Turkish Delights Series (5 page)

Vivian sighed. Stupid backward country. He leaned in and brushed her lips once more. It took everything she had not to yank him inside and hold him hostage, forever. Besides his obvious physical attractiveness he made her feel protected, cared for, as he had when they were kids. Like his mother had for all those years when her own social climbing parents effectively ignored her.

“Farewell, small one. I will see you soon. I promise.” He kissed the palm of her hand and placed it over his heart. Vivian loved the feel of him, warm, strong, masculine. Her knees were wobbly by the time he pulled the door shut, his finger to his lips to make sure she kept quiet. She shut the door and stood for a long time, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours.
Who
had happened to her, perhaps the better question. And what the hell would she do about it now?

***

Levent sipped his tea and listened as his mother went on about the latest affront to Turkey and Turks in general. But he didn’t really hear her. His head filled with Vivian’s laughter, her near perfect use of his language, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his. He ran a hand down his face.

“
Anne
.” He interrupted his mother. She set her tea glass down and looked at him. “Do you remember…Vivian?” He needed to talk about her. She frowned at him, which made his throat tighten. He should not have brought her up.

“Yes, my son, I do. She was a lovely girl. I understand she is back in town.”

“Yes,
Anne
, she is.”

“And you have seen her?” His mother always did read him like a book. He sighed and braced himself for the lecture. But she remained silent a while, sipping quietly. Levent decided to change the subject, hoping to deflect her.

“I’m on the short list for a major hotel renovation. I’ll find out more end of this week, but I think we might just get it. Means I’m the general, not merely the sub-contractor you know.” His mother beamed at him a moment.

“You and this girl,” his mother began. He groaned inwardly. “You are…connected somehow, I know this. She is a good girl. Her mother never paid any attention to her back then. When her parents divorced and she left, I missed her. Truly a delightful child.” His mother filled his tea glass. “Very headstrong, even then. But also very smart. She spent a lot of time in my kitchen, after….” She ducked her head.

Levent let the silence spool out between them. He still nurtured resentment over having to leave. Might as well get her real feelings about it now that his father wasn’t around to inject his large personality into the conversation.

“Ah, my son, we had to send you away. It was not suitable for you to be running the streets with a girl who was not far from being a woman.”

“Mother, she was only eleven, good Lord.”

“In our society….”

He stood, unwilling to have this argument with her now. While his mother represented his touchstone and he loved her, wouldn’t do anything on purpose to upset her, anger suffused his brain and knew he should leave before devolving into argument. She pinned him with a stare. He slowly sank back into his seat.

“I’m not finished,” she continued. “You
will
listen to me. You were nearly a man, and I knew how you felt about her. We couldn’t risk our position. We’d worked so hard, were saving money for you, for your future. The staff gossip had gotten loud, and it was only a matter of time before her father caught wind of it.” She patted his hand as he nervously fiddled with the delicate lace napkins that matched her marital tea set. “But it didn’t matter did it?
Allah
had other plans it seems.” She raised her eyebrows and finished the bitter tea.

“So, if I said,” Levent started but his mother held up a hand, gnarled and red-skinned from years of working in someone else’s kitchen.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. Not yet. My poor heart can’t accept that my son is in love.” She smiled at him. He leaned back in his chair. The late afternoon sun shone through the flawlessly clean windows of his parents’ small flat with its perfect views of the Bosporus. The call to prayer boomed into the air, sending birds scattering to the flat grey sky.

“I don’t know about love, Mother.” He finished his own bitter brew.

“I do.” She nodded and patted his hand again. “It’s in your eyes, my beloved son. It fairly oozes from your pores. And I am glad. I just ask…be careful. Don’t do anything sudden or….”

Levent laughed at her loss for words. “I know, Mother. Nothing inappropriate. I promise. Besides, I still don’t know that she will have me. Not yet. I want to make more of myself before I do anything…rash.”

His mother stood next to him and put her rough hand on his face. “My son, she is not your superior. I’m sorry your father ever said that to you. Don’t let that ruin your happiness.”

