Turkish Delights 0.50 - 4.00 Series Bundle

by Liz Crowe

  She put a hand right on the man’s crotch. The black wool trousers of his dress uniform were scratchy under her palm, but she felt movement under there. He wasn’t dead. He was a man, and something in her gave warning. Perhaps she shouldn’t act like this. It wasn’t fair to him. But she went on. Her brain was shut down. She was one screaming live nerve, full of anger, hurt and regret. “This.” She gripped his hardening shaft. “Is the chosen one, Ron?” He met her eyes. The bright blue of them sharp, questioning. “He says so.”

  She turned and faced her father. His face remained calm, inscrutable. He leaned on the ornate wooden banister, scotch in one hand, as if he weren’t watching his only, nearly grown daughter grope her date right in front of him. She sighed. She’d lost her affect apparently. Or he truly did not care. Merely wanted her gone. That was more likely the case.

  “Let’s go.” She yanked open the door herself and stomped down the long flight of steps towards the waiting car.

  Her chest ached as she climbed into the back seat. She closed her eyes and leaned against the window, begging Levent to come, to save her from this nightmare. But he wouldn’t. He wanted her father’s approval, which he would never get.

  After a severely uncomfortable dinner where Vivian proceeded to drink three gin and tonics and a glass of wine, the well-dressed Marines and the bright flowers of their dates moved into the larger hall. The curtain raised and revealed none other than the Temptations. As the group launched into their signature songs, the room began to move, to dance, laugh, and relax.

  “Where’s the bar?” Vivian didn’t even feel drunk.

  Ron gripped her elbow. “I think you’ve had enough.” His words were clipped, jaw tight with tension.

  She whipped around and glared at him. “Look, if you are gonna be my chosen one, you’d better just get used to this. I’m not going to change to please you.”

  He frowned and held her closer, his fingers dug into her side. “I don’t give two shits how you act around me, but you will behave in public, are we clear?”

  She scoffed but entertained a slight flutter of fear. Maybe she’d gone too far. But he released her and smiled at a pretty red-headed girl who stopped in front of him. Vivian glanced around, ignoring them, seeking an alcohol source. She motioned for one of the roving waiters to bring his tray closer. He was tall and striking. Their eyes met, and she gasped. Bloody hell, it was Burak. He grinned and put a finger to his lips, handing her a glass of champagne. Burak jerked his chin up, and Vivian slowly turned, her face heating up and her skin prickling in anticipation.

  Levent stood, dressed like a waiter, tray of drinks in one hand, eyebrows raised at her. Her knees nearly betrayed her, but she rallied, observing the two of them. She never thought she’d see Levent again and had spent the last week creeping into a hole of despair.

  Ron’s voice invaded her ear. “What’s wrong?” He looked up, saw the man, and narrowed his eyes. “Did he say something to you?”

  “Um, no.” She faced her date. He truly was a handsome man. He’d make someone a fine husband—tall, blond, broad shouldered, his dress uniform fit him beautifully, his wide blue eyes charmed every female in the room but her. He was politically astute, a natural flirt, and he knew all the right people. He’d be Somebody, Someday. Just like her father. She smiled at him, hoping he couldn’t hear the thudding of her heart. “I’m just, you know, a little tipsy.”

  She refused to turn back around. Why was he here? What was he thinking? Was he trying to torture himself and her both? Her thighs quivered with memory of his touch. She glanced over her shoulder. His dark stare bored straight into her soul. She put a hand to her mouth and leaned on Ron’s shoulder put her lips to his ear. “Let’s dance.”

  He nodded, grabbed her hand, and tugged her onto the dance floor. Vivian threw herself into the crowd. The alcohol she’d consumed made its presence known and the room spun as she laughed, let Ron hold her, even kiss her at one point. In spite of herself she sensed Levent as he moved around the room, observing her. But she determined not to care. To prove to him she’d kept her promise. That she’d cut him out of her life like a cancer. If he wanted to hang around and watch her make out with her handsome Marine date then that was his problem. Ron’s lips were on hers again, as his hand crept up her side, cupped her breast. She shifted so he had better access but her body was in shut down mode. His touch, his kiss, did absolutely nothing for her. But it didn’t matter. Her father had spoken.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed. Her face was hot from alcohol, her dress disheveled from Ron’s near constant attentions. “I need another drink,” she mumbled around his lips, hoping to distract him. Lillian grabbed her hand then and pulled her away. Ron scowled but let her go.

