“I like kids. And the little girls in this country are constantly abused by males. I don’t like little boys thinking they can punch a young girl in the face and get away with it,” he said, biting into the tuna sandwich.
“It’s an awful situation for the women and girls.” Dara frowned.
“You look stressed,” Matt said, seeing her try to hide it from him.
“Oh, it’s me,” Dara admitted, giving him an apologetic look. “This is why I’m not cut out for charity work. Callie can handle the emotional end, but I find myself starting to unravel over the horrible suffering these children undergo, and they can never escape it.”
“How did you make it through medical school, then?” Matt wondered aloud.
“It wasn’t easy,” Dara muttered. “Believe me. I’m just the opposite of Callie, who is such a trouper.”
“I like the fact that you wear your heart on your sleeve. It becomes you.” Matt held her gaze, feeling their connection deepen.
“You’re really good at knowing people very quickly,” she pointed out wryly, wiping a bit of mayonnaise off the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling as a therapist? A psychiatrist?”
“I’m not cut out to be one,” he grumbled, shaking his head, enjoying the tasty sandwich, which was far better than a protein bar. “This is just me as an operator, where you have to be able to read people instantly. It could save your life.”
“Maggie told me how you helped that little girl who was just delivered here a few days ago.”
“Aliya?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head, giving him a long, deep look. “You are so much more than what you appear to be, Matt.”
“Uh-oh,” he teased unmercifully, “now I’m in real trouble.”
She laughed and shook her head. “It was a compliment. Relax.”
“And it gets me what?” he asked, giving her a wicked look.
“Well,” she murmured, “given what Callie and Maggie have told me, I think you deserve to be taken out for dinner. Tonight. On me. Interested?”
His mouth firmed. “I’m sort of used to paying for a lady’s meal.”
“It’s not the Middle Ages, Matt. I think I can afford to buy you a meal.”
“Okay, I’m an easy keeper. Sure, I’d like you to take me to dinner tonight, but I’m warning you, I’m more than ready for a two-pound T-bone steak.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Considering all the work you’re going to do this afternoon on that playground, you’ll probably want a three-pound T-bone by the time we get there.”
Matt loved the fire in her eyes. A moment ago, she’d been downcast and exhausted. Now, with just a bit of teasing on his part, she’d rallied. He liked that about Dara. She could be like quicksilver, fluid, like that sensuous belly dancing she did. “I’ll be a gentleman about it and simply say thank you. Offer accepted.”
“Good. I like a man who can compromise.”
“Who said we can’t?” he prodded, enjoying seeing her come out of her shell. And that shell, Matt realized, shielded her from all the suffering she saw when she doctored the needy. He found himself wanting to protect her, to bring her respite from all that she experienced. He knew what it was like, because he, too, felt the pain of others. The truth of it was, he had put more walls in place, and had buried more feelings, than Dara probably ever had.
He watched as Dara finished her sandwich, wiping her long fingers on a paper napkin she’d put in the sack.
“I haven’t met any man who knows how to compromise. Well … except for my dad and grandpa. They do. But I’ve decided they are the rare males in the world of men.”
“Ouch. Well, you obviously met the wrong ones. Life is filled with compromises, from the time we draw our first breath to our last.”
“And just how did you, as a male, get to accept that kernel of wisdom?”
He chuckled and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Easy answer. My mother, the woman who won’t take no for an answer.”
“I really need to meet Dilara. She sounds like a dream come true: brilliant, owns her own company, raised her children right, and trained her son to be that rare commodity, a gentleman.”
“Oh, that,” Matt said, leaning back. “Well, my mother is a socialite by training. She wasn’t about to let her kids be awkward in social situations.”
Dara pulled out another large foil-wrapped item from the sack. “You seem reluctant to reveal just how rich your family really is. Does that come from people wanting something from you when they do find out?”
Her insight was dead-on. Matt watched her unwrap the foil, revealing two slices of chocolate cake. “Part of it is being an operator. I don’t want people to know much about me. That way, it protects my family. If al-Qaeda found out where they lived, they could kill them.”
