Chapter Five
Lale threw some money at the cabbie, overtipping to compensate for him saving her from the creep, and ran up the long walk to Emre and Elle’s house. The porch was dark, but a light shone in the kitchen.
Damn. Busted
. She smoothed her rumpled skirt and tried to set her face along sober lines. But the pavers wobbled under her feet, and she smelled the booze oozing from her pores as she made her hasty way toward her angry brother.
She eased the door open, hoping, praying that he slept, but knowing damn well he sat, wide awake, waiting for her. She shut the door softly and kicked her shoes off to make less noise on the stone floor. Leaning against the wall a minute to catch her breath and keep the room from spinning, she heard footsteps. Lale sighed and opened her eyes. Emre stood, arms crossed, dressed only in sweat pants.
“What?” She attempted to brush past him. He grabbed her arm.
“I thought we had a deal. An understanding about limits.” The low tone of his voice made her gulp.
“I know, I’m sorry. Did you get my text?” She turned away, but stumbled, the booze and pills making the room narrow and widen in turns.
“You’re drunk off your ass.” His grip tightened, keeping her from falling.
“So? I’m allowed. Last time I checked I’m over twenty-one.” She sat down before she fell down. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She didn’t want to make him angry. They had been getting along so well lately. She put her head in her hands.
Fucked up again
.
“You’re no better than a whore.” She jerked her head up. His eyes were hard.
“You can’t call me that. You don’t know anything about me!” Anger made the room settle. A sense of control settled over her again. “You’re our father in miniature. A small-minded, peasant Turk asshole!” Lale realized they’d fallen into Turkish in their anger.
She whirled around and noticed Elle in the doorway. Her usual small frame seemed even more shrunken and fragile, wrapped in a huge robe. She stared, open-mouthed, at Lale’s brother.
“What did you say, Emre Deniz?”
Lale watched him wince and turn to face his wife. She opened her mouth and spoke before thinking of the consequences. “He called me a whore. Because I’m forty-five minutes late for his curfew, and I have been drinking.”
Elle set her jaw. “That’s what I thought he said.” She walked over to stand in front of him. Lale’s heart clenched. These two were like her touchstone, proof that true love really existed in the world. “You,” she put a fingertip on his bare chest, “can leave.” Lale gasped.
Then her sister-in-law faced her, eyes hard and determined. “And you have an appointment in Las Vegas. You may as well go now.” She handed her a credit card, a set of keys, and a printout from her email. Lale gaped at her.
Las Vegas? What the hell is she talking about?
He reached out for his wife, but she sidestepped him. “I will not tolerate that old school chauvinist bullshit, Emre, and you know it. You can spend the night elsewhere. I don’t care where.” Lale saw her choke back a sob.
“No, Elle, don’t….” She started toward her sister-in-law. “You guys don’t have to…over me…I’m not worth it.”
Elle turned to her and cupped her face with one hand. The woman’s anger permeated the foyer. Lale suddenly saw how she got where she had in the corporate world. “You are worth it. You’ve spent too many years being told otherwise. Your brother—” she shot Emre a deadly look,“—should know better. You deserve to be treated like an adult. Allowed to make mistakes, learn and move on, not constantly judged against an outdated model of ‘good girl versus bad girl.’ It’s bullshit.”
She nodded at Lale. “Go tonight. Take my car. I’ll explain it to Ayla. We’ll see you in a few days. Read this.” She gestured at the paper Lale clutched in her hand. “You’ll understand.” She turned to face Emre again. He stood, fists clenched at his sides, agony in his eyes.
“If you can’t have enough respect not to call your own sister a whore, how can I trust you when our daughter acts out? I’m telling you I will not tolerate it. I don’t care how much I love you.” She stalked out, leaving the siblings to stare at each other.
***
Andreas downed a shot of tequila. The music pounded in his ears and chest. The loud music and funky, flowery smell of the place grated on his nerves. Why they had to meet here for his friend’s bachelor party, he had no idea. His vote for starting and ending at the Spearmint Rhino, his personal favorite for strip clubs in town, had gone unheeded. The men laughed and patted the groom-to-be on the back. Andreas smiled at them all, reminding himself the night had to be about his friend, not him. He ordered another beer and leaned back against the bar, observing the teeming dance floor.