  “What are you doing?” Anger made her friend’s voice harsh. Vivian tried to focus on her. “Don’t you know he’s here? In the room? Damn it, Viv, you’re being a real slut.”

  Vivian yanked her hand out of Lillian’s grasp. “Let go of me. I have to get back. My future husband is over there glaring at me. I have to go do my fucking duty. Being a slut.”

  Lillian rolled her eyes. But let her go. Vivian saw her look at Burak who had materialized at her elbow. Vivian blew her friend a kiss. Lucky them. She found Ron’s blue eyes laser focused on her. He wore a look she understood. Fine. She’d brought it up. Might as well get it over with. She sashayed over to him, felt Levent’s stare from the side of the room but kept her eyes on Ron’s blue ones. “Where can we go?” Her question was clear.

  He took her elbow without speaking and guided her to the back of the room. “I’m going to give you what you want, Vivian.” He pressed against her side. His intent was clear. “But you must know your father has had your bags packed, they’re in the car. We are going to Ankara. Tonight.” She stared at him. Then looked away, so he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “You obviously need something first. And I’ll oblige you, but if I see you making eyes at that tall Turk with the drinks tray one more time, you will be sorry.” His voice was low, curt. “You had one thing right tonight, my dear.” He smiled at a passing couple while still digging his fingers into her upper arm. “I am chosen for you. What you got wrong is how this going to go down. I won’t be married to a drunken slut pining after a servant boy. I’ll drive him out of your head so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

  Fear bloomed in her chest. She watched as he made platitudes and politicked his way through the room while blatantly threatening her under his breath the entire time. They reached the large bank of floor to ceiling windows that opened out onto the massive marble terrace. When he stopped to schmooze his superior officer in the room, she took the opportunity to yank her arm out of his loosening grip. Levent remained within shouting distance. Would he save her? She took a breath. Maybe she should save herself. She sipped a drink and watched Ron. When he turned to her the look in his eyes was one of resignation, not anger.

  She had a flash of realization. He didn’t really want this any more than she did. But he followed orders. At that moment, with Ron watching on one side, Levent, a few feet away on the other, she had never felt more miserable. Ron looked up, caught the other man’s eye. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the balcony where he kissed her, hard, demanding, his tongue shoved between her teeth in a way that tried to prove something. She didn’t resist. What was the point? They were both stuck. He walked her backward into a dark corner, gripped her breast in one hand, and pressed her hand to his zipper with the other.

  “How do you want it, Ron? Want me to turn around, so you can take me from behind? I don’t care.” He stared at her, gripped her arm so hard she yelped in pain.

  “Just shut up would you, Jesus.” He groaned as she ran her hand along the impressive bulge under his zipper. “Yeah, that’s what I want. And I want that boy over there to watch.”

  She closed her eyes. If Levent watched, she didn’t want to know it. This was her life, at the hands of this suddenly brutish man. Fine. She
would do her duty. He pulled her farther into the dark shadow, jerking her dress up, seeking what was underneath. His rough fingers, probed, ungentle, and demanding. He sucked her tongue into his mouth. When he found her bare mound, he moaned. Vivian sighed. She was bone dry there, surely he knew what that meant.

  “Ow,” she mumbled. He stopped and stared at her. Her brain kicked in. What was she doing? The clarity of the moment was one she’d never forget. His cold eyes reflected nothing but unhappiness. He stepped back, taking his fingers from underneath her long skirt, sudden remorse flooding his handsome face as a dark hand emerged and landed on his shoulder. He let himself be pulled back. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face the taller man behind him. Vivian jumped between them.

