by Alison Kent
But the deeper they ventured into the palace, the greater grew Lizzie’s sense of foreboding. She looked round anxiously as another set of heavy doors closed behind them. Her own world was growing more distant—just as Kemal Volkan had promised it would.
Finally they came to an elegant square hallway that seemed to belong to a slightly cosier and perhaps even private living space within the vast formal structure of the palace. The floor was white marble, and antique hangings in muted shades of burnt sienna, rose madder and topaz covered the walls. There was a large Turkish rug on the floor: it was undoubtedly priceless, Lizzie thought, pausing alongside Volkan who had drawn to a halt.
The surroundings were breathtaking, but where was Hugo? Where was her nineteen-year-old brother? How could she secure his freedom? The best alternative, Lizzie realised, was to avoid confrontation and appeal to Kemal Volkan’s better nature—though she doubted he had one. And if he had hurt one hair on her brother’s head…
Lizzie blinked at the look Kemal flared down at her. It was almost as if he had read her mind and issued a lightning response to the challenge. It made her wonder what price he might exact in return for her brother’s freedom.
A servant distracted her, coming to kneel by the edge of the fabulous carpet at his master’s feet. Loosening the laces on Kemal Volkan’s highly polished shoes, he slipped them off, replacing them with a pair of lavishly embroidered Turkish slippers.
Seeing Volkan indulged in this way only fuelled Lizzie’s anger. Wherever Hugo was incarcerated, she was quite certain he would not be enjoying luxury such as this. And now the manservant was kneeling beside her, with a second pair of slippers in his hand.
‘Don’t looked so shocked, Ms Palmer.’
The low drawl seemed to resonate at a frequency that made her whole body thrum in response, Lizzie noticed with resentment. But she could see the sense of protecting the priceless rug. ‘I don’t need slippers. I’ll just slip my shoes off—’
‘Indulge me,’ Kemal Volkan murmured.
Lizzie’s first instinct was to be bloody-minded. She couldn’t remember feeling such passion outside the courtroom. Her childhood had left her with an overwhelming urge to control every aspect of her adult life, and up to now she had always succeeded. But the fact was she couldn’t be rude to the elderly retainer who was even now trying to ease up her foot. Round one to Kemal Volkan. She would have to yield to his wishes on this occasion.
‘Thank you,’ she said politely to his manservant.
‘Seni sevdim,’ the old man replied. Slanting a shy smile at Lizzie, he hurried away.
‘What did he say?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Mehmet likes you,’ Volkan said dryly. ‘The phrase is freely offered here in Turkey—unless of course you do something drastic to prevent it.’
Something drastic? Lizzie thought. She would do something drastic if that was what it took to set her brother free.
‘In Turkey, East and West meet seamlessly,’ Kemal Volkan continued. ‘Hence the slippers. It is a very small concession for me to make to someone who has served my family all his life. Those of us who are fortunate enough to live in Istanbul enjoy the very best of both worlds—’
‘I am well aware of the geographical significance of the Bosphorus, Mr Volkan,’ Lizzie cut across him, ‘but right now my only concern is for my brother.’
She dared to interrupt him? Kemal kept his thoughts behind a mask of indifference as he ushered Lizzie towards his study. ‘My time is yours, Ms Palmer,’ he murmured politely.
They could only have been sitting down in his study for a few minutes, but Lizzie felt as if she had been talking for ever. Her neck was aching, and all the time Kemal Volkan just sat watching her, without saying a word. In the end, his remorselessly neutral expression pushed her into an uncharacteristic display of passion.
‘I won’t leave until I know exactly where Hugo is, what’s happened to him, and how soon he can return home.’
She waited tensely, fairly sure that her argument was persuasive In her view there was no reason why a satisfactory compromise could not be reached. She was even prepared to act as intermediary between Volkan and the receivers for the bankrupt company, if he thought that would help to expedite the men’s return home.
