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There was no question in Kadar’s mind.
‘There is something I must do.’ He looked at the antique brooch in his hand. ‘Can I take the cameo?’
Mehmet nodded. ‘You must. After all, it is rightfully hers.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AMBER WAS GOING to have to find herself a new flat, and soon. She sat wrapped in her summer silk dressing gown, fresh from her shower, in the dining room of the suburban home her parents had owned for more than thirty years. It was generous of them to welcome her back into the family home, seeing she’d gladly left Cameron and the flat they’d shared for a year before her shock discovery, but a permanent proposition, it was not.
Especially when news of her return got around the neighbourhood. Because if one more friendly neighbour happened to drop by while her mum and dad were at work with a batch of scones or a casserole to console her about the boyfriend and best friend who weren’t, she’d go mad.
‘Are you over it all, dear?’ they’d ask, with cups poised over saucers and ears poised for all the gory details. ‘Did Turkey get it all out of your system or are you still feeling upset over the whole sorry affair?’
And who could blame them, because of course she looked like she was still upset? She had bags under her eyes from not sleeping and jet lag was only to blame for a fraction of that.
But how could she tell them Cameron hadn’t figured in her thoughts since she’d met a dark-eyed god who’d rocked her world, even if only for a while? Until, that was, she’d been spat out like a pit from a date.
How could she explain that her grief was caused by something else entirely? Something else a whole lot worse.
Because in a few short days and nights, and against her own better judgement, she’d fallen in love with Kadar.
Crazier still, he’d even imagined that he’d felt something for her.
Only to have been rejected, coldly and absolutely, and ejected from his life and his country like a common criminal.
She should hate him for that. She should hate him for not believing her and for taking her precious bracelet from her. Precious because of its history and what it had meant to her great-great-great-grandmother.
And she did hate him. She hadn’t stopped hating him since she’d been practically frogmarched onto her plane home and summarily dismissed from his life.
But somehow it wasn’t the anger or hatred that stayed uppermost in her mind where she wanted it. It was grief for something lost.
For something fragile that had been found in the heat of their torrid nights.
Something that had been both scary and precious.
At least that was how it had felt to her.
She skimmed through the Accommodation Vacant column and drew a circle around a likely looking flat just as the doorbell rang.
She rolled her eyes and put her pen down. Her parents were both at work and her brother had headed down to the beach with his mates, and if this was another kindly neighbour coming to see how she was, she’d go mad. The sooner she could find her own flat, the better.
She lashed her robe more tightly around her as she headed for the door. At least she had an excuse to say this was a bad time and not to invite whoever it was in for coffee.
She opened the door no more than a scant few inches and peeked around the edge, only to have her world judder to a halt.
No way!
She blinked, thinking she must have imagined him, conjured the vision up from her recent thoughts, but when she opened her eyes he was still there, and her world was still reeling from its sudden stop, her stomach flip-flopping with it, desperately seeking a new balance. And the dark eyes watching her looked so troubled and anguished that all she could think was that he had come for her...
‘How did you find me?’ Her heart was hammering in her chest. He’d thrown her address away when she’d tried to give it to him.
‘I was at the polis station, remember, when you were interviewed.’
‘And you remembered?’
His dark eyes gave nothing away, but for the first time she noticed the lines around them. Jet lag? Or something else?
‘Can I come in?’
She kept the door precisely where it was and clutched her wrap more tightly at the neck, wishing she’d finished getting dressed before being distracted by flat hunting. Wishing she’d dried her hair. Wishing she could have flung the door open looking confident and happy rather than like this cowering half-baked mess of woman. And that thought alone was enough to give her some backbone. Because this was her patch. She had nothing to cower from here. ‘Why? What do you want?’ And almost immediately it struck her that her momentary flight of fancy was nothing but a case of wishful thinking, and there could be no other reason he could be back. ‘Did you bring me back my bracelet?’
