by Alison Kent
‘No one cries when it’s really bad, do they?’ Hugo said at last. ‘They just hold it all in.’
Kemal sat back, and then he said carefully, ‘Can you tell me about it, Hugo?’
‘Lizzie didn’t tell you?’
‘No,’ Kemal admitted.
‘Then I can’t. Sorry,’ Hugo said gruffly.
Kemal let the silence hang. The line rang with silent tears and he had no wish to trample on Hugo’s memories. ‘I need this information, Hugo’ he said at last, ‘for Lizzie’s sake. She can’t go on like this. You must know that.’
For a few seconds that seemed a lot longer there was nothing. And then: ‘Lizzie found our parents dead,’ Hugo said, talking in a fast monotone. ‘There was incense everywhere in the house. It nearly choked her—nearly choked me. I was only nine. I was hiding in my bedroom with the window open. When I heard Lizzie scream I ran out. She was downstairs, looking through the glass door that led into the kitchen—She’d been bringing stuff in for Christmas decorations: holly, red berries. She did it every year—it was sort of a tradition—’
‘Stop there,’ Kemal interjected softly. ‘Go slowly, Hugo. I need to understand.’
‘They OD’d,’ Hugo told him. ‘Lizzie was standing outside the glass door, looking in at Mum and Dad slumped dead on the floor.’
‘And she’s worn glasses since then?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘It’s not important,’ Kemal said. ‘She doesn’t wear them any more.’
‘Does that help?’ Hugo said, clearly uncomfortable that he had betrayed some long held secret.
‘It helps a lot,’ Kemal assured him. ‘And now I want you to forget about business for a while, Hugo. I need you to do something else for me.’
The flat seemed smaller than Lizzie had remembered, and it was cold—very cold. She tried to get hold of Hugo on the phone the moment she got in, but he was staying round at a friend’s. A girlfriend’s, Lizzie guessed, judging by the muffled giggles in the background.
‘Thank God you’re safe!’ she exclaimed with relief.
‘Safe?’ Hugo demanded. ‘The only danger here is a couple of girls from uni, and I seem to be coping!’
‘Er, thank you, Hugo. That’s far too much information,’ Lizzie said, dragging her coat a little closer. ‘Don’t you ever put the heat on at the flat?’
‘When I’m there.’
‘OK, so tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Will I see you?’
‘I have to go on somewhere from here,’ Hugo said. ‘What about if I come round to the flat tomorrow morning?’
‘I promised to go into Chambers in the morning,’ Lizzie said, thinking out loud, ‘and then I expect there will be drinks, Christmas lunch—that sort of thing—’
‘I could come round really early in the morning?’ Hugo offered.
Lizzie smiled, knowing that was quite some sacrifice. ‘Thanks, Hugo. I’d appreciate it. I want to talk to you about Istanbul.’
‘No problem. Look, I’m a bit tied up right now…’
I bet you are, Lizzie thought. Kemal was right again—her kid brother was all grown up.
Pacing around the small flat, Lizzie tried hard not to think about Kemal. His chauffeur had taken her to the airport. There had been no sign of anyone else from the palace. Kemal had made his feelings towards her crystal-clear before they parted, so why should she have expected things to be different?
But for some reason a stubborn kernel of hope kept on refusing to give up—even though she knew it could never have worked out between them. They were like twin tornados, cancelling each other out. They were both in the wrong, both too passionate, too intense to give an inch. It was time to get on with the rest of her life, Lizzie told herself, and file The Sultan away, along with her other memories.
Flicking open the well-used diary on her desk, Lizzie saw that, just as she had told Hugo, Christmas Eve was going to be hectic. There would be barely enough time to dash round the shops to try and gather up some last-minute seasonal goodies. She looked around the cold, modern flat. She would have to make time. It was all so drab. Wandering across to the window, she pushed the curtain aside and looked out. Under the street lamp she could see the holly bush flourishing beneath her window. It was covered in red berries.
