LITMIR.BIZ

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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,’

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