Turkish Delights Series (16 page)

Emre looked up, something like anger in his gaze. He stood, pulling her to her feet, crushing her to his chest. His lips grazed to top of her head. “How many times do I have to say it? I love you. I want you. I am never letting you go.”

He crooked a finger under her chin, tilted her face up to his. She had to go up on tiptoes to reach his lips, but they were worth the effort. Elle let herself fall, letting go, allowing him take her wherever he wanted. Against her deepest desire to kiss him forever, she broke away and buried her nose in his bare chest.

“Ah dear God, woman, I….” Instead of speaking, Emre simply picked her up and carried her to the huge bed, shoved all the pillows aside and sat, settling her onto his lap.

Shocked to find him hard as a rock once again, she grinned. Youth—it had its advantages. He reached over to the side table and grabbed another condom, handed the packet to her.

She pushed him down, took her time covering his throbbing shaft with the thin layer of protection, then straddled his hips, his thickness penetrating her immediately, bringing a cry of delight to her lips. Emre smiled, and Elle’s entire world fell into place.

Epilogue

Eight months later

Elle gripped the airplane seat arms. Ensconced in the luxurious private jet she now used to travel internationally, she still managed to sweat every take off. Closing her eyes as the huge machine lifted into the air, she heard the familiar sounds of retracting landing gear. A firm touch on her hand made her smile.

“Sorry we stayed so long?” Emre’s lilting voice was in one ear. She looked to the side and gazed into his deep chocolate eyes.

“No, my darling, I’m not. We needed the time with your family.”

He looked out the window, biting his lower lip. She ran a finger down his face. His parents had welcomed her like one of their own, his grandmother even tried to teach her a few traditional Ottoman dishes that were her grandson’s favorites. Unable to admit she was a terrible cook, Elle merely watched, tasted and felt loved and accepted by the family.

They’d married within three months in a delightful ceremony attended by many of her colleagues and gobs of his relatives at his family’s estate on the Asian side of the Bosporus, where it was calmer, and more pastoral. The traditional fireworks had been lit on a barge just below them, shooting up into the dark sky over the historic Bosporus Straits. His family was puzzled at the rush but happy to do whatever pleased Emre most. Elle smiled to herself. Emre told her they weren’t stupid—could do the math once the baby was born, but he didn’t care.

Tarkan and Caleb were there together, and Emre’s father did his best not to scowl at them every second. They had the photographer take pictures including Caleb, to solidify the relationship between the two men. Emre’s grandmother loved Caleb.

On this trip, there was a going away feast for Emre’s twin. He’d been slated to board a plane for Ankara in the morning. Their father pulled a few strings and managed to get his son placed in the capital for his two years of military service, as opposed to the Syrian border where he had been originally assigned. After Emre’s wedding, the family was assured of Tarkan’s intentions regarding Caleb when he returned.

She reached across the aisle and grasped Caleb’s hand with her free one. The large diamond ring on her left hand caught the sunlight that slanted through the plane’s window as they banked, and made the turn over the Mediterranean Sea. The tall blonde man smiled at her, but she saw the depths of sorrow and worry in his face.

“He’ll be okay,” she squeezed his hand. “I know it.” Caleb only nodded and leaned back, letting his eyes close.

On her other side, her husband laced his fingers in hers, brought them to his lips. The quick progression of her life in the last few months had been disconcerting, but she didn’t regret a moment of it. Emre was about to enter the UCLA business school to finish his degree. Her new in-laws seemed to love her. Even Emre’s teenaged sister Lale, who had spent the entire time in tears over Tarkan’s departure, bonded with her. Elle had a feeling they’d see the girl in the States soon, once she graduated from high school.

Emre let go of her hand, and put his large palm on the ever-increasing six-month bump under her shirt. Smiling, she put her hand over his and drifted off to sleep, cradled in the large leather seat; suspended between her two lives, between her soul mate and her best friend. Her doctors in both countries had a firm hand on her condition. The new life growing inside her was safe, and healthy according to all tests. She would not be allowed to travel after this trip, but once the baby was born, they would all head back to Istanbul, home of her heart.

Blue Cruise

Notes from Author

Seni Seviyorum is “I love you” in Turkish.

Turkish people are deeply emotional and take these words very seriously.

A Blue Cruise out of Istanbul is an actual vacation package whereby you can rent a boat of nearly any size to fit your group, be it one, two or fifty. You pick your route, your stops, your meals, and all are prepared for you. You can stay on the boat, or go ashore along the coast for tourist outings.

They are, in a word, perfect.

Gulet (gu-lay): traditional design of a two-masted wooden sailing vessel from the southwest coast of Turkey, although similar vessels can be found all around the eastern Mediterranean. Today this type of vessel, varying in size from 14 to 35 metres, is popular for tourist charters.

Afiyet Olsun
(Ah-fee-yet Ohl-sun): Bon appetit

Evet
: yes

Ne
istyorum
(Neh Ist-ee-yo-room): what do you want?

Kardesim
(card-esh-um): my brother

Lutfen
(Lyoot-fen): please

Merhaba
(mare-hah-bah): hello

Turkish first names always have meaning:

Emre=Friend, Brother

Tarkan=Strong, Bold

Adem=First Man (Arabic version of Hebrew, Adam)

Ayla=Moonlight

Aslan=Lion

Chapter One

Caleb smiled at the woman sitting next to him. She was easy on the eyes—that much was certain—olive skinned, sultry eyes, killer legs she crossed and uncrossed on purpose. They’d spent the last couple of hours talking about the new job that had brought her over to the States from Turkey. She kept digging, trying to get him to talk more about himself, but he wasn’t inclined. Yet she was fun, flirty, and amused him the way she kept finding excuses to touch him.

