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‘I have told you my name.’
She nodded. ‘That may indeed be true, but I don’t think it answers my question. Because, you see, you have me at a disadvantage. You heard all my details during that police interview. You know where I live, you know my date of birth, you know everything about me. And yet I know nothing about you.’
‘Everything?’ His eyes flicked over her, lazy, almost insolent. ‘I am sure there are secrets still to be discovered.’
‘Stop doing that.’
‘What?’
‘Stroking me with your words.’
Across the table, he smiled. ‘Cats and women. I thought they were both made to be stroked.’
She kicked up her chin and smiled back. ‘True. Cats, like women, like to be stroked when it suits them, but when they’ve had enough, the claws come out.’
She’d been expecting another one of his quick comebacks. What she wasn’t expecting was laughter. A deep rich laugh that caught her unawares and shifted the boundaries of the box she’d put him in.
Arrogant and powerful and darkly magnificent, this was a man who could shrug off her arguments and pull her defences apart and set her blood to simmering, all with just a few well-chosen words or a glance from the heated furnace glowing behind his eyes.
There’d been no place for laughter in that picture.
But now there was laughter.
And she liked it.
She liked the smile he sent her even more. ‘I did not expect to enjoy this lunch quite as much. So what is it you wish to know?’
‘I want to know about you. You’re not Turkish, are you? At least, you don’t sound Turkish. You don’t look Turkish.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘No. Not exactly.’
‘And yet the polis entrusted me to your care. Why would they do that? Why should they trust you?’
‘Perhaps because they know me by reputation.’
She frowned. ‘So who are you?’
He leaned back in his chair, his meal, like hers, forgotten for the moment. ‘A businessman. I have interests in Turkey.’
‘What kind of interests?’
‘I support some industries here, that’s all.’
‘Carpets?’
He gave a brief nod of his head. ‘Perhaps.’
‘And so you live in Turkey?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes I live elsewhere.’
‘Where else? Do you have a wife and children stashed away somewhere? Maybe several wives? Several children?’
He laughed at that. ‘No. No wife. No children. And I am not looking for either. Are you finished with your interrogation?’
She shook her head. She was nowhere near done. ‘So where are you from, Mr Kadar, if you’re not from Turkey?’
‘Does it matter where? I am here now, with you. Surely that is all that matters.’
‘If you expect me to sleep with you,’ she said, getting frustrated by his non-answers, ‘I think I have a right to know something about you.’
His eyes gleamed dark with heat. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I am not expecting you to sleep.’
Her spine turned molten.
No sleep.
Because they’d be...
And it was only her wrists anchored on the table that kept her upright while she coped with this latest onslaught.
She blinked and looked down at her plate. Picked up her fork. Poked at her stuffed pepper that she figured was only marginally redder than her cheeks right now, the rational part of her brain knowing she’d need the energy if she was going to keep up with this man tonight.
Did she want to keep bickering? Did she really care if he didn’t answer her questions and she didn’t know where he was from?
She’d already decided to spend the night with him so what the hell did any of that matter? It couldn’t change anything.
‘I love Turkish food,’ she said, her throat achingly tight, knowing she sounded lame and unable to do a single damned thing about it.
‘Then, please—’ he gestured ‘—don’t let me stop you from enjoying it.’
And with thoughts of seduction swirling in her mind, messing with her head and setting flesh pulsing in secret, aching places, she tried to concentrate on her meal.
Hard though, with the man-god sitting opposite her and with the promise of sex hanging heavy in the air between them. Hard when dinner table small talk was laden with double meaning and heated glances and the electric brush of fingers as they both reached for a piece of bread from the basket.
