Turkish Delights Series (8 page)

“
Guzelim
, please listen to me.” She turned away, refastening her bra, taking those glorious mounds out of his line of sight, which was undoubtedly a good thing if he were going to maintain his tenuous control. Her lips quivered as she pulled her shirt over her head. He yanked her close, held her as she struggled and cursed him. Ran his hands over her hair, down her back.

“I hate you, Levent. I fucking hate you. You and my father and all of you. Let go of me! Now!”

She eluded his embrace, clutched her own elbows and glared at him. His heart sank. “My darling I am only trying to—”

“My God why don’t you want me? What do I have to do? You didn’t want me all those years ago. You stopped being my friend, just disappeared. Now you…you…kiss me and hold me, and I know damn good and well your body wants me.” She cupped his crotch, which still boasted a fabric tent. “I need you, Levent. I want you. Please?” She stepped into his space, wrapped her small, lush body around his, making him moan with consternation as he kissed her, owned her mouth once more, his hands again roaming into forbidden places. He smelled her lust, the earthy spice of her need, and he nearly threw her down on the grass and had her, but he stopped, looking up at the night sky now lit by a million twinkling dots. Her tears dampened his neck and his shirt as he held her.

“I am not meant for you, my darling Vivian. And I cannot take from you a most precious gift you can offer a husband. I…won’t.” His soul sank, his heart ached but his brain kicked in, took over. He knew he spoke truth. He would not let his body rule this day.

“I hate you,” she muttered, as she kept her arms around his waist. They stood like this, her face pressed to his chest, his chin on her head as their bodies cooled and the night wind wrapped around them, binding them, but forcing them apart.

“You don’t. And I promise you.” He tilted her face up and leaned in to press his lips to her forehead. “I will be something someday. And I will find you. Once I’ve proven myself, I will speak to your father. I will ask for his permission to make you mine.”

She stepped out of his arms. He felt cold although she was still a foot away from him. Running an arm over her face, she sniffed. “No you won’t. You still think you’re not good enough. And besides you’re too late.”

His eyebrows knitted into a frown and his skin prickled. “What do you mean,
guzelim
?”

“Oh, just can it with the darlings and beautifuls already, Levent, okay?” She walked away from him, but her next words shot an ice cold spear into his soul. “I’m moving to Ankara. After the Marine Ball next weekend. With, oh hell. Why am I telling you anything?”

It only took two long strides to reach her, to grasp her arm, and turn her to face him. “You are mine,” he growled, surprising himself. She raised an eyebrow. Before he could stop himself, he slanted his mouth over hers, shoved a thigh between hers, yanked her halfway up his body, pressing his still rock hard need against her soft, deliciousness. She met him halfway, and their tongues tangled and teeth clicked as they tried to position themselves for maximum satisfaction.

“Oh dear God in heaven help me,” he muttered into the skin of her neck. “I refuse to take you here, Vivian, like some sort of homeless peasant on the grass. I will have you, and soon, but—”

She laughed and stepped away from him. The sound was the opposite of pleasant. It had a hard edge he’d never heard from her. “No, you won’t. Let’s get out of here. I’m glad you stopped. I don’t want you, not anymore.” Her face was a mask of anger tinged with regret.

He stood back, allowed her to walk away, as everything in him screamed for him to move, to speak, to do something or lose her forever. But she was right. Some things can’t be, and it was fruitless and shameful for him to keep tempting her and stopping. And at that realization, a part of him curled up in the corner and simply died.

Chapter Six

Vivian lay on her stomach, a new journal open in front of her on the bed. She bit the end of her pen, frustrated when neither words nor images would come to her. She rolled over and hit the volume of her radio, the scratchy sounds of the Rolling Stones got louder. The same pirate style radio fad that had gripped England had reproduced itself here, as a bunch of Turkish men sat out in the middle of the Bosporus and played edgy music to anyone within a ten mile radius. She usually loved it. The rebellious concept resonated deep in her psyche. But tonight it irritated, represented useless noise that meant nothing.

It had been a week since the night she’d last seen Levent, the night she’d wanted more than anything for him to fill all the emptiness she’d carried with her since childhood. Her body had ached for him. She’d done everything she knew how to do to prove it to him. But he’d denied her.

