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‘I’d like to do something different. Something on my terms for once.’
‘Such as?’
She looked out at where the rest of the city lay far below them. ‘I’d like to go somewhere without you being shadowed by a whole team of bodyguards. I’d like to get in a black cab and go to the cinema and eat popcorn without anyone knowing who you are. I’d like to pretend that we’re just the same as any other couple.’
‘Anonymity, you mean?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
He looked at her for a moment and then, brilliantly and unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘Then I place myself in your hands completely, Cat,’ he said softly.
She felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she finished her coffee and went off to get ready, while Murat spoke quietly to his bodyguards. And although they weren’t happy, they agreed to a very low-key presence throughout the day.
For Catrin, it felt like another small triumph. She knew it didn’t mean much, but for her it meant a good deal. The hours which lay before them seemed to have endless possibilities. And she was the one making all the choices.
* * *
They walked across Hyde Park and ate breakfast croissants in a café overlooking the glittering waters of the Serpentine. They walked along the riverbank, before making their way to Covent Garden, where they found a small art gallery which was, inexplicably, almost empty. It felt liberating to walk from painting to painting, discussing each one in detail, and she almost forgot the shadowy presence of the bodyguard hovering discreetly in the next room. She made Murat stand in the queue at the cinema and could tell from his attitude that queuing was an entirely new concept for him. She knew that one word would lead to them being whisked into the grandest seats and generally being fussed over, but Catrin didn’t want that. She didn’t want anyone to know who he was.
She wanted him all to herself.
Afterwards they went to Soho, mingling with crowds of tourists and theatre-goers beneath the gaudy lights. They ate hot slices of pizza and then found a quiet pub in one of backstreets, where they sat quietly drinking cola.
In the taxi home he held her hand, turning it over to study her palm as if he were reading her future. And Catrin felt stupidly choked by the simple gesture, quickly turning her head to look out of the window before he could see how suddenly vulnerable she felt.
‘Cat,’ he said.
Blinking away the sudden moistness in her eyes, she waited until she had composed herself before she turned to look at him. ‘What?’
‘Don’t ordinary couples usually kiss in taxis?’
She shrugged. ‘I have no experience of kissing in taxis.’
‘You do now,’ he said roughly as his pulled her into his arms.
This was no semi-chaste kiss like the one they’d shared in bed last night. This was lust: pure and potent. Her breathing grew erratic as his finger traced a provocative line over the zip of her jeans and she gasped helplessly into his mouth.
‘I want you,’ he whispered. ‘And if I could, I would have you now. Right here. In the back of this cab. I’d like to pull your wretched jeans down to your ankles and thrust myself deep inside you. I’d like to watch you writhe around on the seat and then I’d like to see you tip your head back and come, while the scent of our sex filled the air. Would you like that, Cat?’
‘Stop it,’ she whispered, her mouth so dry that she could barely get the words out.
‘I don’t want to stop it, and neither do you.’
The cab slowed to a halt and Cat was still trembling as they got out and she stood waiting while Murat pulled out his wallet. She remembered him telling her that, unlike many royals, he always carried cash with him because it made him feel slightly ridiculous to have to ask one of his aides for money.
But she frowned when she saw the driver peel off some change and hand it to him and she stepped forward.
‘Um. We gave you a fifty-pound note, not a twenty,’ she said.
The driver mimed incomprehension, but Cat was nothing if not persistent and she stood her ground and argued the point, until eventually they walked away with the correct change.
‘You know, I could have easily afforded to lose thirty pounds,’ said Murat wryly as they rode up in the elevator.
‘That’s not the point,’ she said, looping her arms around his neck. ‘It’s a matter of principle. You shouldn’t have to pay more, just because you’re rich.’
His lips grazed over hers. ‘Quite the little hustler, aren’t you?’
‘They call it being street-smart,’ she said lightly. ‘And it’s only because I’ve had to be.’
