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“No.”
“I like it.”
“So do I.”
“You’ve got quite a collection.” He turns back to examine the other paintings that grace my wall. “You like art?”
“Who doesn’t like art?”
“Lots of people.” He shrugs and with an easy-going stubbornness, he confesses, “I like to sketch.”
My eyebrows disappear into my bangs at that statement. “You do?”
“Don’t look so shocked! Being on the road is boring. I sketch what I see, mostly with charcoals.”
“I’d love to see some of your work.”
“What do I get in return?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll show you mine… if you show me yours?”
Innuendo.
Dirty, sexy, innuendo.
His eyes catch mine and he winks at me. It makes me feel all warm and melty and my heart skips a beat… maybe more than a beat… hell, who am I kidding, it feels like I’m having a coronary as I lean against my counter for support.
Damn him!
To rid myself of the increasingly disturbing thoughts about Kaan, I disappear back behind the wall and take a few deep, calming breaths.
Kaan is my client.
A client you want to kiss.
Kaan is my client.
A dirty, rock star who you want to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you see stars!
After taking a few more calming breaths, I step back out again, only to discover him comfortably settled on the couch, firmly in command of my remote control.
“You like action films?”
I drop down beside him and curl my legs underneath me as Liam Neeson appears on the screen. “Of course.”
“You’re going to love this one then. It’s set in Istanbul.”
Kaan stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, and I roll my eyes, mostly to myself, but I know he catches me do it. I’m back in high school and living my best teenage fantasies as Kaan’s arm now drops casually down over mine. He absently plays with my hair, causing tingles to shoot through my body down to my sex, which now seems to be throbbing in time with my heartrate.
If only my 15-year-old self could see me now.
By the time the hero has saved his family I’ve relaxed, snuggling into Kaan’s shoulder, his hand is now resting on my arm, dangerously close to my right boob. Neither of us makes a move and, as the credits roll, I turn my head towards him slightly and croak, “I’m really starting to wonder whether I should go to Istanbul with all that kidnapping and shooting. I seem to invite trouble whenever I travel.”
My mind wanders back to Morocco, but there’s no way I’m going to mention that debacle to Kaan. He’d never let me live it down.
“Istanbul is nothing like that.” As he leans a little closer, his hand brushes against the skin on my collarbone, then my heart thumps hard as his fingerprobablyaccidentally grazes my nipple. Goosebumps pepper my skin as my nipples instantly tighten at his touch. Does he notice? “Except for maybe the traffic… the traffic sucks, but then anyone that has driven down the M4 eastbound during peak hour knows that London traffic isn’t much better.”
