‘It was uncomplicated and great—at least that’s what you told me at the time. But now you’re using that fact to make me sound like some sort of tramp!’

Steeling himself against the venom spitting from Catrin’s eyes, Murat shook his head. ‘My intention has never been to make you feel bad about yourself, but I never promised you marriage, Cat. I made that clear from the start. And, yes, I always said I would be honest with you. I told you that I had very particular specifications for my bride. That I required a woman of royal blood who would behave as a future desert queen would be expected to behave. And I’m afraid that you were …’

His voice tailed away, but once again she didn’t seem prepared to let it go.

‘I was what, Murat?’

He sighed, wondering why women always did this. Even Cat. Why they always provoked you to a certain point and made you say something which afterwards you would both regret. He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Oh, but it does. It matters very much.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid you were neither.’

DESERT MEN OF QURHAH

Their destiny is the desert!

The heat of the desert is nothing compared to the passion that burns between the pages of this stunning new trilogy by Sharon Kendrick!

Defiant in the Desert

Oil baron Suleiman Abd Al-Aziz has been sent to retrieve the Sultan of Qurhah’s reluctant fiancée—a woman who’s utterly forbidden, but is determined to escape the confines of her engagement … by seducing him!

Shamed in the Sands

The Princess of Qurhah has always wanted something different from her life. So when sexy advertising magnate Gabe Steele arrives to work for her brother, Leila convinces Gabe to give her a job … but that’s not the only thing to cause a royal scandal!

Seduced by the Sultan

The Sultan of Qurhah is facing a scandal of epic proportions. His fiancée has run off, leaving him with a space in his king-sized bed. A space once occupied by his mistress—Catrin Thomas. And now he wants her back—at any price!

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Seduced by the Sultan

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To ace surgeon Mike Heard for his invaluable help with research—and to his lovely legal-eagle wife, Janie, for all the help she’s going to give me in future (I hope!)

Contents

Cover

Introduction

DESERT MEN OF QURHAH

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE NOTHING BUT a rich man’s whore!’

The words still burned in Catrin’s ears and she couldn’t seem to shift them, no matter how hard she tried. Hateful words made worse by the fact that they had been spoken by her own mother.

‘What the hell do you think he’s doing when he’s out of the country?’ Ursula Thomas had demanded. ‘Going to bed early, with nothing but a book in his hand?’

Catrin had sat listening to the slurred words, feeling all her confidence drain away. But she couldn’t deny that the accusations had touched a raw nerve and that was probably why she had reacted so defensively. Why her nails had dug into the palms of her hands so hard that it hurt and instead of telling her mother it was none of her business, she had stupidly tried to justify herself. Because that was pointless. Some people only ever saw the dark side of life and her mother was one of them.

She was not a whore.

And Murat was going to bed on his own.

Catrin let her thoughts stray to the exotic Sultan who had changed her world. She had never planned to be a ‘kept woman’ living in a fancy penthouse, but that was the way things had turned out. Just as she had never planned a relationship with a man who was larger than life—a man for whom the rules had to be broken. Only now she had broken the most dangerous rule of all and she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

Later, he would arrive here from Qurhah. He would take her in his arms and the undiluted pleasure of his kiss would quickly block out everything else. But she wondered for how long. How long before the niggling doubts returned—along with the growing certainty that she had done what she had vowed never to do?

She had fallen in love with him.

She loved Murat.

It was the worst of all possible scenarios.

She walked over to the window and stared out. How had that happened? Especially to someone who didn’t ‘do’ love? Who had always claimed—with good reason—that she didn’t know what love was. She wondered when that invisible switch had been flicked. The one which had changed everything and made her heart race whenever she thought of him. Was it logical to love a man who was never really there for her, who had never offered her anything but fabulous sex and pretty baubles?

But love wasn’t logical, was it? It crept up on you whether you wanted it to or not. And that was dangerous. More to the point, it was futile. Because the only thing the Sultan had ever promised her was that he could never commit.

Her gaze moved to the distant treetops and the green canopy of leaves which were moving gently in the soft summer breeze. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this apartment was slap-bang in the centre of London—with a view dominated by a park so beautiful that sometimes it felt just like being in the countryside. Just as it was hard to believe that the sleek woman who stared back at her from the mirror every morning really was Catrin Thomas, the small-town woman who had given herself so completely to the autocratic desert King of Qurhah.

Gone was the unruly tangle of shiny curls which had once defined her and in their place were waves of hair so glossy that someone in a shop had once stopped her and told her she should be in a shampoo commercial. Gone were the cheap clothes she used to buy on her very average salary and the cut-price make-up she used to pick up from the nearby supermarket. These days she looked expensive because she was expensive. A rich man’s mistress. With a price tag to match.

The telephone began to ring and Catrin rushed to answer it as soon as she saw Murat’s name flash up on the screen, because he hated to be kept waiting. But she accepted that, as she had accepted so much else about him. He was a sultan and a king. He ruled a vast and affluent desert region. He wasn’t used to waiting. His time—as she knew only too well—was very precious.