They shut the door on the bodyguards and turned to each other, but, although the removal of their clothes was fraught with hunger, the sex which followed was different from anything Catrin had known before. For a start, Murat’s fingers were trembling as much as hers as he undressed her and for once his smooth dexterity seemed to have deserted him.
He didn’t usually frame her face in the palms of his hands and look down at her as if he was only just seeing her properly for the first time.
But she didn’t usually have to bite back tears during sex either—aware that her pleasure was heightened by a cruel reality which reminded her that the end of the affair lay just around the corner.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_0ada5866-f3ce-5b1e-949f-12dfa632af8b)
THE SEX WAS different.
Actually, Catrin quickly realised that pretty much everything was different.
Pressing the send button in reply to the text she’d just received from her sister, she walked out onto the terrace, where Murat was busy talking on the phone in the late afternoon sunshine. His Qurhahian aide Bakri often phoned at this time and the two men usually engaged in long talks about state affairs, which completely engrossed him. But today he looked up as he heard her approach and she read the slow smoulder of approval in his eyes.
Her heart lurched. The last day of their last weekend. Two days during which all the normal rules of their relationship seemed to have changed.
Or maybe it was simply her attitude which had changed. She had shown him a stronger Cat. A more decisive Cat. And in response, Murat had become more of an equal and less of a master.
He’d grown more tactile in ways which didn’t just involve sex. He held her in his arms when he was watching a football game. He had even cooked her lunch, while she sat on one of the window seats quietly finishing a book she couldn’t bear to put down. For two days, at least, their roles had been reversed and it made her wonder how on earth she had been prepared to accept so little from him before.
But she had set the agenda, hadn’t she? Murat had simply followed it. What man in the world wouldn’t lie back and enjoy a woman running round after him like that?
Inevitably, she found herself wishing that she could stay. She told herself that nothing was stopping her from doing that, since Murat had told her over and over that he didn’t want her to leave. Until she forced herself to remember that they still had no future together. All he was offering was a role as his mistress—and who knew when somebody younger and prettier would come along and supplant her? Because that was what happened to mistresses. Easy come, easy go.
She had the kind of background which most men would shy away from—let alone a powerful sultan. She was still the illegitimate daughter of an alcoholic mother and nothing would ever change that, either.
She thought back to the text she had just received from Rachel.
Really worried about Mum.
Catrin had felt fear descend on her like a dark cloud. She’d done all the stuff that the counsellors always recommended. In a hurried phone call, made while Murat had been in the shower, she had reminded her sister that she needed to take a step back. That nobody could stop an alcoholic from drinking if they were determined to do so. She didn’t want Rachel wasting any more of her university vacation, trying to help someone who didn’t want to be helped. She told her that next week she would be travelling down to Wales and she would take over and sort it out...though she wasn’t quite sure how. It was not a prospect she was looking forward to, but some strange kind of loyalty made it impossible to walk away from the mess her mother had made of her life.
And in the meantime, she still had the bitter task of saying goodbye to Murat.
The light summer breeze on the terrace was ruffling his black hair as he clicked off his phone and looked at her and she thought that he had never looked quite as gorgeous or as accessible as he did in that moment.
‘Such a serious expression,’ he mused. ‘You’re not regretting your decision to leave, are you?’
She said the words with way more conviction than she felt. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Are you sure?’ he persisted. ‘You don’t sound very sure. Think how good it’s been these last couple of days, Cat. And then think about all the days we could have together in the future.’
She was tempted. Of course she was. Faced with the choice of going it alone, or staying here with the man she still loved, there wasn’t much of a contest. Except that this wasn’t real. She was only ever going to be a stopgap in Murat’s life—and that was no longer enough.
She shrugged. ‘I have no doubt it would be wonderful in lots of ways, but it isn’t going to happen. So I’d advise you not to waste your time by trying to change my mind.’
His black gaze flicked over her, making her skin tingle as if someone had just brushed it with fire.
‘But what about if I asked for an extension?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What kind of extension?’
He leaned back against the wrought-iron balustrade and continued to study her, his attention lingering on the thrust of her breasts which were pushing insistently against her silky white shirt. ‘You remember I planned to meet with the wind-farm consortium in Italy?’
