Time to Talk Turkey

A lot of people have asked me why in the world I would set a contemporary romance series in Turkey.


It's not a country with very positive connotations. When I started breaking it to my parents and others I was moving there with my young family (kids ages 9, 7 and 3) nearly 100% of the first responses were "Haven't you SEEN 'Midnight Express?'"


Well, I'm here to break this to you now. Turkey is no more represented fairly by "Midnight Express" than the South is by "Deliverance."  Sure there are places that are well avoided. But there are places well-avoided just about anywhere unless you live in Mayberry or in Disney Land.


I learned a lot about myself living in a "2nd World Country" like Turkey. Food is plentiful, electricity is spotty. People are warm and welcoming, especially when you "tip like an American." Traffic is dangerous and nightmarish. Period.  It's a beautiful yet frustrating place to live. I hated it for a solid month. Then I loved it. I was even detained by the Turkish Gendarme and had to start using the Eff word like a slutty American just to get them to understand that I was not a drug dealer.  It's a long story.  Not everything in my life went well in Turkey trust me. It's a place where you are well-served to keep a weather eye on your successful, handsome American husband too, just saying. But all in all, I would go back in 2 seconds.


I set a series of 1NightStand stories from Decadent Publishing there, beginning with a romantic "cougar story" in Turkish Delights.  You can get Turkish Delights for just .99 this month at Smashwords. Use the coupon code QZ68T: Here is an excerpt:


“I miss you already,” Emre said, with his usual candor. “I can’t believe I just met you and now we must part.” He finished his tea and signaled the waiter for another. Before she could lean back, he reached over the tiny table and captured her hand, putting it to his mouth. Elle’s entire body zinged. His lips were gentle, soft but with a firmness that spoke of his potential talents with them. Exactly as she thought they would be, even if only pressed to her hand. She bit her lip, no longer caring what the gawkers around them thought, as she pressed her thighs together to ease the ache building between them.“I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “It’s been…nice getting to know you.” Lame, her brain screamed. Just kiss him, for crying out loud. You are the newly-named CEO of a major pharmaceutical company. You eat fear for breakfast. What the hell is your problem?She stood, pulling up her bag. Emre remained seated, staring at her.“I’m not what you think,” he said, as he stretched long legs out in front of him. Her face flushed with anger. Good. Now I’m on familiar ground. Mad at a man for assuming things about what I think.“Just what do I think, if you don’t mind sharing.” She used her coolest-cucumber voice, and it pleased her to see the young man frown. Anger she could cope with. Besotted was beyond her, especially since she felt the same damn way about this boy nearly fifteen years her junior.“Never mind.” He stood, towering over her even as she stood in her highest heels. “Let’s not fight. It’s our last day together, no?”The urge to run a finger down his strong, stubbled jaw was intense. She clenched her hands together so hard they hurt. He put a familiar arm around her shoulder, nearly bringing her to her knees with lust. The smell of his subtle cologne, mixed with the exotic manliness she’d come to associate with him in his element at his grandfather’s spice booth nearly sent her over the edge. She shut her eyes, leaning into his strong torso ever so slightly. Was it her imagination, or did he flinch? She drew away, ashamed at herself. “I should get back,” Gesturing in the general vicinity of where her car and driver waited, she gasped when Emre held her close then dropped to one knee right onto the cobblestones. Embarrassment and excitement fought for her brain. He took her hand, kissed it, held it to his heart.“You are the most amazing woman in the universe. It has been my honor to know you. I wish….” He blinked, and she used the opportunity to pull her hand away. “I just wish we’d known each other sooner.”It was Elle’s turn to blink. Realization rushed through her, heating her face. He knows damn good and well I’m a dried up specimen, too focused on my career to find and keep a man or sustain any relationship beyond the office. Fists clenched at her sides, she tried to calm her breathing. You are a fool, Ellery Kensington. He knows you’re a horny old lady. And he might oblige you between the sheets, but get the foolish romantic bullshit about spiriting him back to the States with you out of your head. That’s patent nonsense and you should know better. Finished with her self-lecture, she squared her shoulders and leaned in to press her lips to his jaw. Closing her eyes against the chemical reaction she had to him, she stepped away quickly.   