“I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry. My question was way out of line.” She placed one piece of cake on a napkin along with a white plastic fork and pushed it toward him.
“Thanks. This looks good.”
“My mom taught us to share.” She smiled.
Matt allowed a bite of the cake to melt in his mouth. It was delicious and homemade. “That’s another thing I like about you,” he said. “This is good cake. Who made it?”
“I did, before I left the States. As I said before, I learned when I came over here to pack the food I love, my comfort foods, and anything else I’d miss terribly while I’m gone.”
“So you cook, too.”
“I do. And I’m very good at it.”
“Obviously,” he said, licking his fingertips, which were now covered in chocolate.
“Do you cook, Matt?”
“A little,” he hedged. “My mom got all three of us in the kitchen the minute our heads were level with the kitchen counter.”
“When you spent your summers in Kuşadası, did your aunts and uncles teach you Turkish cooking?”
“Oh, yeah. My mother made them promise to keep us kids in the kitchen washing dishes, cleaning up, and learning to cook Turkish food.” He smiled a little. “And of course, Maria, my mother’s cousin in Athens, Greece, had orders from my mother to treat us the same way when we flew to Greece for our Easter break. We’re very well-rounded when it comes to cooking. In fact, when I get back to the States, I have thirty days’ leave coming. I’ve got a condo in Alexandria about a mile from my parents’ home. Maybe you’d like to come over some time and I’ll cook for you.”
Dara grinned broadly. “You’re on! I have a Heinz background like you. My father is seacoast Irish, south of Dublin. My mother is Italian, from Milan. Between the two, I’m very good with foods from those two countries.”
“We could cook for the UN,” Matt chuckled. “Yeah, let’s make a date of it. I’ll cook for you, and you can have me over some night for some wild Irish-Italian food.” Her blondness had thrown him off at first. After all, Callie had red hair, so there was a huge clue, right? Matt had to laugh at himself, because he’d gotten so sucked into Dara, her beauty, her dancing ability, that he had become completely distracted. “Where did the blond hair come from?”
“My mother. There are a lot of blond Italians in northern Italy. I think there’s a Swiss influence somewhere.” She touched her hair. “My mother’s hair is a deeper gold than mine.”
“You have beautiful hair. I was wondering if it was real.” He colored, shooting her an apologetic look.
“No, I’m the real deal,” she told him drily, trying not to smile. “And yes, I get asked a lot about it, usually by other women who want to know what bottled hair color I use. Or they ask me who my hairdresser is.”
“You’re one of a kind, Dara.” In so many ways, he’d lost count. She was now firmly planted under his skin, dissolving his heart, heating his lower body until he felt scalded with the need to bury himself in her. At the same time, she called up a tenderness and protectiveness in Matt. As introverted as Dara was, she was also sensitive. She didn’t try to put up walls to protect herself
from her own breadth and depth of emotions like he did. Instead, she was like an open, receptive sponge, absorbing everything and handling it far better than he ever would.
Matt had met few people who could do what Dara was doing. That’s why he wanted to fiercely guard her from a harsh world that always had its talons unsheathed, ready to rip into the next victim. Dara was too beautiful, too good-hearted for that. In fact, there wasn’t a mean bone in her body. And like her extroverted sister, Dara had pledged her life to being of service to others. Just as he had.
CHAPTER 5
“At least now I know why you like Italian food so much,” Matt teased Dara as they ate together for a second night in a row. They’d gotten back to base by six p.m., and he’d met her at the restaurant an hour later.
The change in Dara’s appearance was heart-stopping. Tonight, she wore a pale pink angora cowl-neck sweater, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. Her small pearl earrings enhanced her softer feminine look.
Matt had managed a quick shower after climbing out of his military clothes. Then he’d opted for a pair of black chinos, a black T-shirt, and his favorite beat-up leather bombardier jacket with a sheepskin collar. When they could, most people on base chose to wear their civilian clothes, and he was no exception.
