by Liz Crowe
“If you can’t have enough respect not to call your own sister a whore, how can I trust you when our daughter acts out? I’m telling you I will not tolerate it. I don’t care how much I love you.” She stalked out, leaving the siblings to stare at each other.
***
Andreas downed a shot of tequila. The music pounded in his ears and chest. The loud music and funky, flowery smell of the place grated on his nerves. Why they had to meet here for his friend’s bachelor party, he had no idea. His vote for starting and ending at the Spearmint Rhino, his personal favorite for strip clubs in town, had gone unheeded. The men laughed and patted the groom-to-be on the back. Andreas smiled at them all, reminding himself the night had to be about his friend, not him. He ordered another beer and leaned back against the bar, observing the teeming dance floor.
Mixology was the hottest club on the strip, a feat, given all the options. The cavernous space took up an entire floor of the vast Castillo resort. They had the biggest name DJs, the fanciest and most expensive drinks. The dance floor dominated the space, with four bars situated in each corner, and private tables and booths along the back of the room.
Andreas took a sip of the beer when his scalp tingled and his eyes zeroed in on an olive-skinned woman dancing in the middle of a group of people. Her jet-black hair fell in curtains around her face, just to her shoulders. He moved to his left, so he could keep her in sight.
Light glinted off metal in her lip. He caught sight of a dark tattoo snaking around from the back of her neck to the front. His tongue darted out and touched his upper lip. Something about her tugged at his subconscious. Her barely there camisole top did little to conceal the natural curve of dark breasts. Nipples poked through the thin fabric. His hands clenched, imagining how he could stroke the soft leather of her pants, run a possessive hand over her ass. Such a compulsion made him shiver. He hadn’t had it in a long, long time. He gulped down the beer and signaled for another, turning away from the dance floor, hoping to get control over himself. His cock pressed against his zipper, painful and needy. Christ. What am I? A teenager ogling the head cheerleader? Get a grip, man.
He spent a few minutes bullshitting with the men at the party. He made the requisite NFL small talk and yakked about UNLV’s chances in basketball that year. The group seemed shocked he could string sentences together in a coherent format—par for his course.
“Damn. Who is that?” One of the dumbasses near him asked, pointing to the dark female vision of perfection he’d just seen. The girl’s head was thrown back as she danced, the complete center of attention on the floor. He experienced a thrill of anger—at her, at the assholes staring at her, at himself for being so lame. He ignored her for as long as he could. The music seemed to get louder. They shared another round of shots. He could hold a lot of alcohol. But his head buzzed, as if he’d had a lot more than a few beers.
He took a deep breath and chanced another glance out over the now heaving dance floor. The woman drew his eyeballs like a magnet. Arms thrown overhead, eyes closed, she swayed between two scrawny punks. They were practically drooling over her magnificence. His temper rose, heating his face. He licked his lips and tried like hell to look elsewhere, find some other hot chick to watch. But he simply could not. At that moment, she opened her eyes and stared straight at him. Her swaying hips continued to move, but she lowered her arms. She bit her lower lip. Jesu. Help me. He needed this one. Bad.
But he had that stupid date tomorrow night, in this very resort. He narrowed his eyes as the woman turned to her companions and started grinding herself against them, acting like some kind of common…Greek words for slut and whore sifted through his brain, but he resisted the urge to use them. He only used Greek with people who mattered. He hadn’t used it since his wife left.
The guest of honor made his way over to him. “Hey, Andreas, whatcha staring at over here?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. We done here?” But he never wanted to leave. Never wanted to let that woman out of his sight again. Truth be told, he wanted to pluck her out from the group of shitheads and spirit her home, forever. His friend slapped his back.