‘I thought that was next month.’
‘It was. But what if I’d managed to bring it forward? What if I told you that I’d persuaded Niccolo and Alekto to juggle their schedules and that we’re all flying out to Umbria tomorrow? Would you come with me, Cat?’
‘You’re telling me that you’ve managed to get two such powerful men to change their busy schedules based on nothing more than one of your whims?’
‘No, not on one of my whims.’ His mouth hardened into an implacable line. ‘More a determination to hang onto you for as long as possible.’
She shook her head. ‘You only want me because time is running out and because you’re used to getting your own way.’
‘No,’ he negated, and suddenly his voice sounded harsh and almost rough. ‘I want you because in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never stopped wanting you and I don’t think I ever will.’
‘Murat—’
‘But even putting aside your undoubted allure, your skill at playing hostess on these occasions has never been in any doubt. You make business seem almost like fun, and people always relax more if there is a woman around.’ He paused. ‘Two more days, that’s all. Think about it. Two days in the Italian sun with nothing to think about other than topping up your tan. Surely that must tempt you into changing your mind?’
Catrin gave a flat laugh. Topping up her tan? Didn’t he have any idea of what was going on inside her head? About her silent struggle to imagine the future, when she left this gilded world of his?
‘Stop being so manipulative.’
‘But sometimes manipulation is the only thing which works,’ he said, pulling her into his arms and tightening his hold on her waist before she had the chance to object.
His touch weakened her defences and the slow brush of his lips over hers made her want to melt. Yes, the sex was very different, she thought as he slipped his hand inside her bra. He made it feel as if it meant something. And it didn’t. It was still just sex.
But she made no protest as he led her back inside the apartment and started undressing her. And she let him. She did more than just let him. She assisted him. She helped him pull open her clothes with hands which were shaking almost as much as hers were, as her mouth reached hungrily for his.
She groaned as he touched her. And she writhed as he traced a finger around where she was hot and moist and quivering for his touch. Impatiently, he ripped open her panties and she took him into her arms, her eyes closing helplessly as she felt his warm weight on top of her. Did the sex just feel more poignant because the clock was ticking? she wondered. And was it the same for him?
She saw the flash of something unfamiliar in his eyes as he entered her with one slick stroke, before quickly finding his rhythm. He spoke in his native tongue as he moved—strange, guttural words which filled her with a terrible sadness, even while her orgasm began to build. Her body clenched just as he cried out her name, and her arms tightened around his back as pleasure swept over her.
Catrin could feel the dying spasms as he emptied his seed inside her—and all she could think was that some day his seed would bear fruit. But not with her. Some other woman would carry his child, but it would never be her.
He stirred and stroked an errant spill of hair away from her flushed face, levering himself up onto his elbows to stare down at her. ‘What would you say if I told you that today was one of the best days of my life? As was yesterday, and the day before that.’
‘I’d say you were being too smooth for your own good.’
He smiled, pulling her closer and burying his mouth in her hair. ‘Come to Italy with me, Cat,’ he said. ‘One last trip abroad, together. That’s all.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not. Because it’s a bad idea.’ Half-heartedly, she tried to disentangle herself from his arms. ‘And will you please stop looking at me with that little-boy look? Because it isn’t going to work.’
‘Cat.’
He even made saying her name sound erotic and she could feel her resolve slipping. And suddenly she felt too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions and lingering pleasure to be able to resist him any longer. And why keep resisting something she really wanted to do?
‘A few days,’ she said. ‘That’s all. And after that I’m leaving.’
His eyes glittered as he stroked his hand over her bottom. ‘Of course you are.’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_e86ccb29-3bde-5e36-a8cb-27e9ea5f43c1)
THE ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE was beautiful in a take-your-breath-away kind of way but Murat barely noticed the lush green hills swathed with silvery olive trees, or the distant glimmer of the lake. Instead, his attention was focused on the woman beside him and a deep sense of feeling thwarted filled him, as his powerful cavalcade of cars moved through the Italian countryside.