This was turning into a novel encounter, Kemal reflected. He doubted he had ever met a woman so full of determination, and so unswervingly set on defiance. He felt some admiration for her. It took nerve to confront him on his home territory, and she had certainly researched everything thoroughly…a little too thoroughly, he decided, feeling anger start to take the place of his grudging admiration.
She presumed to have an understanding of his complex business dealings in no time flat, and had invaded his privacy to a degree he had never experienced before. But he would not get into a debate with her. She might have found out plenty, but now she was facing a brick wall. And that was how it was going to stay until he decided otherwise. He would tell her absolutely nothing, and wait like a hunter stalking his prey, using silence as a weapon, feigning uninterest, until he was ready to strike.
CHAPTER TWO
DID nothing provoke a response from this man? Lizzie wondered, as they sat across the desk from each other. Her frustration was growing by the minute as she stared at Volkan’s watchful face. Did nothing unzip that firm, sensuous mouth?
The more he exercised control, the more she found herself determined to elicit a response from him. The only curb on that determination was the fact that she had to be careful: she couldn’t risk antagonising him. She had the sense of a powerful engine idling, waiting for her to make the next move, reveal her hand. But she did have one slight advantage. She was a guest in a very traditional home where custom insisted that Volkan at least listen before he threw her out—an unfair advantage, perhaps, but where her brother’s welfare was concerned she had no scruples.
Lizzie averted her gaze from the wide sweep of his shoulders, clad in the finest wool tailoring. The ink-dark suit was almost certainly from Savile Row, and both his grooming and his smooth bronze tan bore the unmistakable stamp of the super-rich. But that didn’t exclude him from the human race, she mused angrily. He must have some feelings. Surely he could understand her concern for her brother?
‘Ms Palmer?’
As Volkan unexpectedly broke the silence Lizzie’s focus became acute. She straightened up expectantly. ‘Yes?’
‘Shall we have tea?’
Tea? To choke him with, perhaps! Where were the answers to her questions? He still hadn’t even told her where her brother was!
Viewing his imperious profile as he turned to call one of the hovering servants forward, Lizzie decided angrily that it wasn’t too great a stretch of the imagination to picture him as a sensual, pleasure-loving sultan. It was quite possible one of his forebears had been some self-indulgent pasha. Kemal Volkan was certainly above all normal human feeling. In fact, nothing about him was usual, from the luxuriant black hair he wore a little long, to the dusky shadows cast by his sharply etched cheekbones. And his eyes, she noticed, were the colour of a smoky-grey wolf pelt…
He was staring at her. She quickly looked away, pretending interest in her surroundings. It was hard to remain insensitive to the beauty around her when everything in the room had been designed to please the senses. The wood panelling insulated the study against outside noise, and there was a log fire blazing in the over-sized grate that under other circumstances might have made her feel relaxed enough to grow sleepy. A mellow light was cast by twin table lamps, and aside from the noise of her own heart hammering in her ears there was no sound other than a faint trickle of classical music coming from surround speakers.
It was all quite different from the small modern apartment she shared with Hugo. But then she suspected Kemal Volkan must have inherited many of the beautiful artefacts, whereas she had inherited nothing at the age of eighteen but a bewildered nine-year-old brother, when their hippie parents had taken the ultimate trip late one Christmas E
ve.
Lizzie tensed anxiously as she thought about Hugo. She wasn’t doing much for him now—and never would if she allowed those childhood memories to get in the way. And she had been so sure they were all banished to the deepest archives in her mind. One day she would deal with them properly. But not now. She couldn’t afford any distractions now.
Determinedly, Lizzie closed her mind to the past. She never allowed the past to rule the present. Dwelling on things she couldn’t change was a destructive pursuit, and she chose to look forward. Hugo was nineteen now, and had secured a place at a good university where, after his gap year, he would follow in her own footsteps and read law. They had made it through together; that was all that mattered. And no one, especially not an arrogant individual like Kemal Volkan, was ever going to come between them.
‘Do you have anything more you would like to say to me?’ he said.
