Page 23 of My Turkish Fling
I sighed and nodded. He was so direct with me I had no choice. The truth beckoned forward like it had been waiting to be released. “I’m feeling very vulnerable, and you’re being very sweet. Right now, you’re the most dangerous thing in the New Zealand bush, for me.”
He tilted his head, that frown between his eyes deepening. I couldn’t resist running my thumb across it, smoothing it like before. His hand jerked towards me, but halted in the air, fingers curling into a fist. I stared at the white knuckles, my breath hot and heavy, my stomach suddenly as tight as that hand, as if he was squeezing my insides. The earthy smell of the forest intensified.
“I’d never hurt you, Janie. I don’t hurt women.”
“Love hurts, Emir. It hurts the most.”
He flung his arms around his bent knees, blowing out a deep breath. “You’re right.”
He’d been hurt. I’d wondered about it, and now, I was sure. Would he one day tell me what had happened? Did I want him to?
“How old are you, Emir?” I asked.
His chin jerked up and he looked at me quizzically. “Thirty-five.”
I sighed. “Baby.”
“What? You can’t be older than me.” His gaze intensified, studying my face.
“I’m 41, Emir.”
“Oh.” He turned to gaze at a tall kauri tree. “Well, you don’t look it.”
We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the birds and the wind that rustled the leaves. I wanted to touch him again. That moment my thumb had rested on his forehead, I’d felt okay. Attached to life. And now I was drowning again. Fighting to stay afloat.
“Could you hold me?” I finally asked. “Only for a moment.” I was too old for him, but he was here. Maybe I could lean on him a little, to get back on my feet.
Emir looked a little shell shocked but edged closer. Quietly grunting from pain, he draped his arm around my shoulder.
“You still sore from Pilates?”
“Injured to the point of needing a wheelchair.”
I chuckled. “I’m sorry. Sounds like you need another session.”
“You nearly murdered me with your weird exercise routine and now you suggest I need more of the same?”
I heard the lightness in his voice, and my heart fluttered. “Emir? Are you joking to make me feel better?”
“Sorry, it’s not my domain.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder.
He squeezed me tighter. “Anything you need, Janie.” His fingers stroked my shoulder, fast and restless, yet restrained.
Emotion welled in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by fluttering. Intense fluttering. I imagined what those fingers would feel like on my skin. I shoved my journal and pen into my robe pocket and took his other hand. “Anything, huh?” My laugh sounded a bit choked.
“Anything you need,” he said again, and I heard it in his voice now. Those long fingers curled tighter around my shoulder.
“What if I asked you to kiss me?” My voice was barely above a whisper and a shiver ran through me. I hadn’t felt like this with anyone in such a long time. My heart hammered so hard I feared it would completely lose the plot.
Emir turned to look me in the eye, capturing my face between his huge hands. “I would be torn, Janie. Because I want to, but it’s not right. We’re not… right for each other.” His eyes held both desire and pain.
“Why?”
“I’m a guest in your house. And I’m not like my brother. I’m not a romantic. I’m not who you’re looking for. You’re feeling sad, but I’m only here for two weeks. It’d be foolish to get involved.”
I blew a frustrated sigh, sucking in my lower lip. “Who said anything about getting involved? I only wanted a kiss. I wanted to feel… alive.” I pushed his hands away and stood up. “But I guess you’re right. Let’s go back.”