‘Hello?’ she said, breathlessly, because a phone call meant that his private jet was already in the air and soon he would be landing at the small airfield just outside London. And she was nowhere near ready!

‘Cat? Is that you?’

She sucked in an excited breath, because his deep, accented voice always had the same effect on her. It made her stomach twist into knots. It made her skin prickle with anticipation. Only now, of course, it also made her heart lurch with anxiety—because this was not just the ‘friends with benefits’ thing any more. This was—most inconveniently—that stupid thing called love and she must be careful not to show it.

‘Of course it’s me,’ she said softly. ‘Who else could it be?’

‘It didn’t sound like you.’ There was a pause. ‘For a minute I thought you might have gone away and left me.’

His voice had dipped in that indulgent way it always did when they hadn’t seen each other in a while. A whole month had passed since Murat had last been in England. It had been the longest time they’d ever been apart, and Catrin had missed him. She’d missed him like crazy.

‘I think we both know,’ she said, trying not to let her voice tremble with emotion, ‘that I’m not planning on going anywhere.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’

But something in his voice caused her to grow still, as a flicker of foreboding iced its way over her skin. She frowned. ‘You sound a little...weary, Murat.’

‘I am—or rather, I was. But suddenly I discover that I am filled with energy at the thought of seeing you again, my beautiful, green-eyed little Cat.’

She could hear the sudden roughening of his voice and wished that he were here now and that he were kissing her. Kissing her and making all these stupid doubts disappear into thin air. ‘Me, too,’ she said.

‘And I’m wondering,’ he murmured, ‘what you’ve been doing to make you sound so breathless?’

The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t say them, even though part of her wondered what his reaction would be if she came out with the truth. Oh, you know. I was just getting over the shock of hearing my mother tell me that I’m nothing but a whore and implying that you’re up to no good when you’re not here.

But she had vowed to herself a long time ago that there was no point in objecting to things which couldn’t be changed. She was trying to live in the moment. To enjoy what she had, instead of obsessing about what she didn’t have, and could never have. Hadn’t her own childhood taught her that was the only way to live?

‘Not a lot,’ she prevaricated. ‘I was just wondering what time you’re going to get here.’

‘Soon, my beauty. Very soon. But I don’t want to waste time talking about my schedule when there are so many more interesting things we could discuss. And there’s only one thought on my mind right now after so many weeks of being away.’ There was a pause. ‘What are you wearing?’

Catrin’s perfectly manicured nails tightened around the handset of the phone and she swallowed down the sudden lump which had risen in her throat. She knew what was expected of her and usually it was all too easy to play this game. Of course it was—because Murat had taught her the rules and, consequently, she had become very accomplished at it. And she liked it. She liked playing the sexy mistress who was up for it any time of the day or night.

But today the seeds of uncertainty had been sown in her mind. She felt like a tennis player who had walked out on court to find an enormous hole at the centre of her racquet.

So pull yourself together, she urged herself. Count your blessings and enjoy the life you’ve been given instead of the one you secretly crave.

She ran her hand over one hip, her fingertips encountering the rough texture of her denim jeans. But instead of describing an article of clothing which Murat despised, she injected a sultry note into her voice and pretended. Because wasn’t fantasy everything to lovers? Hadn’t he taught her that, too?

‘I’m wearing silk,’ she whispered.

‘What kind of silk?’

That stupid lump was still sticking in her throat, but it didn’t stop her from continuing with the game. Quite honestly, she couldn’t imagine having a telephone conversation with Murat which wasn’t erotic. The kind of conversation she’d never have been able to carry off when she’d just been that naïve girl from Wales. But in spite of her background, she’d always been smart. She devoured books and was a fast learner—and learning to please a man was a skill just like any other, just like arranging flowers or making a cake rise.

‘Soft silk,’ she said. ‘Butter soft.’

‘Tell me more.’

She thought about the ribboned and crotchless purchase still lying in folds of soft tissue paper in the bedroom. The one she was planning to slide into as soon as she’d had her shower. The one which would probably be ripped apart by Murat’s impatient fingers within minutes of his arriving here. ‘They’re midnight blue,’ she said, almost conversationally.

‘Excellent.’ A pause. ‘And are they tiny panties?’

‘Oh, yes. So tiny you can barely see them. Honestly, it’s almost a waste of time me wearing them—they’re so flimsy.’

‘I see.’ Another pause—much longer this time. ‘And you have on a matching bra, I hope?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She paused—trying to rid herself of the sudden feeling of guilt which settled on her skin like a cold mist. Telling herself that she had nothing to be guilty about. That Murat liked these games. And so did she.

And that her mother’s words meant nothing.

Nothing.

‘The bra is a bit on the small side,’ she continued, allowing her voice to dip into a provocative note as her imagination took wings. ‘But it’s edged with lace, so at least my nipples aren’t completely on show.’

He didn’t answer. At least, not straight away.

‘And stockings?’ His eventual response was unsteady; his tone gratifyingly deep. She heard him swallow and that was gratifying too. ‘Are you wearing stockings?’

