Captive of Kadar

by Trish Morey

  And as Amber swivelled her camera to capture the views it seemed Istanbul only became more remarkable and more beautiful.

  Kadar watched her as she took photos of the bridge, the castle, the Turkish flag flapping proudly in the bow of the boat with the white wake spilling behind, her enthusiasm infectious, and, for all her faults, she reminded him of all that was good about his adopted homeland. She reminded him of all the things he’d once marvelled at and somehow forgotten in his acceptance of this place as his home.

  It was good to see Istanbul from a visitor’s point of view.

  And he looked at her once again, with the ends of her hair whipping around her face and her bright blue eyes smiling and her smile so wide, and he thought, no. More than that. It was good to see Istanbul from this woman’s point of view. She made Istanbul shiny and exciting and new. She made everything she saw a discovery. A delight.

  And it was no hardship to be seen with her. He saw the glances from other men on the boat. The looks of envy. The wishing.

  But more than that.

  For despite the fact this was an obligation he’d accepted, it was simply no hardship to be with her.

  He’d never spent much time with any woman. Had never felt the need or the compunction. But now he was obliged to spend his days with this woman, it was some relief that he didn’t feel as if it would be a chore seeing out his obligations.

  Establishing some kind of rapport during the day would make their time together much more bearable.

  Would make their nights together more workable.

  That was all.

  That was all.

  Because even when he could hear his friends Zoltan and Bahir joking and asking who would be next to be married, there was no fear of that. Because this wasn’t about marriage.

  This was about duty. Nothing more. And there was no risk, he told himself, because she was still going home at the end of it.

  Seven more nights and she would be gone.

  Which gave him seven more nights to enjoy her pleasures before she got on that plane and disappeared for ever.

  He wasn’t about to waste a single one of them.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, with an unexpected kiss to his cheek as the boat docked back at its berth.

  ‘What for?’ he asked as they waited for the gangway to be organised. ‘It was only the tour that you were going to take.’

  ‘I know. But I thought I’d missed my chance. But that was so special, thank you.’

  Her face was open. Honest. Without a hint of artifice, her blue eyes sparkling bright, her lips turned into a wide smile. And it struck him that maybe he’d been too hard on her. Maybe he’d been wrong.

  Mehmet had believed her and he might be blind but he was nobody’s fool.

  No. He shook his thoughts free of that uncomfortable thought as she stepped up onto the gangplank. She’d been caught in the act. He’d witnessed it, not Mehmet. And he’d seen the way her eyes were drawn to Turkey’s treasures. Just because she was beautiful it did not equate with innocent, in anyone’s language.

  ‘Where are we going next?’ she asked as he handed her off the boat, and onto the dock. ‘Or have you had enough of playing tour guide?’

  There were so many more places Kadar could have shown her, but the way the loose ends of her hair played about her face in the breeze reminded her of the one place he knew he had to take her. A place of mystery and atmosphere that she should not miss.

  ‘Come,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘I will show you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS ONLY a short walk to the small, unassuming building that sat atop one of Istanbul’s ancient wonders.

  ‘The Basilica Cistern,’ she said as he bought tickets. ‘I read something about this, but I didn’t realise it was right here. We walked past it on the way from the polis station and I had no idea.’

  ‘So what did you read?’

  ‘That it was some kind of ancient water storage.’

  He nodded and they went inside, and what Amber saw took her breath away. ‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. ‘It’s enormous.’ And it was. As impressive as a cathedral, with its soaring arched roof and row upon row of columns, softly lit from below with spotlights that turned the interior of the vast space golden.

  It was cool down here, and quiet, the sounds of the city so close above muted by thick brickwork, the only sounds the murmur of tourists, the sound of piped music and the constant drip drip of water from the ceiling into the pool below.

  They climbed down the steps to the timber walkway built between the columns, huge carp and goldfish swimming in the water below.

  She had a pamphlet to tell her the details, but it was Kadar who filled in the history, his rich deep voice adding to the hypnotic quality of the atmosphere. He told her of its construction back in the sixth century, the columns recycled from other sites, one column turned green with algae from the constant slide of water and decorated in the peacock eyes and tears, said to represent tears for the many slaves who died in the cistern’s construction.

  And if she’d thought Kadar’s aura would be dwarfed by such a magnificent construction, she’d have been wrong. He seemed to charge the air with his presence, turning an eerie space electric with excitement and mystery and danger.

  He didn’t touch her, but she was more aware of him than ever. She could feel him through the damp air at the back of her neck. Feel his dark eyes watching her from behind. Her skin prickled, and she had never been more grateful for the presence of other tourists. It was winter and there were only a few, mostly couples spread around the walkways, their voices hushed or silent as they listened to audio tours and took photo after photo, but if she’d been alone down here with just this man...she would not trust him. She would not trust herself.

  They would make love after this.