Dara smiled as she dove into a bowl of puttanesca, a blend of semolina wheat spaghetti, dried tomatoes, capers, and olives. “This food is in my blood,” she said, grinning happily. “Do you mind eating Italian again?”
“Not at all,” he said. “But tomorrow night I have a surprise for you. I’m taking you over to an Afghan friend’s restaurant here on base. It’s the best Middle Eastern food you’ll ever eat, I promise.”
“Fantastic! I love eating Middle Eastern dishes.”
Matt just couldn’t keep his eyes off Dara. In the low lighting, their booth in the rear felt somewhat private, despite the noise around them. He suddenly felt like a lion that had finally found its mate. He had so many deeply personal questions he wanted to ask her, but he was afraid she’d find them invasive. Timing was everything with this woman, and he wanted to tread carefully.
Dara was just beginning to open up to him, and he’d be a fool to chase her. She moved at her own pace, which he respected and would honor as they got to know each other better.
“So what will you do when you return home?” he asked her, curious.
Dara slowly twirled her fork against a large tablespoon in the bowl. “Honestly?” She looked up at him through her light brown lashes.
“Always,” he said.
“I’ll crash, Matt. The battering I take emotionally over here, seeing how badly these children suffer, is devastating. When I go home, I cry a lot. I feel so frustrated because I can’t make their lives any better than they are now. I realize that the orphanage has stepped in, so the children won’t die a slow, horrible death from malnutrition. But I don’t sleep well, and sometimes I have nightmares.” She thought a moment, then admitted frankly, “I’m not like Callie. My sister has some magical way of protecting herself so she can still reach out and love every one of those kids. She’s far more resilient than I’ll ever be. I just wasn’t made that way.”
“But you’re a doctor,” Matt said gently. “You see suffering every day on a different playing field. Callie doesn’t see a lot of that, Dara.” He took a deep breath and said, “I have two sisters. One, Tal, was a ground-pounder. She was a Marine Corps sniper and saw where her bullet goes and what it does to a human being at the other end. My other sister, Alexa, is an Air Force combat A-10 pilot. She flies the Warthog and she’s in the air war. She never sees what that Gatling gun on the nose of her A-10 does to a human body. One of those fifty-caliber rounds can cut a body in half, but Alexa doesn’t see the blood. She isn’t up close and personal with death like you are or Tal was.”
Dara sat quietly, appreciating how openly he shared his emotions with her. “You see a lot, too, Matt. But I watched you this afternoon when Aliya came back to you after you fixed all the playground equipment. She crawled back into your lap, buried her head against you, and let you hold her. You gave her love and acceptance when she needed it the most. That meant the world to me.”
His cheeks reddened slightly. Gruffly, he replied, “Well, the poor kid’s only been at the orphanage for four days, and she was traumatized by seeing her family shot in the head by the Taliban. I could see that Aliya is in deep shock. She’ll have to live with PTSD for the rest of her life, thanks to what her nine-year-old eyes saw. And now, she has no one.”
“But you were able to give her love and not get torn up over her situation. I can’t seem to be able to detach myself like you and Callie do.”
“Sweetheart, you’re just built differently, but that’s not a bad thing.”
Damn! Matt hadn’t meant to let that endearment slip out. It seemed that when he was around Dara, his emotions blazed out of control sometimes, much as he tried to contain them.
Sure, he could see the emotional toll the orphanage was taking on her, and it raised every protective hackle in him. Matt wanted to hold Dara close, as he had Aliya this afternoon. She needed his love, care, and compassion, and he’d give it to her for three reasons: because he could, because she needed it, and because he wanted to with all his heart.
Now he watched Dara’s blue eyes widen as she fully registered his unexpected endearment. Her surprise was followed by yearning, and he knew that look. It was the look of a woman who wanted him.
His body tensed in anticipation, and he felt scalding heat stirring deep within him. How badly he wanted to love Dara, if and when she’d allow it.
