Captive of Kadar

by Trish Morey

  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?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS BARELY a hostel, tucked as it was in the back laneways near the ancient city walls, but it was cheap, despite it being located so close to many of Istanbul’s famous and ancient sites. She saw him studying the shabby exterior and faded paintwork and knew what he must be thinking. ‘Best value in Sultanahmet,’ she said, before she held up a hand. ‘Don’t come in, I’ll be right back. It won’t take me a minute to grab my pack.’

  He didn’t argue and she wasn’t surprised, knowing that someone like him would have never set foot inside such an establishment and would hardly be tempted to now for fear of contracting some communicable disease or worse.

  Hurriedly she gathered the few things she’d left in her tiny shared room, and then did a quick scan of her pack’s contents, checking there was nothing missing. Travel itinerary. Toiletries. Then she went sickly cold when she couldn’t find her bracelet. It had been ther
e this morning, she remembered thinking about wearing it, deciding against it because it would have been too bulky under her jacket, but it had been here, she had seen it, she was sure she had seen it...

  She pulled stuff from the pack, unzipping zips, rummaging frantically and all the while sick with fear. And just as she was accepting that she’d have to report to Reception that someone had been in her room, she pulled out a pair of sneakers from the bottom of her pack and the bracelet rolled out from inside onto the bed. Relief washed over her as she swooped on it, holding it to her chest, remembering she’d tucked it safely away before she’d gone out early this morning.

  It was a trinket, nothing more, but it held such sentimental value for her. She’d never forgive herself if she lost it.

  And then, because Kadar was waiting for her outside and she’d taken much longer than she’d intended, she bundled everything back in her bag, zipped the bracelet safely into an internal zipper pocket and closed the door on the cheap hostel bedroom. At least for one night.

  And what a night it promised to be.

  One night with a man who with one look could make you tremble and quake and want for something you’d never known you’d missed.

  Until now.

  She checked out of the tiny hostel with a myriad questions running through her mind.

  Had her great-great-great-grandmother Amber met with such a man? The family history whispered behind hands was that Amber had been kidnapped into white slavery, but had she chosen to stay so long by choice? Because she’d met a man like Kadar with heat in his eyes and seduction in his words?

  After today, she could almost believe it possible.

  Not that it explained why she had returned to England. So many questions she would never know the answer to. But at least she was here, walking the same laneways and seeing the same sights Amber must have seen one hundred and fifty years ago. How amazing those sights must have been to her then, when she’d been brought up in the rolling green fields of Hertfordshire.

  Amber wasn’t staying either. She’d be gone tomorrow morning. And given the time she’d spent unpacking and repacking while panicking about losing her great-great-great-grandmother’s bracelet, it would be a wonder if Kadar and his heated eyes were still outside waiting for her.

  She emerged from the hostel and looked around, heart thumping, unable to locate him anywhere on the busy street, suddenly afraid she’d taken too long and that he’d either lost interest or found some other stray to adopt for the night.

  But no, he wouldn’t leave her, she remembered. Because he’d promised the polis he would watch over her until she joined her tour group. It was only then, when she’d calmed down, that she spotted him standing away to one side a little further away, in the shadow of the ancient wall, busy talking into his mobile phone.

  She didn’t have to wait to let him know she was ready. He looked up almost as if he’d sensed her watching him, pocketing his phone in the next instant.

  And maybe she was imagining it. Maybe she was making castles in the air, but the look he sent her across the street as he pocketed that phone was pure lust and enough to make her body hum and her throat purr.

  She’d accused him during lunch of stroking her with his words. Now, as he strode a path between cars across the street, he was as good as stroking her with his eyes.

  And she liked it.

  Even under her leather jacket, her breasts plumped and firmed, her nipples peaked, the rub of her jacket against her flesh like a sensual caress. Under her jeans, her thighs clenched at the prospect of spending the night with this man.

  For a girl who’d only ever believed she could make love to a man that she was in love with, her actions were foreign to her. Reckless, even.

  She was about to have sex with a stranger and her body was already humming in expectation of it.

  How did that work?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t understand it. All she knew was that she wanted this night and she would have it, to take away as a souvenir of this exotic journey to the east. Maybe just a taste of what her great-great-great-grandmother Amber had experienced all those years before her.

  ‘All set,’ she announced a little nervously as he approached, her pack looped over one shoulder.

  He unthreaded the pack from her arm and took it from her. ‘This is all you have?’

  She shrugged. ‘I travel light.’

