Golden Chariot Page 30

  He was a fraction of a second off. Nick’s fist caught Charlotte’s cheekbone near the ear. Atakan pivoted, shielding her from another accidental blow.

  Screams of “Nick” came from her family.

  Her father shoved Nick hard in the chest, away from the couple. “Knock it off or get out.” He shoved him again and forced Nick to take another step back. “Apologize. Now.”

  “My God, my God.” Pat Snow hovered by her daughter’s side.

  “I won’t apologize to him.”

  Charlotte broke away from Atakan who was examining her cheek and confronted her brother. “How dare you come here like a wildman making stupid accusations? You don’t have a clue what happened.”

  “Case, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.” Nick moved closer and reached to touch her face.

  She batted his hand away. “He didn’t use me as bait, you ass. Atakan wasn’t even there when I was taken.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No kidding.” She rubbed her cheek. “Happy? Now I have a bruise to match the one that Tischenko gave me.”

  Behind them Atakan left the room and returned with a plastic baggie of ice. He stepped between Charlotte and her family. “Calm down,” he said low and put the ice bag in her hand. “Nick loves you. They all love you. Don’t be angry with them.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  Atakan introduced himself to everyone, extending his hand to all but Nick.

  Nick stuck his hand out. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

  Atakan ignored the proffered hand. “My mother is no female dog. If you ever refer to a member of my family is such terms again, you and I, will fight.”

  “Again, I sincerely apologize. It wasn’t my intention to insult your family. That’s a common curse in the States and rarely taken literally.”

  “This isn’t America.”

  “Hey, if you want to take a swing at me, feel free. I deserve it.” Nick dropped his hands to his sides, offering himself to the blow.

  “Your apology is sufficient.”

  “Good, that messy business is settled.” Her mother looped her arm in Charlotte’s. “Frank and I booked a lovely two bedroom suite at the Four Seasons. Nicky is in the next room. You’ll come stay with us now.” Her mother looked her up and down. “We’ll stop at a clothing shop on the way.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  The supreme matriarch, decisions that conflicted with her mother’s never went over well.

  Her mother turned to Atakan. “No offense, but is there some place Charlotte and I can speak in private?”

  “Follow me,” Charlotte answered and led her mother to the patio.

  Atakan gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Everyone, please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink, beer, wine, bottled water?”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Charlotte tossed the ice bag on the patio table and closed the French doors. “What do you want to talk about mom?”

  “Honey, you can’t seriously consider staying on here. After...after...”

  Her mother struggled to find a euphemism for what happened. She’d avoid describing what happened to Charlotte in hard, accurate terms. Emotionally and verbally, it was territory her mother wouldn’t go. Confronting unpleasantness wasn’t part of her nature. Charlotte often wondered what possessed her mother to marry a cop. She had no recollection of them ever discussing his job during their marriage. Her reaction was off the charts when Nick joined the force.

  “My incident,” Charlotte supplied a soft word then continued when her mother opened her mouth to speak. “Mom, stop. I know what you want to say. Don’t. I’m fine. I’ve dealt with what happened in my own way.”

  Undeterred, and as Charlotte unhappily half expected, her mother didn’t listen.

  “I know you don’t give me credit for certain things. I haven’t your father’s worldly ‘street knowledge.’” She went on, making air quotes around the term. “But, I’m not the airhead you think I am. No one, Charlotte, no one, is ‘fine’ after something like what you endured. You need the support of your family, of people who love you.”

  “I never said or thought you’re an airhead. As for the rest, I’m the exception to the rule. I’m staying here with Atakan. End of story.”

  “Charlotte, I appreciate this man rescued you. Although, it would’ve been nice if he’d arrived sooner, before that animal cut you.”

  “Do not go down that road, mother. You don’t know the circumstances.”

  “Just saying. The point is, he saved you and Frank and I will compensate him, of course.”

