Turkish Delights 0.50 - 4.00 Series Bundle

by Liz Crowe

  “How many more of these are you hiding?”

  “None of your fucking business, Greek.” She spat on the floor.

  His grin turned wolfish, as he gripped her upper arm, yanking her back to his side. “I'm glad you figured that out.” His full tempting lips hovered out of her reach. Lale tried not to whimper or beg. But the inclination hovered there nonetheless. “Just so we know where we all stand, Turk.”

  She tried to regain her composure. His grip got tighter. The eroticism of the moment immobilized her. She groaned when he crushed his lips to hers, possessed her with his tongue, his hand never letting go of her arm. His warm mouth invited, and she sensed the man knew just how to use it. It took all she had not to climb up his large frame and wrap herself around him. The odd, disturbing need for him, his words, his help, his presence, swept through her. But this would not do. She needed no one. Lale made herself break away. Staring into his swarthy face, she growled, “Let. Go. Of. My. Arm.”

  “Gladly. I don't like girls who don't do what they're told. They waste my time. Especially Turkish ones. They’re the worst.” He turned on his heel and stalked away. Lale watched the fine vision of his dark-denimed ass and licked her lips. What a prick. She shook her head to clear it and made her way back out onto the dance floor. But her brain overflowed with images of a large, sexy, bossy Greek in black.

  ***

  Andreas walked past the group of men gathering in the club’s foyer and out the door. His face burned and his cock throbbed. He couldn’t believe he had done that—grabbed her and tried to make her surrender to him. He sensed she would, eventually. It would require some time and patience on his part. But after one taste of that woman’s delicious lips, he simply could not imagine spending another second in the damn club.

  “Hey, Andreas, you going with us?” A voice called from behind him. He closed his eyes.

  “I’ll, um, meet you there.” He hopped on his Harley and fired it up. The motor vibrated between his thighs. The power there soothed him, calmed his rattled nerves. He exited the parking lot, unsure if he would actually make his way to the strip club or not. His brain swam from the smell, sight, and feel of her. And of his need to control, to take her, like he sensed she wanted to be taken. And a Turk on top of it all. A smile crept over his face as the hot wind attempted to blow the woman out of his head. His dear, departed grandmother would be rolling in her grave. There was “no love lost” between the two countries, as closely as their histories and cultures intertwined. Each had a penchant for blaming the other for all their woes, some founded, some not. “‘No hate left unsaid’ would be more like it.”

  He took a breath and fought the urge to head home. Who knows, a few expensive lap dances and glitter on his clothes from the beauties at the Rhino and perhaps the damn Turkish girl would be gone from his consciousness. But he knew better. He parked the bike in the busy parking lot of Vegas’ largest and most popular gentlemen’s club, tossed his keys to a valet and sauntered in. He had two gorgeous, topless women hanging off his arms within seconds. But the dark eyes of the woman from the club never left him. Not once.

  Chapter Six

  Lale wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror and stared at herself. “Blind date” had never been part of her vocabulary, ever. She never needed a setup, could get her own men, at least for the short term. Dressed and ready within minutes, she skipped her usual heavy hand with makeup, keeping it simple. She wandered out onto her balcony, letting her thick black hair dry naturally, and sipped some wine. Her heart pounded. Good Lord, am I actually nervous? About a stupid date? Visions of the Greek from last night kept intruding, making her sigh and shake her head.

  She glanced at the clock for the millionth time. Approximately four minutes had passed since the last time she looked. Her phone beeped with a text. Emre.

  Have fun tonight. Keep an open mind. You never know what can happen.

  Whatever. I don’t need to be set up. I don’t know why you did it.

  I didn’t, remember? Elle did.

  You back in her good graces yet, you pig?

  No. Lale winced. She didn’t know how to reply. But he took care of that by adding: But I’m going back Monday. We have had lots of conversation, and I am truly sorry for saying that to you. Not just because my wife kicked me out over it either.

  Good. Gotta run. My dream date awaits.

