Читать книгу Captive of Kadar - Trish Morey - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

THE SCENT OF roasting meat and two dozen delicious-looking dishes wafted out of the open door to tempt Amber, and for a moment she almost forgot that she’d just committed herself to a night dedicated to the pleasures of the flesh. But right now she had more important things on her mind. ‘I think I’m starving.’

He ushered her inside. ‘You can choose from here or there is a menu if none of these dishes appeal?’

For a woman whose most recent meals had been airline food, fast food or no food at all, she didn’t have to think about it. ‘No,’ she said, mouth watering, in no desire to wait for an order to be prepared when there was such an array before her to choose from, ‘this is perfect.’

They made their selections and were shown to a table near a window upstairs while their order was prepared. And then, once again, she was awed—by their vantage point, offering a glimpse of the domed roof of Hagia Sophia with its dancing fountain to one side of the window, and the minarets of the Blue Mosque to the other.

By the man sitting opposite now being greeted by a smiling waiter welcoming him back, a man larger than life with his dangerous dark looks and heated eyes. Long-lashed eyes, she realised as she took advantage of their proximity to study him in more detail. Satin black lashes and long as sin...

And by the knowledge that he’d guaranteed there would be no more trouble with the law while she was under his watch.

Where was the outrage she’d felt when he’d first revealed that little snippet? Had she shrugged it off as easily as he’d discarded his tailored black coat and handed it to the owner who was busy fawning all over him—or simply because of it? Because what lay beneath would blur the edges of any protest. A soft dove-grey knitted sweater lovingly skimmed a chest that could have been carved from stone. Nice, she thought, having to drag her eyes away in case they lingered too long, suddenly feeling warm. She unzipped her jacket, and peeled it from her arms, laying it on the chair next to her. The scarf at her neck came off next, tugged out from behind her neck and making her messy knot even messier as more ends worked free. She put a hand to her head, hoping it didn’t look as messy as it felt. And then she looked up and stilled when she saw him watching her, his expression deep and unfathomable, and she felt hot and bothered and confused and muddled all over again. ‘What’s wrong?’

Nothing was wrong. It was all going exactly the way he’d imagined it. Except she’d been the one to peel the jacket from her arms, not him. But just as he’d imagined, he liked what he saw underneath.

He liked it very much.

Her breasts filled the fitted scoop-neck top to perfection without overfilling—without under-filling, for that matter—and he ached to run his hand down the side of her while she lay naked next to him on his bed, down that delicious slope of ribcage to the sudden dip of waist and up the jut of hip to thigh. He longed to drink in her contours through the seeking palm of his hand.

As soon he would.

Their meals arrived and he raised his glass of sparkling water to her, managing a smile over the demanding pulse of need in his groin. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ he said, even liking the way that knot of hair behind her head was slowly unravelling, those ends floating free or dancing around her face and catching in the light as she moved her head. Bewitching. It would be no hardship spending the night with her.

Just one night.

It had been no selfless act to guarantee she’d stay out of harm’s way. He’d keep her so busy in his bed, she wouldn’t have time to make trouble. And then he’d wave her goodbye on her tour, turn his back and walk away. And if she chose to get into trouble again, if she chose to mess with Turkish law by taking home a souvenir or two, it wouldn’t be on his watch. She would be the tour guide’s problem then.

Perfect.

‘In fact,’ he added, pulling out a smile from his arsenal that he knew from experience women couldn’t resist, ‘I could not be happier with the way things are turning out.’

Ripples of warmth spread through her at his words, at the heat in his eyes and the slow, sexy smile that spoke of the pleasures of the flesh, reaching places and stirring sensations that made her muscles clamp under the table.

And she so wanted to be bold and brave and confident, like the Amber of old she’d promised herself she’d be, but she was breathless and dizzy and way out of her depth.

His smile grew wider, sexier. His eyes grew dark and burned with intent. ‘All I hope,’ he added, ‘is that you have a good appetite.’

He wasn’t talking about lunch. She swallowed. It was disarming. Unnerving. Because she wasn’t out of her depth at all. She was drowning in the shallows. Merely trying to hold a conversation with this man was like being tossed by a wave and having to fight foam and sand and salt to work out which way was up and grab a lungful of air for an instant of respite before the next wave rolled her over again.