  “Stop! Now!” She glared at Levent, then at Ron. “I don’t need this. I don’t you need you—” She poked Levent in the chest. “To rescue me. I can take care of myself.” He took a step back. “And I don’t care what my father says, I won’t go anywhere with you.” She stared into Ron’s eyes. Did she see relief there? “I’m going home. All the way home. Screw this damn country.” She stomped away from their little macho tableau. Lillian tried to stop her, but by then, tears had blinded her. She pushed through the crowd. The second in command’s diplomatic daughter date was leaving in tears. The drama quotient of the night had increased exponentially. She didn’t care. She had to get away from this, from that man, from all of it.

  The hotel that hosted the party was in an area of the city that had slowly gentrified but still held questionable areas of danger. All she heard was her pounding heart and the click of her shoes on the pavement. At one point she stopped, needing to catch her breath which was tough given the tight bodice of the dress. As she realized her hair and expensive dress were soaked from a rainstorm, a hand gripped her elbow. She shrieked and jumped, but when Levent pulled her to him, she sobbed and melted into his tall body. Her life was over. She had no choices. Her little brave display back there meant absolutely nothing. All she wanted was this man, and she could never have him.

  “Shh, my darling, it’s fine, I’m here.” He whispered into her ear, “I love you, my small one, my Vivian. I’m not letting you go, not ever.”

  “You lie,” she muttered into his wet shirt-front. “You don’t want me unless I come as a complete package, tied in a bow of approval from my asshole father. But that’s not happening, Levent. So take me home. I’m leaving Turkey. I can’t stand it here anymore.”

  He stepped back and ran a long finger down her face. “No. I just want you. I don’t care what your father says or thinks of us. Will you have me? Forever?”

  Vivian’s brain tried to process what he was holding in his hand. He went down on one knee. She frowned. “Get up, the street is dirty.” He stayed down, kept holding out his hand. It contained a small blue box. “Levent, I….”

  “What, you don’t want me?” He raised an eyebrow. She smiled at him took the box and opened it. A round, brilliant diamond set in a wide gold band nestled in blue velvet.

  “How in the world?” She gasped. He took it out, slipped it onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit. “I, oh God.” She rose on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him, breathed him in, and was complete for the first time in her life.

  ***

  Levent jumped up from the bed and stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to find light sources in the still strange space. He rubbed his eyes in the sudden glare. Turning, he saw Vivian leaning on the doorway her hand on the switch placed conveniently by the entrance. Her small, lush body wrapped in a thick towel, her short hair messy and her face looking exactly how he liked it: well fucked. He held her close, kissed her again, and groaned as she gripped his ass in both hands.

  “Mine,” she whispered.

  He brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Forever.”

  She leaned on his chest. He propped his arms on the cold granite counter of his new kitchen in his new apartment overlooking the Bosporus, relishing the sensation of his wife in his arms. Her father had indeed written her off, wouldn’t attend the wedding they’d planned within a few weeks of the Marine Ball, declared her dead to him. But only a small part of him really cared. He had his friends, and his mother who loved the woman like her own daughter already.

  Vivian was a stubborn thing and quickly put her imprint on his life, in his space. She brought the servant girl from the Consulate and installed her as “in charge” of the house. The two of them, with Lillian’s help, had decorated, hired more staff, and spent more money than he frankly cared to know about turning the empty cavernous space into a home. The pleasure came with no small measure of pain. His traditional self battled daily with her need to assert her opinions on everything from the cut of his suit to the state of political affairs in his country.

  She was taking art lessons and worked at a new gallery in the diplomatic section. He didn’t want her to work, but she insisted. He had quickly learned that Vivian was not to be denied. Their love for each other was vast and without end, and they celebrated every night, every morning. Sometimes in the middle of the day, if he snuck home from the construction site, his manhood stiff and ready for her as if they hadn’t shared love a few hours earlier.

  He kissed the top of her head. Tomorrow was Lillian and Burak’s wedding. It would be difficult for her, as Lillian’s parents would be there and remind her of her own missing family. But she’d rally. She always did.

  “I’m starving,” she declared, pulling out of his embrace. He leaned back and watched her rummage through the icebox, taking leftovers and cheese out onto the counter. “Open up.” She popped a morsel into his mouth. He smiled and chewed and was happy.