  She knew it. She felt it in the pull between their bodies and the vibrations in the air between them.

  And maybe this time it would be different.

  Maybe this time he might let her take the lead.

  No, not maybe.

  She would make it so.

  They followed the walkway and made their way deeper into the cistern, the fish darting this way and that in the waters beneath. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is what I want you to see.’

  She blinked. Another column, with a walkway all around, and she could understand why, because the heavy base rested on a stone face, set sideways against the floor.

  ‘Is it a woman?’ she asked him.

  ‘Medusa,’ he said, and Amber realised it was not braids around her face, but snakes. ‘Who could turn a man to stone with one look. She and her twin were taken from a building somewhere and transplanted here.’

  ‘Her twin?’

  Of course, there was another, this time the head set upside down beneath the column.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Nobody knows for sure. Some say to negate the power of the gorgon’s gaze. Some say to protect the building by warding off evil spirits.’

  The cistern had been full once, an underground reservoir of water brought from many kilometres away via aqueduct to supply the Topkapi Palace and surrounding city, where now just a few feet remained, and it was bizarre to think all this, the Medusas’ heads and the column of peacock eyes and tears, had been underwater, hidden away for centuries and then lost for many more when the cistern was forgotten for a time.

  She shivered, as if an evil spirit had brushed past her shoulder, a warning, cold and malevolent. And then she turned her gaze to Kadar and the raw desire in his eyes vanquished any thoughts of evil and filled the space where it had been with a heated promise until her body hummed with expectation.

  Around her the columns glowed, silent sentinels, rich with the hi
story of the ages, as the flute music from the speakers floated in the air between, haunting and melodic, the drip, drip of water gently echoing in the high-ceilinged space. ‘Thank you for showing me this. It’s beautiful,’ she said.

  He touched a hand to her hair, unravelling from the knot she’d tied it in this morning long before their cruise and the sea breeze that had toiled so hard to tug it undone. ‘You made me think of Medusa,’ he said, his touch so electric, her breath jagged in her throat. ‘The way your hair floats around your face.’

  ‘Be careful,’ she warned, trying to defuse the moment, because in this moment he was so intense, his body almost vibrating with tension before her. ‘Or I might turn you to stone.’

  His mouth kicked up at one corner. ‘You already have.’

  * * *

  The shudder that followed his admission turned her knees weak. She turned away, needing to grab onto the boardwalk’s balustrade for support, momentarily thrown by the his electric words and the power he was giving her. Surely mere lust wasn’t supposed to make your chest tight or make you feel this emotionally charged?

  She felt his breath then, soft and warm upon her neck, felt him behind her the way she was finding he liked, felt his impatience, and knew that if they’d been alone he’d have taken her here and now over the balustrade amongst the forest of golden columns and the secrets of the past.

  Her breath hitched, as she knew her body would welcome it. ‘I think I’ve seen enough.’

  ‘In that case,’ he said, his voice gruff and strained, and taking her arm as he led her towards the exit, ‘we should go.’

  * * *

  He wasted no time calling for his car. He wasn’t about to waste time walking.

  Not when all he wanted was to bury himself deep inside this woman.

  He no sooner had her inside the apartment than he was pulling her into his arms, his mouth hard against hers. Hungry. Impatient. Wanting.

  She came willingly, hot and ready, as he’d known she would be. She pushed his coat from his shoulders as he peeled away her jacket. They fought like that, mouths locked together, grappling with garments in their rush to be naked, discarding pieces of clothing in a trail across the floor as they headed inexorably towards the bedroom. Her jeans, his trousers, shucked off, everything abandoned.

  And when he got her to the bed, he sat her on the edge, his hands sliding the lace boy leg underwear down her legs as his mouth feasted upon hers, in such a hurry that he almost forgot about protection—again—before he swiped it up.

  She took it from him and he let her, breath hissing through his teeth as she held it at his tip with one hand and rolled it down his long hard length with the other. It was by grinding his teeth that he could hold himself together, the mere seconds it took her nimble fingers feeling like for ever.

  But finally she was done and he took her hands and he kissed her again where she still sat on the edge of the bed. Kissed her until she was liquid and pliant against his hot mouth.

  She leaned back, trying to draw him down on the bed over her.

  And he was ready.

  He made to flip her over onto her stomach.

  She resisted.

  And he wanted to be inside her and inside her now but she was tugging on his arms as she fell back onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her.

  ‘This way,’ she said, angling her hips in encouragement.

  ‘No,’ he said, and shrugged off her hands, pushing himself to his feet. ‘What are you playing at? Roll over.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is better.’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘For everyone.’

  ‘No. I want you this way. I want to see you this time.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Are you mad? Why do you think?’ He turned then, exposing the full horror of his scars to her again. ‘Do you imagine for one second that you want your hands on this mess? Do you think I want your hands anywhere near it? To feel your revulsion when your fingers connect with this?’

