Byzantine Gold (17 page)

The undertow pulled at her legs and she tightened her fingers on his shoulders. Atakan leaned down and cupped water in his hands. He released it over her head, drenching her hair and face. Rivulets of the salty water dripped from her bangs onto her lashes. She blinked and wiped the runners away when they ran into the corners of her eyes.

He smoothed the hair from her face and she rested her hands onto his shoulders again. Oblivious to the droplets that clung to his lashes, he told her, “Close your eyes.”

She did.

“Do nothing but feel,” he whispered and moved closer. His chest, slippery and wet, grazed her wet breasts. He kissed the sensitive skin under her ear. “Feel the warmth of the water tantalize your pleasure places. Feel it tease the silky hair between your legs.” He slid his hard cock between her legs. “Feel me, slick against your skin.”

He tortured her with the slow rhythm as he rubbed back and forth against her inner thighs.

The current swirled around them, its warmth tempered with the occasional rush of cool.

She opened her eyes, dipping her head, she kissed the pink scar that puckered where the bullet struck him.

Atakan tugged on her hair just enough to tip her chin up. “No touching,” he mumbled, nuzzling her neck.

“I have to touch you.” She ran the back of her fingers along line from his belly button to his crotch. Instinctively, his stomach muscles clenched and he grabbed her hand.

He straightened. Water beaded his face. It dripped down his cheeks and off his chin. “I told you this is my turn.”

“Touch all you want, but make love to me while you’re doing it.”

He walked them to the water’s edge, where the waves turned to frothy spirals flowing higher and higher on the shore. He eased her down onto the sand.

“Stay here,” he said and walked toward the umbrella circle. He returned with the bottle of oil and dropped to his knees. “Lay down.”

“We can’t do it here, exposed, for the world to see. This is not the always proper in public Atakan I know.”

“This is Atakan wanting you more than propriety, wanting you with my tongue, my hands...” He caressed her, thigh to hipbone. “My cock.”

“Sand will get in all kinds of places.”

“Is it not the sand in the oyster that makes the pearl?”

“Pearl as a metaphor for orgasm. Sounds good, as long as an orgasm is in included in there somewhere.” Charlotte laid back, knees up.

Atakan straddled her and drizzled the oil hot from the sun over her chest and stomach.

“You can touch now, but not me. Spread it over yourself, here,” he drew his palm over her breasts, “and here.” His palm made a slow path across her midriff. With fingertips only, he skimmed the flesh of her abdomen, “and here. I desire to watch. I want to see the glisten on your skin. I wish to watch your nipples rise as you stroke them with oil, knowing they will harden more with my touch.”

Around them, no sound of other people disturbed the gentle whoosh of the incoming tide or the chirping of tiny birds who danced in and out of the froth.

Atakan said nothing as she smeared the oil where he indicated, his gaze following the path. When she finished, he said in a soft voice, “don’t move.”

He rose and went to the umbrellas again. This time he returned with the bucket of ice but not the champagne. He set the bucket on the sand and straddled her. He wrapped her slick hand around his cock. “Rub me,” he said, and took a cube of ice out and circled her aureoles and nipples.

She jerked up at the shock of cold and then relaxed. He continued until the cube melted and her tits were frigid even in the heat of the sun.

Atakan bent, teasing her icy breasts with his warm tongue. He kissed, and flicked, and sucked until they stiffened to hard nubs.

Unable to take more, she clamped her legs around his waist and pulled his head up. Desperate, she tried to force to him to finish what he’d started.

He rolled off her and propped himself on the elbow of his strong arm. “Turn over.”

When she did he straddled her once more, dripping oil down her spine. He rubbed the liquid into her skin. “Send all thought to a distant place, feel only.”

He cupped her buttocks, his thumbs slid along her cleft. She closed her mind to everything but the sensuality of what he was doing. His fingers on her ass, in her ass, traveling forward to tickle her pubic hair before pushing deep inside her everywhere where they swirled around her sweet spot, leaving and then returning to drive her mad with need.

