by Liz Crowe
He nodded, believing silence the better part of valor at the moment. “Tell me about him,” he finally said, unable to stop himself. “This man. Your… ex-husband. Who hurt you and made you into this….”
“Bitch?” Her laughter hurt his ears.
“No, that is not what….”
“Yes, it was. It’s okay. I’m getting used to it now. Scott was the guy who swept me off my feet, knocked me up, installed me in a house while he went back to work at the bank. I caught him fucking his secretary one day, right in that very house, when I was supposed to be volunteering at Zach’s school.” She gripped her glass, gazing into the middle distance. “I left. Came home to my father’s house with my son. Told him we were through. And started going out, to clubs, bars, you name it. I was a total slut, as I’m sure you will confirm, being the traditionalist that you are. Men can stick their dicks in however many women they want and they’re super studs. I go out a few nights, let a few strange men do that to me, and I’m a whore.”
He forced away that very reaction, reminding himself that this woman’s life was absolutely none of his business. She held the stem of her wine glass in a death grip. “And then, bam, I was pregnant again. And Scott said he wanted me, needed me back. Blah blah. Whatever.”
“Oh, um, Tanner is not….”
“No, Metin. I don’t know who Tanner’s father is. How about that for your traditional principals? Shocked enough by me yet?” Her eyes darkened.
He sat up straighter, his ire rising at her seeming need to prove how bad she was. “I don’t shock that easily.”
“Sure you do.” She got up to pace. Her wild, curly hair kept escaping from the headband, haloing her flushed face. In an instant, he saw what a beauty she would be if she would stop being so bitter.
He glanced around the freezing, positively cavernous house. He couldn’t fathom it. His family was huge, loud, and annoying, but that was a whole hell of a lot better than this empty, echoing space filled with nothing but unhappy people.
“Mom!” An older boy stomped into the kitchen from the laundry room, slamming the garage door behind him. “I thought you were… oh, hello there.”
Metin stood and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m….”
“I know who you are. My mom and aunt have been doing nothing but argue about you lately.”
“Oh, well.” Metin ran the hand through his hair, watching the boy’s body language around his mother. “Sorry, I guess.”
“Nah, it’s cool. They don’t need much excuse to fight.” He dropped his soccer bag to the floor of the kitchen.
Metin fought his inner neat freak. His mother had never tolerated his soccer kit anywhere but out in their garage. And a cuff to the head was all it took for him to remember it. He and his three brothers had all played, which made for a pretty smelly garage.
“Mom, where’s dinner.”
“Order out,” she said, her voice low and distant.
“Whatever. I’m going out anyway.”
Metin watched as mother and son did their non-communication dance for a few more minutes then got up before the urge to smack the smartass kid upside the head got too strong.
“Sorry, Metin.” Mel’s voice was soft. “We’re hardly the exemplary family. I have no business being mad at you for judging us.”
“I am not judging…. Oh, thank god,” he said when Alicia strode in, her gorgeous face dusted with makeup, amazing curves draped in a silky black dress. “You are beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She blushed, which he loved. “You guys getting along okay? Zach, are you being your usual teenager, jerkish self?”
“Sure thing, Auntie.” The kid grabbed a few cookies from the jar and walked out without another word to anyone.
Metin shook his head.
“Okay, stud. Let’s go to dinner. Or whatever.” She shot a worried glance at her sister, but the other woman kept her back to them.
By the time he realized Melanie’s shoulders shook from crying, Alicia had pulled him out of the room.
Chapter Eight
Dinner proved sublime—the sort of romantic scene Alicia thought only occurred in sappy books. By the time the dessert arrived, she swore if the man asked her, she would pack her bags and move with him wherever he wanted. Which was absolutely no good at all. She frowned down at the chocolate mousse. When he touched her hand she flinched, her need to make him go away, yet never leave, intense beyond imagining.
“I cannot stop staring at you, sorry.” He ducked to make her meet his gaze. “I hope I didn’t bore you with all my family stories.”