‘Mmm,’ she agreed, closing her eyes to blot out the sight of her jeans. ‘Of course I am. Black silk stockings all the way from France. Though they cling to my thighs terribly in this heat.’

‘I’d like to see them do that,’ came his husky response. ‘And then I’d like to peel them off, very slowly.’

‘Would you?’

‘Mmm. And then I’d like to slide my tongue up between your thighs and lick you until you come. Would you like that, my beauty?’

But for some stupid reason the fantasy suddenly evaporated, like champagne which had been left in a glass too long. Catrin’s eyes snapped open and in one instant, she felt completely flat. ‘Of course I would. I’d like it very much. What time...what time will you be getting here?’

‘Soon,’ he repeated. ‘Very soon.’

Catrin was just about to say goodbye and hang up, when she heard the sound of a key being inserted into a lock and her head jerked up in surprise. She turned towards the sound and nearly dropped the phone when she saw who was standing there. Her first thought was that it couldn’t possibly be Murat because his timetable was always planned to the nearest second—and her next thought was that it couldn’t be anyone else. Because there was no one in the world who could be mistaken for him. No man matched him, nor ever could.

Murat the Mighty, they called him in his country of Qurhah, but he was also known as Murat the Magnificent—and he looked nothing less than magnificent now.

His hair fell in rich, dark waves around the hard outlines of his face and the soft sensuality of his lips contrasted with the distinctive hawk-like nose and ebony glitter of his eyes. He had the body of a desert warrior—a fact which could never quite be disguised by the Italian suits he favoured when in the west. Catrin knew that back home in Qurhah he wore flowing robes and headdresses but she’d only ever seen him in this kind of clothes, except in photos. And sometimes when she looked at those photos, didn’t it make her wistful that she only ever got a tiny part of him? That so much of his life was forbidden to her.

‘Murat?’ she said, her voice rising in surprise. ‘I wasn’t expecting you yet.’

‘So I see,’ he replied, shutting the door softly behind him. He began to walk towards her, a complicit smile lifting the corners of his lips as he cut the connection on his phone and slid it into the pocket of his trousers. But his gaze was thoughtful as he looked at her, as if her response wasn’t what he had been expecting. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to me...properly, my beauty?’

‘Hello,’ she said, putting down her own phone with fingers which had started to tremble.

There was a pause as Murat let his gaze travel over her body, his eyes narrowing. Something about her was different and at first he couldn’t work out what it was. Something which made his heart twist in a way which was unfamiliar. And then he realised what it was. She looked like the Cat he’d first met. The beautiful, country girl who had captivated him from the moment she’d turned those extraordinary green eyes in his direction and blinked at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had seen.

Dressed down and casual, her hair was dishevelled—almost wild. The dark cascade of waves tumbled down around her shoulders as if she’d been frantically running her fingers through it. And her clothes...

Her glorious legs were covered with jeans—a garment he despised on women and which she had tacitly agreed never to wear in his presence. And although her thin T-shirt outlined her breasts in a way which couldn’t fail to please him—this wasn’t what he had been anticipating.

He thought how much she had changed. How his rough diamond had become a smooth and polished gem. And if sometimes he missed the rather outspoken minx he had first seduced, he could not deny that she had grown into her role well. Almost too well...

‘You promised me stockings,’ he said slowly.

Her fingers flew to her hair, as if she had suddenly become aware of its unruliness, and she stared down at her jeans before looking up at him, a faint look of guilt staining her face.

‘I didn’t realise you were so close,’ she protested.

‘I thought I’d surprise you.’

‘You’ve certainly done that.’

Their eyes clashed. ‘So. No welcoming kiss for your sultan?’ He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. ‘Not even a hug?’

She chewed on her lip as if she wanted to say something but didn’t dare and for a moment Murat felt an unexpected twinge of conscience. Maybe it had been unfair of him not to warn her that he was on his way from the airport and that he had brought his schedule forward by several hours. But he had wanted to see her and he knew that there wouldn’t be many more opportunities like this.

Because lately he had become increasingly aware that the clock was ticking on this relationship of theirs, and that some time soon he must sit down and talk to her seriously about the future. There were things he needed to tell about his life. Things she ought to know.

But not today.

His mouth flattened.

It was never today.

Today he just intended to make the most of these moments, which had never been intended to last.

His mouth softened into a smile and that was when a breath seemed to catch in her throat before she flashed him an answering smile. Running across the room, she hurled herself into his arms with all the eagerness of a puppy, coiling her hands around his neck as she clung to him. He could feel the softness of her breasts as she pressed herself closer. And he could feel the sweet warmth of her breath as she showered tiny kisses all over his face.

‘Oh, Murat,’ she said, shakily. ‘I’m sorry. Hello again. Hello properly this time.’

Her mouth moved towards his and Murat groaned as their lips met. She kissed more sweetly than any other woman he’d ever known. But then, she made love more sweetly than any other woman he’d ever known. Was that because he had moulded her to become his perfect lover? Because he had coached this naïve little beauty to become as skilful as any practised courtesan, or woman of the harem?

