Seduced by the Sultan(55)
In the faintly tinted light of the limousine, Murat looked into Cat’s screwed-up face—guessing how much those unsteady words had cost her to say.
He thought back to the scene which had greeted him at her mother’s house. He had seen much during desert warfare which had shocked him, but he had been completely taken aback by the squalor he’d encountered there. He wondered if subconsciously Cat had rebelled against that childhood squalor and whether that had been one of the reasons why she’d become such an exemplary homemaker.
He prayed that his intervention with her mother would work, because he knew that addicts had a notoriously poor rate of recovery. He had sensed Cat’s anxiety as they had waited for the doctor’s car which was to take Ursula Thomas to the airport and ultimately to the rehab unit in Arizona. And he had sensed her hope, too. He had seen her struggling to hold onto her composure as she had gently helped her mother into the back of the car. He tried to imagine the child she must have been, growing up with that constant sense of chaos and terror. Having to protect her younger sister from all the confusion which surrounded them. His heart had clenched then, with pain for all she must have experienced, and frustration that nobody had been there to help her.
She had spent most of the journey back to the hotel in silence, looking out of the window as if she’d never seen those rain-soft views before. But now that they were here, she had no choice but to look at him and he could sense her reluctance to do so. Was it his imagination, or were those cactus-green eyes suspiciously bright? Was she close to tears? He wouldn’t know. Over the years he had been subjected to the tearful displays of many women, often provoked by his refusal to do what they wanted. But this particular woman had never once cried in front of him.
Yet she, more than most, had cause to.
She had kept so much hidden from him...though at last he could understand why. Hers was not the kind of background you’d want to shout about from the rooftops—especially to a man who came from one of the oldest and proudest dynasties in the world. And he had never pressed her, had he? Arrogantly, he had breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been one of those women who wanted to yank out every emotion and memory, and then analyse them to death.
He kept his eyes fixed on her pale face. ‘I don’t know that I’m ready to say goodbye just yet. Are you?’
Catrin blinked rapidly until she was certain that she wasn’t going to let herself down by bursting into tears, though she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together. If she got out of the car now, she could make it safely back to her room and nobody but her would see her cry.
Yet didn’t part of her want to extend this bit for as long as possible? Because she knew that this really would be the last time she would ever see Murat. He would never come into her life again after today.
Her heart gave a little twist of pain. He had returned because he had been worried about her and had discovered much more than he’d ever bargained for. The stark differences between them had been revealed with much greater clarity than she would have chosen. But now he could turn his back on her for good, his conscience clear. He had done his duty. He had helped her mother—and now the slate was wiped perfectly clean.
This was the last time she would ever stare into that face—a hard face which disguised his surprising kindness and even—she bit her lip—a gentleness which had made her heart want to melt. He had not judged her mother but had simply sought a practical solution to her dilemma, and for that she would be grateful to him for ever.
Yet she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye either. Like him, she wanted to prolong it, just a bit more. ‘We could go and have coffee if you like,’ she said.
His dark brows knitted together. ‘In your room?’