Sheikh's Dark Seduction

CHAPTER THREE

‘OKAY. SO HOW about this? Does it work for you?’ Walking across the room on sky-high heels, Catrin stopped in front of the TV soccer game which was currently engrossing the Sultan. ‘Am I suitably dressed for this dinner with Niccolo Da Conti?’

Either it had been a boring game or she must have put on exactly the right dress, because Murat took his eye off the ball and focused on her instead, a slow smile of appreciation curving his lips.

He was wearing nothing but a small towel wrapped around his hips and his hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken directly after making love to her. Catrin could still feel the faint flush to her skin, together with the still galloping race of her heart. She swallowed. It had been some homecoming.

‘Turn around,’ he said softly.

She obeyed his command, aware of the wash of air over her bare thighs as she turned, because beneath her delicate lilac dress she was wearing the stockings he always insisted on.

Usually she enjoyed this deliberate little show, which was staged to allow Murat to be openly voyeuristic. Sometimes he might ask to see the tops of her stockings and she would tease him with a provocative flash, like an old-fashioned cancan dancer. Whatever it was he wanted, she did her best to oblige. It was another of the lessons Murat had taught her: that a man need never stray if he had a generous lover at home.

But she still couldn’t seem to shake off those doubts which had been bugging her all day. They were sliding over her skin like snails and leaving a trail of something cold behind. She could sense that something in her life was changing and she wasn’t sure what it was. She remembered that odd look on his face when he’d been making love to her earlier.

Was he growing tired of her?

Her pulse picked up an unsteady beat, because she didn’t want anything to change. This situation wasn’t perfect—she knew that. These snatched moments with Murat were never enough—but she liked her life as it was. There were definite advantages to being with a man who was emotionally off-limits. At least they didn’t waste time with rows or unreasonable demands. And if she disregarded this stupid love idea, then hadn’t she landed herself a pretty good deal, on balance?

But if Murat was tiring of her...

Catrin thought of the alternatives which lay open to her, trying to imagine where she would go from here. Because hadn’t she allowed her modest ambitions to fall by the wayside since moving in with Murat? What about that little tea room in the Welsh mountains which had once been her dream? The great idea that she would bake home-made cakes and sell them to hungry mountaineers, but which now didn’t seem quite so appealing.

Wasn’t the truth of it that living with Murat had subtly helped change her dreams, and now the thought of any kind of life without him was simply...unimaginable? Their lives had become interwoven, but the Sultan definitely called the shots. Sometimes she felt like a young sapling which was being bent by a warm and powerful wind. Like now.

So when he told her to turn around, she did—with a graceful twirl which made the silk chiffon of her dress swirl round her like a ballet dancer.

‘You mean, like that?’ she said lightly.

‘I mean, just like that.’

He was looking at her as she imagined a leopard 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 relaxed a little as he saw that her uncharacteristic sulk was already subsiding, and he tangled his fingers in the silky fall of her hair. ‘I’d love to see Da Conti’s face if you started talking about the offside rule! And if I can’t persuade you to rub me dry, then I guess I’d better go and get dressed. I won’t be long.’

Catrin sat staring into space while Murat changed and he reappeared just as the peal of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. Outside the heavily fortified door stood two bodyguards, who accompanied them down in the elevator. Murat’s bullet-proof car was waiting in the street, with a second vehicle ready to follow close behind. The whole operation happened with a swift smoothness which Catrin now took for granted.

Her lover had riches beyond the dreams of most men, but it was difficult to get to do anything ‘normal’ with him. Going anywhere meant having a whole team of accompanying guards, which always made people stare. The only place where they could be really private was tucked away inside his apartment. He told her that he’d eaten in fancy restaurants all his life and they bored him. That he’d rather spend time alone with her. At the time his declaration had flattered her, but now she was beginning to wonder whether she should have asked for more.

Catrin frowned. Had she been crazy to settle for what he had offered her—or rather, for what he hadn’t offered her? Had she secretly been thinking that one day he might change his mind about love and marriage?

