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‘Hadn’t you better tell me about this meeting?’ Catrin said, her voice breaking his thoughts as she crossed one leg over the other.
It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the toned gleam of her ankles, but Murat did his best. ‘Well, Niccolo you have, of course, already met.’
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘And is he bringing the lovely Lise with him?’
‘He didn’t say.’ His gaze slid over her. ‘Will you have a problem with that, if he does?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not my place to have a problem with it. And anyway, she was only telling the truth. If it hadn’t been for Lise, I might still be stumbling around in the dark. Maybe I should be grateful to her, for making me face up to the truth and to see our relationship for what it really is...was,’ she corrected hastily. ‘Who else is coming?’
‘Alekto Sarantos,’ he said. ‘We met him once in Paris, if you remember?’
Memory was a road Catrin didn’t want to take, but sometimes someone planted you on that super-fast highway and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. She recalled a man with ebony hair and extraordinary blue eyes. Alekto had been surrounded by women, looking more like a rock star than a businessman. But he had seemed almost bored by the adoration of the women surrounding him, as if he would rather be anywhere else than at the city’s most glitzy party.
Unlike her, who had been revelling in every glorious moment. It had been like a dream come true. The most romantic city in the world. With Murat.
Her heart gave a painful wrench as she remembered tickertape cascading from the ceiling at midnight, and the Sultan laughing as he brushed the streams of paper from her face, before bending his head to kiss her.
‘I remember,’ she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat.
She bent her head to stare at her hands, because anything was better than having to look into his hard, hawk-like face and meet the black gleam of his eyes. Every time she looked at him she wanted to touch him. And every time she touched him, it would just make their inevitable parting all the harder. That was a certainty which had been growing all day.
She had realised her mistake in agreeing to come here from the moment she’d stepped onto the plane, discovering that it was all too easy to slip back into the role of being Murat’s consort. It had suddenly dawned on her that she needed to put some kind of distance between the two of them in order to protect herself, which was why she had pulled back a little during the flight. But it hadn’t been easy to remain neutral—not when the Sultan was behaving with such attentiveness towards her.
‘Look up there,’ he said suddenly. ‘We are approaching the Gardinello estate.’
She looked out of the window to where an elaborate pair of wrought-iron gates was opening to let them through. Their car moved slowly up a steep incline, before coming to a halt outside an ochre-tinted farmhouse. Catrin stepped out into a sunny courtyard filled with pots of tumbling white flowers, where a cat lay sleeping peacefully beneath the shade of an olive tree. Tiered gardens were planted with cypress and cherry trees and she breathed in the heady scent of sun-warmed herbs, and flowers.
‘Look behind you,’ said Murat softly.
She turned round to see olive groves and vineyards and a sprawling orchard of fruit trees. There was the glimmer of an infinity pool and, beyond that, the mirrored expanse of Lake Trasimeno. Suddenly, she found herself filled with a powerful sense of yearning, fuelled by the beauty of her surroundings and by the strength of her feelings for the man who stood beside her.
Sliding on her sunglasses, she tried desperately to regain some of her lost equilibrium—trying to focus on the mundane rather than the impossible. Everywhere she looked she could see activity. Their cases were being removed from the car by people whose names she would probably never know and inside the house there would be yet more people preparing food and ensuring that all the Sultan’s needs would be met. Bodyguards were moving swiftly towards the forested area which bordered the top of the estate, presumably to check that the fences were secure. She saw them muttering into their cell phones as they scaled the green bank. With something of a shock, she realised she’d grown used to this life of being guarded and protected—and in a funny kind of way she was even going to miss that.
‘Where are the others?’ she asked.
‘They’re arriving later.’
Her eyes met his. ‘How much later?’
‘Does it matter? I want some more time alone with you, Cat. And ultimately, I want you to change your mind about leaving me.’
‘That isn’t going to happen.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you’re not making this very easy for me.’
‘That was never my intention.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘Did you really think it would be?’
She gave a short laugh. Of course she hadn’t. She’d watched him enough in the past during countless dinners with business colleagues, when he’d been at his manipulative best. Murat would always use whatever method was best suited to make sure he always got exactly what he wanted. ‘No. If I’d stopped to think about it, I should have guessed that you would do exactly this.’
‘So why not just relax and try to accept it? Come and I’ll show you around, and let’s see if the beauty of the Italian countryside won’t wipe some of that tension from your face.’
