Amy wandered on through the narrow alleys, sometimes stopping for an instant to stare rather blankly into a shop, and then quickly moving on before the owner could rush out and try to sell her something. The Bazaar was packed with people— tourists looking for a bargain; porters bent nearly double under incredible loads; dark-haired, dark-eyed men; women with their heads shrouded in scarves; hawkers selling their wares in a dozen different languages. It was totally bewildering, and yet Amy felt safe there. She could lose herself in the jostling crowds, get swept away by the noise and colour and confusion, and stop thinking about everything else for a while.
Then a hand clamped down on to her shoulder. Before she had a chance to yell out in alarm, she had been swung round to face the man who had accosted her. Like so many of the men in the Bazaar, he was dark-haired and dark-eyed. Unlike them, however, he was totally familiar to her.
Benedict's gaze locked on to hers. 'Where the hell do you think you're going?' he asked tightly.
'I don't think that's any business of yours,' Amy retorted, a nervous edge to her voice.
'You've been wandering around the streets of Istanbul for most of the afternoon.'
'How do you know that?' she demanded. 'Have you been following me?'
'Yes.'
His flat answer made her even more angry. 'Why?' she asked furiously. 'Believe it or not, I am old enough to go out on my own!'
'It isn't a good idea to walk around by yourself in a strange city. It could be dangerous.'
'That's funny,' Amy retorted. 'I thought it was pretty dangerous to be anywhere near you!'
'You're right; there is something dangerous going on between us,' he agreed in a grimmer tone. 'And I think it's time that we finally got it settled.'
He gripped hold of her arm again, and she threw a black look at him. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Taking you back to the hotel.'
'No, you're not!'
He was already forcing her to move, though—still holding her arm very tightly, and pushing her forward.
'Let go of me!' she hissed at him.
'Not until we're out of here,' Benedict replied implacably, marching her towards one of the exits from the Bazaar.
'If you don't let go my arm, I'll scream,' she threatened.
'Go ahead,' he invited. 'But remember that this is a Muslim country. Woman are still expected to be subservient to men. It's highly unlikely that anyone will try and stop me doing whatever I like with you.'
Amy glanced around with widening eyes. In this part of the Bazaar, there were a great many men and very few women. Some of the men were watching as Benedict hauled her along, and she could clearly see a mixture of amusement and approval on their faces at the way Benedict was treating her.
'Just wait until the feminist movement gets going in this country,' she yelled at them fiercely. 'That'll wipe the smug smiles off your faces!'
Although they probably hadn't understood a word she had said, their grins grew wider and a couple of them called out encouragingly to Benedict as he continued to drag her forcefully out of the Bazaar.
Amy could have wept in pure frustration. The only thing that stopped her was an absolute determination not to let even a single tear fall in front of all these laughing, arrogant men.
They finally left the Bazaar, and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. It looked as if this ordeal was nearly over.
But Benedict didn't let go of her. Instead, he marched her on through the narrow, crowded streets.
'Where are you taking me?' she demanded.
'I've already told you that. Back to the hotel.'
'You said you'd let me go once we were out of the Bazaar. But you're still holding on to me,' she said accusingly.
'Yes, I am,' Benedict agreed.
Amy realised that she was rather unnerved by his tone of voice. There was a steely forcefulness to it, as if he had reached some decision and was absolutely determined to go through with it.
She tried to wriggle free, but it was no good; there was no way that she could get away from the iron grip of his fingers. She thought of yelling for help, but she was just too embarrassed. People were already staring at her with some curiosity. She didn't want to draw even more attention to herself. Anyway, she had already decided that it didn't really matter if Benedict dragged her back to the hotel. She had had enough of walking around Istanbul. She was tired, her feet ached, and she longed for a cool shower and a long sleep.
When the hotel finally came into sight, Amy let out a sigh of relief. In a couple of minutes, she would be back to her room. She could lock her door on Benedict Kane, and try to forget about him for a few hours.