Her lips were opening wider and she was darting the tip of her tongue against his as if she wanted nothing more than to taste him. The tips of her nipples felt hard against his chest and suddenly Murat forgot that he’d been promised stockings. Forgot that he liked his mistresses to be permanently pampered and prepared for him. Because this was Cat. Captivating Cat who made him feel weak with desire. Who exerted over him a power which no other woman had come even close to.

‘Cat.’ The word came out like a husky plea. ‘I have missed you. By all the flowers that bloom on the Mekathasinian Sands, I have missed you.’

She pulled away from him then, her eyes searching his face with a curious kind of intensity. ‘Have you?’

‘You really need to ask a question like that?’

She nodded in response, but not before he had seen a sudden cloud pass over her features.

‘Yes, Murat. I do. Sometimes...’ Her voice faltered. ‘Sometimes a woman needs to hear these things.’

‘Then let me tell you all the things you need to hear, and more. I have missed you very much.’ He buried his lips in the thick lustre of her hair. ‘I have ached for you. Each time I galloped across the desert sands, I thought of nothing but you. During those long and sometimes tedious meetings of state affairs, I longed for one glance from those green eyes and to feel the silk of your skin, gliding beneath mine. I wanted to lie on top of you. I wanted to be inside you. To plunge into your molten heat and lose myself deep in your body. So come with me, my dark-haired beauty. Let me take you to bed, before I go out of my mind with frustration.’

Catrin stared into black eyes which had grown smoky with desire, but the same doubts which had been niggling away at her all week were refusing to go away. He was turning her on the way he always did, but a small voice in her head was asking whether he might not want to talk to her first. It had been weeks since they’d seen one another and something about his attitude was making her feel like an object on which he clearly wanted to slake his lust. Surely for once he could go through the motions of actually wanting to do something other than instantly have sex with her.

You’re nothing but a rich man’s whore.

She swallowed as her mother’s drunken words came echoing back. What would Murat say if she offered him coffee first—or coolly told him she needed to take a shower after rushing back from Wales this morning?

But somehow her body wasn’t listening to these silent objections—it was listening instead to the fierce sexual hunger which Murat had liberated. So she hesitated for no more than a second before letting him lead her towards the master bedroom, as helplessly as a moth to the flame.

Her doubts began to dissolve as he peeled the T-shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground. And soon all her uncertainties were vanquished by the simple action of the mighty Sultan tugging at her jeans and saying something in his native tongue before pushing her down onto the bed.

She was wearing the more practical underwear she tended to opt for when Murat wasn’t in town, because the thongs he favoured tended to ride up between the crack in her bottom and weren’t terribly practical when she was running around. Today she had on plain white panties without a frivolous element in sight.

He stared down at the sensible piece of lingerie for a long moment before reaching down to touch it, his hand brushing over her searing heat before moving aside the moist white panel to gain more intimate entry. He prised apart her molten flesh and she writhed a little as he pleasured her, before he withdrew one glossy finger and started licking it—with a slow eroticism which set her senses sizzling.

‘Oh,’ she said, her disappointment evident as he moved away from the bed.

‘Be patient, my little pussy Cat. And let me lose this damned suit.’

Catrin squirmed with anticipation as she watched him undressing, revealing the magnificent body beneath. The olive-skinned perfection of his torso was marred only by a scar which arrowed across one side of his abdomen. When she had first seen it, she had run wondering fingers along the raised ridge and asked him whether he had sustained a wound in battle. And he had responded rather drily that it was the legacy of a childhood appendectomy, performed at the children’s hospital in Qurhah’s capital city of Simdahab.

The rest of his clothes were quickly discarded and she saw just how aroused he was—his erection completely dominating her line of vision as he joined her on the bed. She could feel its hardness pushing against her belly as he leaned over her and ripped open her brassiere with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide.

She told herself she should be despairing that yet another costly piece of lingerie would now be unwearable—but right then she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except feeling him inside her again.

What did he do that made her feel like this?

What did he do that made her love him so?

‘Murat,’ she moaned, brushing her mouth over his jaw and feeling its rough graze beneath her lips. ‘Oh. Murat.’

‘What is it, my sweet?’ His deep voice shuddered with undisguised pleasure. ‘Tell me.’

She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. If she told him she wished he would confound the gloomy expectations of her mother and make a decent woman of her. She wondered how he’d react if he knew that night after lonely night, when he was back in Qurhah and she was lying alone in this great big bed—sometimes she allowed herself to fantasise about marrying him. About him taking her back to his desert country as his bride...his Sultana—where she would learn to speak his language and bear him fine, strong sons and live with him to the end of her days.

She guessed that he would probably recoil with horror—and then she wouldn’t see him for dust. Because after more than a year of her being Murat’s mistress, any sign of commitment was just as distant as it had been when he’d plucked her from the valleys and brought her to London, quivering with passion and innocence and a fierce sexual hunger.