From there I moved on to a little "man love" story with Caleb, Elle's personal assistant. He is already in love with Tarkan, Emre's twin brother by the time the Turkish Delights saga begins. But tragedy has struck.  If you join us at the Decadent 1NightStand Book club group on Facebook you can discuss this book with us next Tuesday. There is a Smashword coupon code over there for Blue Cruise. Otherwise, the click here for the buy link.Excerpt:


Caleb finished his two-hour workout by nine PM. and was sitting at the coffee bar, nursing an espresso when he locked eyes with one of the most attractive creatures on the planet. He’d seen the guy before. They worked out at about the same time most days, exchanging polite nods and “excuse me’s” as they completed a long weight circuit. He’d started looking forward to what he considered Extreme Turkish Eye Candy, of the straight variety it seemed, as the man was never without some equally gorgeous female hanging on his every word.He sighed and sipped, relishing the ache in his muscles from the workout. After two and a half years in Istanbul and intense language lessons paid for by the company, he had a good grip on the conversations swirling around him. He caught his fair share of “beautiful yellow hair American” and “sexy boy” from the ladies and smiled at them, for shits and giggles, aware of his affect while completely unaffected by them. But he was there now—the man Caleb had been admiring for weeks. And he was sitting near enough that Caleb could feel the heat of his skin and smell the shampoo in his damp hair. His skin prickled and he looked away.“Merhaba.”Caleb swallowed and answered back, in Turkish. They introduced themselves, shared a few pleasantries until the conversation got more complex than he could handle. The beautiful man’s accent when they switched to English rang in Caleb’s ears like a symphony. He gave himself a shake. Don’t be a sap. He’s straight, remember?“You are here every night, like me.”“Yes, my office is around the corner and it’s an easy stop before going home.”Caleb was mesmerized by the other man’s full lips and the extreme white of his teeth as he struck up conversations with every female who stopped by. They kept touching him, his hair, shoulders, arms. Caleb resisted a sigh of regret. “So,” Tarkan finally returned his focus to him. “I have a boat. Do you like boats?”“Uh...sure.” Caleb looked around, suddenly nervous. He’d been warned to keep his sexuality under wraps in this conservative country. He’d found some pretty high-end gay bars, and discovered the same men there every time he went. But he’d remained celibate for going on three years, unwilling to engage with anyone there, in spite of several extremely tempting occasions. His cock punched hard against the zipper of his jeans. It hurt like a bitch, but he shifted and smiled at his new friend. “I, um, love boats.”“Okay, Caleb, I’m having a party this weekend on mine. Leaving from the Asian side, this dock.” He flipped a business card onto the bar between them.Tarkan DenizBroker, JP Morgan Chase, Istanbul.On the back, he’d written a phone number and address. Caleb frowned into Tarkan’s dark chocolate gaze. Nothing in it spoke of intimacy closer than a couple of buddies on a boat likely full of women and booze. He sighed and stuck out his hand. The electric spark that passed between the two men made them both blink. “Pleased to meet you, Tarkan. I’ll let you know about this weekend. I have to check my schedule.” Caleb’s schedule was full of work, exercise, work, exercise with an occasional injection of more work. He knew he’d be going, if for no other reason than to watch Tarkan do whatever one did when one “had a boat.”The next night he dashed into the exclusive twentieth floor gym, gutted out seven miles on the treadmill, and tried not to stare too obviously, around for the other man’s dark face and body. After he’d toweled off and made his way toward the elaborate weight machines, he’d given up. The guy must not be coming tonight. It was Friday. He probably actually had a social life. After about an hour of arm work, Caleb prepared to