Lizzie woke early on Christmas Eve morning. Bouncing out of bed, she hurried about the flat, barefoot in her pyjamas. Munching toast, and slurping coffee out of her oversized mug, she backed into the tiny sitting room to check over the simple Christmas arrangements she had fashioned late the previous night.
But her gaze flew instinctively to the telephone. Her heart gave a lonely thud. There was no winking light. No message. Stuffing the last piece of toast in her mouth, she crossed over to her desk and logged on to her computer to check her e-mails. Nothing. There was nothing—no voicemail, no text, no recorded message—nothing.
‘So, that’s it,’ she informed the empty room.
Unless…
All she had to lose was her pride, Lizzie thought, remembering the business card Kemal had insisted she keep. She still had his private number…
For a moment Lizzie was surprised to hear a woman’s voice. Then she realised that of course Kemal would have a PA. She wished she hadn’t made the call. Kemal might have said to call him if she needed help—but the only help she needed was in getting over him! Giving a false name to the woman, Lizzie said she worked for one of the Financials, and then casually dropped into the conversation the name of the company Hugo had been working for.
It was now part of the Volkan group, the woman said economically, before asking if there was anything else she could help Lizzie with.
‘No. No, nothing else, thank you,’ Lizzie said, cutting the line.
Hugo’s visit lasted about five minutes. He was clearly in a hurry to get somewhere else, Lizzie realised when he joined her for some coffee. Any detailed chat about Istanbul would have to wait—not enough time now, he explained. But enough time to request a new mobile phone for Christmas, Lizzie thought with a wry smile. Typical brother!
And then later in the day she just couldn’t say no to her colleagues when they insisted she join them for Christmas lunch. They all arrived together at the luxury hotel in a fleet of taxis, but, quite suddenly, she was on her own. How could seven people simply melt away? Lizzie wondered, looking with bemusement around the brilliantly lit entrance foyer.
She tensed as the elevator doors slid open. But in spite of the frisson that tracked down her spine it was just a young mother, laughing as she struggled to manage two excited children and the pile of presents in her arms. Lizzie looked away quickly, but then, drawn to the sound of happy laughter again, she turned back and smiled at the family.
It was then Kemal saw her.
After speaking to Hugo he had to come and find her. He couldn’t allow them to part on a wave of acrimony and recriminations. His business was under control—always had been, in spite of Lizzie Palmer’s best endeavours. But his personal life was not under control, Kemal realised as his heart lurched at the sight of Lizzie.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. But now she was relaxed and smiling, and he had failed there. He had never succeeded in bringing Lizzie that type of uncomplicated happiness, because they had spent all their time fighting—almost all their time, he amended with a faint smile. But they only fought because no one had ever stood up to him as she did, and he had come to admire her for that. That was why he had come to London. He could not draw a line beneath their relationship yet.
CHAPTER TEN
‘KEMAL!’
Lizzie froze when she spotted him. In spite of everything that had happened, when he walked towards her she thought she might faint.
‘Lizzie.’
He stopped a few feet away, giving her that half-smile that always knocked her off balance. And even after despatching her from Turkey with all speed, his voice was low, even intimate, as if they were lovers.
‘Kemal,’ Lizzie
said coolly, regrouping fast. He was so self-possessed, so confident of his reception. The same very masculine humour shaped his gaze. She held out her hand to him politely. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.’
Did she seriously expect him to shake her hand? Kemal thought, ignoring it as he moved to kiss her on both cheeks, continental-style. Her face was ice-cold, he noticed, but she still trembled at his touch.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ he said with matching formality. ‘I know how busy you must be so close to Christmas—’
‘How did you know I would be here?’ Lizzie said. ‘This isn’t a coincidence, is it, Kemal?’
‘I followed you,’ he said casually. ‘And your colleagues were most helpful.’
‘My colleagues told you—’
‘They’re not at fault,’ he cut in. ‘I wanted to find you. But, look, if I’m keeping you…’
For a moment she was so shocked she couldn’t speak, and she saw Kemal’s gaze turn cool.
‘I mustn’t keep you from your friends,’ he said, moving as if to go.