  I love you. Lale frowned at the screen. To her knowledge Emre had never said that to her in her entire life.

  I know.

  Try to behave. Or barring that, be polite.

  All right already, brother. I gotta go.

  ***

  Andreas was early—normal for him. He liked to get a handle on his surroundings, and frankly, nervousness made him even earlier. Blind dates were not usually his style. He liked to meet women on his own terms, not as part of some elaborate set up, like this one. He nursed his scotch. The previous night had been a late one. He’d stayed sober, enjoyed the expensive attentions of some lovely ladies at the club, and fallen into bed around three a.m. A long morning workout had helped dispel some of his tension. Hopefully this little dream date thing would not only get his sister off his back, but would force the dark-skinned sultry girl from the club out of his brain.

  He counted punctuality as one of his pet peeves so by the time a female figure appeared alone in the doorway of the exclusive restaurant, back lit so he couldn’t see her face, and nearly twenty minutes late, he frowned. Dressed in a short skirt, her long legs were fit, but not skinny. She had womanly curves exactly where he liked them. The cinched in, wide belt accentuated her hips and the very appealing swell of her breasts. Her sleeveless and filmy shirt allowed just enough of her rich olive skin to show. His eyes traveled up the long expanse of her long neck and came to rest right on the very eyes that had haunted him since the night before. She took a step into the restaurant’s dim interior. His cock sprang to instant, painful attention. He gulped down the remainder of his drink and watched her take a few more steps inside, using the time to really assess her perfection. The patent leather stilettos made him groan. He was fucked, well and truly. And the girl had serious attitude to match her good looks if he remembered correctly. He sensed his natural Dom rear up, take control for the first time in months, maybe even years. He stood, buttoned his jacket over the bulge in his trousers and made a decision. He’d tell her everything, exactly what he wanted, and let her decide.

  The dim light forced Lale to take a few moments and figure out where everything was in the restaurant. Her ears buzzed with nervousness. Something in the room shifted, a puff of cool air blew past her, ruffling her hair as she took a further step inside. Within seconds, she locked eyes with the Greek. Taking an involuntary step back, Lale immediately realized he had to be her date. Mas allah…. She put a hand to her throat. But then he smiled at her—an amazing, beautiful thing that lit up his entire, incredible face. When he shrugged and held out a hand, an eerie, unfamiliar calm settled over her psyche.

  She took a deep breath and walked to the table where he stood, holding out her chair. She glanced down, unable to meet his eyes for some reason and sat. The moment he joined her, a plate of succulent fruits, nuts, olives, cheese, and some smoked salmon appeared in front of them. Her wine glass got filled with something red and rich smelling. Lale blinked then looked up. Dear God, he is gorgeous. And something else…something dark, yet lovely…just out of reach….

  “Cheers.” He lifted his glass. “Nice to meet you.”

  She raised hers, clinked his and took a sip. Realizing she had yet to speak, she cleared her throat, touched a soft napkin to her lips, stalling.

  “So, I guess I should know your name, otherwise you are going to be ‘the Greek’ to me all night.” Lale winced at herself. “I’m, um, Lale.” She held her hand out over the small table.

  The electric spark that crawled up her arm to the base of her brain when he touched her nearly made her moan. Sweat beaded her upper lip but the rest of her body shivered.
She gulped as his huge hand engulfed hers.

  “Beautiful Tulip, eh? Nice. Very apt. You are lovely.” He let go. Lale frowned. He stayed quiet, munching on an olive, staring holes into her. She sipped more wine. The silence stretched out beyond anything resembling comfortable or even polite.

  “Okay then.” She reached out for an olive, popped it in her mouth, and nearly choked on it. He stood and pounded her back. She grabbed water, mortified. After she regained her breath, he sat back down and motioned for the waiter without taking his eyes off her.