They went up in the lift in silence. Amy glared angrily at Benedict a couple of times, but he didn't even look back at her. When they reached the door to his room, though, instead of letting her walk on to her own room, Benedict caught hold of her arm again, shoved her inside, and then closed and locked the door behind her.
'What are you doing now?' she said furiously, but with a new note of apprehension in her voice. His dark eyes glowed with a light that she hadn't seen before, and there was an alarmingly determined set to his mouth.
'I'm going to finish what we started earlier,' he informed her. 'I think that it's time we both understood what is going on here.'
'I don't want to understand one single thing about you,' Amy retorted. 'And I certainly don't want to be locked in this room with you!'
His gaze caught and held hers, its darkness intensifying still further. 'But I think that you do,' he said softly. 'I think that's exactly what you want.'
A cold shiver rippled right up Amy's spine. She managed to keep control of her voice, though. 'You're so arrogant,' she threw at him scornfully. 'You really think you're irresistible—that you've only got to click your fingers and you can have anyone you want. Well, you can click your fingers at me for a week, and I still won't want to come anywhere near you!'
'Liar,' he said evenly.
'Don't you dare call me a liar!'
'You want to be in this room with me,' Benedict said with absolute certainty.
Amy had to fight very hard to suppress another shiver. 'I don't want to be with you and I don't want anything from you,' she denied fiercely.
'Yes, you do,' he said, his eyes almost black now. 'You want this.'
She supposed she had known all along that she was going to have to fight him. What she hadn't known was how short-lived that fight was going to be.
Just one long, deep, overwhelming kiss, and all of her defences were undermined. Another kiss, shorter yet fiercer, and they began to fall apart.
Benedict raised his head and drew in an unsteady breath. 'Do you want to be with me?' he challenged roughly.
'No,' she managed to mutter, but in a voice that said the very opposite.
The next kiss demolished the last frail shreds of her defiance.
'Do you?' Benedict repeated. 'I want to hear you say it!'
'Yes,' Amy found herself whispering, although she couldn't quite believe she had given in so quickly and so easily.
He relaxed just a fraction. 'And I want to be with you,' he murmured. 'I'm only just beginning to realise how much.'
His hands delved down under her T-shirt, as if impatient for the touch of her against his palms, his fingertips.
Amy shuddered, and fought to cling on to the faint shadows of common sense. 'We can't do this. I can't do it. It isn't right. Especially not now, when we ought to be thinking only of Angeline.'
'I haven't forgotten Angeline. But right at this moment, this is the only thing that seems important.'
'It can't be!' Amy said a little frantically.
'Then tell me that it isn't important.'
But she couldn't do that. Instead, she half turned away from him. 'This is only sex,' she muttered at last. 'Just something that's happened because we've been thrown together in difficult circumstances.'
'No, it isn't,' Benedict said with complete certainty. 'I'v
e had a couple of affairs that were like that: a flare-up of physical attraction that lasted a few weeks and then burned itself out. This isn't anything like that.'
'Then what is it like?' she said in an almost frightened voice.
'I don't know,' he replied simply. 'It's new to me, as well. But I do know that I like it,' he went on more huskily.
He reached for her again, and there was a new purpose in the movements of his hands. They skimmed over her as if needing to acquaint themselves with the outline of her body before delving into her more intimate secrets.
Amy briefly closed her eyes. During the one brief and disastrous affair she had had during her adult life, she had thought that she had known what sex and passion was all about. Now she realised that she hadn't known anything about it at all. It wasn't just touching, the pleasant warmth and closeness of another body, and then a vaguely unsatisfactory and too-quick ending. It was a flaring of every nerve-end, the knowledge that it had to be this body close to hers and no other, the quickening of pulses and the heavy thump of an erratic heartbeat. More than anything, it was a need that she could see stretching on and on to the end of her life—a need that wasn't simply physical, but something much more complex, deep and frightening in its intensity.
