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‘Oh, but there is. If I have to lose you, then can’t we at least do it in the spirit of all that has gone before? In passion.’ He swallowed and, unexpectedly, the words seemed to burst from him, like a tide. ‘The greatest passion I have ever known.’
‘No,’ she said, trying to ignore the look in his dark eyes. Trying not to be influenced by the caress of his words or the hateful prickle of her body. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Why not?’
For a moment, she didn’t answer. How could she? It was hard to think about anything other than her own stupidity right then. She felt as if a veil had been lifted and suddenly she saw her life with disturbing clarity.
She realised she hadn’t been as ‘modern’ as she’d thought. She hadn’t just been the Sultan’s ideal mistress because, all the time, it seemed she’d secretly been nurturing impossible dreams about him. Her foolish heart had been captured a man who had promised her nothing. She had fallen in love with someone who had always been off-limits. And if she was feeling pain now, then surely she should blame herself, not Murat.
‘Why not?’ he persisted. ‘Can’t we just have one last weekend together? Two days to say goodbye to each other...properly? Don’t we owe each other that much, Cat?’
She looked at him. At the lips she had kissed a thousand times and the eyes which were blazing with dark fire. Her heart missed a beat. Never again would she see that face alive with passion. Nor feel the warmth of his embrace as he bent his head to kiss her.
Pain flooded through her as she considered her options. She could pack her bag and take a cab to some nearby hotel. Bury her head on some alien pillow and sob her heart out. And then pick herself up and start a new life without him.
But deep down she had no appetite for such drama. Her childhood had been characterised by the slamming of doors and the echo of retreating footsteps, and she had grown to hate such excesses of emotion. She heard one of the clocks chiming out midnight and she thought maybe Murat was right. Maybe ending it like this was all wrong. Shouldn’t the closing stages of their affair be conducted with the same clinical detachment which had always defined it—couldn’t they end it with some degree of civility?
He didn’t know she had fallen in love with him and if she flounced out at this time of night, wouldn’t that only make it obvious? And that was how Murat would remember her. As sad Cat. Heartbroken Cat. As the woman who had laid her feelings on the line, even though she’d known it was hopeless.
Maybe it was time to show him that she wasn’t some hapless victim. That she had enough resolve and experience not to let anything defeat her. She’d grown up fighting against the odds and time after time she’d come through. That was the real Cat.
The question was whether she was strong enough to carry it off.
She stared at him. ‘One weekend,’ she said. ‘No more.’
‘Cat—’
He stepped towards her but she shook her head, halting him with an almost imperious raise of her hand. ‘No, Murat. I’m not in the mood for some passionate make-up sex. Quite frankly, I’m exhausted and I need some space. In fact, I’m going for a long bath and then I’m going straight to sleep. So please don’t bother waiting up for me.’
She walked past him and, although her heart was beating like mad, she felt strangely calm. She had done the unthinkable—she had resisted him. She had agreed to his proposal, yes, but he was about to discover that it was going to be on her terms.
Still revelling in her brief sense of triumph, she saw the unmistakable look of astonishment on his face.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_a7c86757-c31b-5d58-ba26-9d7bd1ec660b)
‘I THOUGHT I told you not to wait up for me.’
From his half-reclining position on the bed, Murat glanced up from the papers he’d been working on, to see Cat framed in the doorway of their bedroom. Her dark hair was piled into a thick twist on top of her head and her cheeks were flushed from the long bath she had insisted on taking, leaving him in the unfamiliar position of waiting. A short, towelling robe was knotted tightly around her narrow waist and her legs gave off a silky sheen of newly moisturised skin. And she still looked angry.
His papers forgotten, he leaned back against the pillows. ‘Did you really think that I’d be able to go to sleep after what’s just happened?’
She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Your current behaviour is something of a mystery to me, but that won’t be my problem after this weekend is over.’
She walked over to one of the drawers and Murat watched as she pulled out one of the nightgowns she usually only wore whenever they were travelling. There was a brief flash of flesh as the towelling robe was swiftly replaced by the slither of creamy silk and lace as she pulled the gown over her head.