Plenty! Lizzie took a moment before resuming, heeding the warnings she had been given about Kemal Volkan, that like the wolf he was a predator—strong and cunning, a hunting beast. But if he thought for one moment that he could frighten her off, or play the ‘men rule here’ card, he was about to discover how very wrong he was. She was often forced to take on lawyers of the old school, and that experience had given her the mental armoury necessary to do battle with dinosaurs of any nationality—even Turkish entrepreneurs who thought she was a pushover.
Her argument might be couched in the most polite terms, but her hostility was all too evident. Her attitude offended him, and called for a response. He would master her, Kemal decided as Lizzie’s soft, insistent voice washed over him. It was a challenge too rich to be ignored, and he would even be doing her a favour. Intellectual jousting was all very well, but there was another, unawakened side to Lizzie Palmer. All her fires were directed at her work, and her sisterly concern for Hugh Palmer. Commendable. But if she did not find something else to spend her passions on Hugo would only shake her off, as all young men must shake off any feminine influence in the home. And work was a poor companion through the night.
He affected close attention as she talked on. She was certainly a formidable opponent where words were concerned, but he had other weapons in his armoury—weapons he would enjoy using on Lizzie Palmer.
It never ceased to amaze him how one sibling could be so different from another. Hugo was so gregarious, so carefree and fun-loving, whilst his sister was none of those things. But apparently Lizzie had brought him up single-handedly, so Hugo was what she had made him. She had done a good job as far as that was concerned, Kemal conceded thoughtfully. Another plus: it had obviously been some time since she last brushed her long blonde hair, and it was escaping in soft tendrils that curled around her face—a face that in spite of the fact that her eyes were spitting fire at him still managed somehow to appeal.
Kemal shifted position impatiently. The world was full of beautiful women, all melting to order like sickly-sweet ice cream. He was tired of them all. His palate was hopelessly jaded, and business was his mistress now. It had been a long day, a difficult trip, a protracted business negotiation. On the drive back from the airport he had dreamed of the many indulgences awaiting him at the palace: a shower, a massage, a Turkish bath, all of which he could enjoy in the luxury of his own home. Or he might have swum a few lengths in the indoor pool first, and then taken his ease later.
Instead, for some reason, he was giving this intense and surprising young woman more of his time than even good manners demanded. So what was it about her that appealed? The answer, of course, was that she was ice and fire—perhaps a perfect combination of the two. He would listen to what she had to say, and then decide what to do with her.
Lizzie’s precise movements as she organised the papers in her briefcase distracted Kemal. He was attracted to her. In fact, he wanted her to stay. The physical reaction that followed took him completely by surprise—control was normally his middle name—and it was all he could do to suppress a very masculine smile as he continued to gaze at the extremely uptight, and immensely proper Ms Lizzie Palmer. If she knew the effect she was having on him now, she would run for her life.
Relishing the opportunity to study Lizzie in some detail, Kemal settled back in his chair. Her trim ankles and shapely calves gave some clue as to the rest of the package, though she was pretty well trussed up in her drab business clothes. Still, there were agreeable curves in all the right places, and the way her hair was beginning to wave softly where it had escaped from the tightly drawn ponytail made him want to wind his fingers through the wrist-thick fall and bring those full red lips a little closer.
There was certainly passion contained in that outwardly respectable frame, but all of it was channelled in entirely the wrong direction. And her impertinence intrigued him—she dared to challenge his code of honour, making it clear she thought he had Hugo locked up somewhere. She was without question a most contentious woman, as well as the most contained he had ever encountered. And that made him curious to know if she might succumb to temptation of a more erotic nature. He shifted position again, barely able to contain his pent-up energy. He was restless now, dangerously restless. His hunting instinct was in full spate, Kemal realised, as he gazed at Lizzie through half-shut eyes.
Lizzie’s voice caught in her throat as she started to summarise her thoughts on ways of securing Hugo’s speedy release. She wondered suddenly if Kemal Volkan was actually listening to her, and tensed, seeing the slight tug at one corner of his mouth. It wouldn’t do to encourage the very masculine interest she could see brewing beneath the surface of his harsh exterior. There was too much sensuality in his face for her to risk relaxing in his presence, and far too much confidence radiating from him in hot, compelling waves.