Mixology was the hottest club on the strip, a feat, given all the options. The cavernous space took up an entire floor of the vast Castillo resort. They had the biggest name DJs, the fanciest and most expensive drinks. The dance floor dominated the space, with four bars situated in each corner, and private tables and booths along the back of the room.
Andreas took a sip of the beer when his scalp tingled and his eyes zeroed in on an olive-skinned woman dancing in the middle of a group of people. Her jet-black hair fell in curtains around her face, just to her shoulders. He moved to his left, so he could keep her in sight.
Light glinted off metal in her lip. He caught sight of a dark tattoo snaking around from the back of her neck to the front. His tongue darted out and touched his upper lip. Something about her tugged at his subconscious. Her barely there camisole top did little to conceal the natural curve of dark breasts. Nipples poked through the thin fabric. His hands clenched, imagining how he could stroke the soft leather of her pants, run a possessive hand over her ass. Such a compulsion made him shiver. He hadn’t had it in a long, long time. He gulped down the beer and signaled for another, turning away from the dance floor, hoping to get control over himself. His cock pressed against his zipper, painful and needy.
Christ. What am I? A teenager ogling the head cheerleader? Get a grip, man
.
He spent a few minutes bullshitting with the men at the party. He made the requisite NFL small talk and yakked about UNLV’s chances in basketball that year. The group seemed shocked he could string sentences together in a coherent format—par for his course.
“Damn. Who is
that?
” One of the dumbasses near him asked, pointing to the dark female vision of perfection he’d just seen. The girl’s head was thrown back as she danced, the complete center of attention on the floor. He experienced a thrill of anger—at her, at the assholes staring at her, at himself for being so lame. He ignored her for as long as he could. The music seemed to get louder. They shared another round of shots. He could hold a lot of alcohol. But his head buzzed, as if he’d had a lot more than a few beers.
He took a deep breath and chanced another glance out over the now heaving dance floor. The woman drew his eyeballs like a magnet. Arms thrown overhead, eyes closed, she swayed between two scrawny punks. They were practically drooling over her magnificence. His temper rose, heating his face. He licked his lips and tried like hell to look elsewhere, find some other hot chick to watch. But he simply could not. At that moment, she opened her eyes and stared straight at him. Her swaying hips continued to move, but she lowered her arms. She bit her lower lip.
Jesu. Help me
. He needed this one. Bad.
But he had that stupid date tomorrow night, in this very resort. He narrowed his eyes as the woman turned to her companions and started grinding herself against them, acting like some kind of common…Greek words for slut and whore sifted through his brain, but he resisted the urge to use them. He only used Greek with people who mattered. He hadn’t used it since his wife left.
The guest of honor made his way over to him. “Hey, Andreas, whatcha staring at over here?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. We done here?” But he never wanted to leave. Never wanted to let that woman out of his sight again. Truth be told, he wanted to pluck her out from the group of shitheads and spirit her home, forever. His friend slapped his back.
“Nah, not yet. The views here are pretty damn good, no?” The loser pointed out to the dance floor at the very object of Andreas’ sudden obsession, winked at his friend and made his way down the group. Andreas gripped the back of a chair until his fingers hurt.
What is wrong with me? What is it about her?
Visions of her lovely dark body splayed on his St. Andrews cross, ass red from his hand…. Her sweet mouth, taking his cock…her beautiful soul, his forever…. His eyes burned. He needed some air. He glanced over his shoulder as he stalked to the door. She still stared straight at him, her dark eyes burning a hole in his brain. She made her way off the floor, coming directly toward him.
Holy shit
. He was a goner. He ducked into the men’s room. No way could he face her without doing something utterly stupid.
***
It was a night like many others. The music pulsed through her body. The alcohol lifted her spirits. She’d skipped the offer of drugs, through with that scene. But here at the Castillo resort in Las Vegas, at Elle’s request, with a computer date or some shit tomorrow night in the restaurant downstairs, her heart was heavy. She missed her family. She worried about Ayla. And sick at heart over Elle and Emre’s fight over her.