She sighed and put a hand over her eyes. They could be together. She knew it. He was what she wanted, but apparently her father knew what she needed and had conveniently produced him in the form of one Major Ronald Harrison, tonight at the dinner table. He’d made valiant noises about her newly shorn hair. Deflecting her father’s scorn over her action, he’d been very supportive. But she had been in no mood to tolerate either of them. Trying to ignore the small voice that spoke, telling her that Levent may want her but had done the right thing cutting off their encounter last week, she blew out a puff of air, rolled onto her back, and berated herself.

She truly didn’t want to act spoiled. But from the moment she could remember having a thought, she knew her father dismissed her as a burden—a female he had to support and then pawn onto some other man. She’d found her own happiness, first with Levent as a child until he was taken from her, then as an ignored daughter in her mother’s house. She’d found a few friends, but they had been ripped out of her life when she had to return to this god-forsaken country once again. It simply wasn’t fair.

She sighed and ran a hand down her breasts, memories of Levent’s eager touch, the huge bulge under his zipper that she’d caressed briefly. Her face flushed and her thighs trembled. Damn him anyway. What was his problem? She was willing to forgo anything her father might provide in the way of approval. But he was so…oh hell. So utterly and completely sexy, so masterful with his lips and hands, and so bloody stubborn.

His voice permeated her dreams, his laugh, the wicked gleam he’d get in his eyes just before he taught her something dangerous or forbidden all those years ago, it was maddening. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing him out of her head. But he wouldn’t go.

She glanced over at the expensive formal dress hanging on the dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. It was red, at her insistence, cut classically on the bias with a tight skirt and guaranteed to hug every curvy inch of her to perfection. Turkey was full of stellar dressmakers. Her father had procured one who’d produced one of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever worn. But she didn’t want it. Didn’t want to go to the stupid dance with Ron. Handsome, yes, and polite, and very straight laced, he had tried to grope her a little tonight when her father had left the two of them along in the study after dinner. “Your hair will grow back,” he’d kept reassuring her as if she cared. She’d let him touch her. Why not? It left her cold, but she was ready to unburden herself of virginity. It was obviously something she didn’t need. If the chosen one wanted it, she might just let him have it.

When the interference noise on the radio became too much to bear, she pushed the whole stupid thing onto the floor. Pacing the room accomplished nothing. Her skin crawled as if covered with ants, her every nerve ending exposed and raw. She’d skipped class for a week, unwilling or unable to risk seeing Levent again. She didn’t trust herself around him anymore. She was either going to throw him down on the floor and make him take her, or she was going to gouge out his beautiful eyes if he told her once more it “wasn’t meant to be.”

She settled on a bath and yanked the faucets all the way hot. The servant girl came running upstairs at the sound, fresh towels stacked in her arms. Vivian dumped an entire bottle of lavender scented flakes into the large, claw foot tub, pulled her clothes off, and stepped into the steaming water. The girl fussed around, putting out towels, picking up Viv’s clothes, making a huge show of not looking at her.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Vivian grumbled as she sank deep into the flowery smelling water. Grateful she had enough colloquial Turkish to make her point, she stared at the girl who was blushing and shuffling her feet nervously.

“Missus, it’s Mister Deniz.”

Vivian stared at her. “What about him?”

“He’s been here, a couple of times, asking about you. He is so very rich, and handsome and successful.” The girl’s face got all moony, irritating Vivian to no end.

“Yes, well maybe he has a crush on you, that’s why he keeps coming around? I know it’s not me he wants. He proved that.”

The girl frowned at her. “Oh no, missus, he is very much asking about you. He is obviously taken with you. I think it very romantic. And sad, he always looks so sad.”

“Sit down already, you’re making me nervous.” Vivian didn’t mean to sound bitchy, but the girl obviously wanted to tell her all this. As if it mattered. “I don’t know what to do, honestly. I….” Vivian was alarmed to feel tears slip out of her eyes. She ducked back down under the bubbles, ran her hands across her breasts. Her nipples had hardened at the thought of him. She sighed and slipped a hand between her legs, pressing, as if holding something back, needing something she couldn’t identify. The girl sat on the ornate bench positioned at the mirror.

