Turkish Delights Series by Liz Crowe Page A

She muttered under her breath at the sound of her father’s booming complaints from downstairs.
    The sight of the handsome, blond man in a military uniform at the bottom of the steps made her chest tight with agony. He was lovely. And a nice guy, undoubtedly. Too bad she was about to ruin his night.
     
    ***
     
    Levent clutched his head and listened to Burak’s latest account of difficulties with their job site. The Raki he’d poured for them sat at his elbow, untouched. He had solved myriad problems for a week, sorted through the complications posed by his proposals to move a couple of the Imperio Ottomano locations, and had managed about two hours of sleep each night. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her. Vivian’s eyes, her body, her lips, as he took her, and she gave herself to him—it was too much. He should not have done it.
    “My brother.” Burak’s hand was on his shoulder. “Where are you? You’re a million miles away. Can I help you?”
    Levent raised his eyes to his friend’s. “Yes. Teach me how to let her go.”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t.” Levent raised an eyebrow. “I mean that, Levent. This woman is special, I can tell.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “You must go and speak with her father. I know that means a lot to you. You might be surprised.”
    “No, I won’t be.”
    “How do you know?” His friend finished his anise-flavored traditional drink and poured another.
    “Because I already did.” He stood and walked to his window. “I’m moving. In two days. I bought a place in Etiler.”
    Burak whistled at the name of one of Istanbul’s most exclusive neighborhoods. “So, what did the consul general say to you my friend?”
    Levent laughed, and picked up his drink, downing it in one gulp. “What do you think he said?”
    Burak sighed and poured them both another. “Well, at least you tried. Now what?”
    “Now, I leave her alone. I won’t let her choose me over the comfortable life her father has planned for her.”
    “That’s bullshit.”
    “No, that’s reality.” Levent downed his Raki , took a long look at the glass in his hand, and heaved it against the wall, relishing the sound of the shattering glass as it hit the floor.
    “That’s a cop out, my friend, and unlike you.” Burak took Levent’s quick violence against the glassware in stride. “Tonight is the Marine ball. Both of them are going. I say we stage an invasion, capture our women and rescue them from their mundane, planned lives.”
    Levent scoffed at his friend’s romantic notions. “No. She and I are not to be. I won’t pretend any longer.” He clapped Burak on the shoulder. “You have a different situation and I envy you. But it’s not the same as mine. You go after your woman. I must pack.”
    Burak stood, his imposing height a perfect match for Levent’s. “I won’t let you get off that easily. I’ve never known you to give up like this, Levent. Not over something this important.”
    Levent stared at him. Ever since he had gently handed Vivian into the back seat of her car last week, his heart had been frozen in ice. His body craved hers. His psyche demanded her presence. But he denied himself. He’d made her promise. So he knew he had to do the same. Take her then let her go.
    He groaned and looked up at the ceiling. He did need to pack. He’d purchased a two-story penthouse apartment overlooking the Bosporus, merely two days after the incredible evening he’d shared with Vivian. He pictured her there, placing furniture, rocking their babies to sleep, so vividly he had to shut his eyes against the visions. It was ludicrous to even imagine such a thing.
    Her father had made no bones about the fact that he, Levent, the servant’s son, could consider the diplomat’s daughter off limits. He’d even gone back for a second round of self-confidence beat down. It was useless. So he had to move on. He would not proceed without something resembling approval from her