He stretched his legs out and took a sip of his bourbon and water. For the millionth time, he mentally thanked his boss for paying him enough so he could fly first class overseas. When his seat mate’s manicured hand made its inevitable way onto his thigh again, pretty high up this time, he put his drink down, placed his hand on hers, and removed it.

“Married.” Caleb flashed the heavy platinum band he wore. The woman’s pretty face flushed.

“Sorry,” she muttered into her wineglass.

He patted her thigh, encased in skinny jeans. “It’s okay, dear. You aren’t my type anyway. Too many Xs in your chromosomes.” He raised an eyebrow as she giggled.

“Figures.” The woman scoffed and held up her glass for a refill. “All the really hot ones are gay and married.”

He laughed and their conversation eased into something closer to what he had with Elle, his boss of nearly fifteen years. He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the last ten days he’d shared with Tarkan, his lover and now unofficial husband.

“Is your man Turkish?”

Blinking, he realized his seatmate spoke to him. “Yes. We met when I was working in Istanbul.” He yawned. “Tarkan’s in the military, but is about finished with his tour in Ankara. We spent the last ten days on a blue cruise.”

“How long did you live in Istanbul?”

“Eight years. Moved back to LA a little over a year ago.”

“But you stayed together? That’s nice.”

He smiled. “Yeah, it’s not easy. He’s coming to the U.S. once his military service is over. His parents are not happy, but….”

The woman arched her eyebrows at him. “I can imagine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it doesn’t help that his twin brother has left as well. He moved over to the States with my boss, his new wife.”

His new friend frowned. “Wow. Complicated.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He patted her knee then turned his head and stared out the window into the deep purple sky. He gripped his thighs when memories of Tarkan—skin soft and dark, eyes mocha brown and hair silky and black—rose in his consciousness. He sighed, and the woman next to him shifted and leaned into his shoulder, already half asleep. He motioned for another drink.

Caleb sipped at the smooth brown liquor. Once again, he ran a finger over the heavy ring Tarkan had given him on the small yacht they’d rented for the week. Fear made his throat tighten at the thought of his soul mate, spending his last weeks on duty in the Turkish capital. They’d argued their last night on the boat.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he’d said, sitting back on a large bench on the boat’s second level, Tarkan’s head in his lap as they took in the fading beauty of a sunset over the ocean. They’d consumed a huge delicious meal prepared by the on-board cook, an attractive young man who’d obviously been chosen for the job because he didn’t mind two men sharing a bed. Adem was attractive and slender with a French father and Turkish mother. An aspiring chef, he’d told them, and one day hoped to own his own exclusive restaurant in the southern resort town of Antalya. And he knew when to disappear and leave them alone.

The deep blue sea below them and velvety soft air all around had turned the trip into one of the most erotic vacations Caleb could possibly imagine. He shut his eyes tight, fighting anger at the memory of putting Tarkan back on a plane in his stark military uniform the day before.

That night, he had taken Caleb’s hand, threaded long fingers through his and brought them to his lips. “It’s a Turkish thing, my love.” Caleb grimaced, remembering how he’d yanked his hand away in anger.

“Bullshit. You’re just trying to please your father again. Deflect attention from us so your family won’t notice that we’re together.”

Tarkan had stayed silent, turned on his side, and let his empty hand trail along Caleb’s knee, down his bare calf and back up, soothing and calm as usual.

“Shh, my lover. It will be fine. Only a few more weeks, and then we will be together again, like we planned.
Seni seviyorum
….”

Caleb swallowed hard, remembering how he’d tried to resist, tried to stay mad, but Tarkan’s hands, then later his lips and tongue, and his lean strong body, had made him forget his anger, forget everything but how much he loved the man once again.

He had demanded they tell Tarkan’s parents the truth. After nearly six years in a monogamous, loving relationship, he was not about to keep sneaking around and hiding who he was. He had an uneasy truce with Tarkan’s parents, but the aging grandmother who lived in their large mansion loved him, Caleb knew, because she wanted whatever made her grandsons happy. But as tough as it might be to live as openly gay partners in the U.S, it was unthinkable in Turkey, so their plans included a move to California in three more weeks. Tarkan and Emre’s nineteen-year-old sister, Lale, were already begging her parents to let her move to the States as well, finish college at UCLA to be near her brothers and their families. She and Tarkan were extremely close, and his stint in the military made her even angrier than Caleb at times.

A sudden, piercing pain between his eyes made him grunt and lean up, forcing the woman drooling on his shoulder back into her own seat.

“Jesus.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. A flight attendant set a bottle of water on his tray. He gulped it down, but instead of helping, the pain spread, making him squint and grab his temples, trying to quell whatever thrashed around behind his eyes. He groaned and sat back, dreading the thought of a migraine on the last three hours of this flight. Then, as quickly as it gripped him, the headache left. For the first time in his memory he literally saw stars. He took deep breaths until his head cleared then a massive wave of panic replaced the pain.

He yanked his seatbelt off and stood. Running a hand over his stubbled face, he tried to fathom what in the hell was happening. It had to be some sort of anxiety attack, brought on by memory, anger, fear, and longing. Jesus, whatever it was it sucked. Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, he started pacing the aisle, willing the lump away in his throat. He sat again. Got antsy. Stood and paced some more. Flight attendants gave him worried glances.

Nothing helped. If anything, he became short of breath. His heart pounded in his ears and he tried to lecture himself into calmness. Attempted to picture Tarkan’s soft eyes, imagine his hands on his shoulders, rubbing, soothing away Caleb’s Type-A stress. For some reason, for the first time in years, he couldn’t conjure mental images of his lover at all. That tore it. He took four long strides to the flight attendant’s area. He had to be quite a sight, eyes wild, hair standing up where he’d pulled at it for the last hour, but he no longer cared. Something was seriously wrong.