‘We’re here,’ said Murat, his voice breaking her racing thoughts as the car drew up outside a discreet restaurant.

It was one of those places so full of important people that few arrivals warranted a second glance. Murat did, of course—but Catrin was used to him drawing the eye wherever they went. She guessed his raw sex appeal, coupled with the unconscious arrogance which accompanied royal power, made for a pretty irresistible combination.

She felt increasingly edgy as they began to walk through the restaurant, where Niccolo Da Conti was already seated at a table towards the back of the room. Catrin could see a man with ruffled dark hair and a lazy smile, leaning back while a waiter poured him a glass of champagne. Close beside him was a long-legged blonde, wearing a tiny dress of silver mesh, which gleamed against the caramel glow of her skin. Her glossy silver fingernails were splayed possessively over one of Niccolo’s thighs, as if they were glued to that hard and muscular surface.

Catrin was smiling as they approached the table, but her lingering disquiet was making her palms grow clammy. Calm down, she told herself fiercely. Nothing has changed. Everything is just the way it has always been.

‘Murat,’ said Niccolo Da Conti, shaking off the blonde as he rose to his feet, his two hands outstretched in greeting. ‘How is my favourite Middle-Eastern potentate? Would you like me to bow?’

‘I would much rather you didn’t.’ Murat laughed. ‘Two of my bodyguards are seated discreetly a few tables away and they like me to remain as incognito as possible.’

‘You, incognito? I don’t think so. Every eye in the place was on you from the moment you walked in. I’ve never known it to be any different.’ Niccolo turned and smiled. ‘And you must be Catrin. I can’t believe we haven’t met before—but I believe Murat keeps you tucked away so that nobody else can get close. Looking at you now, I can see exactly why. It’s good to meet you.’

‘Stop flirting, Nic,’ said Murat, ‘and introduce us to the lady.’

The lady was Niccolo’s Norwegian girlfriend, Lise, who, while looking exactly like a supermodel, turned out to be a financial wizard working in mergers and acquisitions. It was difficult not to be impressed by a woman who had made her first million by the age of twenty-five. And even harder not to feel a little second rate in the shining light of all that bright, blonde beauty. Catrin gave a slightly nervous smile as she sat down.

‘So what do you do, Catrin?’ Lise questioned, once drinks had been poured and the two men were engaged in a complicated conversation about wind farms.

Beneath the steady gaze of the other woman’s eyes, Catrin tried not to feel awkward. She always hated this bit. What could she possibly say in response to a question which everyone asked, wherever they went? That she used to work in the hotel industry until Murat had put his foot down and told her that her unsociable hours were keeping them apart and he wasn’t prepared to tolerate it?

And she had agreed. She had given up work because it had seemed crazy not to. Why would you waste your time working for peanuts, when your wealthy sultan was at home, drumming his fingers impatiently as he waited for you to finish your shift?

‘I used to work in the hospitality industry,’ she said. ‘But not at the moment.’

‘Gosh. Lucky you,’ said Lise lightly. ‘I’d give anything not to be ruled by the demands of the early-morning wake-up call.’

They ordered food and wine though Catrin stuck to water, just as she always did. They talked politics and about America’s enduring love affair with the British royal family, before the two men started discussing oil prices.

Lise turned to Catrin, elevating her brows in a comical expression.

‘Isn’t this where we zone out?’ she questioned. ‘And talk about the stuff women like to talk about?’

‘I guess so,’ said Catrin, though another faint flicker of disquiet fluttered down her spine.

At first they kept the conversation strictly neutral. Lise wanted to know the name of Catrin’s hairdresser and that bit was easy. Then she admired her lapis lazuli locket and asked where she’d got it from. Catrin ran her fingertips over the deep blue stone.

‘Murat bought it for my birthday.’

‘Did he? He has very good taste.’

‘Yes.’ Catrin felt the cool brush of the stone as it dangled between her breasts. She remembered the touch of Murat’s fingers the first time he had clipped it around her neck. She swallowed. ‘He has excellent taste.’

‘So I understand. Have you two been together a long time?’

