It wouldn’t hurt to flirt a bit, would it? Her ego was still sore from Todd’s betrayal. They’d supposedly been in love, yet he’d implicated her in a felony to save his ass. “No. No boyfriend.”
Definitely no boyfriend.
* * *
Ian’s lack of success in securing a date—or at least a phone number—by the time they landed in Van had him on the ropes but not defeated. She’d responded in all the right ways, but he hadn’t closed the deal.
The woman was an interesting mixture of cautious and rash. She’d been sloppy in giving a fake name when her real one had been broadcast over the loudspeaker in the boarding area, but earned kudos for being aware she should be protective of her identity and destination.
That clumsy fake name argued for innocence. A player would have been aware her name had been announced in the crowded terminal. Only an innocent would think no one would notice.
“Because we Americans need to stick together,” he said, holding out his business card. “Call me if you need anything.”
She thanked him and tucked the card into her purse.
“If you decide you’d like company, my evenings will be free,” he added.
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As long as she stayed in Van, tailing would be easy. He’d identify her hotel and get a room there as well. Tonight they’d find themselves at the same restaurant, and he would continue to wine and dine her. He’d planted a bug in her book and could safely hang back in the airport. He wouldn’t lose her unless she was on to him, in which case he had far bigger problems.
Inside the terminal, she paused to scan the arrivals area. She frowned, clearly disconcerted at not seeing…whoever she’d hoped to see. She faced Ian and pasted on a false smile and said good-bye, then headed to an information desk. He hung back, cell phone pressed to his ear, and watched her with his peripheral vision. He listened via the bug, which transmitted directly to his phone, as she asked about hotels in Van.
Tourism was rare in Eastern Anatolia, which meant she wouldn’t have trouble booking a room in one of the nicer hotels. The man at the desk recommended an old hotel near the lakeshore. Ian called and booked a room before the clerk finished translating the options to Cressida. He headed to the taxi line.
Several minutes later, she emerged from the terminal and he smiled and raised an eyebrow while nodding toward the half-dozen people who separated them in the growing line. “We could share a ride?” he offered.
“We might be going in different directions,” she said with a sexy, crooked smile.
“Do you think I care?”
Her pretty eyes flashed with amusement. “Thank you.” She left her spot in the line. The moment she stepped out, Zack and two others stepped in behind her.
“Only if you promise to join me for dinner,” Ian added before she slid into the line at his side.
She glanced at the ever-growing line. “Seriously?” she asked.
“Yep. Dinner. I know a great local spot. No one makes better içli köfte in Van. You’ll love it.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
He laughed. “You sound so thrilled.”
“Maybe this is better?” She placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you, John. I’d be delighted to have dinner with you.” Her voice was a soft, sexy rasp.
Damn. She was good at turning on the sexy.
Maybe too good.
Chapter Six
Cressida pursed her lips as she considered her wardrobe options. She was meeting John in the lobby in ten minutes and everything she’d packed except the blue cocktail dress—which wasn’t an option in a region in which she’d need to wear a headscarf more often than not—was bland. Her clothes were perfect for a woman who didn’t want to be noticed.
But she wanted John to see her. Hell, she sort of wanted to see John. All of him. And she didn’t really mean the sort of part.
Apparently, taking a nap after her long, brutal night had woken her reckless side.
She dressed in beige slacks and a blue cotton button-down shirt, then made a face at her boring reflection. She’d been foolish to agree to dinner. She should be playing it safe. John Baker didn’t exude safe.
With a deep breath, she left the security of her hotel room, grateful for the five hours of sleep that had restored her humanity, even if it meant she hadn’t made it out to explore the city. At least she’d be sharper than she’d been on the flight.
As if. Just looking at him made her tongue-tied.
She stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and scanned the room. No sign of John.
She felt a familiar ache in her belly. She’d been stood up before. It was a bleak, worthless feeling when a date didn’t bother to show. She’d give him five minutes, then she was out of here. She had her pride. And she could take smug satisfaction in knowing he couldn’t track her down to apologize, should he want to. He didn’t know her real name.
Two minutes into her small grace period, he stepped into the lobby, and her mind went blank. Holy crap. He was even better looking than she remembered. How was that possible? Surely he’d made a deal with Hades or something, because no mere mortal had the right to be that hot.
He crossed the wide, open floor to her side, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he smiled. “Sorry I’m late. I was delayed by a call from my boss.”
This was a first in Cressida’s world. She didn’t think any of the men she’d dated knew the definition of the word “sorry” let alone would employ it in a sentence. Yet this man dropped it when he was only two minutes late. She liked that. Probably more than she should. “Oh? Is it past six? I hadn’t realized.”
He laughed. “Liar. You’re a scuba diver. Timing is everything to you. A minute too long at the wrong depth is trouble in your world. It spills over into your daily life, and you’re punctual to the minute, I bet.”
She frowned, but not in displeasure. He’d pretty much nailed her with that assessment. “How do you figure?”