“No, it’s….” Perfect. His family sounded like the exact opposite of hers: open, wild, sometimes angry, but honest with each other. As opposed to the code of silence they operated under at her father’s house in Grosse Point and had since her mother died. “How is your English so good?” She tucked her spoon into the rich dessert, put it to his lips. He took it, mesmerizing her as he swallowed.
“I went to the international high school, hung out with the ex-pat kids, and all the classes were taught in English. Both my parents speak it fairly well. But once my father made his second million, he was determined we boys were not going to be provincial in any sense of the word.” He shrugged. “I never went to college though, got recruited to play football when I was seventeen. So I’m not nearly as smart as you. If it’s a college degree thing.” He fed her a bite, continuing to hypnotize her with his voice. She could listen to him talk all night long. “My Spanish however….” He shrugged again. “Limited to curse words and football commands. Well, with a few useful sex words, you know.”
She smiled, covering up the wave of jealousy that threatened to bowl her over. “I’m sure those come in handy for you. With your girlfriend and all.”
“It did, at first. But she mostly speaks money, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
“Of course. You’ve never had to worry about it.”
“What? That makes me a bad person?”
“No, of course not. Sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.” He touched his full lips with a napkin. “It’s the last thing I ever want to do.”
She looked away from the pure sex in his eyes. “Cut it out. No cheating. I mean it.”
“I’m not cheating, guzelim. Merely chatting with you.”
“Fine.” Flustered, pissed at herself and the whole messy scene, she started to stand. “We’ve had our dinner date. Now take me home.”
He rose, unfolding his tall frame one delicious inch at a time. When he held out a hand, she took it, thinking to shake it and walk away, but he pulled her close, held her so tightly that if she didn’t want him to, she’d be frightened by it. A light flashed, then another.
Metin tugged her to the back of the restaurant and through the kitchen before she could say a word. “God damn it.” Shoving his way through the staff and out the door, he yanked her along. “Quick, jump in.”
He stuffed her into a taxi so hard her head connected with the opposite window, making tears spring to her eyes. “What the hell?” She punched his arm. “Damn it, Metin. What is going on?”
“Fucking paparazzi,” he muttered, his face set in stressful, angry lines she’d never seen. “Assholes.”
“Don’t worry, I’m nobody. It won’t matter to your rep.”
He glared at her, gripping her arm. “It isn’t my rep I’m worried about.”
She stilled, pondering his words a half-second before panic hit her square in the chest. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, then straight ahead again. He gave her father’s address to the cab driver.
Alicia touched his shoulder making him turn. The unfamiliar fury on his face reflected in the lights of the passing cars forced a surge of protectiveness through her brain. She touched his cheek, shivering when he brought her hand to his lips.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said, every nerve on high alert.
“You sure?” He held on to her hand, the anger
on his face fading to something else.
“Yes,” she said. “Never more sure of anything.”
He smiled, and her heart lifted as he had the cab turn around and head toward the casino hotel where he was staying. She settled into the crook of his arm, so content she fell asleep on the way there.
He kissed her gently, waking her when the cab pulled up to the giant hotel. “My love,” he whispered, “let’s go.”
She looked into his dark face. “I… think I….” It went against all logic, everything she believed about herself, about love, about the goals she’d set. It was so wrong.
But when he helped her out of the cab and into his arms, it truly felt like exactly where she belonged.
“This is a bad idea,” she insisted, before giving in to the urge to kiss those amazing, sexy, full lips as she’d been fantasizing about all night long.
“No, it’s a great idea,” he said, letting her for a moment, then hustling her into the lobby.
They stood in the elevator, the foot between them an unfathomable chasm. Metin was still pissed, beyond pissed actually, that someone had snapped their picture. Alicia had no idea how damaging that could be for her. He put his hand on her shoulder and tried to rally his inner mature man, not ragingly horny boy.
