Captive of Kadar. Trish Morey

his friends into the state of matrimony. Marriage was for people who were whole. People who wanted family. But he’d been alone since he was six years old and he was doing just fine. He couldn’t see that changing any time soon, especially not when every woman he’d ever met was only too pleased to move right along. So his friends could think what they liked, but if anyone was to marry next, it wouldn’t be him.

      He wasn’t planning on marrying anyone, let alone a woman he’d saved from the clutches of the polis.

      So he was hardly tempting fate merely spending a night with her.

      She was nothing but a pretty tourist.

      A short-term visitor to Istanbul.

      Temporary.

       Perfect.

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE SCENT OF roasting meat and two dozen delicious-looking dishes wafted out of the open door to tempt Amber, and for a moment she almost forgot that she’d just committed herself to a night dedicated to the pleasures of the flesh. But right now she had more important things on her mind. ‘I think I’m starving.’

      He ushered her inside. ‘You can choose from here or there is a menu if none of these dishes appeal?’

      For a woman whose most recent meals had been airline food, fast food or no food at all, she didn’t have to think about it. ‘No,’ she said, mouth watering, in no desire to wait for an order to be prepared when there was such an array before her to choose from, ‘this is perfect.’

      They made their selections and were shown to a table near a window upstairs while their order was prepared. And then, once again, she was awed—by their vantage point, offering a glimpse of the domed roof of Hagia Sophia with its dancing fountain to one side of the window, and the minarets of the Blue Mosque to the other.

      By the man sitting opposite now being greeted by a smiling waiter welcoming him back, a man larger than life with his dangerous dark looks and heated eyes. Long-lashed eyes, she realised as she took advantage of their proximity to study him in more detail. Satin black lashes and long as sin...

      And by the knowledge that he’d guaranteed there would be no more trouble with the law while she was under his watch.

      Where was the outrage she’d felt when he’d first revealed that little snippet? Had she shrugged it off as easily as he’d discarded his tailored black coat and handed it to the owner who was busy fawning all over him—or simply because of it? Because what lay beneath would blur the edges of any protest. A soft dove-grey knitted sweater lovingly skimmed a chest that could have been carved from stone. Nice, she thought, having to drag her eyes away in case they lingered too long, suddenly feeling warm. She unzipped her jacket, and peeled it from her arms, laying it on the chair next to her. The scarf at her neck came off next, tugged out from behind her neck and making her messy knot even messier as more ends worked free. She put a hand to her head, hoping it didn’t look as messy as it felt. And then she looked up and stilled when she saw him watching her, his expression deep and unfathomable, and she felt hot and bothered and confused and muddled all over again. ‘What’s wrong?’

      Nothing was wrong. It was all going exactly the way he’d imagined it. Except she’d been the one to peel the jacket from her arms, not him. But just as he’d imagined, he liked what he saw underneath.

      He liked it very much.

      Her breasts filled the fitted scoop-neck top to perfection without overfilling—without under-filling, for that matter—and he ached to run his hand down the side of her while she lay naked next to him on his bed, down that delicious slope of ribcage to the sudden dip of waist and up the jut of hip to thigh. He longed to drink in her contours through the seeking palm of his hand.

      As soon he would.

      Their meals arrived and he raised his glass of sparkling water to her, managing a smile over the demanding pulse of need in his groin. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ he said, even liking the way that knot of hair behind her head was slowly unravelling, those ends floating free or dancing around her face and catching in the light as she moved her head. Bewitching. It would be no hardship spending the night with her.

      Just one night.

      It had been no selfless act to guarantee she’d stay out of harm’s way. He’d keep her so busy in his bed, she wouldn’t have time to make trouble. And then he’d wave her goodbye on her tour, turn his back and walk away. And if she chose to get into trouble again, if she chose to mess with Turkish law by taking home a souvenir or two, it wouldn’t be on his watch. She would be the tour guide’s problem then.

       Perfect.

      ‘In fact,’ he added, pulling out a smile from his arsenal that he knew from experience women couldn’t resist, ‘I could not be happier with the way things are turning out.’

      Ripples of warmth spread through her at his words, at the heat in his eyes and the slow, sexy smile that spoke of the pleasures of the flesh, reaching places and stirring sensations that made her muscles clamp under the table.

      And she so wanted to be bold and brave and confident, like the Amber of old she’d promised herself she’d be, but she was breathless and dizzy and way out of her depth.

      His smile grew wider, sexier. His eyes grew dark and burned with intent. ‘All I hope,’ he added, ‘is that you have a good appetite.’

      He wasn’t talking about lunch. She swallowed. It was disarming. Unnerving. Because she wasn’t out of her depth at all. She was drowning in the shallows. Merely trying to hold a conversation with this man was like being tossed by a wave and having to fight foam and sand and salt to work out which way was up and grab a lungful of air for an instant of respite before the next wave rolled her over again.

      ‘I’m famished,’ she managed on a whisper, and suddenly she wasn’t talking about lunch either.

      He gestured towards her plate. ‘Please, eat. Enjoy.’

      His invitation was a welcome respite, except she’d chosen too much, she realised, for the meal before her was enormous. A glossy red capsicum stuffed fat with meat and rice nestled alongside chicken with okra and a fluffy mountain of white rice on the side. It looked amazing. It smelt amazing. And even though she would have quite happily forgotten all about her meal if he’d suggested they leave and satisfy a different and more demanding hunger, it was a very welcome second best.

      As it was, she put a forkful of the rich meat and rice to her lips and closed her eyes as the flavours exploded on her tongue and was in heaven.

      ‘Good?’ he asked, and she opened them to see him watching her, his eyes spiced with heat, reminding her all over again of that moment when their eyes had connected and held in the Spice Market.

      ‘Better than good,’ she said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. ‘Was it that obvious?’

      ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I like the way you enjoy what you eat. I like what it says about you.’

      Her throat went dry. She took a sip of water, relishing the cool slide of it down her throat, while his eyes didn’t leave hers, before asking the question uppermost in her mind. ‘What does it say about me?’

      ‘That you are a passionate woman. That you take pleasure in the senses and are not afraid to show it. I like that.’

      Sensation careened down her spine. Nobody had ever talked to her as this man talked. Nobody had ever told her that she was a passionate woman. Not even Cameron—thinking back, she wasn’t sure passionate was a word he’d possessed in his vocabulary.

      But while she was unschooled in knowing how to respond, she knew exactly what the man opposite was doing. He was seducing her, as good as stroking her body with his words, stoking her need with every loaded syllable. ‘Who are you?’ she said, putting her fork down, thinking the only way