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From his half-reclining position on the bed, Murat glanced up from the papers he’d been working on, to see Cat framed in the doorway of their bedroom. Her dark hair was piled into a thick twist on top of her head and her cheeks were flushed from the long bath she had insisted on taking, leaving him in the unfamiliar position of waiting. A short, towelling robe was knotted tightly around her narrow waist and her legs gave off a silky sheen of newly moisturised skin. And she still looked angry.
His papers forgotten, he leaned back against the pillows. ‘Did you really think that I’d be able to go to sleep after what’s just happened?’
She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Your current behaviour is something of a mystery to me, but that won’t be my problem after this weekend is over.’
She walked over to one of the drawers and Murat watched as she pulled out one of the nightgowns she usually only wore whenever they were travelling. There was a brief flash of flesh as the towelling robe was swiftly replaced by the slither of creamy silk and lace as she pulled the gown over her head.
‘You don’t usually wear anything in bed,’ he observed.
She straightened up and looked at him. ‘Ah, but th
ese are not usual times, Murat. Even you must realise that.’ Pulling the pins from her hair, she went to turn off the light, but he shook his head.
‘No. Don’t put the light out.’
‘It’s late.’
‘I know what time it is.’
She pulled back the duvet. ‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m still not in the mood for sex.’
‘No.’ And the strange thing was that neither was he. Oh, he was aroused just from looking at her, that much was a given. He could feel the heavy beat of desire as she climbed into bed beside him. But he recognised that having sex now would somehow be inappropriate, like going out to dinner and discovering you’d forgotten to put your trousers on. Too much had been left unsaid. There was too much distance between them. Her body language was unfamiliarly cool. And it was funny...but when you took sex out of the equation, it forced you to look at a situation with a new and disturbing clarity.
With a start he realised just how much he took her for granted. How he always expected her to be instantly acquiescent whenever he arrived back in London. Always smiling. Always scented. Eagerly opening her arms and her thighs for him. Letting him rip the exquisite lingerie from her body before ravishing her. Because that was how women had always allowed him to behave. How they wanted him to behave. Indeed, it seemed to feed into the fantasises of most women to discover just how sexually masterful he could be. He had grown up in a macho culture where the wishes of men reigned supreme and he’d certainly never come up against any opposition to that viewpoint from the opposite sex.
She was the perfect mistress, of course she was, because she completely sublimated herself to his desires and wishes. Yet while that had always been immensely satisfactory, wasn’t this new and unpredictable Cat making his heart race in an unexpectedly powerful way?
He placed his papers on the bedside table and turned to look at her. Her eyes were tightly closed and for a moment he almost smiled at the fierce look of determination on her face. ‘Look at me,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to look at you. I’m still angry with you.’
‘I know you are—and I recognise that you have a right to be. I should have spoken to you about what was happening and I think we both know why I didn’t. But we’ve discussed that and we can’t go back and change it.’ His voice lowered. ‘And I’m wondering if we’re going to waste our last weekend together fighting?’
At this, her eyelashes fluttered open, their feathered darkness revealing a vivid emerald gaze which was tinged with reproach.
‘What else did you have in mind instead of fighting? I’ve just told you that I’m not in the mood for sex and since that’s pretty much your only method of communication, then I imagine you must be stumped about what to do next.’
He leaned over her, inhaling the scent of her clean skin. He felt the unsteady skip of his heart. ‘How about a simple kiss goodnight?’
Catrin stared up into the hawk-like face which was now inches away from hers. She felt...disorientated. As if night had suddenly become day. As if she had woken from a dream into a new world she barely recognised. All she knew was that the balance of power between them had shifted and she was on unfamiliar territory. Suddenly, Murat was on the back foot. He wasn’t demanding from her, or just reaching out and taking. For once he seemed to be seeking her permission—even her approval. And he was about to discover that she wasn’t letting him off that lightly.
She gave him a candid look. ‘It won’t just be a goodnight kiss though, will it? You won’t be satisfied with that.’
‘I may not be satisfied with it,’ he said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.’
Something in his response made her bite back a reluctant smile and, chastely, she turned her cheek towards him. ‘Oh, very well. One kiss, that’s all.’
But gently, he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly turned her head around to face him. She saw the flicker of something she didn’t recognise in his eyes before he lowered his head towards hers.
It was a butterfly kiss. The faintest brush of his mouth against hers. Such a grazing touch that it was barely there—but it was enough to set her senses on fire. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. She could feel the lick of his saliva, as the tip of his tongue flicked tantalisingly at the entrance to her mouth.
And instantly, she wanted him to insert his tongue fully, to mimic the action of a far greater intimacy which her body was already beginning to crave. Her breasts grew heavy and the honeyed ache deep in her belly made her want to wriggle her body against him.
The hands which had been pillowed behind her head now moved automatically to rest on the bunched muscles of his powerful shoulders. Her fingertips began to dig gentle grooves into the silken flesh as he brought her body close to his.
She could feel his arousal pressing hard against her belly and her blood thickened. She wanted to part her thighs for him. She wanted him to touch her where she was aching to be touched, but even though the effort nearly killed her—she forced herself to pull away.
The way he was looking at her was making her feel vulnerable and she felt a flush of colour creeping into her cheeks. Because she hadn’t seen that expression of indulgence on his face for a long time. Not since... She swallowed.