“You should go to him, missus. We all think so. He’s the son of our beloved Deniz uncle, his parents worked so hard to provide him with money and an education and now he owns several companies, did you know?”

Vivian yanked her hand up and clutched the edge of the tub. Shook her head, unable to speak. The girl kept talking.

“Yes, he does. His construction company just got a new contract. He told us yesterday. They are building a large new hotel. And he bought into Imperio Ottomano—the rug and spice company that has twelve different locations and sells to all the tourists and foreigners.” She sighed. Vivian felt a stab of jealousy when she realized this girl had a major crush on the man. But she startled when the young woman spoke next. “You must prepare yourself for as man such as this. Are you clean?”

Vivian frowned at her. “What do you mean? I’m always clean.”

“No, missus, you must be clean of all body hair. It is the way of the Ottomans. He would want you that way.”

Vivian blushed and sank back into the water. When she reemerged, the girl was kneeling by the tub, her dark eyes earnest. She took Vivian’s hand and whispered as if there were anyone within earshot who cared. “I will have the driver take you tomorrow. There is an old woman who works magic with her sugar waxes. Then, you should to the
hammam
, around the corner. Pray to
Allah
. Be cleansed and go to him.”

Vivian’s mind spun. The whole houseful of servants wanted her to be with him? How strange. She stood, stepped out of the tub as the smooth scented water sluiced down her body. The girl toweled her off, lingering over her hardened nipples, running the towel between her legs, studying her with an intensity that made Vivian blush. “You are beautiful. Womanly. You will have much love with him and have many beautiful children. It is destined. I feel it.” She passed her rough hand over Vivian’s stomach, let her fingers trail down into the dark hair below. Vivian bit her lower lip at the girl’s touch. “
Allah’s
blessings on you, missus.” With those words, she gave a small bow and ducked out the door.

Vivian tugged a nightgown over her head and lay back on the bed. A soft, raspy meow at the window made her sit up. The scruffy grey cat shuffled in, sidling around, glaring at her as if blaming her for his recent brush with a damp death. She grinned. It was a sign. If her cat could survive her father’s wrath, so would she.

***

Levent sat, staring at the paperwork in front of him, exhaustion making him woozy. Every night was fresh torture. His mind reeled with all the various business enterprises he’d landed, trying to sort through whom to trust and whom to keep at arm’s length. Hiring an entire support staff for his construction offices and finding trustworthy sub-contractors he left to Burak, and his friend was proving to be efficient, if a little cut throat, when it came to hiring staff away from other contractors.

Their partnership position in the Ottomano chain was also proving to be time consuming and stressful. But as busy as he stayed, it didn’t keep Vivian out of his brain. He’d turn a corner of the new offices they’d rented, his mind flying in a million different directions, and he’d get smacked in the face with the memory of her smile, her perfume, her blasted stubbornness. And the memory of her hand on his flesh, her lips, the gentle curve of her breast in his hand all served to drive him completely insane with lust and frustration. Walking around with a hard on over half the time did not lend itself to productivity.

Burak offered no help whatsoever. He had finagled himself into Lillian’s life with little effort. It helped that his family was known as wealthy, successful and without a trace of “servant” in his background. Annoyingly head over heels for the pretty blonde girl he already had plans for their life together. Levent ground his teeth and downed yet another bitter cup of coffee. The office girl they’d found was staring at him again. He could feel it. That and his cock, which sent another message of need to his lizard brain.

“You’re a catch, my brother.” Burak liked to remind him lately. “A bona fide successful business man. Go after her. What are you waiting for?” He’d lean into Levent’s ear. “Or at least knock the off edge my brother. You’re getting a little tough to be around, you know? She’ll have you.” With a wink and nod to the obviously eager secretary. Levent closed his eyes and tried to focus. It was no use. He stood, stretched, and smiled at the girl. Burak was right. Vivian had to be banished. It was the only way. And the first step in that direction was a nice hard fuck. And from the look on his new secretary’s face, he’d found accommodation for that very thing.