  “Don’t you dare try and give him money. He’d be horribly insulted, and stop calling him ‘this man.’ He has a name. It’s Atakan Vadim.”

  “Honey, are you sleeping with this Atakan?”

  “I was working on it when all of you showed up.”

  Her mother gave her a piteous look like she was a sad, lost lamb. “Charlotte, it’s natural you’d have feelings for him. He rescued you. It’s natural for you to have a sort of hero-worship mindset.” Charlotte groaned. “But, you must recognize these feelings for what they are.”

  “Mom, I had ‘these feelings’ for him long before Tischenko snatched me. I’m staying here, and this conversation is over.”

  “Wait.” Her mother threw open one of the French doors and poked her head inside.

  “Pete,” she called. “Would you come here please and help me talk some sense into your daughter.”

  Pete Dashiell brought his beer and joined them on the patio. “What do you want Pat?”

  “Your daughter refuses to leave. I tried to explain she needs to be with her family after her terrible ordeal. But, she’s got some kind of Stockholm-like syndrome regarding Atakan and won’t go.”

  Her dad took a swig of beer and smiled at the frustrated look Charlotte gave him. “Give us few minutes alone, Pat.”

  “Listen to your father.”

  Her mother stepped inside and shut the doors. She hovered close enough for her silhouette to be visible through the sheer curtains.

  Her dad sat and indicated for Charlotte to do the same.

  “You don’t look like you’re suffering from any kind of syndrome, Stockholm or otherwise.”

  “I’m not. Mom’s being mom.”

  “So, what’s going on with you, Case? Up here,” he said, tapping her on the forehead.

  Charlotte used her dad’s experience to help him see how she felt. “Other than casually telling Nick and me years ago you were in the battle of Hue, you never discussed Vietnam. Why?”

  “I never talked about it with you kids, or your mother, or ex-marines on the force. I only spoke of it once after the battle—to the guys in my company.”

  “Because?”

  “They shared the unrelenting fear, the extreme horror of the experience.”

  Her dad was quiet for a moment as he stared out at the water view.

  “I don’t want to remember the battle and talking about Hue brings it to life. Will I ever forget?” he said, looking at her. “No. I still have the occasional nightmare where I’m there again.”

  “It’s no different for me, dad. I just want to forget. I had to give a statement to the Ministry officials at the hospital. I started to shake uncontrollably. I told them what they needed to know. I can’t talk about it anymore. I locked it away deep inside me. You understand?”

  Her dad leaned forward with his arms on his thighs. “Case, the cop in me has to ask. When you say, you told them what they ‘needed to know,’ did you tell them everything?”

  “I gave them the necessary information.”

  He put his beer down and reached across the table and took her fingers in his hands. “I don’t know Atakan. You apparently think he’s a pretty good guy, so he must have some special qualities. If there’s something else, something you’re not saying, maybe you should trust him with it.�
�

  “He heard my statement. There’s nothing else.”

  “Fair enough. Shall we call your mother back?”

  “Let’s get it over with.”

  Her dad opened the doors and her mother came to Charlotte’s side.

  “Did you talk some sense into her?” she asked, looking from him to Charlotte.

  “She wants to stay here. Sounds good to me.” Pete gave his ex-wife a what do you want me to do shrug. “She’s an adult. She made her choice,” he said and picked up his beer. “Now, can I go?”

  “I should’ve known I’d get no moral support from you. You wonder why we divorced,” her mother said with disgust to his back.

  “No, I don’t.” Pete pushed the door closed without turning.

  Her mother took the empty chair.

  “Are you in love with this ma---Atakan?”

  “Neither of us exchanged ‘I love you’s.’ But if the time comes for me to say it, I think he should be the one to hear it first.”

  “True. I ask because I worry. I want you to be happy.”

  “I know. I am.”

  “I have another suggestion, and I hope you’ll find this agreeable. Since you refuse to stay with us, can I at least take you shopping tomorrow for proper clothes?”

