Seduced by the Sultan(15)

                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?’