  She sat up, crossed her legs, her hands resting demurely on her lap, and if she hadn’t been sitting naked with her hair tousled on the edge of his bed, she could almost have been applying for a job. ‘Fine. So I won’t touch you there.’

  He growled with frustration. ‘Why can’t we just do this my way?’

  ‘Why can’t we try it my way? I’ll hold on to the coverlet with my hands. Even better, handcuff me to the bed head. You might enjoy that.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is not a joke!’

  ‘I’m not joking! But I don’t want to count ships and I don’t want to look at any more bathroom tiles and I certainly don’t want to have to stare at a coverlet on a bed. I want to see you. I want to feel your body on top of mine.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘Not the way you want. I am neither a horse nor a dog to be mounted like an animal!’ She laid one hand on her breast, another on her belly. ‘I want to feel you here, and here, against me.’

  He shook his head. It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t. Sooner or later she would forget and her hands would touch him and she would flinch or worse, and he would feel her revulsion and disgust.

  It would happen, he knew.

  But seeing her touch herself stirred something inside him. Thinking about tying her hands down stirred him even more. He wasn’t in the habit of restraining his women. But then, until now, he’d never had need. His women were temporary and he called the shots. Nobody had ever suggested—offered—to be restrained. ‘I don’t have any handcuffs.’

  Her eyes sparked. ‘Use a belt. A tie.’ She held out her hands wrists together for him. ‘I promise, I’ll go quietly.’

  He took the space of a heartbeat to decide, before swiping a tie from the rack inside his wardrobe door. ‘I promise,’ he said as he lashed her proffered wrists together, ‘you won’t come the same way.’

  She shunted up the bed and he tied her hands to the bed post, her arms over her head, and then he rocked back, drinking in the picture she made. Her arms pulled her breasts high, stretching skin over her ribcage, accentuating the dip to her waist and the soft curve of her belly, cradled within the twin jut of her hipbones.

  And he wondered that this had never occurred to him, not that any woman would have looked as good as this woman did right here. Right now.

  His prisoner.

  He growled, low in his throat, his cock bucking. Aching. He grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs apart, sliding his hands up her legs as he followed their progress on his knees.

  He liked this idea more and more. He could take his pleasure this way. He could take her any way he liked. He could feast on her with his mouth. He could torture her slowly until she begged for release.

  Next time.

  This time he wasn’t planning on taking that long.

  He took his own sweet time joining her, but the look in his eyes told her he liked it. A lot.

  She felt excited and exposed, and for the first time she felt a frisson of fear.

  What had made her brave enough to suggest something she’d never tried? She didn’t know this man, not really, so why should she trust him? Why would she put herself into a position where she was completely at his mercy?

  But that knowledge only ramped up her excitement.

  Her nipples ached, bolt-hard as his searing gaze scorched a heated trail over her skin.

  He touched her, testing her, and breath hissed through her teeth. He smiled, his fingertips sliding over slick, ultra-sensitive flesh.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You,’ she said, with more breath than voice. ‘Inside me. So stop messing me around.’

  His smile widened.

  ‘You are bold, for one who is tied. And given you are my ca
ptive, and so desperate, I could so easily just walk away and torture you some more.’

  She bucked against her bound wrists and said, ‘Don’t you damn well dare walk away now!’

  And he laughed. God, she made him laugh, even when he was already aching for her.

  ‘Then perhaps, instead,’ he said, ‘I might choose to be merciful.’

  He positioned himself between her thighs and leaned over and took one nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, laving it with his tongue. First one and then the other, before sliding his hand behind her head and claiming her mouth, his hot tongue tangling with hers. Her nipples brushed against his chest and her back arched, seeking more. Because yes, this was what she’d craved. Feeling his chest against hers. Making love face to face.

  She tugged at her wrists, straining against her bonds, wanting to pull him to her, needing to be free, but her bonds held. And then she needed something else more, and he gave it to her, in one long, heart-stopping thrust that drove her head back against her pillow, and that made her forgot about her bound wrists because it was a different kind of freedom her body now craved.

  For every thrust, every evocative slide of flesh against flesh took her closer to that place. Feeling his legs nestled between her thighs. Feeling the driving surge of his hips. Feeling his hot breath against her throat as he dropped to his elbows to surge into her.

  There was nowhere to go but with him.

  In the end, there was nowhere to go but everywhere.

  Her release came gift-wrapped in a scream and with Kadar’s name etched into the ribbon that tied it into a bow, and from the depths of beyond she thought she heard someone crying out her name, and that was the greatest gift of all.

  It took a long time for her body to pull the fragmented pieces of itself together, and to hum down from that amazing place.

  But then, it was bound to take a while.

  Because he was an amazing lover. He was a magician at the love arts. He could conjure an orgasm from thin air with one heated look and the press of a fingertip.

  No doubt even less.