Page 11 of My Turkish Fling
I took a deep breath, considering this. “I take it you’re not a romantic?”
He coughed up something that almost sounded like a laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t work for you. But if they believe in it, they will make it work. Besides, being born in the same country doesn’t guarantee a lasting relationship, either.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw his face fall. “No, it doesn’t.”
“So, you’d never even consider it? Even if you fell in love, and…” Where was I going with this?
“I don’t fall in love.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Never again.”
The pain in his voice told me I wouldn’t get more out of him, so we drove in silence. Someone had hurt him. Who, and how? It was none of my business, I reminded myself. This was not the time to turn into a borderline creepy investigative journalist. I didn’t need to know. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Chapter 5
Emir
Janie’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel and her jaw twitched, but she said nothing. I knew I sounded like an uncommunicative jerk, but I sounded like that most of the time. She’d get used to it.
Janie kept her gaze on the road, giving me an opportunity to study her. Her expressive blue-grey eyes and high cheekbones caught the evening light like she was posing for a portrait. Her blond hair curled slightly around the temples. She was exquisite, there was no denying that. I wanted to photograph her, from every angle. I wanted her fingers on my neck, stroking and kneading away the pain, even if only for a moment. But I wouldn’t let myself get carried away. I wasn’t Cem. I had some self-control.
Janie followed Aria’s car, weaving through the green hills andoccasional ferns which gradually turned into a quiet suburbia. I was prepared to give her instructions—I’d memorized the route—but we were never in any danger of losing sight of Aria.
“It’s the white house on the left,” I told her, unnecessarily, as Aria turned on the driveway.
I was used to being in charge, or at least feeling like I had a purpose, and this trip was making me increasingly uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to get back to Janie’s house. The fewer people I had a round me, the better.
Janie double parked behind Aria. “We’re leaving soon, right?”
“I’m happy to.”
She gave me a long, probing look. “You really are, aren’t you?” She cocked her head, mouth tugging. “You don’t look particularly happy, but you’re not frowning. And your voice… It had a softness to it. Did you notice?”
“No,” I harrumphed, my chest feeling strangely warm.
Her smile turned giddy. “That’s right. You’re not that hard to read, mister. I’ll figure it out.”
I unfastened my seatbelt, trying to ignore the odd sensation those words had inserted inside my ribcage. I wasn’t the one women wanted. She was only teasing me, waiting to hear me giggle or something. She’d be waiting a long time.
“I like your horse,” I blurted. “So, I’m happy to go back.”
“You like my horse,” she repeated, her smile now so wide it must have been hurting her face. “And you enjoy my unprofessional massages.”
I gripped the car door handle, fear tightening my throat. “Canwe… um… keep that between us?”
Janie’s spine straightened. “Is it… culturally not okay? I mean, would your parents be horrified to find out you’re getting massaged by an old, divorced lady?”
I shook my head, a bit amused. “No. And you’re not old. But I don’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it. They keep saying I should see a professional, and I know I should. I will. But in the meantime…”
“Yeah, okay. I get it.”
We got out of the car and joined Aria, Cem and the two sets of parents on the deck. They’d formed a semi-circle around an outdoor table loaded with various Turkish delights and nuts my parents had dragged across the world. They were the reason we’d wasted an extra hour in customs, declaring every nut, seed and sugary roll hiding in our luggage.
“Come join us for some exotic snacks,” Aria’s mother called us as we stood awkwardly on the other side of the table.
