Page 6 of My Turkish Fling
“Why not?” I insisted, winking at him. “You’re very handsome.”
“If you like looking at Turkish men, look at Cem. He’s always smiling.”
“But he’s not as handsome.” The simple truth of it slipped from my mouth before I could fully process the implications.
Was I trying to flirt with this guy? To what end? I hugged myself, noting the evening chill. The sun was already low, casting long shadows across the green grass. Should I leave Molly out for the night, or get her back inside? I still googled half the decisions I had to make on the farm. The more I learned, the more I realized how little I knew about looking after animals or growing anything.
Not waiting for his response, I wandered after my horse, to check that she was still within the boundary. If she seemed happy, I’d let her stay out. It didn’t look like the weather was about to turn. I was surprised when I heard Emir’s footsteps behind me. When I reached a higher point on the hill and climbed on a flat rock, he stopped next to me. Even standing on the rock, I only reached his eye level.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“What?” I blinked, pretending like I had no idea what he was talking about. To make him squirm.
“Do you honestly prefer my looks to Cem’s or are you making fun of me?” I could see the faint glow of embarrassment behind his eyes, but he held my gaze without flinching.
Was he insecure about his looks? This tall, dark, menacing man? His hair was shorter than Cem’s and he only had a slight shadow of a stubble. I could certainly appreciate Cem’s movie star looks, but there was something about Emir that captivated me.
Emir kept looking at me, expectantly, until I could only give him the truth. I could feel the fight seep out of me, all the flirty fun I’dplanned to have on his expense, or with him, or to amuse myself. Everything vaporized and I found my jaw wobbling a little when I replied. “Yes, I think you’re more handsome. That’s my personal preference. Is that important to you?”
The question threw him a little, and I congratulated myself for that tiny hit. I couldn’t allow him to dominate our conversation with that dark stare.
Emir folded his arms, giving me an unobstructed view of forearm muscle. Well played, sir. I spotted Molly in the distance, grazing by the large hazelnut tree. At least she was still on the property.
I hopped off the rock and headed back towards the house. He reached me at the door. “To answer your question, I think it is important. Not because I care about being handsome but… other reasons.” His enigmatic eyes flicked past my shoulder and the expression on his face darkened. “So, thank you. For saying that.”
My cheeks pulsed with warmth. If only he knew how attractive I found him, especially in that moment of sincerity. I had to wedge my hands into my pockets to keep from placing them on his chest and gasping like some sort of Regency lady overcome by emotion. I’d picked up a couple of old romance books from the library, to ease my loneliness and probably inflate my expectations. I hadn’t read them yet, but the covers had already given me ideas. “No problem. I mean it.”
The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction, and I felt a sharp, unexpected tug deep in my belly. So, it was true. His smile was magic. Those facial muscles were connected to my insides by an invisible string. “You almost smiled!” My voice crept up and myhands flew to my mouth.
He cocked his head and huffed a sad, short laugh. “What is it with New Zealanders and smiling?”
“I don’t think it’s a cultural thing.” I edged closer to the door and opened it, despite having to step so close that my arm brushed his stomach. A shiver ran through me, and I slipped inside the cool foyer, leaving the door open in case he wanted to follow. My Boston Terrier greeted us with excited jumping. I’d been too nervous to take him with me to see Molly, worried he’d get trampled.
Emir bent down to pet him. “What’s his name?”
“Gru.” I bit my lip. “My younger son named him five years ago, when he was eight.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Gru.”
When I reached the kitchen, Emir stopped at the doorway. “What is it if not cultural? Everyone here smiles all the time, and you seem intent on making me smile.” His eyebrows drew together as he observed me.
I turned on the kettle and set down two teacups. I’d learned from Aria that Turkish men liked their tea strong and sweet, with no milk. That was as close to Turkish as I could make it, and I wanted to try.
He’d followed me all the way from the stables, and now stood in my kitchen. I had to assume Cem and Aria were somewhere outside, but he didn’t seem concerned about their whereabouts, his eyes trained at me. Frowning or not, I had this man’s attention. I decided to use it.
I couldn’t say what gave me the courage. Maybe it was theloneliness carving me hollow, blurring boundaries, as I crossed the floor and placed my thumb on that deep crease between his brows, pressing hard enough to smooth it a little as I massaged my thumb up his forehead. “This here. It must be giving you a headache.”
To my surprise, he didn’t step back from my touch, but allowed me to stroke my thumb across his forehead. I rose to my toes to get closer to his eye level, but still had to hold my arm up in an awkward angle.
Emir closed his eyes, and a deep, weary sigh escaped his lips. “I do have a headache,” he confessed. “Lately, it’s been constant.”
My heart went out to him. Without thinking, I took him by the arm and led him to the dining room, guiding him onto one of the chairs. Never breaking the connection, I placed my fingers on his forehead and massaged along his scalp.
“What are you doing?” he asked but didn’t pull away.
Gru followed us, settling at his feet.
“Indian head massage,” I said. “Do you want me to stop?”