The idea that he might find her attractive came as a complete shock. She had never imagined herself to be overly attractive; she was too pale, too reserved. And she didn’t exude the necessary vibes, according to her friends. Which was how she liked it. The idea of sex with a man like Kemal Volkan was a terrifying prospect. She had about as much experience as a gnat, whereas he was sure to have a harem stocked with sophisticated temptresses. Better not to think about it, Lizzie decided. She had expected to wrest her brother from the clutches of a jailer, or argue for his release in the safe and sterile confines of a lawyer’s office, but this was definitely the worst-case scenario.
‘Are you cold?’ Kemal said, as she shivered with apprehension. ‘Let me hurry up the tea and send for some food as well.’ Without troubling to wait for her reply, he stood up and pulled a velvet cord hanging from the wall.
Freed from Kemal’s penetrative gaze, Lizzie battled to regain focus. This was not what she wanted—this ease, this familiarity. She had believed herself ready for anything, but she had not factored a man like Kemal Volkan into her thinking. His phenomenal level of success had led her to assume that he would be a much older man, and she had learned that once they recovered from the initial shock of having to deal with a woman, older men’s fatherly instincts usually kicked in, making them easier to handle. There would be no such concessions with this man, Lizzie thought tensely. Her only hope was to get their discussion back on track as fast as possible, and this time nail him to the mast.
‘I really would prefer to talk than to eat,’ she said when he turned back to her.
‘Is there any reason why we can’t do both?’ Kemal said easily, dipping to stir the blazing logs with a long steel poker.
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Then we eat,’ he said with a shrug.
What harm could eating together do? Lizzie thought. After all, he was as much sinned against as sinner—
What was she thinking of? The circumstances in which he was holding the men made fairness irrelevant. She had come to free Hugo and his colleagues—not to defend their jailer!
‘It’s really very warm,’ Kemal commented as he moved away from the fire. ‘Why don’t you let me take your coat? You’re still cold,’ he said with surprise, when L
izzie failed to stop the quiver of awareness that rippled across her shoulders at his touch. ‘We will eat soon, and then you will feel much better.’
She doubted that somehow.
As he swung Lizzie’s coat across the back of a chair Kemal realised that he liked the way she had felt beneath his hands, and the way she’d responded to his touch. Her skin had felt warm and soft, not cold.
The thought that it might be good to tutor her in all those things that her education had so obviously neglected to teach her was growing. Too often women were like hothouse flowers: too ripe, too blowsy, hardly recognisable one from the other. But Lizzie Palmer was different. She was fresh and unspoiled—though, like any difficult mount, she would have to be mastered before she could be enjoyed…
She would have to leave soon, Lizzie thought, picking up on Kemal’s brooding interest. She had always thought herself a hard-bitten professional, but Kemal Volkan was really beginning to frighten her.
She was distracted by a gentle tap on the door, and when the servants returned with food and drink she realised she was very hungry. Seeing the same elderly servant smiling encouragement at her as he brought over some delicacies for her to sample, Lizzie felt a little reassured. She would stay long enough to eat, and then she would pin Volkan down over Hugo’s release. Once that was done she would take the greatest pleasure in putting as much distance between them as possible.
A few nibbles were brought to them, as well as Turkish tea served in tiny vase-like glasses and accompanied by slices of lemon and white sugar cubes.
‘Try some,’ Kemal insisted. ‘The tea is very refreshing.’
Lizzie hesitated. Taking anything from Volkan’s hands seemed like a betrayal. His voice might be neutral, but his steel-grey gaze was shrewd and watchful, and she felt guilty indulging her own needs whilst her brother was still being held. But the key to Hugo’s release, she reminded herself, was Kemal Volkan. And while she was under his roof she at least had a chance of getting Hugo home in time for Christmas.