Her palms felt clammy and her head felt light as she realised he was doing that thing he did so well. That dominant, masterful thing which made her just want to...to what? To go back to being the compliant person she’d been before—the one he’d used to leave at home like an ornament, while he’d courted his royal princess?
But she followed him along the gravelled paths which interweaved the different levels of the gardens, because what else was she going to do? Her canvas sneakers sank into the dusty summer grass and the warm sunshine seeped into her skin. And even though she’d started out by feeling completely strung out, it was perhaps inevitable that some of the tension would leave.
It felt peculiar to be walking alongside him like this—the future forgotten, while they enjoyed the beauty of the Italian gardens. The sunlight glinted off his hair and from time to time she glanced up at him, forcing herself to walk just far enough away to avoid touching him.
She was relieved when they arrived back at the main farmhouse, though less so when he showed her into a cool and shuttered room which commanded a spectacular view over the distant hills. She stared at the amazing view outside, because anywhere was better than glancing at the huge bed which dominated the room.
Murat shut the door and the walls seemed to close in on her as he came towards her, with that dark look of lust which was so achingly familiar.
‘I want you, Cat,’ he said. ‘I want you so badly that I can hardly think straight.’
And she wanted him, too.
She wanted him in a way which made her heart burn and her body ache. She wanted to let him blot out every nagging thought and fear with his kiss. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t pretend—not any more. If he made love to her now, then wouldn’t she be in danger of blurting out how much she loved him—making herself even more vulnerable in the process?
She’d been guilty of playing a part when she lived with him and if she wasn’t careful she was going to find herself doing the same thing again. Oh, it might be a different part, but it would still involve hiding the real Catrin.
Because how could she continue to have sex with him and yet behave as if nothing had changed? As if fleeting pleasure had the power to blot out the dark reality of losing him. Wasn’t it likely that the more she gave to him, the emptier it would leave her?
She stared at his hard, warrior’s face and his hard, warrior’s body. Murat was a hard man, through and through. He wouldn’t be weeping into his pillow when their affair ended. Oh, he might experience a brief pang of regret and maybe even a few moments of nostalgia, but then he would get on with his life. His powerful life as Sultan, in which there had never been room for a second-rate commoner like her.
‘I can’t do it, Murat,’ she said quietly. ‘Not any more.’
‘What are you talking about?’
She took a step back, terrified that she would be swayed by his proximity. Afraid that if he remained within touching distance then she might just ignore the voice of reason which was demanding to be heard, and instead crawl into his arms, like a small animal seeking sanctuary.
She met his eyes. ‘I can’t have sex with you any more. I thought I could just carry on the way we were, until it was time for me to leave, but I was wrong. I can’t.’
‘But what has happened to make you act this way?’ he demanded. ‘We made love in London just before we came here—so what the hell has changed during a two-hour flight?’
She licked her lips, knowing that she couldn’t keep hiding her emotions away. That if she wanted him to understand, then she was going to have to tell him how she was feeling.
‘I have,’ she said. ‘I’ve changed. And I’ve realised that it hurts too much to know we’re living on borrowed time. Every kiss we share is like a protracted goodbye. Every time you touch me, it makes me feel...diminished.’
‘Diminished?’
She saw his eyes narrow and guessed he would be filing her words away under psychobabble. But that didn’t matter. She no longer had to impress him or try to be his perfect woman. All she had to do was to remain true to herself.
‘Yes, diminished.’
He was shaking his dark head. ‘I don’t understand you, Cat,’ he bit out, his voice filled with frustration.
‘And you don’t need to. When we leave here we won’t ever have to see each another again. My role in your life is over. I shouldn’t...’ For a moment, she stopped. Was that why people hid behind lies so often, because the truth was too painful to confront? ‘I shouldn’t have agreed to come, but since I have I’ll do what’s expected of me. I’ll play your perfect hostess one more time—but I can’t be intimate with you again. From now on, this relationship has to be platonic. It...hurts too much to be anything but platonic. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to unpack and then shower. I need to get ready for when your guests arrive.’
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_5945bb7c-caec-5ed7-8082-35923b2ba06a)
BENEATH A JASMINE-COVERED pergola, the long table was laid with heavy silver and crystal, which gleamed golden in the candlelight. Desperately trying to concentrate on the beauty which surrounded her, Catrin sipped from her glass of water. Overhead, bright stars glittered—and occasionally one would shoot through the indigo sky in a blurred silvery trail so fast that if you blinked you would miss it. They had eaten tiny cheese soufflés followed by giant prawns and now they were lingering over the peach sorbet, which a young Italian woman had just served to them.