‘I’m famished,’ she managed on a whisper, and suddenly she wasn’t talking about lunch either.

He gestured towards her plate. ‘Please, eat. Enjoy.’

His invitation was a welcome respite, except she’d chosen too much, she realised, for the meal before her was enormous. A glossy red capsicum stuffed fat with meat and rice nestled alongside chicken with okra and a fluffy mountain of white rice on the side. It looked amazing. It smelt amazing. And even though she would have quite happily forgotten all about her meal if he’d suggested they leave and satisfy a different and more demanding hunger, it was a very welcome second best.

As it was, she put a forkful of the rich meat and rice to her lips and closed her eyes as the flavours exploded on her tongue and was in heaven.

‘Good?’ he asked, and she opened them to see him watching her, his eyes spiced with heat, reminding her all over again of that moment when their eyes had connected and held in the Spice Market.

‘Better than good,’ she said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. ‘Was it that obvious?’

‘Don’t be embarrassed. I like the way you enjoy what you eat. I like what it says about you.’

Her throat went dry. She took a sip of water, relishing the cool slide of it down her throat, while his eyes didn’t leave hers, before asking the question uppermost in her mind. ‘What does it say about me?’

‘That you are a passionate woman. That you take pleasure in the senses and are not afraid to show it. I like that.’

Sensation careened down her spine. Nobody had ever talked to her as this man talked. Nobody had ever told her that she was a passionate woman. Not even Cameron—thinking back, she wasn’t sure passionate was a word he’d possessed in his vocabulary.

But while she was unschooled in knowing how to respond, she knew exactly what the man opposite was doing. He was seducing her, as good as stroking her body with his words, stoking her need with every loaded syllable. ‘Who are you?’ she said, putting her fork down, thinking the only way she could keep herself anywhere near the surface and oxygen in this mad, tumbling sea was to stop being on the defensive and to try to establish a foothold on the conversation.

‘I have told you my name.’

She nodded. ‘That may indeed be true, but I don’t think it answers my question. Because, you see, you have me at a disadvantage. You heard all my details during that police interview. You know where I live, you know my date of birth, you know everything about me. And yet I know nothing about you.’

‘Everything?’ His eyes flicked over her, lazy, almost insolent. ‘I am sure there are secrets still to be discovered.’

‘Stop doing that.’

‘What?’

‘Stroking me with your words.’

Across the table, he smiled. ‘Cats and women. I thought they were both made to be stroked.’

She kicked up her chin and smiled back. ‘True. Cats, like women, like to be stroked when it suits them, but when they’ve had enough, the claws come out.’

She’d been expecting another one of his quick comebacks. What she wasn’t expecting was laughter. A deep rich laugh that caught her unawares and shifted the boundaries of the box she’d put him in.

Arrogant and powerful and darkly magnificent, this was a man who could shrug off her arguments and pull her defences apart and set her blood to simmering, all with just a few well-chosen words or a glance from the heated furnace glowing behind his eyes.

There’d been no place for laughter in that picture.

But now there was laughter.

And she liked it.

She liked the smile he sent her even more. ‘I did not expect to enjoy this lunch quite as much. So what is it you wish to know?’

‘I want to know about you. You’re not Turkish, are you? At least, you don’t sound Turkish. You don’t look Turkish.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘No. Not exactly.’

‘And yet the polis entrusted me to your care. Why would they do that? Why should they trust you?’

‘Perhaps because they know me by reputation.’

She frowned. ‘So who are you?’

He leaned back in his chair, his meal, like hers, forgotten for the moment. ‘A businessman. I have interests in Turkey.’

‘What kind of interests?’

‘I support some industries here, that’s all.’

‘Carpets?’

He gave a brief nod of his head. ‘Perhaps.’

‘And so you live in Turkey?’

‘Sometimes. Sometimes I live elsewhere.’

‘Where else? Do you have a wife and children stashed away somewhere? Maybe several wives? Several children?’

He laughed at that. ‘No. No wife. No children. And I am not looking for either. Are you finished with your interrogation?’

She shook her head. She was nowhere near done. ‘So where are you from, Mr Kadar, if you’re not from Turkey?’