  “The lady will have the Circassian Chicken, no bread, with a spinach salad, hold the onions and blue cheese. I’ll have the osso buco, extra bread, no salad,” he ordered in textbook perfect French. Lale gaped at the man, amazed, pissed at his assumptions and suddenly starving at the thought of the chicken dish. Easily one of her favorites; she hadn’t had it since leaving Turkey.

  “How did you know I…?”

  He held up a hand. “Let me clarify this for you now, my dear. I like to be in control. I expect it, frankly.” He took a sip of wine. Lale’s core continued its dangerous meltdown. She had no idea what he meant, but something in her already responded in ways she couldn’t fathom. “I take pride in knowing what my, um, partner needs from me. I noticed you didn’t eat a bite of the cheese. I have some other Turkish friends—although I loathe to admit it—who are lactose intolerant. I think it is common in your country, this digestive weakness.”

  “But—” Lale’s face burned and her temper rose to meet the lust that roiled through her, keeping her skin pebbled and her heart thudding.

  “I’m not finished.” His voice stayed low, firm, sexy. “Yes, I played football. In Miami. For seven years, I hit the center of the opposing team as hard as I could, trying to get to the quarterback. I played this position well because I’d been the center in college at Arizona. After my third major concussion I retired.” He refilled Lale’s wine glass. She kept staring at him, transfixed by his face, his eyes, the soft cadence of his voice. “Yes, I have been married. My ex-wife started out as my sub, or my submissive, then transformed into a slave. Our relationship was very complex, exciting and as it turns out, a complete lie.”

  “Uh, your ‘slave’ did you say?” Lale’s face flushed again. If this Greek thought she had it in her to bow down and let herself be treated like shit by the hottest thing with a swinging dick she’d encountered in a while, he’d better think twice. He put a hand over hers. Lale stared at it as her pounding heart calmed, and she could suddenly take a deep breath, seemingly at his touch. Dark hair dusted his bronzed skin. Her eyes travelled up the expanse of his light blue shirt, to the tie around his neck, noted his clenched jaw, and came to rest on his shining green eyes. She had to cross her legs to keep from trembling.

  “Yes, I did. But once I left the NFL and moved here to take a job as the athletic director for UNLV, her real self emerged. Selfish, spoiled, suddenly immune to punishment, but I had let myself be weakened by her. I loved her, but she loved the limelight from being the wife of a big football star—and living in the desert didn’t appear on her to-do list, apparently.”

  Lale watched his throat as he swallowed his wine. He removed his hand from hers. She had never felt more abandoned, although the man still sat right across from her. She shivered.

  “Until I came home early one day and saw my neighbor’s cock in her ass, I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Some slaves are unredeemable, especially the ones who are merely posing for some sort of gain. So I dismissed her. In my lifestyle, that is more final than any legal statement of divorce. And my neighbor may be able to walk again by now.”

  “Wow, um that’s….” Lale pecked at her spinach salad.

  “Eat that. You need the iron.”

  She glanced up at him. “What, you’re a doctor, too?”

  “No, I can tell. It’s my job.”

  Something like anger shot through her. “Look, Greek, you have no job as it relates to me, okay? Just put that out of your head. I mean, you’re, ah, interesting and all, but I think there’s been some mistake.”

  “Do you?”

  Lale had to admit the spinach tasted good. She had never been the best eater and these last few days, she had not ingested much more than granola bars, coffee, and alcohol. “Yeah, I do.”

  He stayed quiet a minute while she wolfed down the dark greens.

  “So you are perfectly happy with the men in your life?”

  “What men?” She dabbed at her lips again. “I mean, I am on a blind date with you, after all.”

  “What I mean is, I think you might be perfect for me. But I don’t know if I have the energy or inclination to make you understand that.”

  Lale sat back. What the hell did he mean? “I thought relationships were supposed to be fun, you know, not work that required a lot of energy. Just so you know, my brother met his wife through this little setup and one of my best friends found his new boyfriend thanks to this Madame Eve person as well.”