‘No. Wait.’ Self-consciously Lizzie drew her hand back from touching him. ‘We could have a drink first, maybe?’
‘Won’t your friends be waiting for you in the restaurant?’
‘Perhaps, but…’
‘But?’ he demanded quizzically.
‘For old times’ sake?’ Lizzie suggested, finding she was unable to meet his gaze.
‘Have we known each other that long?’ he said, affecting a weary tone, but as she looked up she saw the spark of humour in his eyes.
‘It feels like it sometimes,’ Lizzie admitted, smiling a little ‘Aren’t you going to eat lunch somewhere?’
‘Perhaps. I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.’
‘Why don’t you join us?’ Lizzie suggested on impulse. It would be a safe environment inside the restaurant, with her colleagues around to chaperone them. There was no reason for her to part from Kemal on bad terms.
‘I don’t want to intrude,’ he said. ‘And afterwards there’ll be things you want to do. You’ll be too busy—’
‘Oh, no—that’s fine,’ Lizzie heard herself say. ‘There’s loads of time.’
She looked up at him. She didn’t want him to go. Not yet.
She didn’t want him to leave. It was a shock, and a pleasant one, Kemal discovered. He took every woman on earth for granted, but not Lizzie—never Lizzie.
‘OK, so I give in,’ he said softly.
Lizzie flushed red. The tone of his voice was everything she had ever hoped for—more than she could possibly have expected. She loved everything about him, she realised as Kemal linked her arm through his: the power radiating from him, his amazing build, his intoxicating scent, the thick black hair that always escaped so wilfully from his careful grooming. She even loved the piercing gaze that could strip her to the core in an instant. But most of all she loved the harsh mouth that had kissed her so very thoroughly, and that even now was tugging up in a smile.
She was quite sure that every one of her X-rated thoughts was printed in large type across her forehead. But this was nothing more than two people parting as friends, she reminded herself. It was the civilised way to behave.
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Kemal murmured, looking round the dining room. ‘Your friends seem to have gone. They must have decided to move on.’
‘But where—’
‘Does it matter? We can eat here—unless, of course, you want to try and find them?’ Kemal offered, unlinking her arm and standing back.
‘No,’ Lizzie said quickly, ‘that’s fine. I’m quite hungry now, aren’t you?’
‘Very,’ Kemal agreed, smiling into her eyes.
Was the secluded table at Kemal’s request? Or was the maître d’ particularly sensitive to his client’s requirements? Lizzie wondered, as she handed over her coat. She was becoming neurotic, she decided. Glancing in the mirror, she wished there’d been time to change. Dressed all in black for work, she looked as pale as a wraith. Whereas Kemal dressed in black—Italian tailoring, she guessed—seemed more vibrant than ever. Black looked fabulous against his tan.
As he held the chair for her Lizzie felt Kemal’s forcefield pulsing behind her. And when he settled himself across the table and she glimpsed the hard, bronzed torso beneath his open-necked shirt she could taste his warmth on her tongue again, feel the silky texture of his hard, muscled frame beneath her hands.
Drawing a deep breath, Lizzie closed her eyes, revelling in the warm, musky man scent, laced with sandalwood. Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, she accepted the menu from a waiter with relief, and quickly buried her head in it. But she had chosen to wear the fragile silk and lace underwear Kemal had bought for her in Istanbul beneath the severely cut suit. And she felt as if he knew. If ever there had been an occasion for wearing blue serge gym knickers, this was it!
‘Don’t I owe you some money?’ she said quickly, to distract herself, looking up.
‘For what?’ Kemal asked, leaning back comfortably in his chair.
‘For the clothes you bought for me while I was in Istanbul.’
‘It was nothing—just some underwear, wasn’t it?’
He did know! And in case he was in any doubt, her cheeks were on fire.
‘Won’t you accept it as a gift?’
‘I don’t accept gifts from anyone.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘You’ll send me the bill?’ she pressed.
‘I hear the food is very good here, and the waiter is waiting for our order,’ Kemal pointed out. ‘Won’t you choose something?’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Lizzie warned. ‘You have to give in.’