She sat back and listened to the discussion which was currently taking place between the three men, but in truth she wasn’t really paying much attention to the subject of wind farms.
It hadn’t been the easiest of days, but she didn’t think even Murat would deny that it had been a successful one. They had greeted their guests as a united couple. Somehow they had managed to disguise the brooding tension which had sprung up, following that heated confrontation in the bedroom earlier.
Alekto Sarantos had come by private jet from the Greek island of Santorini, and was accompanied by a sinewy redhead called Suzy, who was clinging to his arm as if she couldn’t bear to let him go. Catrin thought she could understand why, since the Greek billionaire was as gorgeous as she remembered from Paris.
He and Suzy had gone straight to their room, emerging several hours later all bright-eyed and laughing softly. As a demonstration of easy sexuality it couldn’t have been more apparent, and Catrin knew she hadn’t imagined Murat’s stony expression as he’d shot a meaningful glance in her direction.
Niccolo arrived alone. He’d flown straight from New York and seemed rather distracted throughout the day. But at dinner, Catrin found herself sitting next to him and found him entertaining company. He told her about meeting Murat on the ski slopes a decade earlier and then talked about growing up in Milan. But as the coffee was being served, he lowered his voice so that only she could hear.
‘Listen, I want to apologise for Lise’s behaviour towards you the other night.’
Catrin remembered his girlfriend’s words puncturing her foolish little world of make-believe and she shook her head. ‘Honestly. It’s fine, Niccolo. You could have brought her with you, if you’d wanted. I wouldn’t have minded.’
‘But I would’ve minded,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I don’t like women who take pleasure from other people’s misfortune.’
Catrin’s smile didn’t slip, even though she thought his words made her sound like some kind of victim.
So don’t be one.
‘Actually, I think maybe she did me a favour,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, I think it’s best to get things out in the open, don’t you?’
But the Italian’s expression remained impenetrable as he shook his head. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘In my country secrets are as much a part of us as the air we take into our lungs.’ His eyes were curious as he looked from her to Murat, who was sitting on the far side of the table. ‘But you have obviously forgiven him.’
Catrin stared down at the melting puddle of peach sorbet in her dish. She knew that Niccolo and Murat went back a long way but even so it would be an unthinkable breach of etiquette to start discussing the Sultan’s personal life, no matter how close their friendship. ‘It isn’t for me to forgive someone like Murat. He is his own master.’ She glanced up to see the Italian girl approaching with a tray of coffee and quickly changed the subject. ‘Mmm. Doesn’t that coffee smell delicious?’
She could hear Suzy giggling at something Murat had said and as she sipped from her dinky cup of espresso, Catrin marvelled at how much she had learnt during her time as the Sultan’s consort. She now knew the basics of royal protocol and how to eat an oyster. She could talk knowledgeably about the French Impressionists and was completely at ease around servants and bodyguards. She thought about the life she had come from and the one which lay ahead. And wondered if she would ever eat in a setting as beautiful as this again, with men who owned oil wells or who prowled the fleshpots of the world, with their restless blue eyes.
‘What do you think, Cat?’
Murat voice broke into her thoughts and she looked across the table to find his gaze fixed on her. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was miles away.’
His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. ‘Alekto and I are just musing about why the public hate wind farms so much.’
Catrin put her cup down. ‘Because they look so startling, I guess.’
‘And people don’t like that look?’ questioned Alekto, swirling wine around in his glass.
‘Not really. I think it takes time for them to accept something which is so alien to them—something which looks as if it’s come from another planet,’ she answered slowly. ‘If I wanted to improve the image of wind farms, I’d go to an art college and ask some of the most promising students to create images to make them seem interesting, and then I’d mount an exhibition of their work and create a lot of press interest. Wind farms as art. A positive image, for once.’
Niccolo leaned back in his chair. ‘That is actually a very good idea. And so brilliantly simple.’
They were all looking at her now, but it was only Murat’s face she could see.
‘And this,’ he said softly, his eyes not leaving her face, ‘from the woman who’d never even seen a flowering cactus.’