“Nah, not yet. The views here are pretty damn good, no?” The loser pointed out to the dance floor at the very object of Andreas’ sudden obsession, winked at his friend and made his way down the group. Andreas gripped the back of a chair until his fingers hurt. What is wrong with me? What is it about her? Visions of her lovely dark body splayed on his St. Andrews cross, ass red from his hand…. Her sweet mouth, taking his cock…her beautiful soul, his forever…. His eyes burned. He needed some air. He glanced over his shoulder as he stalked to the door. She still stared straight at him, her dark eyes burning a hole in his brain. She made her way off the floor, coming directly toward him. Holy shit. He was a goner. He ducked into the men’s room. No way could he face her without doing something utterly stupid.
***
It was a night like many others. The music pulsed through her body. The alcohol lifted her spirits. She’d skipped the offer of drugs, through with that scene. But here at the Castillo resort in Las Vegas, at Elle’s request, with a computer date or some shit tomorrow night in the restaurant downstairs, her heart was heavy. She missed her family. She worried about Ayla. And sick at heart over Elle and Emre’s fight over her.
Her brother had called to apologize and he meant it. Elle had told her he’d been banished for a week until he got over his natural impulse to be a chauvinist pig.
“But Elle, it’s a Turkish thing…” she’d tried to explain. “It’s like being South American. ‘Machismo’ is drilled into our psyches from birth.”
“I don’t care,” Elle had claimed. Lale heard Aslan fussing in the background. “I won’t put up with it. Not with you or with Ayla. Now have fun. We’ll be fine. Your brother will be fine. I’ll take him back, but he has to understand I mean it when it comes to this.”
“He’s about to go nuts without you, Elle.”
Her sister-in-law had laughed, but it had been an unpleasant sound. “I know. I feel the same way. Sort of like my soul has walked out the door and is sleeping somewhere else without me. But this is important. He has to respect it.”
Caleb had texted her earlier today.
Damn sister. Way to upset the apple cart.
Fuck off homo. Emre is being a dick. They sent me to Vegas. I don’t get it, but I’m dealing with it.
I know. You okay?
No. I’ve been crying ever since I got here, but can’t figure out why.
Well, enjoy your date. You know it’s worked for me and for Emre and Elle.
I know. She waited a few minutes. I miss him so much Caleb.
So do I, honey. Every single fucking day.
Lale had wiped her face, angry at all the waterworks, but visions of Tarkan kept bumping into her consciousness for some reason. More than usual, like it had been after he first died. It seemed like he wanted to tell her something. But all she heard was Emre, calling her a whore. Caleb kept up the text conversation.
I’m here. Let me know if you need anything at all. You worked miracles with Ayla.
I know. I miss her. Is she okay?
She’s racing around like her old self, singing songs you taught her, saying Aunt Tulip is coming back soon.
Lale had smiled.
I think Emre is coming back tomorrow. I’m worried about Elle. She’s making herself sick all over again. Lost more weight she didn’t have to lose. She’s due back at work in two weeks. Those two need each other, pure and simple.
I know. I feel awful about it. Keep me posted. I’m gonna be back in a few days anyway. Hopefully they won’t banish me back to Istanbul.
I doubt it. Hang in kid. Enjoy the date.
But now, an incredible male presence from across the room filled her consciousness. He’d been staring at her, no doubt. She could handle that and knew how to use it if she wanted to. But something about him defied her. Made her impotent, unable to perform, draw him to her like she used to. H
e’d bolted and ducked into the men’s room as she followed him. Fine. She chased no man.
He must be six-foot-six at least, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen—obviously some kind of athlete. The place was full of them. But this guy…“tall, dark, and handsome” only scratched his surface. His long raven-black hair invited her fingers. His bronzed skin matched the deep green of his eyes perfectly. He wore denim and a black, long sleeved shirt untucked, and, God help her, cowboy boots. And those lips—thick, kissable, and the last time she spotted them, pursed in concentration as he stared straight at her. Dear Lord, she felt as if she could already taste them. She danced, flirted, drank…her usual. But she caught herself looking around, hoping to find him again. A challenge, yes, but something about him promised more. His very presence drugged her, drew her in, but kept her at arms length, tempting and at once repelling.
