AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Because as always Murat was in charge. Everything he touched, he controlled—even here, in a house he did not own. He was still calling the shots, wasn’t he? Just as he always did. Having sex with her even though she’d told him she didn’t want it.
But you did want it, didn’t you?
And if she stayed here, it was only going to happen again. She would keep making the same mistakes, over and over.
Cautiously she rolled away from him, but he didn’t stir and she forced herself to lie there until she could hear the sound of the other guests going to bed—the sounds of their goodnights echoing through the silence.
She lay there until the hand of her watch crept around to two o’clock and the house was completely still, and then she slipped from the bed, tiptoeing across the room to switch the light off. Murat stirred a little, but he did not wake.
Under the cover of darkness, she felt more secure. She crept over to the wardrobe and fished out a clean pair of panties and then put on a pair of cotton trousers beneath her dress. Wrapping a soft pashmina around her neck, she walked quietly over to the desk where Murat had left the official paraphernalia which accompanied him everywhere.
With fingers which were miraculously steady, she found his wallet. The amount of Euros inside was substantial, but she needed enough to pay for a taxi to the airport and a one-way ticket on a commercial airline. So she didn’t feel a flicker of guilt as she extracted a wad of notes.
Sliding her feet into her canvas shoes, she picked up her handbag and crept from the bedroom. Through the silent house she moved, using the back door of the kitchen to gain access to the grounds.
Beneath the starry skies, all was quiet and she thanked heaven that there were no guard dogs patrolling the premises. But her heart was still thundering with anxiety as she slipped among the shadows to the boundaries of the property, terrified that one of the bodyguards might hear her.
Among neat rows of broad beans and tomato plants, she found an unlocked gate—presumably one used by the gardener—and she let herself out. Her breathing was laboured as she descended the dusty track they’d driven up earlier. In the distance, she could hear a faint grunting sound and then a rustle. She wondered if that was the sound of wild boar, scrabbling around in the forested area, then told herself not to let her imagination run away with itself. Because rural Italy wasn’t so different from rural Wales, was it? She had grown up in the countryside and knew there was little to fear as long as you were sensible.
But nothing had prepared her for a such a night-time journey, in a strange country whose language she did not speak. She experienced a couple of moments of panic, before reminding herself that she had spent her life being adaptable. She was good at it. And how difficult could it be? She could see the small, hilltop glitter of lights in the distance. Lights meant a village and that village must have a taxi.
She had a smartphone with a bilingual dictionary and plenty of money. Even if she couldn’t find a cab until morning, it was a warm night and she was perfectly prepared to wait.
All she knew was that she was going to do this—and she was going to do it on her own.
She could be strong and she would be strong.
She was going to need to be.
CHAPTER NINE
THE LOUD POUNDING inside her head wouldn’t seem to stop and Catrin raised her fingertips to her throbbing temples and groaned. Her mouth felt bone-dry and her skin was burning up—so why were her teeth chattering as wildly as if she’d been camping out all night on some Arctic waste?
Rolling over on the narrow bed, she picked up her wristwatch and tried to focus on it as the pounding miraculously stopped. She swallowed. Should she take another couple of aspirin to try to bring her temperature down? Was it four hours since she’d had the last lot?
The incessant noise resumed and she realised that it wasn’t coming from inside her head, but from outside her door.
‘Go away,’ she mumbled.
But if whoever was knocking had heard her, they certainly weren’t taking any notice. She wondered if she could get away with ignoring the summons, but, whoever it was, they were persistent. It was almost as if somebody knew she was in there and wasn’t going to give up until she answered. Probably someone who wanted to borrow milk. Or maybe just someone who was lonely and fancied a chat. The place was full of people like that. Staff accommodation in hotels like this seemed to be teeming with people who had sad stories to tell. She had one of her own, but she suspected that nobody would ever believe it.
Wearily, she g
ot up off the bed and walked over to the door with something like a smile pinned to her face. She would say she was ill and hopefully they would take the hint and beat a hasty retreat.
But her smile faded the moment she pulled the door open, and her overheated body grew completely still. She blinked once or twice, as if her vision had become faulty, but she quickly realised that it hadn’t. That the most feared and most longed-for outcome had materialised and Murat was standing in her doorway, looking completely out of place in his expensive Italian suit, with his black eyes boring into her.
A wave of dizziness washed over her—a mixture of lust and fever and sheer apprehension. She thought about shutting the door in his face to avoid a confrontation she didn’t want. But what would be the point? You didn’t shut the door on the Sultan of Qurhah because he would probably use his royal privilege to get the owner of the hotel to come and open it for him. Or kick it down himself, most probably. And besides, wouldn’t that be a cowardly gesture? She wasn’t afraid of Murat and what he had to say, was she?
Was she?
She ran the back of her hand over her damp brow.
No. She wasn’t.
It had taken guts to run away and leave him in the dead of night in that remote part of Italy, and to sit alone in that bus shelter until the small village had woken up and she’d persuaded a taxi to take her to Rome airport. And even more guts to throw her phone away once she’d arrived back in England and Murat had rung her, furiously demanding to know what had happened. She had reassured him that she was safe but she had realised that, as long as he had her number, there would always be the chance that he might contact her. And the chance that she might be weak enough to go back to him.
But it seemed he had found her anyway—and it would only play into his hands if she showed him she was scared. Why be scared when he was on her territory? All she had to do was concentrate. To remind herself that he was no good for her. She had played out this scene in her head many times, imagining what she’d do if she ever saw him again—and she knew that the most important thing of all was to act as if she didn’t care.
