Seduced by the Sultan(46)

                He walked over to the small window and looked out onto a yard filled with bins, before turning back—his black eyes narrowed in question. ‘Why did you run out on me in Italy like that?’

                ‘You know the answer to that question—so please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t. I went because I needed to get away and I didn’t want to have to ask your permission. I’m a free agent now and I look after myself.’

                ‘You didn’t think I’d be worried?’

                ‘Funnily enough, your reaction wasn’t the biggest thing on my mind. For once, it wasn’t about you, Murat. It was about me.’ The effort of saying so much had tired her out and she sat down on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. ‘What are you doing here?’

                Once again, he swept his gaze over the small room, countering her question with one of his own. ‘Why have you come back to Wales?’

                ‘Because of...family reasons.’ Rather defensively, she stared at him. ‘I like it. It’s a decent enough hotel and quite adequate for my needs. How did you find me?’

                ‘A person can always be found.’

                ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

                ‘The answer isn’t important. I have means at my disposal—you know that. What matters is why you’re here.’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of family reasons?’

                She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

                ‘Yes, it does.’

                She had forgotten about his stubborn nature and autocratic determination to get his own way. She’d forgotten that, a few minutes in his company, she would be longing for him to hold her in his arms again. She pushed a strand of hair away from her hot cheek and met the question which was lancing from his eyes.

                And why was she resisting telling him? Wouldn’t the truth kill off any residual dreams of romance for good—and send him running from here at the speed of light? Was that what she was secretly afraid of?

                Catrin felt a sudden rush of nerves constricting her throat as the inevitable moment of revelation approached. If only she were somebody different, it might not have mattered. If she’d been one of those high-born aristocratic women with bishops and artists in her lineage, then an eccentric relative would have been perfectly acceptable.

                But she wasn’t.

                She was just ordinary Catrin Thomas, who always dreaded this moment more than any other. She hated the shame and the pity which always hardened people’s eyes when they found out. And she would have given anything not to see it in Murat’s.

                ‘My sister asked me to come back to Wales to help with my mother, who is...sick.’

                A frowning look of consternation crossed over his face. ‘Then why on earth didn’t you just say so?’

                She didn’t answer for a moment.

                ‘Cat?’

                ‘Because it’s not the kind of illness you want to shout from the rooftops,’ she said. ‘My mother is...’

                ‘Your mother is what?’ Murat prompted and now his voice sounded almost gentle and, in an awful way, that made it worse. She didn’t want him being gentle, or understanding or any of those things he wasn’t supposed to be. She wanted him to be hard and stern and autocratic, because surely that would help prepare her for the revulsion which he’d be unable to disguise when eventually she told him.