Today, I am happy to welcome Liz Crowe to My Odd Little World. She has three books in the 1NightStand series represented here today-Turkish Delights, Blue Cruise and Tulip Princess. There is a delightful prize being offered for one lucky commenter, and I will be awarding one of the books to one of my commenters here today.
Liz is giving away three Turkish themed prize packages to randomly drawn commenters which may include, but aren't limited to:
*a holiday stocking made from an authentic Turkish kilim rug
*a mug with the Turkish 'evil eye' meant to ward off said evil
*a pewter dish, that is traditional used to hold 'lokum' or the actual Turkish Delight confection/candy
*a box of traditional lokum
*a small Turkish kilim rug (reversible-authentic)
Before the interview questions, let's find out a little bit about Liz Crowe with a brief bio.
Microbrewery owner, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great middle west, in a Major College Town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry) has prepped her for life as erotic romance author. When she isn't sweating beer inventory, sales figures or promotional efforts for her latest publication, doing pounds of laundry for her sweaty athletic children, watching La Liga on the Fox Soccer Channel, or trying to figure out what to order in for dinner, she can be found walking her standard poodles or doing Bikram Yoga. Liz loves her Foo Fighters Pandora station, and watching reruns of Deadwood, when there isn't any decent European football on the telly. If you want a beer education follow her: www.a2beerwench.com. For writing related stuff, including her backlist, go to: www.brewingpassion.com.
The Writer
The best thing is the pure joy of creation. Where there was not story, now there is. Where there were no characters, now they exist.
The worst:
1. editing process
2. endless promotions
3. getting bad reviews (for we all get them)
Which authors do you most admire and aspire to?
I would like to someday be considered “The Stephen King of erotic romance.” I’m guessing Nora Roberts might arm rassle me for it. I also admire JR Ward a lot, although I’ll admit that after reading straight through 9 of her Black Dagger Bro-hood books I’m losing patience with her ultra hip inner dialogue and copious use of brand names. I would also to be able to world create like Suny, and her Mona Lisa series.
If you could share one major writing tip, to help other writers in their quest for publication, what would it be?
Run away! Quickly! Before you are subject to the above “worst things” and still can’t make any money!!
Seriously, you have to understand that this process for many, many (perhaps all) years of your writing career is for you. Not the readers, reviewers, publishers. It’s yours. What I mean is, my claim to Stephen King-dom notwithstanding, not many of us will actually make a living writing. Especially if you stick it out in the oh-so-crowded romance market. You need the extra umph of a big name agent and imprint behind you or saintly patience for the still nascent e-publishing world to really take off to think you will be counting Benjamins anytime soon.
So, reality check: why are you writing? I’m writing because I love the creation process. I have been able to find some publishers who like my creations hence we make a few dollars here and there selling them to readers. But I am writing for me.
Was there someone instrumental in inspiring you as a writer?
Once I got going and involved in several professional writer’s groups and loops I met a couple of women who have done nothing but cheerlead and encourage me. Katalina Leon is sort of a start-up muse for me. When I’m down and thinking I suck out loud or whatever, I can email her and she will say “but what about this…” and throw out a nugget of a new idea and I am off to the races! Also, Cindy Spencer Pape is a nice blast of reality when it comes to the business of writing.
But while going through this with three different publishers I have been beyond blessed with amazing editing (Clarissa Yip), stoic and determined professionals (Elizabeth Carr) and flat-out entertaining editor/writer/friends (Valerie Mann). I’m thrilled to have them in my corner.
Plotter or Pantser? Why?
Both. I head write for days on new projects, “plotting”. Then I sit and pants my way through it until its done.
Where do you research your books?
Depends. My Brewing Passion series came straight from my experience owning a craft microbrewery and I have a REALLY great MS sitting with a few AE’s right now that is a craft beer murder/sabotage/intrigue story. For some of the elements there I reached out to some of my fellow brewery owners (some who shall remain nameless here but if you are any kind of craft beer fan you would know them if I told you their names) to get ideas of “how to sabotage your own brewery” or “where the most famous breweries in Germany are.”
For Turkish Delights I drew from my time spent living in that amazing country.
What kind of research did Turkish Delights require?
I pulled my books from my days there to get some locations correct and of course triple checked the language when I used it. There is now a prequel that’s been accepted to the entire series: The Diplomat’s Daughter that required a fair bit of digging into how Istanbul looked and felt in the 1960’s. Orhan Pamuk is a Pulitzer prize-winning Turkish author who has a memoir with some of the most beautiful photos and prose ever: Istanbul, from his days growing up there in the 1960s that was my Bible for the prequel.
