Turkish Delights Series (13 page)

“I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “It’s been…nice getting to know you.” Lame, her brain screamed. Just kiss him for crying out loud. You are the newly-named CEO of a major pharmaceutical company. You eat fear for breakfast. What the hell is your problem?

She stood, pulling up her bag. Emre remained seated, staring at her.

“I’m not what you think,” he said, as he stretched long legs out in front of him.

Her face flushed with anger. Good. Now I’m on familiar ground. Mad at a man for assuming things about what I think.

“Just what do I think, if you don’t mind sharing?” She used her coolest-cucumber voice, and it pleased her to see the young man frown. Anger she could cope with. Besotted was beyond her, especially since she felt the same damn way about this boy nearly fifteen years her junior.

“Never mind.” He stood, towering over her even as she stood in her highest heels. “Let’s not fight. It’s our last day together, no?”

The urge to run a finger down his strong, stubbled jaw was intense. She clenched her hands together so hard they hurt. He put a familiar arm around her shoulder, nearly bringing her to her knees with lust. The smell of his subtle cologne, mixed with the exotic manliness she’d come to associate with him in his element at his grandfather’s spice booth nearly sent her over the edge. She shut her eyes, leaning into his strong torso ever so slightly. Was it her imagination, or did he flinch? She drew away, ashamed at herself.

“I should get back.” Gesturing in the general vicinity of where her car and driver waited, she gasped when Emre held her close then dropped to one knee right onto the cobblestones. Embarrassment and excitement fought for her brain. He took her hand, kissed it, held it to his heart.

“You are the most amazing woman in the universe. It has been my honor to know you. I wish….” He blinked, and she used the opportunity to pull her hand away. “I just wish we’d known each other sooner.”

It was Elle’s turn to blink. Realization rushed through her, heating her face. He knows damn good and well I’m a dried up specimen, too focused on my career to find and keep a man or sustain any relationship beyond the office. Fists clenched at her sides, she tried to calm her breathing.

You’re a fool, Ellery Kensington. He knows you’re a horny old lady. And he might oblige you between the sheets, but get the foolish romantic bullshit about spiriting him back to the States with you out of your head. That’s patent nonsense and you should know better.

Finished with her self-lecture, she squared her shoulders and leaned in to press her lips to his jaw. Closing her eyes against the chemical reaction she had to him, she stepped away quickly.

“We know how to stay in touch, right? I mean, Skype works in the US.” She tried to remain flippant, casual, but memories of their long conversations into the night as she would sit on her massive balcony overlooking the mighty Bosporus, laptop in hand, made her nearly weep with anticipated loneliness. He was amazing, smart, and completely fluent in four different languages, held two degrees from American universities, and was slated to take over his family’s huge conglomeration of Turkish-based businesses after he finished his MBA at Vanderbilt that fall. And she was old enough to be his…. Elle took a deep breath. She still had a ton of work left to do, plus her date that night, which apparently was to begin with a full body couples massage, as she’d requested. Time to put this young man, no matter how delightful, straight out of my head.

“You’d better get home. Isn’t your flight in a few hours?”

Emre shrugged as he escorted her to the waiting dark car, its driver reading the newspaper on the stoop nearby.

“Evet, yes, I….” He stopped. But she cut him off from saying anything further, putting a hand over his lips. She couldn’t bear to hear what he might say. She refused to be the catalyst in his family’s long-running feud over his need to finish a master’s degree versus their need for his already vast business acumen at home. “Yes, I should be getting home. You’re right. Besides, you’ll be back in America soon, too.”

Elle smiled as her driver opened the back door and scowled at Emre in his dark blue suit and expensive, imported shoes. “Yes, I will.” She blew him a kiss, and dropped into the leather seat before he could see the tears spill down her cheeks. After nearly seven years spent in the beautiful Turkish city on the Bosporus, the company was sending her home. She’d arrived engaged to the COO of her company, spent six years sorting through their Middle East operations as Vice President of sales, extending her stay by two more years and recently been named CEO. Which meant going home, still single, to Irvine, California. Nowhere near Nashville, Tennessee.