call it quits. His boss had dumped a huge project on him and he knew he could get a head start tonight, if he went home now. A familiar laugh made him stop dead in his tracks. He whipped his head around, catching the spectacular rear view of the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned Turk that was the star of his recent lonely fantasies. He took a deep breath and walked toward him.The man was flirting with some women, as usual, as they lay draped around the weight benches, mouths open with eagerness. He didn’t blame them. The guy was a vision. He could be a model. He touched Tarkan’s shoulder. The mega-watt smile and deep mocha eyes caught Caleb off guard. He grinned.“I’ll go,” he said simply, running a hand through his damp hair. The other man raised an eyebrow, as if questioning him. “I mean, I’ll join you. You know, on the boat. Sunday? Like we, ah, discussed?” He started to doubt his sanity. The guy looked positively confused. Then he nodded.“Ah, yes, you must be Caleb.”“Uh, yeah. We met, remember?” The other man’s musical laughter pealed out into the room, drawing attention to their conversation. He slapped a large hand on Caleb’s shoulder.“You are looking for my brother. Tarkan?”It was Caleb’s turn to be open mouthed. There were two of them?“Evet. Ne istyorsun kardesim?”Tarkan’s face appeared from behind a bank of free weights at the other end of the room. Caleb flushed and looked from one man to the other. They were scarily identical. He was willing to bet they’d used that to their advantage more than once if the impish grins on both handsome faces were any indication.The boat trip had only been the two of them, to his pleasant surprise. In the powerful fancy speedboat, Tarkan had torn away from the shore, one hand on the wheel, the other in the air waving to the dockworkers. Caleb sat and watched the man’s body, covered only in khaki shorts and a tee shirt, and tried to will his cock down from its compromising position of extreme hard, bordering on agonizing. They cruised down the shoreline slowly. Tarkan pointed out various historical views and regaled Caleb with stories of growing up with a proud Turkish father and stubborn American mother. By the time they reached a spot about an hour down the coast and had pulled into a dock that looked to be an historical relic on its own, Caleb was drunk with lust.


By the time you get to Tulip Princess, the tragedy has occurred, Elle and Emre are together and Lale (pronounced "Lah-Lay" which means beautiful tulip in Turkish) is about to make her parents insane. So they send her to live in California to help out with her niece, Ayla who is a bit of a kindred spirit to her wayward aunt. They bond immediately but Elle has a plan...to let Lale experience the magical 1NightStand for herself. Little does she know that her sister-in-law is in for a world-rocking experience with Andreas Michos, second generation Greek, former NFL star and Dom. Buy it here.
A Nice Long Excerpt:

 Lale took a deep breath and walked to the table where he stood, holding out her chair. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes for some reason and sat. The moment he joined her, a plate of succulent fruits, nuts, olives, cheese and some smoked salmon appeared in front of them. Her wine glass got filled with something red and rich smelling. Lale blinked then looked up. Dear God, he is gorgeous. And something else…something dark, yet lovely… just out of reach….  “Cheers.” He lifted his glass. “Nice to meet you.” She raised hers, clinked his and took a sip. Realizing she had yet to speak, she cleared her throat, touched a soft napkin to her lips, stalled. “So, I guess I should know your name, otherwise you are going to be ‘the Greek’ to me all night.” Lale winced at herself. “I’m, um, Lale.” She held her hand out over the small table. He took it, and the electric spark that crawled up her arm to the base of her brain nearly made her moan. Sweat beaded her upper lip but the rest of her body shivered. She gulped as his huge hand engulfed hers. “Beautiful Tulip, eh? Nice. Very apt. You are lovely.” He let go. Lale frowned. He stayed quiet, munching on an olive, staring holes into her. She sipped more wine. The silence stretched out beyond anything resembling comfortable or even polite.  “Okay then.” She reached out for an olive, popped it in her mouth and nearly choked on it. He stood and pounded her back. She grabbed water, mortified. After she regained her breath, he sat back down and motioned for the waiter without taking his eyes off her.  “The lady will have the Circassian Chicken, no bread, with a spinach salad, hold the onions and blue cheese. I’ll have the osso buco, extra bread, no salad,” he ordered in textbook perfect French. Lale gaped at the man, amazed, pissed at his assumptions and suddenly starving at the thought of the chicken dish. Easily one of her favorites; she hadn’t had it since leaving Turkey.  “How did you know I ….” He held up a hand.  “Let me clarify this for you now, my dear. I like to be in control. I expect it, frankly.” He took a sip of wine. Lale’s core continued its dangerous meltdown. She had no idea what he meant, but something in her already responded in ways she couldn’t fathom. “I take pride in knowing what my, um, partner needs from me. I noticed you didn’t eat a bite of the cheese. I have some other Turkish friends—although I am loathe to admit it—who are lactose intolerant. I think it is common in your country, this digestive weakness.” “But—” Lale’s face burned and her temper rose to meet the lust that roiled through her, keeping her skin pebbled and her heart thudding.  “I’m not finished.” His voice stayed low, firm, sexy. “Yes, I played football. In Miami. For seven years I hit the center of the opposing team as hard as I could, trying to get to the quarterback. I played this position well because I’d been the center in college at Arizona. After my third major concussion I retired.” He refilled Lale’s wine glass. She kept staring at him, transfixed by his face, his eyes, the soft cadence of his voice. “Yes, I have been married. My ex-wife started out as my sub, or my submissive, then transformed into a slave. Our relationship was very complex, exciting and as it turns out, a complete lie.”  “Uh, your ‘slave’ did you say?” Lale’s face flushed again. If this Greek thought she had it in her to bow down and let herself be treated like shit by the hottest thing with a swinging dick she’d encountered in a while, he’d better think twice. He put a hand over hers. Lale stared at it as her pounding heart calmed and she could suddenly take a deep breath, seemingly at his touch. Dark hair dusted his bronzed skin. Her eyes travelled up the expanse of his light blue shirt, to the tie around his neck, noted his clenched jaw and came to rest on his shining green eyes. She had to cross her legs to keep from trembling. “Yes, I did. But once I left the NFL and moved here to take a job as the athletic director for UNLV, her real self emerged. Selfish, spoiled, suddenly immune to punishment, but I had let myself be weakened by her. I loved her, but she loved the limelight from being the wife of a big football star—and living in the desert didn’t appear on her to-do list, apparently.” Lale watched his throat as he swallowed his wine. He removed his hand from hers. She had never felt more abandoned, although the man still sat right across from her. She shivered.  ”Until I came home early one day and saw my neighbor’s cock in her ass I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Some slaves are unredeemable, especially the ones who are merely posing for some sort of gain. So I dismissed her. In my lifestyle, that is more final than any legal statement of divorce. And my neighbor may be able to walk again by now.” “Wow, um that’s….” Lale pecked at her spinach salad.  “Eat that. You need the iron.”  She glanced up at him. “What, you’re a doctor too?” “No, I can tell. It’s my job.” Something like anger shot through her. “Look, Greek, you have no job as relates to me, okay? Just put that out of your head. I mean, you’re, ah, interesting and all, but I think there’s been some mistake.” “Do you?” Lale had to admit the spinach tasted good. She had never been the best eater and these last few days she had not ingested much more than granola bars, coffee, and alcohol. “Yeah, I do.”  He stayed quiet a minute while she wolfed down the dark greens.  “So you are perfectly happy with the men in your life?” “What men?” She dabbed at her lips again. “I mean, I am on a blind date with you, after all.” “What I mean is, I think you might be perfect for me. But I don’t know if I have the energy or inclination to make you understand that.” Lale sat back. What the hell did he mean? “I thought relationships were supposed to be fun, you know, not work that required a lot of energy. Just so you know, my brother met his wife through this little set up and one of my best friends found his new boyfriend thanks to this Madame Eve person as well.”  