His words made no sense to anyone else but her, but they made Catrin’s heart give a kick of unbearable pain. Why was he reminding her of a time when she hadn’t thought beyond the way he had made her feel? She wondered if she would have walked so blindly into the affair if she’d known what awaited her? Of course she wouldn’t. Because who, other than a masochistic fool, would open their arms to inevitable heartbreak?
Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, she rose to her feet, forcing herself to smile at them. ‘And now I wonder if you’d mind excusing me? I’m going to turn in...it’s been a very long day.’
It was indeed late and there was no objection from Niccolo or Alekto—and Suzy was so busy gazing at her Greek lover that she scarcely seemed to hear her. But Murat made no attempt to hide the flash of annoyance which hardened his lips. She knew that going to bed was a cop-out and that maybe she wasn’t fulfilling her part of the bargain, but suddenly Catrin didn’t care. She couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. Sitting there with that cool hostess smile on her lips and talking about wind farms, while inside her heart was breaking.
Why the hell had she agreed to come here?
Quickly, she walked towards the house and slipped into the room she was sharing with Murat without bothering to turn on the light. She could see her phone flashing from inside her handbag and when she pulled it out, she saw that her sister had left two texts.
Mum on real bender this time, read the first.
The second was more direct. And of more immediate concern. Can u come home Cat? Your turn now.
Guilt rushed through her as she stared at the illuminated screen, realising that she’d barely given a thought to the situation back home. She had been so preoccupied with her own problems that she hadn’t stopped to consider Rachel and how she was coping with their drunken mother. And that wasn’t fair.
The bedroom door opened and the light which flooded in highlighted the powerful figure who was standing in the doorway.
‘All alone in the darkness, Cat?’ came his soft taunt. He switched on the light. ‘Why’s that?’
For a moment she didn’t answer; she was too busy blinking as her eyes accustomed themselves to the sudden brightness. Shoving her phone down into the bottom of her handbag, she shrugged.
‘I’m all for saving on electricity costs,’ she said carelessly. ‘I thought you’d approve—after all, you’re the man who’s ploughing his money into wind farms and researching different sources of alternative energy.’
‘Very funny. Why did you leave the dinner so abruptly?’
‘Because...because I suddenly realised I was crazy to agree to come here and...’ Her words tailed off as she thought about her sister’s texts. Maybe she should tell him that she needed to go back to Wales and maybe she should tell him why. And yet... She bit down hard on her bottom lip. How could she bring herself to tell him something like that when they were on the verge of parting for ever? Did she want to be forever remembered as the daughter of a drunk? She felt a flicker of stubborn pride. Her mother’s illness was none of Murat’s business. She met his eyes. ‘And I’d like to go back to England as soon as possible.’
His face hardened.
‘Is this your way of playing games?’ he demanded. ‘Of demonstrating how much power you have over me, by seeing how far you can push me?’
‘Of course it isn’t.’
‘I thought we’d agreed that you were going to stay for a couple of days.’
She stared down at the floor, unwilling to meet the angry gleam in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Oh, really?’ His voice was silky. ‘Then maybe I should see if I can change it back for you again.’
She should have realised exactly what method he would use and if she’d been thinking straight, she might have given herself time to psych herself up and remain immune to him. But she wasn’t thinking straight and therefore she had no defence when Murat reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Instinct took over. She could feel every hard sinew of his body as she melted against him. And the startled breath she sucked in did her no favours, because it left her completely accessible to the urgent pressure of his lips as he bent his head to kiss her.
Her hands went up to his shoulders to push him away, but as he deepened the kiss she felt herself clinging on—and then some.
‘Murat,’ she groaned as he began to ruck up her dress, his hands skating beneath the delicate fabric to smooth themselves over her thighs.
But he didn’t seem to be listening to her half-hearted protest; he was too busy tugging her panties down. The delicate scrap of lace fluttered to the floor as he carried her over to the bed and laid her down on it. His thumb was on her clitoris and the gasping little groan she made in response was quickly silenced by another kiss.
Her desire was spiralling out of control and as he pulled away from her she heard the unsteady rasp of a zip. In the throes of something which felt so wrong and yet so irresistibly good, her lashes fluttered open to see Murat kicking off his trousers. His arousal was heart-stoppingly evident and the fierce look of hunger on his face made her grow weaker still.
And then he was positioning himself over her—on her and in her—thrusting into her so deeply that she opened her mouth to scream with pleasure. But he anticipated her cry and drowned it with another kiss.
