Page 7 of My Turkish Fling
“No,” he groaned. The sound came from somewhere deep and shot right through me. Oh, the fire. How I’d missed the fire! The feeling of someone’s presence taking over my personal space, forcing me out of my head and into my body. Challenging my self-control.
I liked being in control. I was capable and didn’t need saving. I didn’t need a man. But as the heat pulsed through me, I momentarily wanted to forget every enlightened diary entry I’d written in the dead of night. Every interview I’d given to anenthusiastically nodding journalist. For a moment, I wanted to cancel every word.
I’d been so determined to rise from the ashes of my widely publicized divorce that I’d increased my public appearances. I knew how it worked. If you didn’t tell your own story, they told it for you. If I didn’t sell them on my newfound independence and tranquility of country life, I became a sad little anecdote on every story they wrote about Shaun and his new girlfriend. Even when my name wasn’t mentioned, I was there. When they said, ‘Shaun’s new life after divorce’, I was the divorce. And I refused to be that. So, I’d taken on a new identity like a quick outfit change and become an icon of self-reliant divorced women. The last part wasn’t intentional, but the messages of support that poured in had reaffirmed my conviction.
It hurt. Sometimes even smiling hurt. But it also helped to keep me sane, and over the last few months I’d noticed the smiles coming more easily. I wasn’t faking it. I truly loved my new life, lonely as it was. I didn’t need that fire pulsing in me, not like this. But I could enjoy it all the same.
My fingers worked on Emir’s scalp, diving into his thick hair like I was looking for diamonds in a sheepskin rug. The massage technique I’d learned a long time ago must have been a muscle memory as I didn’t have to think about it. My hands knew what to do, guided by the gruff sounds rising from his throat. This man was in pain. I could feel it now. That frown on his face was starting to make more sense.
After a few minutes, I moved down to his neck. His musclesfelt like concrete under my fingertips. “I think you should see a professional. You feel really… wound up.”
“No.” His tone was clipped but he didn’t move.
“But you’re so… stiff.” I gently tapped on the bulging, rock solid trapezius muscle with my thumb, wincing at my choice of words.
Emir grunted. “I don’t like to be touched by strangers.”
I lifted my hands off his skin, my fingertips prickling. “Am I not a stranger?”
He held still for so long I almost filled the silence with another comment out of sheer awkwardness.
Finally, he spoke. “For some reason, your touch doesn’t bother me. It helps.”
I placed my hands back on his neck, a sudden warmth gushing through me like I’d swallowed hot tea. The warmth spread beyond my stomach, compelling me to continue. If I could help this dark, mysterious creature… My fingers kept working, driven by curiosity. What made him so tightly wound? And how had I slipped past his defenses, getting this close?
I needed answers.
Chapter 3
Emir
I should have stopped her the moment those long, agile fingers landed on my forehead, but the sweet absence of pain radiated through my body, making it hard to think clearly. I hadn’t felt this good in months. Her touch was pure sorcery.
I’d let Mom loosen the knots in my neck and shoulders a couple of times, but the idea of letting a massage therapist into my personal space, kneading me like dough abhorred me. Janie was right, though. She was a stranger, and my willingness to accept her fingers against my skin made no sense. She’d crossed the line, and I’d let her. I didn’t enjoy other people, women in particular. Not anymore. I had needs, but looking after myself was a lot easier than risking a relationship.
“Let’s make a deal then,” she said. “I need your help with Molly.And in return, I’ll massage you. For seven days. Unless you have other plans?”
Her dog reared on his hind legs, pawing my seat, and I scratched him around the ears. Gru. What a name. Maybe Janie had a thing for frowning villain types? It was her child’s idea, but she would have agreed to it.
“For seven days.” My voice came out gruff. Did I have other plans? It was hard to engage that part of my brain, with her fingers still turning soft circles on my scalp, running down my neck like rivulets of water.
“It’s two weeks until the engagement party, if you want to extend it until then. When do you fly back?”
“The day after the party.”
There it was. Our deadline. I had to be careful not to get used to this incredible feeling.
“Your horse only needs seven days of eyedrops, so that wouldn’t be fair. I’d have to pay you.”
Her fingers lifted off my skin. “Definitely not.”
I sensed my bargaining position. “Then let me help with the property. I’ll fix the storm damage.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.” Her nails gently tapped my hair, as if she was resting her hands over me, on pause. I shivered.
“Well, you have me by the scalp. Use it to your advantage.”
Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and those fingers dove back into my hair, like liquid being poured down, washing away tension and pain, replacing it with a delicious vibration that made me almost drowsy. If she’d suggested a trading deal involving stocksand diamonds, I would have humored her, to keep it going. This was so much better than painkillers.