She refocused on the guys around her, gathered them in. One of them brought her another drink. She looked around for the hunky athlete. He had disappeared. Damn.
“I’ll be back,” she yelled to one of the guys. He nodded and started dancing with another girl behind him. Lale made her way to the dark hallway filled with couples in various stages of making out, trying to find the ladies’ room. It would be in the very back. She paced a while, trying to shake images of the guy who’d obviously stopped watching her and left. It made her antsy. She needed to see him again, wanted his eyes on her, more than anything. Had a strange desire to...she shook it off. Crazy. She’d been through a lot. Obviously, her brain had gone into overdrive or something. When a hand touched her arm, she glanced up and locked eyes with one of kids she’d been dancing with earlier. He had a bit of a predator look to him right then. It made her uncomfortable.
“Hey, doll. Where’d ya go?”
She shook his hand off. “You found me so why don’t you tell me where I went. Dumbass.” The last word she whispered. He tightened his grip, not letting her escape.
“I may be a dumbass, but I know prime pussy when I smell it.”
She laughed. “You must get all kinds of it with that sweet pickup line.” I’m a real creep magnet lately.
“I do, as a matter of fact, like I’m about to right now.” He yanked her close, rubbing his crotch against her leg. Lale squirmed and tried to escape. He leaned in, the sour smell of whiskey nearly made her gag. “And you know you want it. I can tell.” He tried to capture her lips.
“Get off me, you creep.” She looked around. Figures she’d find the darkest possible hallway and allow herself to get cornered in it. He tried to kiss her again. She pushed against his chest. He was surprisingly strong for such a scrawny dude. “Seriously, I mean it. I’m gonna....”
“The only thing you’re gonna do is suck my—” A sudden rush of air escaped his mouth. Lale gaped in surprise as an impossibly large hand wrapped itself around her stalker’s neck, nearly lifting him into the air.
“I think you need to leave.” The huge, gorgeous man who’d been staring at her earlier kept a grip on the guy's neck. With a stare of terror at the giant manhandling him, the skinny creep bolted. The other man turned to Lale. She sucked air, frozen with fear, and no small amount of lust at the specimen in front of her. His eyes shone. Something gave out around the area of her knees, and she made a concentrated effort not to fall to the floor in front of him.
“And you need to not act like that. It only attracts assholes.” He had a curious accented lilt to his deep voice...familiar, but not, at the same time.
Her skin prickled at his tone. “Well thanks, but you can spare me the advice. I'll act any way I want.”
He took one step into her space, grabbed her wrists, and pinned them over her head against the wall. She squirmed, but his gaze held her still. The marble felt good, cool to her overheated skin. Lale prepared for his lips as he leaned toward her. Couldn’t wait to get a taste. But he bypassed them and whispered in her ear.
“If you were mine, you'd never act like that again.” She shivered and had to clench her thighs together against the heat that gathered between them. Trying to marshal defiance to his comment, she stared up at him. His very presence provoked the oddest sensation—almost a melting feeling—inside. But no one talked to her that way, no matter how huge, or hot, or utterly kissable.
“Well, good thing for us I'm not yours. I belong to nobody.” Her heart pounded in her ears. He was…incredible. And Greek. She suddenly placed the gentle swell of his accent in her ear. Now this could get interesting. Lale pictured her grandmother’s horror if she told them she’d married a huge Greek. Married? Jesus, that’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it?
She shut her eyes against the sensations of his teeth on her earlobe, of his hands trapping her wrists against the wall. What a colossal bossy asshole. But damn if she didn't want to hear more. He chuckled and pressed into her body. The sensation of his massive erection against her stomach made her gasp. But then he simply released her, taking a step back. Her wrists were cold, abandoned. She wanted his hands back where they were. But she drew her face into a frown and crossed her arms. When he flicked at the piercing on her lower lip, she tried not to flinch.
“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 bet
ter. 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.
