His heart ached.
He could not think straight.
And for the first time in his life, he was unsure what to do.
Just before he’d left, he had told her that he loved her, thinking that such an admission would be cathartic. That he could let out those strange feelings which had gripped his heart so intensely and then he would be free of them. But he was not free of them. On the contrary, he was bound by them as surely as if they were chains of iron. He missed her as much as he had done from the beginning and he wanted her even more.
He thought about the way he’d felt as his car had driven away from that little Welsh seaside town. How the tears had slid noiselessly down his cheeks, unseen by anyone else, but startling him, all the same. He had only ever cried once before and that had been when his mother had died. He had been brought up in a culture where strength was everything; where it was considered wrong for a man to ever show his feelings. And that had never been a problem before, because he’d never had real feelings for a woman before.
But suddenly, he was consumed by them.
He looked at the portrait above the desk, at the fierce expression of the ancient Sultan and those hard and glittering black eyes which marked out all the Al Maisan men. He thought about what his life must have been like and then compared it to his own.
His mind went back to the things Cat had said to him, just before he’d left. Her breathless words and the appeal in her eyes had haunted him for days afterwards. He had tried very hard not to think about her, but that hadn’t worked either. And suddenly he found himself wondering how he could have been so...stupid.
He turned to Bakri and his emissary tensed, as if he had seen something in his monarch’s face which was momentous.
‘I cannot marry the princess,’ said Murat and his words sounded flat and hard as they echoed around that high-ceilinged room.
‘But, sire—’
‘Yes,’ said Murat. ‘I know what you’re going to say, Bakri and that you will be justified. I realise that I cannot continue to behave like this. That it isn’t fair to the women in question, nor is it fair to my people to keep refusing to marry, and to provide them with the heir which they long for. But I have a solution.’
Bakri narrowed his eyes. ‘You do?’
‘I do,’ said Murat grimly. ‘Get me Gabe Steel on the phone, will you?’
* * *
Catrin stared at the general manager as if she hadn’t heard him properly. ‘Could you...um...repeat that?’ she questioned.
Stephen Le Saux nodded, and smiled. ‘Of course. We’re very pleased with you, Catrin. You’ve worked very hard and shown great promise since you’ve been here. You’ve proved that you can turn your hand to pretty much anything and we’d like you to fly down to the Cornish hotel in our group. The assistant general manager has been taken ill and we need a safe pair of hands to help them cope, until she’s back on her feet. And it’s been decided that you would be the perfect candidate.’
Catrin swallowed, guessing that praise was exactly what she needed at a time like this, though she couldn’t deny her surprise. It was an honour to be asked, yes—but did she deserve it? She had been trying to work hard ever since Murat had gone back to Qurhah, but her heart hadn’t really been in it. Maybe it was difficult for a heart to be enthusiastic about anything when it felt so empty. As if there were a hole in your chest where that heart used to be.