“I hope no one else saw us come in here. Seriously. I don’t think you should… oh… fuck….” He groaned when, without a word, she unzipped his trousers and dropped to her knees.
He hit the stop button and spread his legs so he wouldn’t fall over at the exquisite sensation of her mouth, lips and tongue. “Jesus, Alicia, I’m….” She slid her fingers beneath his balls, scraping them lightly with her fingernails, teasing, tantalizing. “Stop, unless you want me to….”
She released him, got to her feet, and covered his mouth with hers, still fisting him, rubbing, bringing him to the ragged edge. The kiss ended abruptly, her words like stinging barbs. “I am terrified about this. About how I’m willing to scrap all my plans, my goals, just to be with you.”
The tears of frustration welling in her blue eyes made him insane. The very last thing he wanted on this earth was to make Alicia cry. He gripped her face between his hands.
“I won’t let you sacrifice anything. You will make a team. I’ll go back to,” he took a breath, “Spain. But we will be together. We’ll make it work, I swear to god. I can’t not have you.”
She nodded. Then shook her head, biting her lip. He grinned at the dichotomy of Alicia—the woman he loved. He knew at that precise moment he would never be happy with anyone or anything else.
Brushing at her eyes, she reached over to hit the start button. “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but I know what I want right now. Make love to me, Metin. Please.”
“My darling, nothing would make me happier.” He zipped his trousers then held her so close he felt her heart beating against him. When the elevator doors opened, revealing the penthouse suite, he threaded his fingers in hers and tugged her inside. “You have to promise me one thing though,” he said, sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders, kissing every inch of her skin he could reach.
“Mmmm?” She reached down to unzip him once more. “What’s that?”
He put a hand on hers. “I’m serious about this, guzelim. Don’t leave me. Stay. All night. Here in my arms.”
She looked away. He thumbed her chin, forcing her to face him.
“Okay,” she whispered, stepping away and letting the dress slip to the floor. Her body was bare, in all its glory, and his. He made a low, almost growling sound as he picked her up and dropped her on the bed before kissing his way from her breasts down to the pink perfection of her sex.
A strange buzzing sound distracted him, but he ignored it in favor of relishing her rich flavor, the lusty energy that had captured him the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. She moaned, and he dug his fingers into her hips, forcing her closer. He ached to be connected with her, but he waited, teasing out another orgasm before lunging up between her legs.
“Oh god, Metin, we can’t… you … oh.” She wrapped her long, strong legs around him. He nearly wept as the exquisite velvety glove of her body enveloped him.
The buzzing started up again. Their breathing was ragged in his ears. But that noise….
“What the hell is that?” he gasped as she tilted her hips and took him deep, so deep he felt they were truly one and would never part. A gut-deep urgency rose in him as the sweet grip of her body forced him to move faster, harder, in an ancient dance of erotic purpose.
“My love,” he sighed into her skin at the last minute when she yanked him over the orgasmic edge with her. But the buzzing would not stop, even after they lay, sweaty, breathing hard, in each other’s arms.
“I think it’s a phone.” She rolled off the bed “Shit, where is my… oh crap.” Her body silhouetted by the lights of downtown Detroit from the window, she glared at the phone screen.
“What is it, guzelim?” He could have slept for seventy-two hours at that point, he was so drained from the last few days. But he forced himself up, to her side.
“It’s Mel. It’s Zach… he’s… oh, shit. Metin. Call me a cab. I have to go.”
Epic chaos ensued. He insisted on going with her, the tense, silent trip enough to make her want to scream and yank her hair out. Why could nothing be simple? She’d made up her mind. She wanted him, was willing to even stay over, to wake up in his arms—this man who represented everything she hated about overpaid male soccer players.
Mel and her eternal, infernal drama had emerged, about to ruin everything. Well, not everything. The guy could have rolled over and gone to sleep, leaving her to find her own way to the strange address, to the police station where her teenaged nephew sat.