Can you tell us a bit about what book(s) you have coming out next and what you’re working on now?
I actually have several after the Turkish Delights Trilogy.
Specific Gravity is ostensibly the final chapter in the Brewing Passion series from Breathless Press. It follows up my Choose your Romance (ending) novel The Tap Room and is a short hot story between a few secondary characters. It released Nov. 25.
Caught Offside is coming up next. It’s another of the Decadent 1NightStand books (the first one to get accepted actually but they wanted to run with the trilogy first). It’s a soccer story (I looooove soccer) about a former major league star who was injured and is recovering slowly and unhappily when he meets a woman who’s lost her husband and at one time was the goalie for the women’s national soccer team. It was a lot of fun to write.
And….of course I would not be a respectable writer were there not a WIP: I’m working on a Time Travel novel set in Germany. Midnight Sonata is working title. Hunky, bossy, difficult alpha brewer in the early 1900s. Frustrated daughter of successful modern brewer who wants to brew herself but is thwarted by her father, slips though some sort of crack in the universe and finds herself in said hunky brewer’s lap. She thinks its all part of the tour she’s on of famous German breweries. But after a hot night he doesn’t seems to come out of “character.” Uh oh….
Then as I said above, The Diplomat’s Daughter is in edits. It’s a novella length story, not within the 1NightStand parameters, keeping the Turkish Delights fun going! It’s Tarkan, Emre and Lale’s parent’s story. Very romantic.
Blurb:
When Vivian Kincaid's eyes meet those of a hunky local at the Turkish university she attends it only takes her a split second to recognize her dear childhood friend. Levent Deniz was the servant boy who taught her to run the streets of Istanbul years before, giving outlet to her wild streak even as a child.
Now face-to-face once again as adults, the only thing standing between them and happiness is her father. The newly appointed Consul General for the United States has other plans for his only daughter. Ones that do not include a former servant, now successful entrepreneur. He will do everything in his power to keep them apart.
The Person
When you get a chance to read, what books do you love to read?
I’m finishing up the JR Ward Black Dagger Bros series. My next big novel will be Mr. King’s 11/23/63. But I have read just about every single 1NightStand book in the series from Decadent. I recommend them highly!
How does your family feel about having a writer in the family? Do they read your books?
My spouse likes it when he’s not irritated that the laundry is never done and there is rarely food prepared….he reads them for certain. My kids are amused by it (teenagers—they amuse easily).
Do you write full time? What did you do before you became a writer? Or Still do?
I own a craft microbrewery and spend most of each day dealing with the marketing of it. I blog as the Beer Wench (www.a2beerwench.com) , maintain the webiste and social networking, handle distributor sales people, promotions and staffing in the Tap Room. I write a lot too. I don’t sleep much.
Do you have an interesting quirk or talent?
I’m nearly certified as a “Cicerone” which is like a wine sommelier. I can smell and taste imperfections in beers, tell you what sort of malt and hops were used and can create great beer/food pairings.
What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done to figure out a book?
Asking a very well known owner of a very well known brewery how he would sabotage HIS own brewery were he so inclined. It became the premise of the climax of that brewery/intrigue/murder story I SO WISH I COULD GET PUBLISHED.
Random craziness
Why, I’m the Beer Wench ‘O course me love.
And my booty would be as many damn books as I wanted to read.
You’ve been given the honor of naming a planet, what would you name it?
Wolverinia in honor of my brewing company.
If your life were turned into a cartoon, what cartoon character would you want playing you?
Wonder Woman of course. Oh cartoon? Um….I don’t know many cartoons but I know I’d make a GREAT Lucy. I’m bossy and love to yank footballs away from boys kicking them.
It’s a slumber party! Calories don’t count. What snacks will we be munching on at midnight?
Kettle corn, Reese's pieces and Snickers bars
Favorite guilty pleasure?
My second (or third) glass of Dog Fish Head 90 Minute IPA. I’ll spare you the beer lecture of why.
Where can we find out more about you and your work?
www.brewingpassion.com (blog)
Oh sure, here’s an excerpt from The Diplomat’s Daughter:
Her skin prickled and she looked up to find some hunky local staring at her like she was a water mirage in the desert. His eyes were dark, his features sharp and striking. The dark tie and light blue shirt hugged his obviously strong torso. Her eyes narrowed. Two can play the stare down game. When he smiled, she gasped and her heart lurched into her throat. She whipped around and clutched her hands together on the desk.