“You check your watch constantly.” He touched the spot between her brows. “And you get an adorable wrinkle here, when you are delayed—like when the cab was stuck too long at an intersection.” He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “It makes a man wonder if you time everything.”
Her entire body flooded with heat at the innuendo. As if that wasn’t enough, his lips brushed her ear. “Lavender,” he murmured. “Nice.”
She shivered. She should be put off, but that recklessness that had been eager for this dinner now considered skipping the meal all together. She might need to thank Suzanne for throwing a box of condoms in her suitcase when it hadn’t occurred to Cressida she might want them.
She was here to gather information for her dissertation, she reminded herself, which would start when she spoke with Berzan after he got off work this evening. No sex with John Baker, no matter how well this date went.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
He pulled back. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” she said truthfully. She’d had only a paltry pastry this morning at the airport and had woken from her long nap feeling ravenous.
He held out an arm. “The restaurant I mentioned is only a few blocks away. You up for a walk?”
“Absolutely.” She took his arm, enjoying the feel of his firm bicep and the crisp, soapy smell of his skin. The sultry evening air enveloped her in a warm embrace.
They reached the restaurant, a small, cozy space she would never have guessed was a restaurant from the tiny sign and storefront. Inside it smelled heavenly, roasting meat, spices, and flatbread. The savory scents reminded her just how hungry she was. They were seated quickly, and John conversed with the host in Turkish, who nodded and smiled and then disappeared into the kitchen.
“The food here is more Kurdish than Turkish, so I ordered some samples for you to try. Hope you aren’t feeling homesick for a burger and fries.”
She shook her
head. “No. I’m game to try new things. It all smells wonderful.”
“They don’t usually serve alcohol here, but the owner has a few bottles of wine he keeps handy for non-Muslim friends. They have a nice Italian wine that goes well with the lamb köfte.”
She cocked her head, impressed by the fact that he was considered a friend by the proprietor. “Do you come to Van often?”
He shrugged. “Now and again.”
A man came to their table and greeted John warmly. John introduced Cressida, startling her when the fake name was the only word she’d understood. Damn. She should probably tell him the truth. She held out her hand to the proprietor, but the man smiled and crossed his arms.
“He offers no offense. He’s devout and can’t touch a woman who is not part of his family after washing, before prayer. And the Mu’adhin is about to deliver the Adhan for Maghrib.”
Cressida nodded and smiled. “I understand. It’s nice meeting you.”
The man beamed and spoke rapidly to John before nodding to her and leaving.
“It’s going to be hard for me if I don’t have a translator, isn’t it?”
John nodded. “Not many speak English here. You haven’t arranged for a translator?”
“I did, but he’s working right now, so we haven’t connected. I’m hoping to hear from him tonight, after he gets off work.” She leaned forward. “It’s a shame you’ll be busy with your job, or I’d offer you the money I was going to pay Berzan.”
“Berzan?” he asked.
“He’s the brother of a man I hired in Antalya for some translation work.”
John’s eyes flattened, but the look passed so quickly she almost wondered if she imagined the cold, hard look. But the chill that trickled up her spine said it had happened.
The waiter arrived with the bottle of wine followed rapidly by the tray of samples John had ordered, and the unsettled feeling passed.
As she tried each item, John explained the dish, warning her before she sampled the raw meatballs—the Turkish version of steak tartare—in case she was likely to react to the dish.
The waiter returned, and John ordered more food based on her preferences, then taught her the names of the dishes she’d enjoyed the most. Heat infused her as she faced him across the intimate table and sipped her wine. How far should she let this go?
“Tell me about your research,” John said. “What do you hope to find in Van?”
“I won’t be staying in Van. I’m heading south.
“South? There isn’t much south of here. Except Syria.”
She pressed her lips closed and wondered how much she should tell him. “There’s a lot of real estate between Van and the border.”
“And you expect to find…?”
“Nothing during this trip.” That was mostly true. “I’m just here to line up contacts. Pave the way for conducting a Lidar survey of an area where I hope to find things next year.”
He raised an eyebrow. The simple gesture was infused with sexuality. “Lidar? What’s that?”
“It’s a type of remote sensing. With Lidar, you measure distance by illuminating a target with the laser. The reflected light is analyzed. It was developed in the ’60s, but the technology has really improved. The applications for archaeology expand every year. With a Lidar survey, I’ll be able to find cisterns and underground aqueducts that were lost over a thousand years ago—ones I believe were an important part of illicit trade routes.”
“You’re talking about the Silk Road?”
“I’m talking about a Silk Road bypass.”
John sat back in his chair. He looked impressed. “That would be something.”
She leaned forward, warming to the subject, which, after all, had been her obsession for months. “I think dyes, precious metals, gems, spices—you name it—were traded using underground passages. With Lidar mapping, I can find those cisterns and aqueducts and prove my theories.”
“You really think there are hidden tunnels in the Eastern Anatolia hills?” His tone was skeptical.
“Have you ever heard of the Gadara Aqueduct?”
John shook his head.