Matt knew he could be there for her, nurturing her from his body, heart, and soul. There was such a deep ache for her, he could hardly concentrate on his daily responsibilities. Nor could he explain how wild his feelings for her were, tearing through him, pushing him to tell her, to show her, how much he wanted her.
“At home,” Dara said softly, cutting into his thoughts, “I’m not as emotional as I am over here. Maybe it’s because the babies and children who are my patients are loved, well fed, clean, and happy. I don’t have to worry about them, and God knows, I’m the world’s biggest worrywart.” Her lips twisted ruefully and she held his intense gaze. “Callie calls me a ‘cream puff,’ and she’s right. I am. You can’t plunk me down in the middle of a place like this and expect me to take it. After a week, Matt, I need about a month to get back to my center.”
“But you do come back,” he pointed out, seeing the suffering in Dara’s eyes and realizing how much she was revealing to him. This woman was never manipulative, as he’d seen others be. She had no hidden agenda. Dara was just herself, warts and all. Her vulnerabilities did not detract from her because they gave him the opportunity to step in and support her, shield her, and put her back into balance. Matt had often seen in his parents’ long marriage where they complemented one another. Where his mother might be strong, his father was weak, and vice versa. He grew up knowing that was what he wanted in the woman he would someday marry. That same kind of support. His parents’ marriage was successful because they worked off one another’s strengths, not their weaknesses. And he was seeing, more and more, that he and Dara had that kind of connection and were slowly building that type of relationship with one another. He’d also seen the same qualities in the marriages of his Turkish aunts and uncles, as well as those of his Greek relatives.
“How could I not come back to this?” Dara opened her hands, her voice shaking with emotion. “It’s only for one week out of my year. All these children have to look forward to is a bleak, hardscrabble existence with no assurance they’ll even live to see adulthood.”
“And that’s why you come back here, Dara? To make their lives better, if only for a week a year?”
“Yes, and because I hate to see suffering when I can do something about it. What kind of a human being would I be to ignore a child’s plight? Especially one like Aliya?”
He finished his spaghetti a
nd slid the bowl aside. “There are plenty of people who do ignore it,” Matt said, turning to his red wine. “When you grow up with your mother running a global charity, you begin to see who’s willing to extend themselves, like you and your sister do. And then there are others who wouldn’t donate a dime to any humanitarian charity. I can’t figure out how they can be so callous and insensitive to those who have less than they do.” He shrugged. “But there’s plenty of people out there like that.”
Dara smiled faintly as she finished her main course. “Maybe it’s because they’ve been abused, or are hurt or suffering, and it takes everything they’ve got just to survive each day, Matt. I work for a women’s shelter in Annandale, Virginia, and it made me realize just how lucky I was to be raised by loving parents, not dysfunctional ones like these women had to endure. My parents raised us right, infused us with confidence, allowed us to blossom naturally, and then supported us. Some of these poor, battered women were sexually abused as children. Others were beaten by their fathers or their mothers’ boyfriends. And some of those mothers never lifted a hand to help or protect their children.”
“And yet, you can handle that emotionally, right?” Matt saw her thinking about it. She pressed the glass to her lips and took a long sip of her wine. He watched as the wine slid down her slender throat, and as she swallowed Matt found himself wanting to kiss her right there and hear her moan as she responded to his mouth on her fragrant skin. She was in his blood, and he knew he had to kiss her soon, feel her mouth beneath his, feel her body against his. Somehow, he knew she’d be just as hot and hungry as he was.
As a doctor, she appeared to be calm, gentle, and in control at all times. He’d seen that today at the orphanage. But he wanted that wild woman, the belly dancer who lurked just beneath her cool exterior. He saw it in Dara’s eyes, felt it all around her, even though she didn’t reveal what she really wanted. When he’d called her “sweetheart,” for that split second Matt had felt something within her stir. It was the response of a woman who was on the brink of giving herself to him.
Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3) Page 7