‘You don’t usually wear anything in bed,’ he observed.
She straightened up and looked at him. ‘Ah, but these are not usual times, Murat. Even you must realise that.’ Pulling the pins from her hair, she went to turn off the light, but he shook his head.
‘No. Don’t put the light out.’
‘It’s late.’
‘I know what time it is.’
She pulled back the duvet. ‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m still not in the mood for sex.’
‘No.’ And the strange thing was that neither was he. Oh, he was aroused just from looking at her, that much was a given. He could feel the heavy beat of desire as she climbed into bed beside him. But he recognised that having sex now would somehow be inappropriate, like going out to dinner and discovering you’d forgotten to put your trousers on. Too much had been left unsaid. There was too much distance between them. Her body language was unfamiliarly cool. And it was funny...but when you took sex out of the equation, it forced you to look at a situation with a new and disturbing clarity.
With a start he realised just how much he took her for granted. How he always expected her to be instantly acquiescent whenever he arrived back in London. Always smiling. Always scented. Eagerly opening her arms and her thighs for him. Letting him rip the exquisite lingerie from her body before ravishing her. Because that was how women had always allowed him to behave. How they wanted him to behave. Indeed, it seemed to feed into the fantasises of most women to discover just how sexually masterful he could be. He had grown up in a macho culture where the wishes of men reigned supreme and he’d certainly never come up against any opposition to that viewpoint from the opposite sex.
She was the perfect mistress, of course she was, because she completely sublimated herself to his desires and wishes. Yet while that had always been immensely satisfactory, wasn’t this new and unpredictable Cat making his heart race in an unexpectedly powerful way?
He placed his papers on the bedside table and turned to look at her. Her eyes were tightly closed and for a moment he almost smiled at the fierce look of determination on her face. ‘Look at me,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to look at you. I’m still angry with you.’
‘I know you are—and I recognise that you have a right to be. I should have spoken to you about what was happening and I think we both know why I didn’t. But we’ve discussed that and we can’t go back and change it.’ His voice lowered. ‘And I’m wondering if we’re going to waste our last weekend together fighting?’
At this, her eyelashes fluttered open, their feathered darkness revealing a vivid emerald gaze which was tinged with reproach.
‘What else did you have in mind instead of fighting? I’ve just told you that I’m not in the mood for sex and since that’s pretty much your only method of communication, then I imagine you must be stumped about what to do next.’
He leaned over her, inhaling the scent of her clean skin. He felt the unsteady skip of his heart. ‘How about a simple kiss goodnight?’
Catrin stared up into the hawk-like face which was now inches away from hers. She felt...disorientated. As if night had suddenly become day. As if she had woken from a dream into a new world she barely recognised. All she knew was that the balance of power between them had shifted and she was on unfamiliar territory. Suddenly, Murat was on the back foot. He wasn’t demanding from her, or just reaching out and taking. For once he seemed to be seeking her permission—even her approval. And he was about to discover that she wasn’t letting him off that lightly.
She gave him a candid look. ‘It won’t just be a goodnight kiss though, will it? You won’t be satisfied with that.’
‘I may not be satisfied with it,’ he said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.’
Something in his response made her bite back a reluctant smile and, chastely, she turned her cheek towards him. ‘Oh, very well. One kiss, that’s all.’
But gently, he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly turned her head around to face him. She saw the flicker of something she didn’t recognise in his eyes before he lowered his head towards hers.
It was a butterfly kiss. The faintest brush of his mouth against hers. Such a grazing touch that it was barely there—but it was enough to set her senses on fire. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. She could feel the lick of his saliva, as the tip of his tongue flicked tantalisingly at the entrance to her mouth.
And instantly, she wanted him to insert his tongue fully, to mimic the action of a far greater intimacy which her body was already beginning to crave. Her breasts grew heavy and the honeyed ache deep in her belly made her want to wriggle her body against him.