‘Does it matter where? I am here now, with you. Surely that is all that matters.’

‘If you expect me to sleep with you,’ she said, getting frustrated by his non-answers, ‘I think I have a right to know something about you.’

His eyes gleamed dark with heat. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I am not expecting you to sleep.’

Her spine turned molten.

No sleep.

Because they’d be...

And it was only her wrists anchored on the table that kept her upright while she coped with this latest onslaught.

She blinked and looked down at her plate. Picked up her fork. Poked at her stuffed pepper that she figured was only marginally redder than her cheeks right now, the rational part of her brain knowing she’d need the energy if she was going to keep up with this man tonight.

Did she want to keep bickering? Did she really care if he didn’t answer her questions and she didn’t know where he was from?

She’d already decided to spend the night with him so what the hell did any of that matter? It couldn’t change anything.

‘I love Turkish food,’ she said, her throat achingly tight, knowing she sounded lame and unable to do a single damned thing about it.

‘Then, please—’ he gestured ‘—don’t let me stop you from enjoying it.’

And with thoughts of seduction swirling in her mind, messing with her head and setting flesh pulsing in secret, aching places, she tried to concentrate on her meal.

Hard though, with the man-god sitting opposite her and with the promise of sex hanging heavy in the air between them. Hard when dinner table small talk was laden with double meaning and heated glances and the electric brush of fingers as they both reached for a piece of bread from the basket.

She waved away dessert so he ordered them coffee as the waiter came to collect their plates. She’d made a sizeable dent in her meal, but, as she’d expected, it had defeated her. But instead of feeling happily satisfied, she was as jumpy as a cat chasing shadows. Where to from here? she wondered.

As if sensing her nerves, he glanced at his watch. ‘Are you ready?’

A warm shiver descended her spine. Why did she get the impression he meant ready for bed? Ready for sex? But what else would he mean? Here was a man she’d found an instant connection with on eye contact alone, a man who’d come to her rescue when she’d fallen headlong into a trap set for tourists, a man whose mere touch had sent her senses and her libido into overdrive, and a man she’d agreed to spend a night of pleasure with.

Already she could see a bedroom in his words, the windows hung with curtains in rich jewel shades and a big broad bed with a coverlet spun with gold, and this man the magnet drawing her towards it.

And she wondered at a man whose words contained pictures that possessed the magic to short cut through her brain, shut down her mouth, and feed straight into her need.

Under the table her thigh muscles clenched. ‘I think so.’

‘Then we should go. It is not far to my apartment. We can pick up your things on the way.’

‘My things?’

‘It makes sense, don’t you agree, given you are leaving early in the morning?’

She licked her lips and nodded. ‘Of course, you’re right,’ she said, wondering how he still seemed capable of rational thought, while all she could think of was bedrooms and sex. But then, maybe he was used to entertaining the occasional stray who wandered inadvertently into his orbit. Maybe this wasn’t as unusual a day for him as it was for her.

The thought could have left her cold.

Would have, in ordinary circumstances.

If, that was, she’d been interested in building some kind of long-term relationship with this man. But after Cameron’s betrayal, she wasn’t interested in long term with any man. As far as she was concerned, one night was perfect. She could indulge her deepest fantasies, maybe even experience a tiny taste of what her ancestor could have experienced more than a century and a half before.

One night with a stranger would be enough.

Enough for both of them, it seemed, because he’d come right out and said he wasn’t interested in more. And whatever his reasons, she couldn’t help but admire his honesty. After the experience she’d just had, after all the lies and the deception, it made for a refreshing change.

She stood, reaching for her jacket on the seat alongside her, but he was already up and beat her to it, holding it open for her to slip her arms into. She looked over her shoulder at him as he eased it up her arms and over her shoulders, a smile on his lips, a flare of heat in his dark eyes as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her as his fingers lingered at her neck, his thumbs stroking the skin under her hair, their touch starting spot fires under her skin.

Oh, my God.

What the hell was she letting herself in for?

And why the hell couldn’t she wait to find out?

She leaned over and snatched up her scarf and wound it around her neck before she could melt into a puddle from the heat of his touch right there and then, and threw him a hasty, confident and utterly false smile. ‘Shall we go?’