‘Do I?’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps later.’ And then he turned to concentrate on his own menu.
Lizzie was so flustered she asked for the first thing that came into her head. And very soon after that the hors d’oeuvres arrived.
‘Just tell me how much I owe you,’ Lizzie said again.
‘I’ll let you know when I’ve worked it out,’ Kemal said. ‘But now we eat.’ He dipped an asparagus spear into thick, buttery sauce. ‘This has come all the way from Peru, just for our enjoyment,’ he pointed out, offering one to Lizzie. ‘It would be churlish of us to let it go to waste.’
Lizzie drew the succulent stalk slowly into her mouth, trying not to look at Kemal. But her face was burning beneath his steady gaze.
‘Would you like to taste the wine, sir? Sir…?’
‘No. Thank you,’ Kemal said politely, wiping his lips on a large linen napkin. ‘I’m afraid we have been called away—some urgent business.’
‘I quite understand, sir.’
Lizzie sincerely hoped he didn’t. But then she was on her feet, her hand in Kemal’s. ‘My coat!’ she exclaimed, when they were almost at the door.
‘Someone will return it,’ Kemal said, pulling her behind him.
Lizzie pressed back against her own side of the elevator. Kemal was leaning against his. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The space in between them was a forcefield crackling with energy and intention. Maybe she was mistaken, Lizzie thought wildly. Maybe she was going crazy—maybe her imagination was running away with her. Yes, that must be it, she decided. Kemal was so calm—too calm.
‘We’re here,’ he said at last, standing aside to let Lizzie pass him when the lift doors opened.
The same silent retainers she had seen in Turkey opened double doors for them, and Lizzie walked past them into a sitting room the size of a small ballroom. The cream carpet was so thick it felt like a mattress, and the air was filled with the subtle scent of roses.
‘Do you like them?’ Kemal asked conversationally, as he waited for the servants to leave.
‘I love roses,’ Lizzie admitted, touching one of the velvet petals with her fingertip. ‘Especially cream roses. They are so delicate.’
‘I had them flown in especially for you.’
‘For me?’ Lizzie sa
id incredulously, looking up. ‘Why?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Should I?’ Lizzie said, turning to him.
‘You are without question the most surprising woman I have ever met.’
‘Good surprise or bad surprise?’
‘That depends on the moment,’ he said. ‘Fortunately, I like a challenge.’
As the door closed on the last of the servants Kemal dragged her to him. Pushing her jacket off her shoulders, he turned impatiently to the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse.
Placing her palms firmly against the wall of his chest, Lizzie pushed weakly at him. ‘Kemal…’
The word was little more than a sigh, but he stopped it with a kiss. ‘We’ve talked enough,’ he said at last, releasing her to watch her reaction as he moved to trace the swell of her breasts very lightly with his fingertips.
Lizzie’s lips parted to drag in air as Kemal used the firm pads of his thumbs to chafe impatiently against her fine lawn blouse. She didn’t want subtlety, or foreplay. They had explored that particularly frustrating activity to the limits.
Soon they were tearing the clothes off each other and flinging them aside, dropping them and kicking them away. And Kemal was lifting her, entering her even as he lowered her down onto the nearest surface—which, fortunately for Lizzie, was a heavy sofa that held her securely as Kemal moved above her, thrusting deep.
They were greedy for each other. Ravenous. They had waited too long, and Lizzie was every bit as demanding and as forceful as Kemal. Her hands grabbed for him, her fingers mercilessly pushed and pressed, forced him on while she cried out repeatedly, wondering if she could ever get enough of him filling her, stretching her, pounding her. There was only one thought in her mind now—one goal, one driving, overwhelming need. And finally, crying out to him in triumph, she brought him with her in a series of shudderingly intense, pleasure-filled waves.
They made love in every room in the plush apartment—every room and every corner—until finally they made it to the bed. There was no conversation, no need for speech; they could communicate very well without it. And the longer they were together the more perfectly they understood each other.