Benedict looked down at her for a few moments. Then he suddenly smiled. 'It's going to be all right,' he said with total confidence. Then his mouth closed over hers and everything began to happen very fast.
His arms slid round her and pulled her very close. She could feel the heat of his body burning through the thin material of his shirt. Her fingers dug into his skin, as if she desperately needed something to hold on to, and he made a small sound in his throat, as if her involuntary response pleased him.
Seconds later, they were lying side by side on the bed. Amy had no idea how she had got there; she didn't remember moving of her own accord, but neither did she remember being lifted. Benedict's hands were already moving again, and he seemed to be having difficulty in controlling their eagerness. They slid beneath her clothes, lightly nipped and then caressed, delved deeper, and caused her to catch her breath before surfacing again, this time to begin impatiently to remove her clothes.
Amy managed a small shake of her head. 'I—I don't behave like this,' she mumbled rather incoherently. 'I don't hop into bed with someone I've only known for a few days.'
Benedict's dark gaze fixed on her face. 'We're not "hopping into bed",' he said with an unexpected trace of anger.
'Then w-what are we doing?'
'We're getting to know each other in every way possible.'
'Why?'
'Damn it, do you always ask so many questions at such an inconvenient time?' he murmured. He finished pulling off her T-shirt and stared hungrily for a few moments at the softness of her breasts, still constrained by the thin cotton of her bra. 'You want to know why we're doing this?' Benedict went on in a barely controlled voice, his fingers already searching for the clip that would release the warm fullness of her breasts into his hands. 'I can't give you an answer that makes any sense.' His tone became more husky as his palms finally covered her exposed, fair, baby-soft flesh. 'I only know that I want you in a very different way from all the ways I've wanted women in the past.' His fingers lingered for a few more moments, lightly rubbing the pale pink of her nipples into an aching hardness, and then reluctantly moving on to deal with the waistband of her jeans. 'I can't even tell you when this started,' he went on, his voice a lot less steady now. 'Perhaps the moment I first saw you. Or perhaps not until I really looked at you for the first time and realised that you didn't look like Angeline; you didn't look like anyone except Amy Stewart. Someone quite unique. Someone who seemed able to get to me in ways that I didn't even know existed until you walked into my life.' He unzipped her jeans. 'Raise your hips,' he ordered softly.
In numbed silence, Amy obeyed. He slid off her jeans, and then let his hands trail along the long length of her legs. She shivered violently as the sensitive skin of her thighs responded to his heated touch, and he made it clear that he liked being able to provoke such a response in her.
Her own hands began to touch, rather hesitantly at first, but then more quickly, more restlessly, as her palms started to crave the light friction of his skin against hers. He slid off his clothes so that she could explore further. Her fingers ached with the pleasure of this intimate contact with him. His skin was smooth and supple, his muscles hard and a little tense as he struggled to hold on to some vestiges of control.
'No more,' he said tightly at last. 'Not for a few moments.'
He slid back from her and took a couple of very deep, shuddering breaths. Amy discovered that she didn't want to be apart from him, not even for a few seconds. She slid after him, her body instinctively pressing against his. She had had no idea that she could behave like this; that it could feel so deliciously wicked and yet so right to want someone so very badly.
Benedict gave a small groan. 'Do you know what you're doing to me?'
'Yes, I know,' Amy whispered.
Her fingers lightly stroked and teased. His body was hot and hard now, every inch of him responsive to her touch. He gave another groan, and let his own hands have their way, exploring wherever they wanted to go. They moved over the soft curves, slid into the warm, dark niches, provoked small bursts of pleasure and then more lingering waves that rushed over her, leaving her hot and shaking.
Benedict bent his head to her breasts, his tongue licking, his teeth lightly nipping, tasting her, as if it were a sweet flavour that he never wanted to forget. Then his mouth closed over hers for a kiss that was quite unlike all the others he had given her—hard and fierce, totally possessive, as if he was demanding a small piece of her soul from her. And Amy gave it willingly. She knew now that she would give him anything, and forever.