Her back nestled against his chest. His lips to her ear, he whispered words he’d taught her in Turkish. “Cok guzel,”
so lovely
...”cok yumusak,”
so soft.

He sat and brought her up to kneel in front of him. He nuzzled the crook of her neck as his hands cradled her rib cage then slowly swept upward to cup her breasts.

“Beautiful one,” he said against her nape.

Pressed to him, Charlotte thought she’d die if he didn’t make love to her immediately. She reached behind her, clasped his hips and dropped onto the sand forcing him to fall with her.

“I cannot wait,” he said, as he swung a leg over her. “I want you, hard and fast.”

Her heart racing, she held his head in her palms and repeated, “Hard and fast.”

They climaxed together.

She rolled, flipping him onto his back.

“That was wicked of you,” she said and snatched a cube from the bucket. She palmed the icy chunk and touched it to his balls that tightened and tensed in retreat.

“Cruel woman. If I ply you with champagne, and make love to you repeatedly, will you cease trying to send my balls to my throat?”

“Maybe.”

Covered in a layer of sand, they ran into the surf first. After a fast rinse, they took the ice bucket with the champagne and hid in the protective isolation of the umbrella circle as the sunset and he kept his word.

Chapter Thirty-Four

At the door of the women’s quarters, Charlotte gave Atakan a kiss on the cheek. “What a sight we are. I can’t wait to shower. Sand has lodged in places it was never meant to be.”

“But, worth the result,” he said, winking.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll meet you for dinner shortly after I cleanup and send a message to the Director,” Atakan said.

Inside her quarters, Charlotte did a quick check of her emails before heading for the showers. She sank down onto the cot seeing the sender’s name on the first message-Nuray Vadim, Atakan’s mother. With a sinking feeling, she opened the email.

Charlotte,

My son has chosen to send his father and me enigmatic and vague messages. He attempts to reassure us of his safety yet offers little details of the situation. He refuses to speak of the hateful man who tried to kill him.

As a result, I took upon myself to contact Director Firat. The Director informs me he has sent Iskender Yilmaz to Cyprus as an added precaution. He declined to tell me the truth of his suspicions but I am not so easily put off. If the Director felt the need to send Iskender to aid my son, then I can deduce this is because the risk to Atakan has shifted to your location.

I say, “your location,” because of what I believe in my heart. Your presence is a magnet of misfortune. You are a curse to my son. I know this causes you pain to hear me say. I wish I did not have to bring this hurt to you. I have no choice. I love my son too much to ignore the danger to him you attract.

You love Atakan. I saw the tenderness you feel for him when you visited our home. Even my dearest Metin saw the love you and Atakan share for each other. So, knowing this, I would implore you...beg you, to love my son enough to leave him.

Nuray

Charlotte logged off without reading the rest of the new mail. She sat for a long moment, Nuray’s closing words repeating in her mind
—love him enough to leave him.

When she could delay no longer, she gathered her towel, soap, shampoo, and fresh clothes. Sick at heart, she walked to the showers, Nuray’s plea haunting her steps.

#

Charlotte dropped onto the bench and slumped against the trunk of the olive tree. Was she a harmful presence to Atakan? He’d assured her in Paris Tischenko’s vendetta had nothing to do with her. She’d allowed herself to believe that. In truth, what else could he have said? Faulting coincidence appealed to her. But the scientist in her rejected the notion.

She’d stacked the umbrellas by the bench. She stood and waved as Iskender pulled up in the camp truck.

“Such a pensive look. Not what I expected after a lovely afternoon at the beach. Is something wrong?” he asked as he loaded the umbrellas into the bed.

“It was beyond lovely.” 

“Why the face?”

She hesitated to share her thoughts but wanted—no needed—someone to deny what Nuray said she was.

“Do you know what a Jonah is?”

“What or who?”

“It’s a bringer of bad luck, a superstition that originated with sailors but in time spread.”

“I don’t know this superstition.” He put the last umbrella in the bed. “Ready to go?”

Charlotte nodded and numbly climbed into the cab of the truck. Iskender climbed into the driver’s seat but before he started the engine, she turned to him.