The huge Greek hunk chuckled and removed a card from of his pocket, wrote something on the back, and pushed it across the table at her. She picked it up. Andreas Michos, Athletic Director The University of Nevada Las Vegas. She flipped it over. 4770 North Cumberland Drive, Summerlin She stared at him. “Gee, I thought we’d exchange email addresses first.”  He leaned forward and held out his hands. Against her better judgment, she placed hers in them, trying not to flinch at the heat that passed from him straight to her lap. Her throat clenched, making it hard to swallow as she studied how small her hands seemed in his again, unable to meet his gaze. “Look at me now.” She lifted her eyes to his which blazed with intensity. “I want you, Lale. I wanted you last night. I want…more than you know. But I’m not sure you can handle what I have to offer. It’s a complex relationship between a Dom and a sub and I don’t know if you’re ready, although….” He stopped and shrugged, his face settling into noncommittal lines. Her face heated alarmingly. Rage surged through her brain and she yanked her hands out of his large, warm ones.  “You know what, you have got to be the cockiest man on the planet. What makes you think I even want what you have to offer, hmm?” “You do. I can tell.” Lale pushed her chair back and stood. She had to get out of there. This Greek…Andreas… did something to her she had no frame of reference for. She needed air. She needed space. But at the same time she had to ball her hands into fists to keep from flinging herself into his strong arms. What the hell? Since when did she let someone dominate her? That was utter bullshit.  He looked up at her, one dark eyebrow raised. “Your move, beautiful tulip. I’ve laid it out for you. Shall we finish our dinner? I think you should.” He gestured toward her chair, an eyebrow raised as if in question. She shut her eyes against the weird compulsion to obey him. To sit down and eat the meal that sat before her, tempting with the familiar smells of home. Slipping back into her seat, she took a bite and let the silence gather some force between them. “I am not interested in being anyone’s ‘slave’,” she finally said as casually as if she were discussing the weather. “So I guess this will be our first and last date.”  The lovely man smiled and his face transformed once again into something she wouldn’t mind seeing every morning of her life, next to her on a pillow. “I know that. Believe me, I’ve been doing this long enough to spot a woman as capable as I am of being a Dom.”She tried not to smile back at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Greek.” She got a small bit of satisfaction at the frustration that passed over his strong features.  “Lale, the Dom/sub relationship is not about anything but trust. Something tells me you don’t trust anyone. Not anymore. Am I right?” She blinked. “Maybe. What difference does that make?” “All the difference in the world to me. I want to be the man you trust—with everything. With your body, your safety, your very soul. That requires relinquishing an amount of control I’m not sure you’re capable of handing over….yet.” He motioned for the waiter to take away his empty plate. She hadn’t even registered he’d been eating. “So, perhaps you’re right. This should be our last encounter. We will only frustrate each other. Although…” He licked his upper lip, which sent Lale right over the edge. She grabbed her water glass and tried not to hold it to her flushed face. “The process would indeed be gratifying, that I promise you.” Lale had heard of women having an orgasm from the sound of a voice, without any physical contact. But until that moment had dismissed it as virginal bullshit—the stuff of overheated romance novels. But the dampness between her legs, and the quick second of bliss she had at his words proved otherwise. She had to get away from him before she did something ridiculous. “I think we should call it a night.” She stood, wobbly in her shoes. He joined her and her eyes were drawn directly to the huge lump under his zipper that he made no effort to hide. He took her arm and steered her toward the door.  “You see the affect you have on me. I’ve nursed this hard on since you walked in the room, Lale. But I need more from you than the quick lay you would no doubt allow me.” She yanked her arm out of his grip. Her anger finally allowed her to speak. “Fuck off, asshole. Take your Master and slave bullshit and find yourself a brainless bimbo. This town has got to be full of them, hot for your bod, no?” He put his hands in pockets as they stood in the cavernous lobby. His gaze remained inscrutable. Lale glared at him, the twin compulsions to smack him and wrap her entire body around his and never let go warring in her brain. She took a deep breath.