  The huge Greek hunk chuckled and removed a card from of his pocket, wrote something on the back, and pushed it across the table at her. She picked it up. Andreas Michos, Athletic Director The University of Nevada Las Vegas. She flipped it over. 4770 North Cumberland Drive, Summerlin She stared at him.

  “Gee, I thought we’d exchange email addresses first.”

  He leaned forward and held out his hands. Against her better judgment, she placed hers in them, trying not to flinch at the heat that passed from him straight to her lap. Her throat clenched, making it hard to swallow as she studied how small her hands seemed in his again, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Look at me now.” She lifted her eyes to his which blazed with intensity. “I want you, Lale. I wanted you last night. I want…more than you know. But I’m not sure you can handle what I have to offer. It’s a complex relationship between a Dom and a sub, and I don’t know if you’re ready, although….” He stopped and shrugged, his face settling into noncommittal lines. Her skin heated alarmingly. Rage surged through her brain, and she yanked her hands out of his large, warm ones.

  “You know what, you have got to be the cockiest man on the planet. What makes you think I even want what you have to offer, hmm?”

  “You do. I can tell.”

  Lale pushed her chair back and stood. She had to get out of there. This Greek…Andreas…did something to her she had no frame of reference for. She needed air. She needed space. But at the same time, she had to ball her hands into fists to keep from flinging herself into his strong arms. What the hell? Since when did she want someone to dominate her? That was utter bullshit.

  He looked up at her, one dark eyebrow raised. “Your move, beautiful tulip. I’ve laid it out for you. Shall we finish our dinner? I think you should.” He gestured toward her chair, an eyebrow raised as if in question.

  She shut her eyes against the weird compulsion to obey him. To sit down and eat the meal that sat before her, tempting with the familiar smells of home. Slipping back into her seat, she took a bite and let the silence gather some force between them.

  “I am not interested in being anyone’s ‘slave,’” she finally said as casually as if she were discussing the weather. “So I guess this will be our first and last date.”

  The lovely man smiled and his face transformed once again into something she wouldn’t mind seeing every morning of her life, next to her on a pillow. “I know that. Believe me, I’ve been doing this long enough to spot a woman as capable as I am of being a Dom.”

  She tried not to smile back at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Greek.” She got a small bit of satisfaction at the frustration that passed over his strong features.

  “Lale, the Dom/sub relationship is not about anything but trust. Something tells me you don’t trust anyone. Not anymore. Am I right?”

  She blinked. “Maybe. What difference does that make?”

  “All the difference in the world to me. I want to be the man you trust—with everything. With your
body, your safety, your very soul. That requires relinquishing an amount of control I’m not sure you’re capable of handing over…yet.” He motioned for the waiter to take away his empty plate. She hadn’t even registered he’d been eating. “So, perhaps you’re right. This should be our last encounter. We will only frustrate each other. Although….” He licked his upper lip, which sent Lale right over the edge. She grabbed her water glass and tried not to hold it to her flushed face. “The process would indeed be gratifying, that I promise you.” Lale had heard of women having an orgasm from the sound of a voice, without any physical contact. But until that moment, she had dismissed it as virginal bullshit—the stuff of overheated romance novels. The dampness between her legs and the quick second of bliss she had at his words proved otherwise. She had to get away from him before she did something ridiculous.

  “I think we should call it a night.” She stood, wobbly in her shoes. He joined her and her eyes were drawn directly to the huge lump under his zipper that he made no effort to hide. He took her arm and steered her toward the door.

  “You see the affect you have on me. I’ve nursed this hard on since you walked in the room, Lale. But I need more from you than the quick lay you would no doubt allow me.” She yanked her arm out of his grip. Her anger finally allowed her to speak.

  “Fuck off, asshole. Take your Master and slave bullshit and find yourself a brainless bimbo. This town has got to be full of them, hot for your bod, no?”

  He put his hands in pockets as they stood in the cavernous lobby. His gaze remained inscrutable. Lale glared at him, the twin compulsions to smack him and wrap her entire body around his and never let go warring in her brain. She sucked in a deep breath.