‘Just over...’ Her fingers falling away from the necklace, Catrin picked up her glass and wished—as sometimes she did—that she possessed enough courage to drink a glass of wine. Because wouldn’t a drink take the edge off these gnawing feelings of unease? Wasn’t that why most people drank? Most people, she reminded herself as a shudder of memory whispered over her skin. ‘Just over a year,’ she said.

‘Mmm. Longer than I thought.’ There was a moment of silence before Lise slanted her a speculative look. ‘You are a very pragmatic woman, I think.’

Catrin felt a little taken aback at such an unexpected character assessment. It seemed a strange thing to be told by somebody she’d only just met. She glanced across the table towards Murat, but by now he was busy talking soccer with Niccolo and completely engrossed by the subject.

‘What makes you say that?’ she questioned.

‘Oh, you know.’ Lise shrugged. ‘It can’t be easy for you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘All the interminable pressure on Murat to find a suitable bride.’

Catrin’s smile didn’t slip, even though the word suitable reminded her of all the things she wasn’t. All the things she could never be. ‘If you’re talking about Princess Sara—I know all about her,’ she said, wondering if she sounded as defensive as she felt. ‘I know she was promised to the Sultan, but the wedding was called off. And Murat was fine with it. In fact, he was more than fine.’

‘But I thought...’

Lise’s voice tailed off and she applied her attention to her starter, suddenly stabbing at the slice of smoked salmon as if it were alive on the plate.

During the pause which followed, Catrin felt the frightened leap of her heart. She felt as Eve must have done as she looked at the forbidden apple, unable to resist the temptation of something which was guaranteed to bring nothing but trouble. ‘What did you think?’ she asked quietly.

Lise managed to shake her head without a single strand of her blonde hair moving. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’

‘Please,’ said Catrin. She gave another of those convincing little smiles she seemed to have become so good at lately. ‘I’d really like to know.’

Her gaze darting over towards the two men, as if checking they weren’t listening, Lise shrugged. ‘It’s just that I’ve learned quite a bit about the desert regions since Niccolo acquired his new toy.’

‘New toy?’ repeated Catrin blankly.

‘His oil well. Which makes a change from an airline or a football team, but which means he spends more time in Zaminzar than I’d like. ‘ Lise pulled a face. ‘It’s much too hot there, and people seem to object if you show off even the tiniest bit of your body.’

Catrin thought this was a bit like complaining that anyone travelling to Alaska was advised to wear warm clothes, but she didn’t say anything. She wanted to know why Lise had called her ‘pragmatic’ and managed to make it sound like an insult in the process.

‘So what exactly have you heard?’ she questioned. ‘About Murat?’

Lise put her fork down; her smoked salmon untouched. ‘That his people are eager for him to produce an heir. That they consider the dynasty to be unstable as long as there is no direct bloodline.’

‘I think that’s always been the case.’

‘And that’s why he’s been in Zaminzar these past few weeks,’ continued Lise. ‘He has been meeting with the king’s daughter there, with the question of marriage very much in mind. You knew about that, of course? Apparently, she’s quite a beauty.’

Catrin felt faint. Yellow-white spots danced before her eyes. She became aware of the sudden rush of blood to her head and the sound of roaring in her ears, but somehow she kept her smile in place. That stupid smile, which meant nothing.

‘Yes, I’d heard something along those lines,’ she said carelessly.

‘You had?’ Lise’s mouth opened wide, like a camera lens. ‘And you’re okay with it?’

For a moment Catrin was tempted to tell the truth. To say: Of course I didn’t know that! And even if I did, do you really think I’d be okay with it? Knowing that the man she loved was actively courting another woman without even bothering to tell her?

What would Lise say if she bellowed out her pain and distress in the middle of the crowded restaurant and admitted that she felt a fool? Worse than a fool. She felt like the kind of woman who would accept whatever scraps a man was prepared to fling her way. Who would take whatever was on offer and that would be good enough—because hadn’t it been that way all her life? Had she become so used to accepting second best that she had carried it on into her adult life, and then thought it would make her happy?