“Well, thanks for an interesting night,” she put out a hand to shake his. This is crazy. I need to go home, see my niece, take some control of my life. He took her hand, brought it to his lips, then suddenly tugged her close to put a possessive arm around her waist. Her body immediately responded. Trying to keep standing as her knees gave out, she kept her face averted. His lips brushed her ear, already familiar, his lilting voice filled her head. “You are not a slut, that’s not what I meant. You should treat yourself better. Take some pride in more than your appearance. You are strong and special. Don’t forget it.” She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips to her cheek then he released her. “Farewell, my beautiful Turk. My dead grandmother thanks you for blowing me off.” Lale wanted nothing more than to run her tongue over his crooked, ironic smile. Her body jangled with need for his touch again.“My very much alive, very Turkish brother and father feel the same way, Greek.” She took one step back, then turned and stalked over to the bank of elevators.




When I finished this last one a couple of things were clear to me.
1.  I was dying to know what sort of parents these kids had.
2. Tarkan was not dead.


So I wrote 2 more books. The first one: The Diplomat's Daughter, is the prequel and is about as close to "sweet romance" as I've come in my writing career. I loved crafting the story about 2 children as forbidden friend, forced apart, then back together as adults.  Vivian Kinkaid is a feisty so-and-so, a young woman embittered by her parents' divorce and chafing at her father's control over her. Levent Deniz is an earnest, respectful and newly successful son of former servants. And he is ass over teakettle in love with her. You can now buy it here. 
An excerpt:

Vivian's gaze travelled upward, taking in dark slacks, a trim waist, light blue shirt, long elegant, golden-hued skin of his throat. She put a hand over her mouth when she locked eyes with Levent. He wasn’t even breathing heavy after his little wrestling match. He lifted his upper lip in a smirk, the scar standing out on his otherwise perfect face. Dear Lord, the man was gorgeous. Her thighs tingled as she smiled at him. The purely physical response was something entirely new. No man had ever elicited anything like it from her. It terrified and exhilarated her all at once. A few of the regulars jostled the German to the door, shoving him out with shouts of encouragement. Levent stood, hands in his pockets and stared at her. She moved first, wrapping her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to reach him, breathing in his scent, the very essence of man. He returned her embrace, a little reluctantly at first. She broke away, put both hands on the sides of his face and let a tear slip down her face. He put his large, dark hands over hers. The room shrank, reduced from a loud, illegal bar to a darkened space where only two were present. The surreal sensation made her dizzy. If he would kiss her, right now, she knew she’d be his forever.But he took a breath, and a step back, keeping her hands clutched in his. “Darling, Vivian.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Kucuk olan. I can’t believe it’s you.” She was temporarily blinded by a vision—his hands, her body, his lips, her eagerness, candles, a bed, some wine.“Yes, it’s, um, a surprise isn’t it?” Lame.“The most pleasant one I have ever received.” He kissed one hand then the other. His lips were full, soft, and amazing. Vivian gulped, yanked her hands back before she did something really unsuitable, like fling herself into his arms.“Let’s sit, shall we? We have so much to talk about.” The firm hand on her elbow felt perfect. Lillian gawked at them. “Hello.” He switched to beautifully accented English. “I am, Levent.” He held out a hand to her friend. Vivian regained her senses.“Sorry, um, Lillian, this is my.” She was dumbstruck all over again as she looked at him. He pinned her with his dark gaze, until he raised a dark eyebrow, gave a small nod, reminding her she hadn’t finished her sentence. “My oldest friend, Levent. We knew each other years ago, the first time I lived here.” Lillian devoured the tall, striking man next to Vivian with a glance, and she felt a rush of utterly irrational jealousy at the girl’s stare. She glared at her, and Lillian stuck her tongue out.