With her mahogany hair gleaming and her body perfectly still, she wasn’t behaving as he’d expected her to behave. As he wanted her to behave—especially now that she had finally given in to his desire that she accompany him to Umbria.
During the flight from London she had kept him at a distance. In every way. She had been polite, yes. Each comment he’d made had been answered with a studied courteousness, although he noticed that she had initiated no conversation of her own. She had picked up a book and started to read and although the book had now been put away in her handbag, it made no difference. He didn’t like being ignored by a woman—especially not one who had previously been so attentive. Who had behaved like a wildcat that last time they had made love...
With her hands lying clasped on her lap and her simple blue dress seeming to echo her muted mood, he couldn’t remember her ever looking quite so serene, nor so beautiful.
Tightly, his hands clenched into fists where they lay on top of his tensed thighs. Was it because the end was in sight that he found himself wanting her more than ever? Or had her own accusation contained more than a kernel of truth? Was it a case of his competitive nature governing him as it had always governed him—driven by the knowledge that he was rarely refused anything, by anyone?
Yet deep down he recognised that it wasn’t quite that simple. The woman she had become since she’d discovered his secret courtship had been like the Cat he’d fallen for. The feisty beauty who had blown him away within seconds of meeting her. Who had looked at the powerful potentate standing in that humble Welsh hotel and spoken to him as if he were...
An equal?
Maybe.
This past weekend, she had been like a butterfly fluttering in out of the sunshine in order to be admired and yet somehow managing to remain tantalisingly aloof. Suddenly, everything had been on her terms. She had kept him guessing. Waiting. She had made him feel uncertain in a way which was totally new to him. And in the time it had taken before she had finally let him back into her arms, he had felt as if he were going out of his mind.
He shook his head in consternation, for he was not given to self-analysis. From childhood, he had been taught to be ruthless and strong. He had been told that his role was to protect and to provide for his country; to sublimate his own desires in the pursuit of those goals. It had been drummed into him that his destiny was to rule with resilience and never appear vulnerable. And that had been the maxim he had embraced all his life.
He had seen less war than his father, mainly because he didn’t share the dead king’s unquenchable lust to conquer new territories, and because he had preferred to use the intricate skills of international diplomacy rather than force. But Murat had seen his own fair share of battle. Etched into his memory was that terrible clash with insurgents at Port D’Leo, when his two most senior commanders had been slain before his eyes. He remembered holding the hand of one of the men, as his lifeblood had seeped like liquid rust into the hot, desert sand. He remembered the choked words which the soldier had asked Murat to take back to his wife: words of regret that he would not live to see his unborn child. And Murat could still recall his own guilt that he had been powerless to save them.
He thought back to his spartan childhood. Of the loneliness of his life in the palace and of the powerful father who had never been there for him, nor for any of his family. Any snatched hours spent with his son had been spent teaching him weaponry and horsemanship, and drumming into him that women could weaken a man and sap his essential strength.
But Murat could never remember being shown affection by the man who had sired him. Even his mother’s love had been diluted by her long, depressive illness, when she would sit staring at the blank wall of her sitting room, rather than engaging with Murat or his sister.
And wasn’t that the truth about human emotion—that you could never rely on it? He thought of his friend Suleiman, the person to whom he had once been closer than to anyone in the world, and the man Murat had relied upon to give his sovereign one hundred per cent unswerving loyalty.
Yet Suleiman had let the wiles of a woman twist him away from that loyalty and devotion, hadn’t he? He had taken the woman destined to be Murat’s bride and had made her his own. And although Murat had now forgiven his oldest friend, he still felt the bitter twist of pain when he remembered how his blood brother had betrayed him.
And that was why he had always kept his heart steeled against an emotion which some men called love, but which Murat saw as nothing but trouble. Human hearts could not be trusted, nor relied upon—and ‘love’ was the most unreliable emotion of all. Far better to stay clear of the clutches of something which had the power to destroy much of what it touched.