Oh God. It was Levent Deniz. Her childhood friend. The boy who’d made her early years as the child of a busy diplomat in this teeming city bearable. They’d spent countless hours playing in the parks by the Bosporus, daring each other through various mazes of dangerous boat docks, across rickety bridges through neighborhoods she had no business in. That scar at the corner of his mouth…when he’d fallen and bled like a stuck pig, trying to protect her from the feral dog that was chasing them…His poor mother had been apoplectic. So had hers once they’d returned to her house so he could find his parents. His father was the chief groundskeeper and his mother was the cook that came with the diplomatic residence where Viv’s family resided. She'd technically been forbidden to play with him again. But it didn’t matter, because after that day, he’d disappeared from her life. She remembers desperately looking through the kitchens and back halls where he usually lurked doing his schoolwork while his parents worked to serve hers.
Damn. He’d gone and gotten handsome. The years she’d spent back in the states after her parents’ divorce she’d nearly forgotten about him. Now she was back, thanks to her mother’s death and her father’s insistence on having her nearby. Stuck going to Robert College, getting into as much trouble as she could behind his back, Viv hated every moment of her life since her return to Istanbul.
She snuck a look back over her shoulder at the young man. One dark eyebrow was raised; his finger touched the scar at his full upper lip. Vivian felt sweat break out under her stiff blouse. She crossed her legs. This was an interesting turn of events. One for the diary for certain. She grinned to herself, picturing her father, the newly appointed Consul General for the United States of America, all fat and sassy with his new wife and baby when he caught her making out with that lovely hunk of Turk under the consulate steps. Just what he deserved really.
Vivian gave her old friend one more quick glance, letting her eyes soften so he’d know she’d recognized him. She felt her skin pebble at his intense gaze. She studied his broad shoulders, his classical, almost Roman, features. Lovely. And about to get into a perfectly delightful amount of trouble with her, if she had any control over it. And she knew she did. As if reading her mind, he leaned back in his seat, stretched his long legs out in front of him and ran a hand through his thick hair. Was he actually blushing? Yes. Delightful trouble. Vivian grinned at him. It was a life changing moment that she would never, ever forget.
TURKISH DELIGHTS
The fifteen year age difference between Elle Kensington, ex-patriat American executive and Emre Deniz, son of Istanbul's most successful businessman, has not kept them from becoming fast friends as they tour Istanbul together. But the time has come for him to return to the U.S. to finish his master's degree and she has just been named CEO of the pharmaceutical company that brought her to Turkey in the first place. Elle adores her adopted country, and is alarmed to find herself falling in love with the young man who's been her impromptu guide for the last few months.
But she knows they can never be. She will return home to California within a month, leaving behind all she loves about the ancient city. In a rare fit of spontaneity, Elle has contracted with Madame Eve's OneNightStand dating service to hopefully find a way to forget the dark, handsome young man who has captured her heart. Little does she know what awaits her in the ancient recesses of the Ottoman palace turned luxury hotel under the hands of her one night stand masseur.
But she knows they can never be. She will return home to California within a month, leaving behind all she loves about the ancient city. In a rare fit of spontaneity, Elle has contracted with Madame Eve's OneNightStand dating service to hopefully find a way to forget the dark, handsome young man who has captured her heart. Little does she know what awaits her in the ancient recesses of the Ottoman palace turned luxury hotel under the hands of her one night stand masseur.
Caleb and Tarkan were an odd couple, men from two different cultures, but so in love they were determined to overcome any obstacles. Fate had different plans. Two years after tragedy strikes, Caleb is still a hollow shell of himself, alone and miserable. Adem Broussard is happy enough, as owner and chef of his restaurant on the Turkish southern coast. But a tall, American Adonis he saw once, years ago on a Turkish Blue Cruise haunts his most erotic dreams and he hopes contracting with Madame Eve's 1NightStand service for an unconventional date will help him forget.
When Caleb caves in to his friend Elle's insistence that he return to Turkey and exorcise some of the demons that haunt him, he reluctantly climbs on board a private yacht for a special 1NightStand Blue Cruise. There he comes face to face with the man who remembers him well, and wants to help him heal.