He’d said from the start that there was no future in this relationship and that marriage was never going to happen. She’d known that when he took a bride, it would be one as unlike her as it was possible to be. And even though she’d told herself she was fine with that, sometimes she wondered if she was just kidding herself. Lately, she had found herself longing for some kind of commitment. For the comfort and security she’d never really had.

But that was a waste of time and energy.

‘Would you like me to tell you how much I missed you?’ she said eagerly.

‘You may tell me whatever you please, my beauty—just as long as you let me reacquaint myself with these magnificent breasts of yours,’ he said, disposing of the now tattered brassiere with a careless flick of his fingers. ‘For I have been dreaming about licking them like this.’

Catrin stifled a moan. ‘So have I.’

‘Shall I play with your pretty nipples?’ he continued. ‘Shall I lick them and suck them and make you wet in lots of different places?’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ she breathed.

‘And is there anything else I should do?’ His hand began to move down over the concave dip of her torso. She felt the exploratory caress of his palm as it skated over her belly, a forefinger briefly circling the faint dip of her navel before it continued its journey. ‘Anything else I can tempt you with?’

‘Can’t you...guess?’ she whispered.

‘I can try. I think you might want me to slide down these rather schoolmistressy panties you’re wearing...’

‘You don’t like them?’

‘They are a fantasy I didn’t realise I had until now. I just want to get the damned things off.’

His finger hooked inside the garment to give action to his words, but then it stilled. Lifting her head to see why, Catrin looked into his face and she saw something in his eyes she didn’t recognise. Something which made her screw her face up in confusion because...was it sadness she read there?

‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Murat—is something wrong?’

But the sadness—if that was what it had been—had now been replaced by the much more familiar smoulder of lust.

‘No, nothing is wrong,’ he growled as he slid the panties down over her knees and started to kiss her.

Catrin shuddered out a sigh as he brought her closer to him, because this was a dance she knew so well that it had become almost second nature to her. Her sexual experience before she’d met Murat had been zero, but the Sultan had changed all that. He had taught her so much. To trust her body and to love it. And that sex was the most sublime of all pleasures and she should never feel guilty about enjoying it.

A whole month of being without him had left her feeling desperate to touch him like this. She marvelled at the seamless slotting of their bodies. She cried out with joy as he entered her.

‘Oh, Cat,’ he murmured as he paused to allow her body to accommodate him.

‘You feel so...good.’

‘And so do you,’ came his unsteady response. ‘Sweet storm of the desert—so do you!’

Murat felt his mouth grow dry as he concentrated on each exquisite thrust. His hands cupped the silken globes of her buttocks as he moved deeper inside her. He thought that she felt like velvet. Hot, smooth velvet. He wanted this feeling to last. He wanted to stay trapped inside her and to spend the rest of the night kissing her soft, sweet lips. But nothing lasted. He knew that. And the sudden bitterness of what lay ahead made him drive into her more deeply still.

Her body began to arch and to quiver as the first spasm of orgasm claimed her and he took just long enough to watch the flush which bloomed over her breasts, before he too went under. Crying out in his native tongue, his seed seeming to burst from him in a fierce explosion of pleasure.

Time slowed and a torpor began to steal over him. He lifted a lazy hand to tangle his fingers in her hair but he could see a sudden wariness on her face as she gazed at him. He wanted to sleep but it seemed she was not keen to let him.

‘So what brought you back so early?’ she questioned, leaning over him so that her long hair tickled his chest.

‘I juggled my schedule a little.’ He yawned. ‘There’s someone I need to see. In fact, we’re having dinner with him tonight.’

‘But—’ she frowned ‘—I’ve made gazpacho—and some lemon soufflé.’

He laughed. ‘Now you sound like a housewife.’

There was a pause. ‘I thought you liked me to play housewife.’

‘Well, sometimes I do.’ And sometimes I don’t.

‘And you always reserve your first evening back for just the two of us.’

‘I know I do.’ He failed to stifle a second yawn. ‘And I’m sorry, Cat—but this meeting can’t be postponed.’

‘Right.’

Murat registered the disappointment in her voice even though she was doing her best to disguise it. Yet surely she must realise that she had been given more access to him than any other woman he’d ever known. Maybe now might be a good time to remind her. But the sudden darkness which was clouding her eyes made him want to placate her instead, so he stroked his hand down over her hip. ‘But you will enjoy meeting Niccolo. He’s flying to New York in the morning and so it made sense to meet him here in London.’

Her face relaxed a little. ‘Not the infamous Niccolo Da Conti who I’ve never been allowed to meet before? One of your Three Musketeer friends?’

‘Yes, that’s him,’ said Murat. ‘And it’s not a case of you not being allowed to meet him—it’s just that our paths don’t often cross in London, which is why I usually meet up with him in Qurhah.’

‘And I’m never allowed to set foot in Qurhah, am I?’

‘Unfortunately, no.’ With a soft growl he extended his hand and pulled her closer and as soon as he felt the softness of her body, he wanted her again. ‘But I don’t want to talk about all the factors which keep us apart. In fact, I don’t want to talk about anything. I haven’t seen you for almost a month and there’s only one thing on my mind. So lean over and kiss me, Cat.’