“You’re closer!” Mel had screeched in her ear. “Daddy’s coming, too.”
Metin had rallied, yanking on jeans and a sweatshirt, jamming a cap down on his head and insisting she put on some of his baggy sweats and a hat as well.
“You can’t wear that.” He pointed to the puddle of silk that had once been her dinner date dress. “For a lot of reasons. And this,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair up in the cap, “Will keep us a little under the radar.”
She’d stared, uncomprehending. “I’m sorry,” she said, furious tears rising in her throat. “You were… are… amazing. And I shouldn’t drag you into this.”
“Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He laced up a pair of shoes then stood and held her close. Alicia closed her eyes and let him, feeling about seventy-percent better. “I want your drama. All of it. That way I know you trust me.”
“God almighty, you hardly know me.” She put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. His heartbeat calmed her.
“But I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” His words were barely a whisper. She looked up into his eyes.
“I’m a real handful. So I’m told.”
“I have very good hands. It comes with being a natural athlete.”
She sighed, remaining inside the circle of his embrace a few more seconds. “Okay, then. Let’s go see what the hell Zach has done now.”
The cab pulled up to a brightly lit Detroit police station, its parking lot jam packed even at two in the morning. Alicia sat, frozen, unsure what to do, who to ask, how to even approach this. All she knew, that Zach had been picked up at the scene of an accident, unhurt, but needed to be released to a parent or guardian.
Mel and their father were on their way. But Alicia got to go in first. Sending silent and wholly insincere thanks to her older sister, she climbed out. Metin joined her, tugging his cap down again and glancing around.
“Surely there are no photographers here?” she asked as they ducked inside.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, now that they are on my trail. I’ve managed to avoid them so far but… well, I go out with a beautiful woman and they’re all the hell over me.”
She felt a thrill of anger at him, at the s
ort of pain-in-the-ass factor that accompanied him, then shoved it down. She had to focus on being the first adult on the scene.
She was directed down the hallway to a room filled with desks. The place crawled with cops and smelled like coffee, sweat and fear. The few people not in uniforms sat, slumped in chairs, around the perimeter of the room.
Metin spotted him first. “Over there.” He pointed, keeping his other hand planted firmly on the small of her back.
She dashed over, crouching in front of her frightened-looking nephew. “Zachary Miller, what is going on?” He had what appeared to be dried blood on his shirt, a bandage covering his left cheek. His ice-cold hands shook when she grabbed them.
“Are you this boy’s mother?” a voice boomed over her left shoulder.
“No, I’m his aunt. His mother is on her way.” She kept her eyes on Zach.
“Okay, well, I can’t release him to you so why don’t you take a seat until his mother shows?”
“What happened?” She rose to meet the sympathetic eyes of an older policeman.
“Can only tell his parents, sorry. Coffee for either of you? It’s vile. But it contains caffeine.”
“None for me thank you,” Metin muttered, putting his arm back around her waist.
A younger cop walked up, carrying a cup of the stuff and gawking at Metin. “Hey, um, don’t mean to pry but are you…?”
“Leave these people alone, Spencer,” the older guy growled. But Alicia realized the damage had been done.
By the time her sister and father arrived, she’d gotten used to the sidelong glances from the room.
Metin sighed at one point. “I hope there’s a back way out of here.”
Mel dashed around the corner, grabbed her son the second she saw him, held him close, then let him go and slapped him, hard, in front of the whole room.
Metin chuckled. Alicia elbowed him so hard he grunted. “What? He deserved it.”
They made their way out into the dawn light with a piece of paper declaring Zach as a minor in possession of over an ounce of marijuana, and a court date. Half the cops in the room had fawned around Mel, like men usually did, but she hardly noticed. They’d also paid a fair bit of attention to the fact that the equivalent of a soccer playing rock star stood their midst. The stress of the whole scene made Alicia’s temples pound. But she knew Mel had it worse. When Alicia hugged her, she finally broke down and sobbed.