  He raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Which makes you an unusual woman,’ he said, and she smiled, but it was only half a compliment he was offering, because secretly it only supported what he’d already decided about her. He was in no doubt her bag would be a good deal heavier on her return journey, and not just because she would return home with the requisite amount of cushion covers and scarves. He didn’t believe for a moment she was an innocent as she made out and there would be plenty of passing street vendors and the trinkets that were on offer to take advantage of before she went home.

  Not that he was worried.

  If she ventured on the side of illegal again, as he was sure she would before she was done, she’d be someone else’s problem.

  They made small talk as he led her through the streets and alleyways of Sultanahmet, past tiny coloured timber houses clustered together in the narrow laneways, past stone relics and foundations of more ancient times. And he wasn’t Turkish, but he’d lived here long enough that he could provide the history of the area and the stories of Istanbul’s long and colourful past. She listened, though he wondered how much she was taking in, because he could sense her nervousness in the brightness of her eyes, and her excitement in her breathless responses.

  It amused him. The little rabbit was out of her depth and trying desperately not to show it, but every time they swayed towards each other and their arms brushed, she would jump and catch her breath and lick her lips and pretend nothing had happened.

  He smiled. He’d never felt the urge to brush his arm against another’s more.

  By the time they reached the stately entrance to the restored nineteenth-century building where he lived, she was breathless.

  She turned her eyes upwards, taking in the double-level entry with its columns and grand doorway and high arched windows. ‘You live here?’

  ‘I have an apartment here, yes.’ There was no need to tell her he owned the entire building. She hadn’t asked the details and he had no compunction to tell her. She also hadn’t asked him what floor his apartment was on.

  So it was a surprise to her when the small lift clunked to a stop on the top level, the door that greeted them leading to a spacious and light-filled apartment decorated in rich colours with floor-to-ceiling windows.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said as she tugged off her scarf, drawn inexorably to those windows and a view of Istanbul the likes of which she’d never seen. At ground level they’d been surrounded by the streetscape, buildings and trees and traffic. Five levels higher and the streetscape was far below and it was the ship-dotted deep blue Sea of Marmara that was laid out before them.

  ‘Please,’ he said, unlatching and sliding open the glass door. ‘Be my guest.’

  She stepped out onto the wide terrace, and saw that it wrapped around the apartment. Before her and to her right lay the busy shipping lanes, while the view to her left gave a sweeping panorama over the old city and across the Golden Horn. A panorama of red-tiled roofs and minarets and sea and sky. From far below came the sounds of the street, the beeping horns of taxis and the rumble of vans and buses along the narrow streets. And as she watched, the setting sun bathed everything in a rose-coloured glow, turning minarets and clouds alike pink, and when the call to prayer came, the birds rose, they too turning pink as they wheeled and soared in the westering sun.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, knowing it was totally inadequate, but unable to find any other words to do the view and the poetry and the sheer w
onder of it all justice.

  And she sensed rather than heard Kadar behind her.

  ‘Some people say Paris is the most beautiful city in the world.’

  His voice was low and rich and she felt his words in the movement of air and the vibration in her bones. She felt them in the sway of hair at the nape of her neck and every part of her tingled.

  She felt it all, even though he did not touch her, and the absence of his touch made her more conscious of him than ever, like an ache that needed to be massaged.

  She sucked in air.

  In all her twenty-five years, Amber had never considered herself bold. As far as she was concerned, she had been born risk averse.

  Sensible.

  Boring.

  But today, with this man and in this place, and in the shadow of a woman who had been brave enough to venture here a century and a half before, she wasn’t going to wait. She turned and lifted her chin and met his dark, impenetrable gaze head-on.

  ‘What do you say?’ she asked as if there were any doubt, her voice a bare whisper.

  ‘There is no question,’ he said as he tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her cheek, his touch electric. And his eyes were dark like Turkish coffee, rich and strong, as they searched her features, her eyes, her mouth, only pausing when they found her lips.

  ‘Istanbul,’ he said, his voice like a rumble as his fingers trailed down over her jaw and curved behind her neck. ‘Istanbul is the most beautiful city on earth.’

  His own mouth was beautiful. A wide cupid’s bow made masculine. She could watch his mouth form his words for ever. She could listen to his deep voice and play the game of trying to pick where he was from for ever.

  He was like the city itself. Exotic. Exciting. Full of mystery and adventure and all of the world mixed together, and he was hers for the night.

  Her breath caught, her lips parted as he drew her closer. ‘I believe it,’ she said, her eyes on his mouth, bare inches away from hers, because there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be right now, than right here, with him.