A weight lifted from his heart. Maybe, very possibly, he could make this work. He straightened in his chair and let the possibilities run through his head, and smiled.

***

Vivian lay in bed for several hours the following Sunday, drawing pictures of him, writing diary entries of memories as they crashed back in on her. She had her meals sent up, unwilling to face her father or any of his annoying new family. It would ruin the pure happiness that coursed through her every time she thought of him. The windows of her third floor suite were thrown open to the warm, grey-skied Istanbul afternoon. Birds were plentiful on the lawn of the historic residence building, surrounded by trees and gardens carefully tended by a huge staff. A soft meow at the window sill brought a smile to her face.

“Suleyman!” She cried and carried the large stray cat into her room. A scruffy thing with a missing eye, he’d been hanging around her bedroom window for over a year. The window ledges of the old building were large, perfect to accommodate his sleeping form. She kept food out there for him, and sometimes in the night, he’d even snuggle into her warm body but would always bound away the next morning, seeking adventure.

“You magnificent thing you.” He must have been in a mood to be cuddled. His loud, rusty purr was good company. He rolled over onto his back and batted at her hair that hung down from her face as she rubbed his matted fur. “I wish you would stay. I will clean you up, find you some girlfriends….” She laughed when he yowled at this as if he understood her. She rolled over onto her back, her mind fuzzy with remembered sensations of Levent—his hands, lips, tongue and body. The cat climbed up on her chest and sat, staring at her, as if willing her to talk.

She ran a hand over his head, scratched behind his ears as he leaned into her, his purr revving up again. “Oh my magnificent cat. I think I’m in love. And I think I may die if Monday doesn’t hurry up and get here.” She picked up her journal and stared at the latest drawing. She’d added the small scar to Levent’s beautiful face. The silly animal moved between her and the picture, rubbing his face against the edge of it, his purr drowning out the end of day birdsong and call to prayer from the mosque below the consulate hill. Vivian sat and doodled a quick picture of the cat, his magnificent huge head and war wounded eye as he curled up in a ball on her white bed cover and slept. No one had missed her around the huge residence, no one had inquired about her late entry last night. And she’d spent the entire day alone. If she showed up for dinner there’d be plenty of food, but why bother? No one would miss her there either. She drifted off to the sounds of the imam reminding the faithful that God was good.

***

Vivian freshened her lipstick and pulled her hair back with a new headband, mentally smacking herself for seeming so eager. She’d been the first in her seat for class. That never happened.

“You sure are making a big fuss over yourself,” one of her English friends commented, flicking at her hair as she passed by. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vivian fiddled around, putting her hair back in place, and tried not to be too obvious as she watched the door. Something compelled her to see him. Had to have him in her space. It was a completely new sensation, slightly irritating, like an itch deep in your ear you couldn’t reach, but that demanded your attention constantly. As each student filed in, in pairs or singly, she’d sit a little straighter then slump down when it wasn’t him. Finally the professor rapped on his desk to get their attention and the class commenced. Without him.

Her leg twitched and her nerves were a jangled mess by the end of the fifty-minute period. Before Lillian or any of her friends could comment or stop her, she leapt from her seat and dashed out, single-minded and tunnel-visioned. She jumped into the back seat of her waiting car and barked at the driver to take her to the construction site where she knew damn good and well Levent would be. If he thought he could ignore her after their amazing connection, he had another thing coming. She barely recognized her own face in her compact mirror as she reddened her lips with a shaking hand. This incredible compulsion to see him, hear his voice, feel his hands on her skin—she had no frame of reference for it. Her driver kept staring at her.

“Why are we here, missus?” She could tell he was nervous. He took his role as driver slash bodyguard very seriously. “There is nothing here for young ladies. It’s a place full of rough, peasant workmen.”