  Epilogue

  Fifteen Years Later

  “Stop! Dur! I mean it, Tarkan! You must listen to your mother or I will have to—” Levent put his briefcase down in the foyer and snagged the small form that streaked by with one hand. The boy’s face was covered with something, chocolate, maybe paint or perhaps shit, who knew. He was a whirling dervish of five-year-old trouble wherever he went. Levent kissed his son’s face and lifted him onto his shoulders before wandering into the kitchen.

  He stopped, struck dumb at the sight of his wife, the baby at her breast, sitting in the rocker as the last of the day’s sun streaked through the room. Her eyes were closed. Her head leaned back as the girl greedily sucked nutrition from her body. His heart twisted, and his skin prickled. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. They’d wanted children so badly right away. Had nearly given up after ten years of happy marriage starting to spoil around the edges at the lack of fertility.

  He winced as Tarkan fisted his hands in his hair and tugged. “Babba! Babba! Outside! I want to check my fort. I left Emre in charge, but I think the enemy might be attacking, and he will let them!”

  “Shush, my son. Your mother is sleeping.” He slid the boy down to the floor. “Go. I’m sure your brother has everything under control there. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  Tarkan tiptoed over to the rocking chair. He stared down at his baby sister, put a small hand on her hair. Vivian opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  Levent knelt down at her knees. “Did you hear from him?”

  He put his hand on the baby’s tiny chest, let his finger brush against his wife’s lush breast. She glared at him and leaned her head toward their son. He just grinned at her. “Yes. He is coming. This weekend. I don’t know what did it.” She sighed and put a hand to Tarkan’s dirty face.

  Levent knew. His wife’s father was dying. He had stayed in touch with the house servants and the office staff after the man had moved back to the States, retired from the diplomatic corps. He knew every move the old bastard made. Felt it was his duty in case Vivian ever needed him.

  “Dear God, Tarkan, what have you been doing? Eating mud?” The boy grinned up at her but leaned down and kissed his little sister’s cheek, dirt and all.

  “Lale.” He muttered. “My tulip sister.”

  Le
vent laid a hand on his son’s head. The boy was never ever still. His twin brother was so calm, liked to sit and read or draw, and was smart as a whip already. They both were. But this one—more than once his nanny had found him clambering down the side of the hill from their building, had to chase him through the streets and retrieve him back with bribes of chocolate and toys. But he would sit and stare at his sister for hours, loved to hold her, she was the one thing that seemed to calm him. While Emre essentially ignored the baby except to complain about her nightly bouts of screaming and crying.

  “We will have a feast for your father, my darling.” He leaned up to kiss his wife’s cheek. “It will be perfect. He wants to be a grandfather. We shall welcome him back to us.”

  Vivian frowned. “I don’t know, Levent.”

  “Nonsense.” He stared at her, trying to make his face stern. “You will listen and obey me on this one thing, wife. This is how it should be. A man can make a mistake but must be allowed to redeem himself. It is destined.”

  Vivian’s eyes filled with tears. Tarkan touched her face. “Anne, why are you sad? Is Lale ill? I’ll be good I promise. Don’t cry.”

  She looked at him as the baby released her nipple and made little sucking motions with her mouth before drifting off into what Levent knew was hard-won sleep. He stood and took the girl from his wife’s arms as she readjusted her breast inside her shirt. Tarkan climbed up into her lap and put his arms around his mother’s neck.

  As he walked away, his daughter opened her huge dark eyes and stared at him. Her silent gaze somehow thoughtful as if she already plotted ways to vex him. Levent smiled, crooned to her, promised her he’d treasure her forever. His head and heart remained calm, as it always was in his home. Things were challenging with twin sons, a difficult baby in the house, and the long hours he had to put into making his various businesses successful. But he would never in a million years ask for a different life. Before ascending the stairs to put Lale in her bed, he turned back. Tarkan’s twin, Emre, had joined him on their mother’s lap. They sat, curled around each other as they had been for nine months, mysteriously and frighteningly identical, quiet, as Vivian closed her eyes and slept. The boys looked at him and put their fingers over their lips at the same time. Levent took a moment and praised God for his life. He’d been lucky.