“It was Roman, built to supply water to the city of Gadara in modern-day Jordan. It’s the longest known tunnel from antiquity. Construction began around AD 90 or 100, and it took a hundred years to build. The underground sections are sixty-six miles long. The tunnel is about two meters tall and one and a half meters wide.”
“Yes. But people know about it. You know about it. Nothing that big could remain hidden for two thousand years.”
She grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong. Gadara was discovered in 2004. By an archaeologist.”
That handsome mouth curled into a sexy smile, and his eyes lit with warmth that said he didn’t mind being told point-blank he was wrong. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“What makes you think there’s something like that here?”
Cressida leaned back. No one knew the complete answer to that question. Most of her fellow students were good people. Friends. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to beat her to making such a significant discovery by submitting grant proposals of their own. She took a sip of wine. Tonight it would remain her secret. “Tell me about your work, John. What are you doing in Van?”
He laughed. “Touché.” He lifted his glass in a toast to her and took a drink. “As for what I’m doing in Van, right now, I’m having dinner with a beautiful woman.”
Heat pooled low in her belly. This first date was going awfully well. But numbering it implied there could be more. And there couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She was here to work.
What made this date special was its singularity. This was a one-time fantasy come to life. A no-strings, one-night-only, once-in-a-lifetime fling with a hot man in Turkey.
Anything more than that was just asking for trouble.
* * *
Ian almost wished the date were real. If it were, he wouldn’t hesitate to act on the ready invitation in her eyes. Lulled by the food, dim lighting, and fine wine, she had transformed from the timid American he’d met on the plane into a sultry siren.
Her reluctance to reveal too much about herself had faded as she warmed to her subject, but what surprised him even more was how much he—Ian, not the prick John he pretended to be—was turned on by her.
But he couldn’t let his dick do the thinking, especially since she hinted she had a lead on ancient tunnels in the Kurdish region of Turkey. If such tunnels existed, the information would be valuable.
Turkey had many security issues, the least of which were bordering unstable regimes like Syria, Iraq, and Iran. The real concern for the government was the country’s Kurdish population. Years of government-sanctioned second-class treatment of Turkish Kurds, whose very language was forbidden, had created a large discontent population. The recent alliance between the Turkish government and the local Kurdish population due to the threat from ISIS in Syria and Iraq wasn’t enough to make up for decades of repression. The Kurds remained uneasy, untrusting, and not all factions were on board with the alliance.
The restaurant they were eating in was owned by a local Kurd who’d once whispered—in Kurdish—his frustration with the ongoing harassment by Turkish military officers who acted as the governing authority in the region. The very fact that Ian was fluent in the forbidden language made finding Kurdish allies in this part of the country easy. The hard part was letting them know he spoke their language when everyone was a potential informant.
Smugglers’ tunnels in the region could be a game changer. The Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan, or PKK, was only the largest and most well-known rebel group. Hejan’s group was smaller, was not allied with the Turkish government, had designs on becoming the leading separatist group in the region, and had a history of using terrorist tactics to make it happen.
After learning the focus of her study, one thing was clear to Ian. It was no fluke that Cressida had been selected as courier. She might be unwitting, bu
t somehow, her research had nabbed the attention of Hejan’s group. Given that, as tempting as Cressida was, sex with her could screw up the mission. For starters, if she was in bed with him, she could hardly be out passing off the microchip.
After dinner, Ian placed a hand on the small of her back as they strolled down the narrow street. If this were a real date, he wouldn’t hesitate to duck into a covered doorway with her so he could slide his hand lower, pull her against him, and taste her.
Damn, she smells good.
But this was a date between Crista Portman and John Baker. John couldn’t get laid when Ian had work to do.
The street was quiet as they walked the blocks to the hotel. Neither Ian nor John entwined fingers with hers, no matter how natural such an action might have felt. John wouldn’t start something he couldn’t finish, and Ian wasn’t invited to play at all.
Inside the hotel, they crossed the lobby to the lift. She paused and met his gaze before hitting the button for her floor. He smiled as he again inhaled her sexy scent. From her pause, he figured she’d hoped he’d invite her to his room, but with his silence, she’d caved and would lead him to hers.
She’d left the cautious woman on the airplane, apparently.
They reached her floor, and he followed without a word. At her door, she paused and met his gaze, one eyebrow raised in question.
This was the moment when John, if he existed, would pull her close and taste that mouth. He’d run his tongue along the full upper lip that had fascinated him from the first time he saw her—right before she decked a man.
He was hard and ready. Ian would have trouble walking away if John kissed her. “I’m afraid the evening ends here, Crista.”
Her brows flattened in confusion, not anger, but with the right pressure, he could push her in that direction and debated which reaction would suit his needs.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a soft voice, “did I misread you all evening?”
He let out a sigh. “You didn’t misread, I miscalculated. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and I need to be sharp. I’m still adjusting to the time zone—I flew into Antalya from DC yesterday morning. Much as I would love to continue this evening, I need to sleep. Alone.”
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