over hers. ‘You know that I would prefer to spend the evening here with you and only you—but this meeting is important. And it gives me an invaluable opportunity to talk football—since nobody appreciates the sport as much as an Italian.’
‘Which I agree is much too good an opportunity to pass up,’ she said. ‘If only I could remember the offside rule, then maybe I could talk football, too.’
He
