Sheikh's Dark Seduction: Seduced by the Sultan. Olivia Gates

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

      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.