  “Yes, if you let me take you to a local place for lunch and not the Four Seasons.”

  “You’re on.”

  “By the way, how did you find out about my incident?”

  “The Director from the Ministry of Culture called us. He seemed concerned we’d contact the ambassador.” She reverted to her stern mom voice. “Although, I don’t understand why we had to hear the news from him and not my daughter.”

  Because I knew you’d weird out, like you are now. Charlotte kept the thought to herself. “Because you’d worry needlessly.” She hugged her mother. “Thank you for loving me enough to worry.”

  #

  Both sets of parents left. Pete and Roni were headed for Sarnic, a restaurant next to the Roman Cistern Atakan recommended. Her mother and Frank opted for room service at their hotel. Nick stayed and joined Atakan in the kitchen while Charlotte walked her parents to the street.

  “So, are we okay?” Nick asked Atakan.

  “We’re okay.”

  “You mentioned a sister. Is she older or younger than you?”

  “Younger.”

  “Does she have that dark hair, dark eyed, exotic look like I see here? Just curious.”

  “She looks like a married woman with two children and another on the way,” Atakan said, taking two more beers from the refrigerator.

  “Gotcha.”

  Atakan leaned back against the counter. “How long are you here for?”

  “A week.”

  “She has a single friend,” Atakan said with a lopsided grin, “Who looks like a Spanish actress. The actresses name escapes me. She starred in a movie set in the Sahara where men were searching for treasure. She played a W.H.O. doctor.”

  “Penelope Cruz?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  “Nice.”

  “I’ll speak to my sister.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Charlotte kissed Nick goodbye and closed the door.

  Atakan handed Charlotte her unfinished glass of wine. “Your family is satisfied with your decision to stay here?”

  “Yes. I’m hanging with my mom tomorrow. I’m getting together with my dad, Roni, and Nick the day after. I took the liberty of saying you’d come with me.”

  “I’d be pleased to spend time with your family. If they like, I can show them the sites in Istanbul.”

  “That’s good, because I already volunteered you.” Charlotte leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  Atakan took her face in his hands and tipped her head and kissed her on the lips. Everything good and bad faded from her thoughts, family, Tischenko. There was only Atakan. Weeks of buried, pent up lust surfaced. He kissed her harder. He shared her heat, and it thrilled her. She took his air, letting his warm breath fill her lungs.

  Atakan pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, confused.

  “Is this what you really want? The emotional turmoil you suffered maybe influencing your judgment tonight that will bring regrets in the morning. Be sure.”

  “I wanted this...you, before Tischenko. I want you now. Gluttonous me, in the morning, I’m going to want you more.”

  She kissed him to show him how much and to make up for those days she couldn’t.

  His fingers tunneled into her hair, teasing the fine strands along her neck, tickling her earlobes. Then, his hands were all over her.

  He tugged on her shirt never moving his mouth from her lips. Charlotte raised her arms, regretting the momentary separation as they broke the kiss to toss the shirt aside. He unzipped her jeans and slipped his hands inside to cup her ass and press her to him.

  She rubbed herself against him and rode his thigh as he walked her toward the bedroom, his body hard pressed to hers.

  She sighed, a hushed cry of frustration as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He stopped her, taking her hands between his.

  “Charlotte--”

  “Shh, no more questions.”

  Unzipping him, she moved her hand down inside his slacks. His chest vibrated with a low groan as she palmed his balls and thumbed the tip of his dick.

  He was kissing her chin, her jaw, nibbling at her lips with tiny bites, his hands busy with his shirt. Unbuttoned, he tossed it to the side.

  She dragged her nails down the soft hair on his chest to his waist. She dropped to her knees and tugged on his pants, sliding them over his thighs to the floor. Tischenko suddenly invaded her senses. She tasted the peppery burn of the vodka in her mouth. The salty, sweat smell of his groin returned. She felt the sharp teeth of his zipper scratching the skin of her collarbone. Once more, she suffered the fear of knowing every touch of Tischenko’s brought her closer to death. She began to shake.