“Very pleased to meet you.” She simpered and let Levent hover over her hand a tad too long for Vivian’s taste.“Yes, well we’ll be over there.” She indicated a couple of chairs in the corner. “We have some catching up to do.” She looped her arm brazenly through Levent’s and pulled him away. Someone brought them a couple more beers after they took their seats across a tiny table. He sipped his and sat back, watching her. She fiddled with her bottle.“Go ahead, I don’t care.” He indicated the dark bottle. She frowned.“I don’t care if you care.”He burst out laughing. The sound flowed like a beautiful symphony swirling through her brain. He leaned forward and touched her hand. “Exactly like I remembered. Any opportunity to break rules, no?” The tip of his tongue darted out, touched his upper lip, and Vivian nearly fainted at the fantasy loop in her head ramped up a notch. He stayed quiet, incredible eyes narrowed. She wanted to drown in them. How had she forgotten him? They’d gotten into so much trouble that last day his family had sent him away. She’d missed him and soon after her life had exploded when her mother had discovered Vivan’s father’s affair, packed the two of them up, and skedaddled back to California for the next fourteen years.“I thought you had your own company or something.” She crossed her legs aware they were shaking. “Why are you taking classes?”“Finishing a Master’s level degree. How did you know I had a business?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Vivian resisted the urge to stare at how perfectly the soft cotton of his shirt stretched across his shoulders. Her hands itched to touch, feel, caress. She must really be a slut. But she didn’t care. She wanted this man. And sensed he wanted the same thing. She shifted back, mirroring his posture.“I asked around.”“Ah, well, yes I do. A small engineering subcontracting company. I am the go between on large construction jobs right now. It’s a living.” He shrugged. Vivian took a deep breath, sucking in the essence of the man across from her. Light cologne mixed with something elemental, something urgent and needy. She forced herself to smile and flirt when what she really, truly wanted was for him to kiss her, press her up against a wall and—she shook her head. As progressive and liberated as she liked to pretend to be, Vivian was a virgin. Kissing and groping were the extent of her repertoire. She’d never felt compelled by anyone to go any further in spite of a lot of spirited efforts to convince her otherwise.“And you. What brought you back to my city, eh small one?” She realized they had eased into Turkish. The endearment struck her right in the heart. He used to call her that every time they’d venture out, goading her to do more, take more chances, follow him into ever deeper trouble. She looked down to hide her overheated face.“What else? My father.”“But you left, not long after. Well, you know. I thought you would never return.”“How did you know? Your mother told me you had moved to the military academy.” She blinked back tears at the memory. Her mother had yanked her hair so hard that day they’d shown up, late, filthy and in his case bleeding like a stuck pig. He shifted in his seat. She suppressed a gulp at the concept that he was as uncomfortable as she. Long forgotten memories tumbled in on each other.Her parents had yelled at each other long and loud that day indeed. Over her. She’d been left to roam the streets like an urchin with an urchin according to her father. She’d slammed the door and ignored them. But the next day Levent’s mother, the woman who babied her and coddled her in ways her parents never did choked back tears as she told Vivian that her son had gone away. Would not be returning. “Forget him my darling,” she’d crooned as Vivian’s tears soaked her dress. “I have. We must. It’s for the best.”He cleared his throat. “Earth to Vivian?” He cocked his head to one side and touched his scar. Her fact got so hot she figured she’d likely glow in the dark“Sorry, I was just, remembering.” She choked out.He nodded. She drank the too-warm beer in a rush, hoping it would calm her. It went down the wrong way, and she sputtered and coughed as he leapt up and pounded her back. Keeping a warm hand on her upper back, he leaned into her ear.“You okay small one?” His breath brushed her ear, sweet and soft against her flesh. She closed her eyes. He stood a moment longer at her shoulder then sat. She tried not to beg him to come back over, touch her some more.

