Seduced by the Sultan. Sharon Kendrick
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—’
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