The hands which had been pillowed behind her head now moved automatically to rest on the bunched muscles of his powerful shoulders. Her fingertips began to dig gentle grooves into the silken flesh as he brought her body close to his.
She could feel his arousal pressing hard against her belly and her blood thickened. She wanted to part her thighs for him. She wanted him to touch her where she was aching to be touched, but even though the effort nearly killed her—she forced herself to pull away.
The way he was looking at her was making her feel vulnerable and she felt a flush of colour creeping into her cheeks. Because she hadn’t seen that expression of indulgence on his face for a long time. Not since... She swallowed.
Not since the first time she’d met him.
Her heart gave a sudden hard thump. What had happened to that woman who had crisply chided him for his lack of manners? Who had treated him like an equal, even though he’d been a customer and she’d been serving behind the bar. She hadn’t known that he was a sultan back then, and she hadn’t cared.
She had allowed herself to become intimidated by his power and position, that was what had happened. She had given Murat complete control over her. She had become weak, over-accommodating and completely compliant. Was it any wonder that he’d started to treat her with such a flagrant lack of respect?
With an effort, she pulled away from him, sliding across the cool sheet to the other side of the bed and putting a wide expanse between them. ‘A kiss, I said.’
She heard the disbelief in his voice, which he failed to disguise. ‘And that’s all?’
A wave of power washed over her—so potent, that it was almost worth the aching sense of frustration which was gnawing away at her. ‘That’s all.’ She yawned and then turned her back on him. ‘Goodnight, Murat.’
For a moment there was silence until, with what sounded like a small growl, he snapped off the light so that the room was plunged into darkness.
She might have been frustrated, but Catrin felt curiously liberated as she lay there, listening to Murat moving restlessly beside her. And maybe all the see-sawing emotional energy had exhausted her, because her eyelids grew heavy and her body began to relax against the mattress.
When her eyelashes fluttered open, it was to discover that it was morning and that Murat was already awake. He lay propped up on one elbow watching her—his powerful body striped with gold by the shafts of sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Usually, she would have lifted a lazy finger to his lips, or touched his hard, bare torso with a hand which had already begun to tremble with lust. Or leaned forward to kiss him.
But as she had told him last night, this was not usual.
Beneath the duvet, she stretched, aware of the hungry gaze which swept over her, glad he couldn’t see the way that her breasts prickled instantly in response.
‘Sleep well?’ he questioned drily.
‘Like a baby. Did you?’
‘No.’ He gave a hard smile. ‘Did you really expect me to, when I had you beside me like some hormonally charged distraction? Allowed to look but not to touch—something I found especially difficult in view of the fact that your goodnight kiss nearly blew me away.’
Remembering the near-innocence of that kiss, Catrin levered herself up the bed a little and looked into the dark gleam of his eyes. ‘Then I must thank you for not touching.’
‘You’re welcome.’
But his curt reply was replaced by a look which came as close to confusion as any she’d ever seen on his face before.
‘Do you know,’ he mused, ‘that’s actually the first time I’ve ever kissed a woman without having sex with her afterwards.’
‘And how did it feel?’
‘How do you think it felt? How many words in the dictionary are there to describe frustration?’ He lay back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the restless night he’d endured. Yet his restraint had been commendable, hadn’t it? At one point she had snuggled up to him, still fast asleep. He’d felt the warmth of her soft flesh as her body had unconsciously invited him to hold her closer, as it had done a hundred times before. And he had found himself unbearably tempted to indulge in that half-asleep sex which always seemed so lazy and decadent.
But he had resisted. As surely as the falcon flew across the desert sands, he had wriggled away from her and spent the next few minutes in a torture of exquisite agony. He had overridden his own desires and told himself that he had no choice. He didn’t want Cat waking up to find him making love to her and then accusing him of taking advantage of her. Yet the experience had left him shaken and slightly bewildered, because it wasn’t like him to tiptoe around a woman’s feelings.
Her soft voice broke into his thoughts.
‘What about some coffee?’
Relieved that some kind of normality was returning to a life which seemed to have been turned upside down, he nodded and smiled. ‘I’d love some.’