She did, of course. Because how could any woman resist a man as gorgeous as Murat the Magnificent? Against the whiteness of the bedding, his body gleamed like burnished gold. He was like a god, she thought as she lowered her head to brush her lips over his. A dark golden god, lying next to her.

But, out of nowhere, that scary feeling came back again. The one which made her feel as if she were falling off the edge of a cliff in slow motion. The one which gave her more pain than pleasure. The one which made her silently want to scream her denial. She wasn’t in love with him. She didn’t want to be. There was nothing to be gained from loving him.

More of her mother’s words came filtering back and she didn’t seem able to silence them.

Has he spoken to you about the future, Catrin? Has he?

Catrin moved restlessly. No, he most certainly had not. Their relationship contained plenty of fancy bows—but no strings. The future had been discussed and dismissed at the very beginning. Put away in a drawer which had been slammed shut and locked away.

‘Stop frowning like that,’ he murmured. ‘And feel this instead.’

His boast was unashamedly sexual as he guided her hand between his legs and her cheeks grew hot as she met the mocking look in his eyes. Her fingers curled around his silken hardness as he pulled her mouth down towards his, and suddenly there was nothing in her mind but sensation.

She wondered if she was a weak person, because all her doubts flew straight out of her mind as soon as Murat began to kiss her. Yet this, more than anything else, felt right and, oh, so familiar.

Her thoughts splintered as she felt his fingers begin to explore her flesh, because hadn’t it always been this way? Hadn’t the chemistry between them exploded from the moment their paths had first crossed, when the impossible had happened?

And a humble girl from the valleys had captured the eye of a powerful and impossibly wealthy sultan.

CHAPTER TWO

IT HAD BEEN one of those amazing mornings in Wales, where spring came later than anywhere else in Britain. Blossom was frothing like candyfloss on the trees, and all you could hear was birdsong. Nobody could have predicted that the peace of the small town was about to be broken by the arrival of an exotic stranger with his convoy of bodyguards, who all carried guns beneath the straining suits which covered their bulky frames.

Catrin had been enjoying life and relishing her freedom. She’d finally escaped from the poisonous atmosphere of home and found herself a job in a small hotel on the other side of Wales, though she was still close enough to pay duty calls to her mother. Their relationship had always been difficult, and if it hadn’t been for her younger sister, then Catrin would have left home much sooner. But you couldn’t leave a young girl alone to live with a drunk, could you? Just like you couldn’t stop someone from hitting the vodka, no matter how many bottles of the stuff you tipped down the sink.

Her whole life felt as if it had been consumed with shielding her sister from the daily drama of their mother’s life, but with Rachel now at university Catrin had been able to make a new life for herself.

Freedom felt heady. It made her feel giddy—like a new-born lamb stumbling from the darkness into a sunlit meadow. No longer did she feel fearful whenever she opened the door. She didn’t have to rescue anyone or bail them out. She didn’t have to pretend that things were hunky-dory when patently they were not. She could stay out late and not have to explain herself. Not that there were many opportunities to stay out late—when the nearest big town was miles away and the buses irregular. It was just the principle of freedom which she found so exhilarating.

She was trained for nothing in particular, but she was bright and adaptable and her willingness to work meant that the rest of the hotel staff liked her. Her bookworm habit had given her a knowledge of the world which didn’t match her haphazard schooling, which meant she could talk easily to anyone—so the customers liked her, too. A year after joining the Hindmarsh Hotel, she could begin to see a future for herself in the hospitality industry.

The barmaid had been off sick one day and Catrin had stepped in at short notice, when Murat Al Maisan walked into the bar. A sudden silence descended and Catrin glanced up to find herself looking into a pair of inky eyes. He was staring very hard and it took a moment or two for her to realise that his narrowed gaze was directed at her. If she hadn’t been standing with her back against a wall, she might have thought he was looking at someone else. But he wasn’t.

He was looking at her.

His eyes were travelling over her in a way which if it had been anyone else, Catrin might have found offensive. But with him it didn’t feel a bit offensive. With him, it felt...natural. As if she had been waiting all her life for him to look at her that way. Every vein in her body seemed to open wider to let the ever-quickening pulse of blood through. She could feel her breasts growing heavy and the palms of her hands getting clammy. Her reaction confused her. It scared her and excited her. It made her words come out sounding more clipped than usual, although nothing could disguise the soft lilt of her Welsh accent.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

There was a pause. His eyes were still narrowed. His voice was low and caressing. ‘I suspect you can help me in ways you haven’t even begun to dream of,’ he said, in an accent she’d never heard before.

‘I’m sorry?’

He shook his head, the way people did when they were trying to clear their ears after they’d been swimming. As if he’d just found himself in a place he hadn’t expected to be. ‘Some coffee, I think.’

Catrin raised her eyebrows and spoke to him in exactly the same way as she might speak to any young farmer who had taken temporary leave of their manners. ‘I usually respond better to the word “please”.’

He smiled then, before looking at her with a hard and playful gleam in his eyes. The way a cat looked at a bird which was high up in a tree. ‘Please.’