Her brother had called to apologize and he meant it. Elle had told her he’d been banished for a week until he got over his natural impulse to be a chauvinist pig.
“But Elle, it’s a Turkish thing…” she’d tried to explain. “It’s like being South American. ‘Machismo’ is drilled into our psyches from birth.”
“I don’t care,” Elle had claimed. Lale heard Aslan fussing in the background. “I won’t put up with it. Not with you or with Ayla. Now have fun. We’ll be fine. Your brother will be fine. I’ll take him back, but he has to understand I mean it when it comes to this.”
“He’s about to go nuts without you, Elle.”
Her sister-in-law had laughed, but it had been an unpleasant sound. “I know. I feel the same way. Sort of like my soul has walked out the door and is sleeping somewhere else without me. But this is important. He has to respect it.”
Caleb had texted her earlier today.
Damn sister. Way to upset the apple cart.
Fuck off homo. Emre is being a dick. They sent me to Vegas. I don’t get it, but I’m dealing with it.
I know. You okay?
No. I’ve been crying ever since I got here, but can’t figure out why.
Well, enjoy your date. You know it’s worked for me and for Emre and Elle.
I know.
She waited a few minutes.
I miss him so much Caleb.
So do I, honey. Every single fucking day.
Lale had wiped her face, angry at all the waterworks, but visions of Tarkan kept bumping into her consciousness for some reason. More than usual, like it had been after he first died. It seemed like he wanted to tell her something. But all she heard was Emre, calling her a whore. Caleb kept up the text conversation.
I’m here. Let me know if you need anything at all. You worked miracles with Ayla.
I know. I miss her. Is she okay?
She’s racing around like her old self, singing songs you taught her, saying Aunt Tulip is coming back soon
.
Lale had smiled.
I think Emre is coming back tomorrow. I’m worried about Elle. She’s making herself sick all over again. Lost more weight she didn’t have to lose. She’s due back at work in two weeks. Those two need each other, pure and simple.
I know. I feel awful about it. Keep me posted. I’m gonna be back in a few days anyway. Hopefully they won’t banish me back to Istanbul.
I doubt it. Hang in kid. Enjoy the date
.
But now, an incredible male presence from across the room filled her consciousness. He’d been staring at her, no doubt. She could handle that and knew how to use it if she wanted to. But something about him defied her. Made her impotent, unable to perform, draw him to her like she used to. He’d bolted and ducked into the men’s room as she followed him.
Fine
. She chased no man.
He must be six-foot-six at least, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen—obviously some kind of athlete. The place was full of them. But this guy…“tall, dark, and handsome” only scratched his surface. His long raven-black hair invited her fingers. His bronzed skin matched the deep green of his eyes perfectly. He wore denim and a black, long sleeved shirt untucked, and, God help her, cowboy boots. And those lips—thick, kissable, and the last time she spotted them, pursed in concentration as he stared straight at her. Dear Lord, she felt as if she could already taste them. She danced, flirted, drank…her usual. But she caught herself looking around, hoping to find him again. A challenge, yes, but something about him promised more. His very presence drugged her, drew her in, but kept her at arms length, tempting and at once repelling.
She refocused on the guys around her, gathered them in. One of them brought her another drink. She looked around for the hunky athlete. He had disappeared.
Damn
.
“I’ll be back,” she yelled to one of the guys. He nodded and started dancing with another girl behind him. Lale made her way to the dark hallway filled with couples in various stages of making out, trying to find the ladies’ room. It would be in the very back. She paced a while, trying to shake images of the guy who’d obviously stopped watching her and left. It made her antsy. She needed to see him again, wanted his eyes on her, more than anything. Had a strange desire to...she shook it off. Crazy. She’d been through a lot. Obviously, her brain had gone into overdrive or something. When a hand touched her arm, she glanced up and locked eyes with one of kids she’d been dancing with earlier. He had a bit of a predator look to him right then. It made her uncomfortable.