“I’m getting out.” She grabbed her silk scarf and opened her door before he could protest. He jumped out but she melted into the crowd around the tall construction fencing. The guy would wait, she knew. He’d never go home without her. She found a doorway and eased it open as she tied the scarf under her chin. The propriety for head covering was less about religion, more about simple vanity in this cosmopolitan city. But Vivian realized she had already pushed serious boundaries even coming here; showing up with her hair showing would make the whole place apoplectic.

The clamor of loud construction deafened her. The men brushed around her as if she weren’t even there. Heart pounding, she tried to look natural—as a young foreign woman at a large Istanbul work site. What had she been thinking? An older man approached her, and she ducked behind a pile of dangerous looking metal, avoiding him.

She put her hand to her throat, close to bolting by the time she heard her name. Levent dashed over, gripped her arm, and pushed her to a makeshift building that served as some sort of office. His eyes were dark with anger, as he shoved her down in a chair and tossed his hard hat onto the table. He looked tired as he ran a hand over his face and knelt down in front of her. Vivian’s heart stuttered. She’d messed up. She reached out for his hand, her natural tendency to react and meet anger for anger losing out against her extreme need to hear his voice again.

“What were you thinking, Vivian? You are not supposed to….”

Vivian put a finger over his lips. “I missed you today. I’m sorry.” He clutched her hand to his heart.

“You must go. Where is your driver?” He stood. She resisted, stayed in her seat. He frowned at her. The door opened, and he moved to stand in front of her. The man yelled at him, something about being late, not handling the plumbers, his face red and angry. Vivian bit her lip. She had gotten him in trouble. She waited it out, listened as Levent calmed him, soothed the situation like a pro, his voice low and even, not matching the other man’s angry tone. He started toward the door, holding his hand out behind him indicating she should stay put and keep quiet.

She crossed her legs and tried not to let her temper get the best of her. She just wanted to see him for crying out loud. He didn’t need to be so bossy. But she obeyed him as he put an arm around the other man’s shoulder. When he shut the door, he hit the deadbolt lock, turned and glared at her. She stood. Forget this. Her chest tightened. The last thing she needed was another man bossing her around.

“Sorry. Never mind.” She brushed past him, held down the urge to put her arms around him, apologize for being so difficult. She really should have known better than to come here. This was Istanbul in nineteen sixty-eight. Women didn’t simply wander around alone on construction sites or anywhere else. She had put herself and him at risk.

He put a hand on hers as she struggled with the lock. “Stop. Vivian. Just, stop. Please.”

But a familiar, comfortable and wholly unhappy anger settled over her psyche. He could take a long walk. She was done listening. She jerked her hand away, yanked the door open, and stomped down the rickety steps.

“
Dur
!” He switched to English. “Stop! Do not take another step without me beside you. Vivian, I am serious.” She turned slowly and stared at him. His exotic beautiful face filled with emotion. But she couldn’t bring herself to respond. “
Guzelim
. Please.”

She heard him but she refused to acknowledge his command or the endearment. She shoved her way through the smelly crowd of workers, leaving him standing at the top of the steps. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. She pushed the nearest metal door open onto the street and stumbled out into the teeming mass of mostly male Turkish citizens going about their business. The shocked noises and hands that reached out to grab her as she stumbled only made her angrier.

Chapter Five

Levent had never in his entire life felt so helpless as he watched her walk away. He lowered his head, took a deep breath, and looked around. The entire construction site stared at him without seeming to stare at him. The maddening bundle of contradiction that represented the essence of Vivian had his chest in a vise. She’d gone out of her way to find him, which made his heart sing with joy. But she’d showed up here, unescorted, which made his teeth ache with fury.

He grabbed her scarf from the floor and pushed through the men milling about who had surreptitiously watched the drama unfold. He hadn’t meant to miss class today. But the opportunity to meet with the businessmen he’d been courting for a year had been too good to pass up. The deal had been sealed. He was now the part owner of an elite rug shop, catering to the diplomatic set, visiting celebrities and millionaires. When his friend and business partner had shown up last night, breathless and eager, he’d been daydreaming of her, absently rubbing himself, mooning around like a teenager.