When the kiss was finally over, Benedict stared down at her for a long time. Then, with a grunt of sheer frustration, he moved away from her.
'This is where we stop,' he said in a rough voice.
Amy began to emerge from the shroud of pleasure that had enveloped her. 'Stop?' she echoed in a soft, shaken tone. 'Don't—don't you want me?'
'Look at me,' he instructed. Amy felt the colour steal into her face as her eyes slid over his still aroused body. 'Do I look as if I don't want you? But if we snatch all the pleasure now, it'll leave nothing for later. And I don't want to rush this. It's important that we get it right. Do you understand?'
'I—I think so.'
Benedict leaned forward, caught hold of her and gave her a gentle shake.
'It's no good going too far, too fast. Until we understand what's happening between us, we need to take it at an easy pace.'
'Then—what was this all about?'
'I told you, I wanted to get to know more about you.' He gave a faint grin. 'And this was one way of doing it.'
'And what did you find out?' she asked him cautiously.
'A lot more than I expected.' Benedict's grin broadened. 'And you know a lot more about me, too. But it went rather further than I meant it to. You're turning out to be very irresistible.' He slid off the bed. 'In fact, I'm going to have to take a long, cold shower, or I'm not going to be in a fit state to go out in public!'
He disappeared into the bathroom, and Amy sat on the bed for a while, her knees drawn up to her chin and her teeth gently chattering with reaction. She had never expected anything like this. She wasn't at all sure that she knew what to do about it, how to handle it. One thing was certain, though. Benedict now knew exactly how she felt about him. And the extraordinary thing was that he seemed to like it.
Very slowly, Amy pulled her clothes back on. Her skin still seemed almost painfully sensitive, and she shivered a little as she remembered how it had felt when Benedict had taken those same clothes off.
She could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and for just a moment, she thought of making a run for it before he came out again. This was too scary; too real. Then she gave a small, shaky s
igh. This wasn't something that she was going to be able to run away from.
Benedict came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and gave her a slow smile that seemed to make her bones melt.
'I think the cold shower was only a very temporary solution,' he said rather huskily. 'Perhaps we'd better not take this too slowly.'
'I wish I knew what was going on,' she said, almost in a whisper.
'So do I. It's surprised me as much as it has you. A few days ago, I didn't even know you existed. Now I'm beginning to feel as if I've known you forever.'
He sounded baffled, but quite cheerful, as if he was beginning to realise that he very much liked whatever it was that was happening between them. There was also a darkening glow in his eyes that warned Amy that the cold shower was already beginning to wear off.
At that moment, though, the phone suddenly began to ring shrilly. Amy jumped, and Benedict swore softly under his breath, as if deeply irritated by the interruption.
'You'd better answer it,' he said, rather abruptly.
Amy picked up the receiver. 'Ready for your final instructions?' said a male voice in her ear.
A wave of shame shot through her as she realised that, for a while, she had forgotten all about Angeline. Benedict seemed to have the ability to make her forget about everything except his own existence.
'Yes, I'm ready,' she said in a low voice.
'Tomorrow, take the early morning ferry from the Galata Bridge up the Bosporus. You'll only be going as far as the first stop, just before the Dolmabahçe Mosque. And you're to come alone. Leave your boyfriend at the hotel. Someone will be watching to make sure that he stays there. Oh, and one more thing,' he said with sudden, malicious humour. 'You'll need to bring some money with you. Sixty thousand pounds, to be exact. And make sure it's all there, or your cousin definitely won't enjoy the consequences.'
'I can't get that amount of money!' Amy said in growing panic.
'You've known all along that you were going to have to pay out a large amount to get your cousin back,' said the man implacably. 'You should have made all the necessary arrangements. And we're not prepared to bargain on this. Be on that ferry tomorrow morning, or you won't be hearing from us—or your cousin—again.'
Istanbul Affair Page 13