But she was shaking her dark head and she seemed to be having difficulty controlling her laughter. ‘That isn’t what I meant. I’m not offering. My role as your quasi servant, as the woman who runs around making your life comfortable, is over. I’m preparing us both for the brave new world which lies ahead. So why don’t you make the coffee for once?’
For a moment there was silence.
‘Me?’
‘You,’ she agreed.
His eyebrows knitted together. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so.’
There was another pause during which he was clearly testing her resolve before he got out of bed. Towering over her, seemingly unaware that he was totally naked and very aroused, he held her gaze for a fraction too long before heading off in the direction of the kitchen.
It was a small victory but one which pleased her inordinately, and once he’d gone Catrin took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom, where some of her composure left her. She stared at her face in the mirror. The no-sex of the proceeding night and this morning’s role reversal made what was happening seem almost like a dream. But it was not a dream, she reminded herself. It was real.
And after this weekend, he would be gone from her life for good.
She hated the fear which iced her skin as she tried to imagine life without Murat. What would fill the great empty space in her life, once her sultan lover was no longer coming home to her?
She felt panic wash over her but she forced herself to push it away, telling herself that she had come through much worse than the end of a love affair. Did she really want to carry on living her life like that—docile and submissive and completely under the thumb?
Like hell she did.
Defiantly, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a light, silky shirt and went to find Murat in the kitchen, now dressed and pouring out two cups of delicious-smelling coffee.
It was strange to see him in such an unfamiliar role and she walked over to one of the high stools around the breakfast bar, and sat down.
‘Smells good,’ she said as he handed her a cup. She took a cautious sip. ‘Tastes good, too. It’s funny, but I never imagined you adapting to domesticity with so much ease.’
‘Didn’t you realise that there’s no end to my talents?’ The glance he shot her was mocking. ‘Maybe you should have asked me to make you coffee before.’
Catrin nodded. Maybe she should. ‘Although you have had servants running around after you all your life, so I wasn’t entirely sure you’d be able to cope.’
‘I don’t think you’d need to be an astrophysicist to be able to decipher the instructions on the side of a packet of coffee,’ he commented wryly. ‘And I have learnt the art of self-sufficiency in the desert.’
‘Really?’ She took another sip of coffee.
‘Really.’ His dark gaze swept over her. ‘Even a sultan must know how to fend for himself. I have made meals from roots and brewed pots of sweet tea when I have been setting up camp with my troops. Fundamental lessons of self-sufficiency are essential when preparing for warfare—and all men are equal in the desert.’
Cat heard the sudden hard note of passion which had entered his voice. Had he enjoyed that kind of self-sufficiency and equality? It must have been elusive to someone who had grown up in a palace. But she’d never really given him the chance to do that, had she? With her, he hadn’t had to lift a finger. She had taken over every domestic element of their life together as she’d tried so hard to be his textbook lover. And maybe he hadn’t wanted her to try that hard. Maybe he had wanted more equality than she’d been prepared to give him. It was a sobering thought.
‘The desert sounds...amazing,’ she said, aware of how wistful her voice sounded.
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘Although it is also a barren and unforgiving place, where the instinct for survival takes precedence over everything else.’
The instinct for survival.
Catrin’s heart began to pound as she thought about her own survival instinct. Where was that instinct now? Forgotten beneath that undeniably hungry look he was slanting at her, making her wish that things hadn’t changed and that she could just go over to him and lose herself in his embrace. She forced herself to focus on the sunlight which was spilling onto the pots of flowers on the terrace outside. ‘It’s a gorgeous day.’
‘I know it is. What do you want to do?’
She knew the answer he wanted. The answer she was longing to give him. She wanted to go straight back to bed, only this time to make love. She wanted his kiss and the hard thrust of his body. She wanted him to take away this ache of desire which was pooling softly at the base of her belly and to rid her of this terrible sense of frustration.
But something told her that would be a cop-out. And right now she felt much too vulnerable to risk having sex with him.