Afterwards she would discover that it had been impulse which had brought him into the old-fashioned hotel, leaving a whole fleet of accompanying bodyguards kicking their heels outside. He told her later that fate must have lured him there, because he had been meant to meet her. And that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Of course, she hadn’t known any of this as he sat down and began to sip his coffee and asked what her name was. And although she rarely socialised with customers, she found herself standing on the other side of the bar talking to him—or, rather, listening to what he was saying about wind farms, which was the reason for his visit to the area. At that point she still hadn’t discovered that he was a sultan who ruled a vast area of oil-rich land and was wealthy in a way which was outside her understanding.

All she knew was that he spoke like no one else she’d ever heard. His accented voice made her think of velvet and stone. He exuded an air of self-possession she found irresistible. And he flirted in a way she knew was dangerous, but which didn’t stop her from responding. She would have defied any woman on the planet not to have responded.

‘I suppose people must tell you all the time that your eyes are very beautiful,’ he said, making her stomach flip as he sucked on a coffee-dunked lump of sugar. ‘They are the colour of a cactus.’

‘A cactus!’ She looked at him perplexed, and pursed her lips together. ‘A horrible prickly cactus?’

‘That is the general perception of the plant, yes,’ he agreed, his voice dipping into a silken caress. ‘But it happens to be one of the world’s most underrated examples of vegetation. Not only can they can store water and survive in the most arduous of conditions, but they provide nourishment and have many medicinal properties.’ He smiled again. ‘As well as producing flowers of quite breathtaking beauty.’

Rapt now, Catrin nodded. His words sounded...incredible. Like poetry. She wanted to hear more of them. They made her want him to whisper things. Things which weren’t about plants. Things about her. Things about...

Her cheeks were burning as she walked to the other end of the bar and took ages pulling a pint of beer for another customer, because it was wrong to think that way. She knew that there were two types of men and this one was the wrong type. Hadn’t her mother always told her to look in the mirror if she needed any proof about the wrong type?

‘Why are you blushing?’ he asked softly.

She looked up and suddenly she could think of nothing but him. Common sense and playing safe seemed like quite reasonable endeavours for other people, but not for her. Everything she’d ever been told about handsome, dangerous men began to trickle away, like the froth on top of the pint she was pulling. She looked deep into his eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

‘I’ve never actually seen a flowering cactus,’ she said.

He smiled, and there was the heartbeat of a pause. ‘Haven’t you?’

The next day, a delivery was made. At first it looked like a regular florist’s delivery—with its shiny cellophane and fancy ribbon. It was only when she opened it that Catrin discovered the succulent green leaves of a cactus on which bloomed miniature petalled suns, in shades of cerise and rose. She’d never been sent flowers before and she’d certainly never been given anything like this. The originality and unexpectedness of the gesture stabbed at her heart with a fierce kind of joy.

She guessed it was inevitable that she should agree to have dinner with him. What she didn’t anticipate—and which afterwards surprised her as much as him—was ending up in Murat’s four-poster bed overlooking Bala Lake that very same night.

It was wild. Or rather, she was wild. She had never known something could feel so good. Her hands splayed eagerly over his naked body as he kissed her and she clung to him as greedily as a barnacle to a rock. At first, he seemed a little taken aback by her passion, but the moan he gave as he thrust deep inside her made her feel almost powerful.

The next bit wasn’t great because it hurt and because he was furious that she’d omitted to mention the small matter of her virginity.

‘Why me?’ he demanded afterwards, as if giving someone your innocence were a burden rather than a gift.

‘Because...because I’d waited for someone who knew what they were doing and you fitted the bill. I wanted it be fantastic. And it was. Why?’ She rolled over, resting her elbows on his chest and looking straight into his eyes. ‘Is it important?’

‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the habit of seducing virgins. Their dreams are still intact.’

‘Too late,’ she teased, her mouth trailing over his hair-roughened chest.

He did it to her again. And again. And the third time she lay trembling in his arms, kissing the same spot on his shoulder, over and over again. He was stroking her hair and when she spoke, her voice was dazed.

‘That was...amazing.’

‘I know,’ he said, running the tip of his tongue over her ear. ‘They say it takes a little practice for a woman to orgasm.’

‘Then I think it’s very important I keep practising,’ she said solemnly and he laughed.

‘You are a curious mixture,’ he observed slowly, ‘of the unworldly and the seasoned.’

‘And is that a good thing or a bad thing?’

‘I can’t quite decide,’ came his answer. ‘All I know is that I find you quite enchanting and I’m not sure that I’m prepared to let you go.’

She snuggled up to him. ‘Then don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Keep on holding me, just like that.’

They were both talking about different things, of course. As someone who had learnt never to project, Catrin was thinking about the glorious present, while—unusually for him—Murat was speculating about the future. She said goodbye, telling herself that she would probably never see him again—but to her astonishment he returned the following week, when she had two whole days off.

‘You see,’ he said lightly. ‘I just can’t keep away from you.’