  Atakan gently tipped her head back. “It’s just us two, Charlotte, only us. Let him go.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Yes, just us.” Her shaking stopped.

  Atakan stepped out of his slacks and kicked them away. He pulled her to her feet and knelt in front of her. He eased her jeans off and helped her step from them, one foot at a time. He kissed her thighs and made his way up to her abdomen. He kissed one hipbone and blew warm breath on the wet spot. His fingers picked at the edge of the taped bandage over her stitches below the other hipbone.

  She realized his intention.

  “Don’t.” Charlotte tried to push him away, but he resisted.

  “You must not think of it as his mark or you’ll never be free of him,” Atakan said, peeling the bandage off. “It is only a wound, no worse than a bad coral cut. A wound that will heal.”

  He kissed her stitches, her belly, her breasts as he stood to kiss her lips again as passionately as before. All she knew was Atakan, his scent, his touch, his taste.

  “Make love to me. Now. I want to feel alive.”

  Atakan pushed her back onto the bed. He hooked her legs over his shoulders. He slid one palm under her hips and lifted her to take him deep.

  Her breath caught with the first powerful thrust. He withdrew, only to drive into her again and again. He moaned words she didn’t understand. With each word the thrusts grew more urgent. She clamped onto his shoulders hard, riding the forceful strokes. His rhythm was hers. Her hips rose. She held him tight inside her, lost to everything but the feel of him.

  #

  They lay quiet, their breathing slowing. She ran her hand down her torso, slippery with perspiration and smiled. Charlotte reached over and stroked Atakan’s chest, damp beneath the hair.

  She moved down and kissed his thighs, like he’d kissed hers. She’d loved it. When he groaned, she teased his legs apart and sucked his upper, inner thigh.

  “I’m giving you a hickey.”

  “Hickey...a strange word for s
omething so pleasurable,” he said, playing with her hair.

  She moved to the other thigh.

  “You’ll have a matched set,” she said and slipped her hand between his legs to cup him. She stroked and teased the erotic area with a feathery touch.

  He drew her up and rolled onto his side to kiss her softly on the lips, then deeper, fervently.

  “Guzelim,” he whispered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Beautiful one.”

  He turned her onto her stomach. Straddling her, he raised her arms above her head and held her by the wrists.

  “Guzelim,” he murmured. The words tickled against the nape of her neck as he kissed the length of the indent. She shivered when he first kissed then bit a line from her neck to the top of her shoulder. He released her wrists and nudged her legs forward so she was on her hands and knees. Careful not to touch her stitches, he wrapped his hands around her hips and held her tight. Then, he took her again.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Her mother feigned a calm, interested posture as they’d entered the market. Charlotte smiled. The pretense was laughable. The wide eyes, the immediate death grip on her purse, as they stepped from the bright sun into the dimly lit bazaar gave her mother away. Outside were high-rise buildings, traffic noise, and concrete sidewalks. The modern world.

  Inside it was much the same as centuries earlier. Vaulted ceilings ribbed with wood darkened by age covered avenues of stalls. Merchants displayed their wares the way they had for generations. Only the jewelers chose the security of protective glass cases. Elaborate patterned rugs hung from iron crossbars. Embroidered linens of exquisite Turkish cotton were stacked on wooden crates and shelves along the cobblestone lanes. Baskets of spices from the near and middle east were set out. The fragrance of cardamom, and cumin, and curry, filled the air. Nuts and other specialties shared what remained of useable space. Local shoppers and tourists crowded the aisles. Questions and answers in Turkish, English, German, and an assortment of other languages were exchanged as they passed.

  Progress was slow through the crush of bodies. From the start, her mother looped her arm through Charlotte’s and held tight. Every time a vendor stepped to close, hawking his goods, she jumped.