“Do you believe a person can carry the aura of bad luck with them?”

“Yes. There are people who the
evil eye
curses and follows. I’ve known a few. Nice enough fellows, good to have a beer with, but I wouldn’t want to go skydiving with them. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Atakan sat in the far corner of the café with his back to the kitchen’s exterior wall. He’d called Firat and requested the Ministry’s background file on Nassor Jafari. He related to the Director his suspicions about Jafari’s odd behavior and heightened interest in only the high value artifacts. He left out the possibility he’d thought he heard Jafari use Kurmanji. Atakan was too uncertain of what he heard to mention it at this point. Nor, did he say much of his suspicion stemmed from Charlotte’s observations. The Director preferred to be overly cautious when it came to archaeological sites and recovered relics. He liked Atakan’s idea about contacting former project members Nassor worked with again and went on to suggest Atakan speak to his parents. He sent the file immediately after their conversation.

Atakan angled his chair so no one passing by on the right could see the monitor. He opened the file on his laptop and began taking notes and contact information. Charlotte was due soon. As he read through the file, he checked the entrance periodically for her arrival.

He looked up as a couple stepped inside. The tall man was in his mid-to-late forties with a lean build, shaved head, and high cheekbones. A minor sunburn tinged his fair complexion. Atakan figured him for a Scandinavian. The petite woman was an easy twenty-plus years younger, probably Turkish, pretty, with long, dark hair, and a deep tan. She wore designer sunglasses and a short dress that flattered her buxom figure. Charlotte would call her “arm candy.” An accurate assessment, in Atakan’s opinion.

The woman frowned and drew away when the man put his hand on the small of her back to guide her to a table. He removed his hand with a smirk and accompanying shrug. They chose a table that faced the one Atakan occupied. Once seated, the woman buried her nose in the plain brown shopping bag she carried, as though inspecting the contents.

Atakan returned to his reading. Twice, when he glanced toward the entry he caught the petite woman staring at him. She quickly looked elsewhere when he made eye contact. The second time, the man with her said something that angered her from the expression on her face when she replied. The man’s gaze locked on Atakan’s. He took a casual sip of his beer and then shifted his gaze to another part of the cafe.

Atakan checked his watch willing Charlotte to get there. To his relief, she appeared with Iskender. He stood and met her partway. Instead of kissing her on the cheek like usual, he kissed her on the lips and wrapped his arm around her waist. Charlotte looked momentarily surprised by the kiss on the lips, then smiled and slid her arm around him.

After the waiter brought drinks to Charlotte and Iskender and left, Atakan told Iskender about the conversation with the Director.

“I’m going to speak with the people who worked with Nassor and his parents,” Atakan said.

“Do you think it wise to talk with the parents? Won’t they wonder why you’re asking questions?” Iskender took note of everyone in the café and those sitting at the nearby outside tables. His eyes followed the people who passed on the promenade. Subtle in his manner, he scrutinized without appearing to. “Mightn’t they suspect there’s a problem?”

If Tischenko ventured into Ada’s well-disguised, Atakan felt confident he’d still recognize him. His face at least, even though the Kusadasi photo showed a newly gaunt appearance to Tischenko’s once broad, Slavic one. In his dangerous situation, Atakan was grateful for Iskender’s sharp eye, if by chance, he didn’t know a different Tischenko on sight, he trusted Iskender would.

“I’m sure by the fact they’re being revisited for comment, the former project members will know some issue has arisen. With the family, I will craft my questions in a more artful manner.”

Atakan’s gaze drifted to the couple who arrived shortly before Charlotte. The woman’s head was bent over the drink in front of her but her eyes were raised and fixed on Charlotte. She didn’t notice Atakan watching. The man’s lusty attention was on a bikinied, long-legged blonde stretched out on the sand.

The world was filled with odd ducks, as Charlotte called strange people. Atakan started to classify the couple among the ducks when another thought occurred. Maybe they weren’t so odd. Maybe they were libertines, sensualists who like to get close to other couples and orgy with them.  Group sex never appealed to him, not even in the woman chasing days of his youth.