***

Emre watched as the car pulled out onto the busy street, quickly losing sight of it amongst all the other expensive dark sedans and daredevil taxis. He thought he might vomit, having lost his damn nerve at the last minute. He’d had big plans for their little lunchtime meeting. But he’d failed. He was so angry at himself his throat hurt.

He whistled and his own driver and car appeared. Yanking the back door open before his driver could emerge from behind the wheel, he fell into the backseat. His phone buzzed with an incoming email. He glanced at it, and smiled, heart lifting. Madame Eve had come through for him just in time.

Chapter Two

“So, how’s the boy toy?” Elle jerked her head up at the sound of Caleb’s voice, a retort on her lips. But the sight of her long-time assistant’s gentle blue eyes and concerned face made her turn away so she could continue her silent contemplation of the Istanbul skyline, spread out in amazing panorama behind her desk. There was no need for words.

Caleb handed her a cool glass of water before plopping down in a chair. She stared at the condensation dripping down the sides and pooling onto her skirt. Swallowing hard, she circled back to face her computer and the stack of paperwork piled nearby. The handsome man who had become her closest friend reached over and snapped the laptop shut, surprising her.

“Nope. No more work today, boss lady. You have a date and must prepare.” He swept her to her feet, and twirled her around the vast, opulent office. Humming a show tune, he led her in a waltz.

He performed one last, devilish dip, leaning so far backward her head nearly touched the floor before he pulled her up into his strong embrace. The sob that broke through frightened her. Elle hated feeling so out of control, wasn’t at all comfortable with it. He held her close as she soaked the front of his crisp white shirt. Finally, she sniffled and looked up into his bright blue gaze.

“Waterworks over?” He raised an eyebrow. She pushed him away and wiped the back of her hand across her damp face. “My shirt can’t take much more.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice. That’s more like it.”

Caleb popped the cork off a champagne bottle, poured them each a healthy portion and grinned. “Happy birthday, boss lady.

Elle sighed and sipped, letting the bubbly liquid ease her aching throat. “Yeah. Here’s to me.”

“Hell yes, here’s to you. Woman, you’re about to become the goddamned Queen of our little drug-addled universe. You should be proud of your man-less self.” He grinned around the edge of his glass.

“Speaking of man-less….” Elle leaned back and propped high-heeled feet on her assistant’s strong thigh. “How is the lovely Tarkan these days?”

Caleb drained his glass and poured himself more. Her blond demi-god of a personal assistant was not a heavy drinker. Things must not have gone well when his long-time lover broke the news to his wealthy parents about Caleb. She looked up at the ceiling.

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” She gazed at Caleb’s model-gorgeous face. The man was worth every dime she overpaid him. He knew their business better than she sometimes did, had ins and outs with all departments, snoops and gossips where it counted, and could whip up a four-course meal after a night of work in about thirty minutes.

“I’ll say it again.” She leaned up to clink glasses with him. “It is a real shame I’m not your type. We’d be amazing together.”

“What? We aren’t together? Au contraire, boss lady. I am yours, heart and soul. Just not, well, you know….” He drained his second glass and stood up. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be cagey. Tarkan is…well, he’s decided to take the mandatory military service. His father made him promise years ago and he is sticking by it. He thinks he’ll come back in two years and be forgiven for being gay. If he comes back at all.” Caleb shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “And the government loves to play opposites with its sons. Brings the country bumpkins into the big city for duty and sends the city boys over to the bloody Iraqi border.”

Elle put her arms around his trim waist. He kissed the top of her head, then took her arms and held her away from him. “I blame you, you know.” His blue eyes were sad. “You made me come here into this godforsaken country full of hot men.”

She grinned at him. “Tarkan will be fine. And he can come visit when we move back stateside.” Caleb looked away from her. She was startled, but decided not to press the issue tonight. If the man was so in love with his native boyfriend he wanted to stick around and wait for him to return from the required two military years, well, she was hardly in a position to argue with him.

“Now, let’s get you out of here, showered off, prettied up, and laid, shall we, my love?” Caleb steered her toward the office door. “If there’s anyone who needs to get laid, it’s you.”