Oh and for you folks already caught up in the Tarkan drama...here is a little teensy taste of that one, already out in ARC form, releasing June 24 (shhhh...don't tell anyone) an excerpt from the prologue:
The light. It never, ever went out. Tarkan lived with its yellow, sickly fluorescence, night and day, day and night. As if he even knew if it were night or day, if he were on Earth or Mars, gone to heaven or drowning in the yawning depths of hell, or somewhere in between. Hell seemed the most likely.He rolled over on the thin blanket that he’d called home for however long he’d inhabited this particular corner of Hades and blinked, ran a hand over his face. Coped with the familiar combination of simultaneously needing to piss and wanting a drink of water for the millionth time. Of wanting a toothbrush, a real cup of coffee, and the feel of the sun on his skin so badly he could cry, if he had anything left in him to shed tears with. But instead of seeming old, the sick familiarity galvanized him in some perverse way. He wanted to live. So he took a breath and prepared to face yet another day of achieving exactly that.“Beloved?”The soft voice made him smile. His body reacted, in a wholly Pavlovian fashion, hardening, skin pebbling, brain fuzzing, as he went into fight or fuck mode. He had fought for his life for a long, long time. And in doing so, had found an ally in this sick hole he’d inhabited for Allah knew how long.“Beloved. I am here. I…have what you asked for.”Her softly accented Turkish was followed by a loud yell in the rough Kurdish cadence Tarkan had associated with his captors for so long. He’d been utterly alone for what he calculated had been nearly eighteen months, until the moment she had revealed herself as a “she” and had shyly handed him a bucket of lukewarm rancid water and thin cloth to finally cleanse himself with. His training taught him not to trust her. He knew damn well she’d been planted to seduce and then turn him. But at that point he’d been so broken, so lost and alone and desperate, he didn’t care anymore.Her kindness became caring. Her caring became warmth. Then her warmth had become a physical connection Tarkan had clung to for the last months, desperate for something resembling normalcy. It anchored him. Got him through the daily torture sessions he had come to anticipate like they were on some sort of fucked up to-do list. As water was poured into his stomach with a rough tube, or his dental nerve endings prodded with sharp rusty objects, or loud rock music pounded his ears for hours at a time, he held on. Held on knowing at the end, she would be there. She would cradle his broken body, caress his now emaciated frame and press her lush lips to his forehead, cheeks, and mouth. And for a few moments, he had someone on his side.The hours all that time ago, perhaps even another lifetime, came at him in bits and pieces, broken by memories of his life before. He’d resumed his station at the national parliament building after bidding farewell to…to…ah, dear God, Caleb. Lately, memories of his tall, strong, beautiful American lover made him ache with longing. He’d fall asleep in tears, and awaken to find himself still huddled in a ball on the thin blanket in the corner of the horrible room that had served as his home for the last nightmarish months. Caleb’s sparkling blue eyes, deep voice, contagious laughter, his strong back, large hands, and soft lips were more real than they’d ever been. Tarkan would hold out his arms and pretend Caleb was there, holding him. It kept him alive.On the day of the attack, hisHis captors had grabbed him about five minutes before the building he’d resumedhe’d been guarding after a two-week break became reduced to ruins. He had fought them off long enough to race towards the main office, sustaining third-degree burns on his hand from grabbing the doorknob as the first of four bombs detonated. The terrorists had snatched him away from the carnage, dragged him from the wreckage before the second and third bombs had gone off. They stabbed him in the neck with something, immobilizing him. Now all he knew was this room. Thirst. Pain. Terror. And her.
I hope you get a chance to pick up The Diplomat's Daughter (and all of these books). It's getting great reviews including this one of the series so far:  http://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/2012/06/turks-series-by-liz-crowe-reviews.html

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