She made no attempt to hide her delight as he pulled her into his arms. For the first time in her life she understood the meaning of the expression walking on air. She found herself thanking some unknown fate, which had brought her to the other side of Wales, leaving her to conduct her love affair without fear of her mother turning up and creating a scene.

But that was something else she liked about Murat. He wasn’t interested in her family, or her background. Why would he be, when this was never meant to be anything but temporary? It meant that she didn’t have to go through the agonising torture of explaining what her home life had been like.

They booked into the same hotel overlooking Bala Lake and for two whole days they scarcely left the bedroom. She wondered how she was going to cope when he went back to his other life. His real life. His desert life, which he’d told her about and which had no room for someone like her.

She tried not to think about it, but it was impossible not to. It was hard to equate her fierce lover with a man who ruled a vast kingdom and rode a black stallion over hot and arid sands. She ran her fingertips through the rich silk of his ebony hair and tried not to think about losing him.

Did he guess at her thoughts, or did he read it in her eyes? Was that why he came out with his extraordinary proposition on that last afternoon, before he was due to drive back to London for a business dinner?

‘Come away with me,’ he said, pulling on the jacket of his elegant Italian suit.

She blinked. ‘Where?’

‘To London. I have an apartment there. You could live there.’

‘With you?’

He gave a funny kind of smile. ‘Well, sometimes.’

If only she hadn’t been so naïve. If only she’d realised what she was getting herself into, and that women like her were never offered permanence. The only permanence in Murat’s life was his palace and his busy schedule in Qurhah. The trips he made to England were fleeting and irregular and he certainly wasn’t offering her a conventional relationship.

But she wasn’t used to convention—or relationships. She was a stranger to commitment and she told herself she didn’t do emotion. Emotion brought chaos—and she’d had enough chaos to last a lifetime.

She thought of turning him down and then asked herself why she would do something that insane. And really, what alternative did she have, when the thought of him walking out of her life made her feel as if someone were trying to hack open her heart with a blunt chisel?

That was when and how she had become a rich man’s mistress. She had gone to London to be with Murat and slowly but surely her independence had begun to ebb away. The job she’d found at a big hotel soon proved incompatible with her new life, because quickly she learned that was the first rule of being a mistress.

You always needed to be available.

Murat told her that his world was full of pressure and that she—uniquely—soothed his frazzled nerves. He liked her being there when he arrived in England and didn’t want her working shifts and wasting precious time when she could be with him. He waved aside her initial protests that she couldn’t possibly use his charge card. He told her that he had more than enough money for both of them. That she was, in effect, acting as his housekeeper since she made his apartment feel like a home.

So she had let him slide that plastic card into her brand-new designer wallet. Just as she’d let him kit her out in silks and satins and started having her hair done regularly at one of London’s most exclusive hair salons.

She hadn’t thought about how long it would last. She hadn’t thought beyond each glorious day. But she had started to like him more and more. And that was when she had started trying to make it perfect. The perfect relationship to make up for her very imperfect childhood.

She learned that expensive fabrics felt better against the skin than cheap ones. She learned to enjoy visiting the spa in preparation for his visits, and having her body pummelled and anointed with buttery creams. She learned to fill his many absences with the short courses available to rich women with plenty of time on their hands. She did musical appreciation and flower arrangement. She got herself a cordon bleu certificate and learned about different wines. She found that she had a real passion for the history of art. Suddenly, she was getting herself an education.

He introduced her to first one colleague, and then another. Sometimes they brought their wives, sometimes their mistresses. She discovered that her time at the Hindmarsh Hotel had proved very useful, because she could talk to almost anyone with an easy charm. She learnt to read up about people before meeting them and to impress them with her knowledge of wind farms, or fracking—or whatever was currently occupying the business life of her royal lover.

In a way, she was teaching herself to become the perfect consort of a powerful man, but there was no prospect of such a permanent role. Not for her. He needed to marry a pure-blooded royal; a bona fide desert princess. He had been very honest about that, right from the start.

They had understood each other, or so she’d thought. And because there had been no lies or pretence, she’d thought it would be easy to accept the rigid terms of their relationship.

And it was. At least, at the beginning it was. It was love which was the killer. Love which made her want more than she was ever going to get...

* * *

‘Cat?’

Murat’s shuddered use of her name brought her thoughts crashing back to the present and Catrin opened her eyes to find his face inches away from hers. She could see the gleam of his black eyes and feel the warmth of his breath as his naked body melded close to hers, her breasts flattened against his hair-roughened chest.

‘What is it, my beauty?’ he questioned, his breathing unsteady as he ran his hand possessively down over the curve of her hip. ‘You were miles away.’

No way was she going to admit to inhabiting the dangerous landscape of the past—or tell him about all the stupid doubts which had been crowding her mind. She shook her head and pressed her body closer, feeling his hardness pushing insistently against her wet heat.

‘I’m here now,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m all yours.’

But for how long? she wondered.

Parting her thighs, he thrust deep inside her—but even as her body opened up to welcome him, she could feel another hint of darkness closing around her heart.

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