She turned back to protest. “I’m not doing this just to….”

He put a finger over her lips. “Shut up. Yes, you are. And I bless you for it. I’d do it myself, but you are so not my type.”

“Too bad,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’d have fun harassing you at the office.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Caleb called out. “Have fun tonight. Seriously. You deserve it.”

***

Elle stared out over the Istanbul skyline. Dusk had come and gone, she’d polished off a couple more glasses of wine and taken a nearly hour long, hot shower. Emotional outbursts were not her style. And in the last twenty-four hours she’d had two of them. It was exhausting.

The city below her teemed with lights and sounds. If it were possible, she would stay forever in this amazing place full of contrasts: rich and poor, old and new, traditional and modern. It was dizzying, electrifying, frustrating and beautiful. And now, of course there was Emre. But he’d left, gone back to America.

She sipped the ice water she’d been nursing since getting out of the shower. Her body tingled from the hot water and in anticipation of her date. Her date. She shuddered. This is what I’ve been reduced to, apparently. Dates, sex even, with complete strangers, bought and paid for at no small price.

She flopped back into a soft chair. Maybe she’d skip it. It was paid for up front after all. Whatever unlucky soul who’d been assigned to her could enjoy the massage, the meal and head home, without the benefit of her forty-year-old, less-than-perfect body. She pulled the robe around her as the night cooled. Fireworks erupted over the water separating east from west. A traditional wedding display. Elle tried hard not to cry.

***

The car screeched to a stop at a tall, all glass building. Emre frowned and tapped his foot. His brother was always late. Damn him. The driver hit the hazard lights as cars poured around them honking, fists waving out of windows. He ignored it all and glanced at his watch again. There was not much time for him to get home, then down to the Kempeski Hotel.

Istanbul’s most exclusive hotel was housed in a former Ottoman palace, technically a yali, a seasonal house situated directly on the Bosporus, meant for spring and fall residence. But the Kempeski was a huge, former royal yali, transformed into one of the most expensive hotels in all of Europe. Emre and Tarkan’s father owned the construction company that had completed all the renovations.

The door yanked open and his mirror equal fell into the back seat, yakking into his cell phone, tie askew, hand over his eyes as he navigated the treacherous Turkish stock market. Emre and Tarkan were twins, frighteningly identical even to their family members. They’d attended different universities in the states, but remained close. At that particular moment though, Emre was furious with his brother.

“Hang up,” he mouthed. Tarkan rolled his eyes, finished the day’s final trade, and closed his phone. “What the hell are you thinking? Military service? Holy shit, Tarkan! You can’t. It’s why Father sends us to America, so we can avoid it.”

Tarkan stared straight-ahead, jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. You will never understand.”

Emre grabbed his brother’s arm, but the man he considered his other half, his entire life wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Look, I’ve got…I’m late. I have a date. But we will talk about this. I might not understand, but you can at least attempt to convince me it’s the right thing to do. Because right now, I think it’s a bullshit method of dealing with our parents. You think running away from the problem makes it go away. It doesn’t.” Emre sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew his brother was gay. He’d known probably longer than even Tarkan himself. But he also knew his brother was the crown prince of conflict avoidance. However, agreeing to enter the Turkish military was a pretty serious, fucking step. “How does Caleb feel about this?”

Tarkan finally met his brother’s gaze. His eyes were sad but resigned. “What difference does that make?”

“A lot, if you love him as much as you claim.” The irony that his brother had been in a relationship with Elle’s personal assistant for two years wasn’t lost on him.

“Look,” Tarkan faced front again, the set of his jaw determined. “This is my life. I’ll make the choices. You, my brother, had better get your own act together or you are going to let that beautiful woman slip out of your grasp, hmm?”

Emre frowned at his watch once more. He needed to be at the Kempeski, ready and waiting for his date within the hour, according to the arrangements he’d made with Madame Eve and her local contact at the hotel. The Istanbul Friday traffic was but one obstacle in his path. He patted his driver’s shoulder.