When Caleb caves in to his friend Elle's insistence that he return to Turkey and exorcise some of the demons that haunt him, he reluctantly climbs on board a private yacht for a special 1NightStand Blue Cruise. There he comes face to face with the man who remembers him well, and wants to help him heal.
TULIP PRINCESS
Lale Deniz, young, drifting and prone to wildness that her Turkish family doesn't understand is seeking something to help her reestablish control over her life. Her beloved brother Tarkan has exited her life. His twin, Emre lives far away in America with his growing family. When Elle, Emre's American wife has a scary brush with death giving birth, Lale is dispatched to California to help with their five-year old daughter. But a recovering Elle has plans for Lale that involve a magical 1NightStand.
Andreas Michos, Greek former NFL star, now athletic director at UNLV also floats through life, unsuccessfully seeking satisfaction. His former wife and sexual sub left him when he took away the limelight of football stardom. He doubts his own abilities anymore and has given up finding an outlet for his natural Dom.
Set against a backdrop of ancient cultural clashes and Mediterranean family dynamics, Lale and Andreas do meet in Las Vegas at the famous Castillos resort for a date. But it seems destined to fail. Unless they are both willing to relinquish control and discover what can be found inside the soul of another.
Andreas Michos, Greek former NFL star, now athletic director at UNLV also floats through life, unsuccessfully seeking satisfaction. His former wife and sexual sub left him when he took away the limelight of football stardom. He doubts his own abilities anymore and has given up finding an outlet for his natural Dom.
Set against a backdrop of ancient cultural clashes and Mediterranean family dynamics, Lale and Andreas do meet in Las Vegas at the famous Castillos resort for a date. But it seems destined to fail. Unless they are both willing to relinquish control and discover what can be found inside the soul of another.
PG
PG
“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.
R
The hands moved up her calves as the silk sheet covering her nudity shifted, like a whisper against her skin. The masseuse concentrated on one leg at a time, traveling up her calf, reaching her thigh then back down, again and again. With each stroke, she was aware of fingers very near her bare pussy.
She raised her head, shocked but embarrassed by the way her nipples had hardened. It had been a solid year since she’d had sex with anything other than the toy Caleb had given her for her birthday the year before. After Marcus broke off their engagement, she’d jumped into an affair with some guy in finance, had a few close encounters with a man she met at a bar, but lost interest as her job responsibilities ramped up, or so she told herself. Convinced she was unable to sustain anything resembling a normal human relationship, she dove into work, pouring everything she had into it, including her libido.
“Relax,” a soft male voice advised. “It’s okay.” She put her face back against the rest, giving in, taking his advice. His voice comforted her, and her battered psyche needed soothing. Something struck her as odd, though. She thought this was to be a couple’s massage. The fancy cloth covered screen to her right indicated there was another table, and another massage, on the other side. She had assumed the massage would be without barriers. But she’d paid Madame Eve to come up with her ideal date. Maybe this was all part of a plan. Besides her masseur was deliciously distracting. She closed her eyes and let the man’s hands reach up her legs again, and this time when he brushed his fingers against her pussy she didn’t flinch, but nearly purred, thoughts of some tall, dark, handsome stranger on the other side of the fabric divide gone.
The silky cover slid to the floor, leaving Elle fully exposed but something about it was suddenly, completely right. The hands reached her ass, caressed, worked her hips one at a time, before skipping up to her lower back. Just when she got used to that, the hands returned to her ass. She tilted her hips slightly. Her swollen clit needed contact. She moaned softly when one hand thrust against the small of her back while the other gripped the inside of one thigh, pressing into both spots, fingertips grazing the edges of her pussy. When he touched her outer lips, his hand still held tight against her thigh, she gasped. Dear God I am gonna…the orgasm surprised her in both its presence and intensity. Her body spasmed. Fluid gushed and coated her legs and his hands. Elle moaned, in ecstasy and embarrassment.
He settled himself on her left, and repeated the amazing process there. When she found her arm draped across his lap once again, she smiled when her fingertips found wetness at the end of his shaft. She stroked his incredible cock once more, diving inside the slit of his shorts to get at the soft, velvety flesh. When she tried to remove the eye cloth again, he kept a hand over hers. Her protests were drowned in a dizzying kiss as he slanted soft lips over hers, swiping at the inside of her mouth with a demanding tongue. She kept the cloth in place and plunged her hands into his thick hair, meeting his tongue with hers. But it was over as quickly as it began when he gave her lower lip a quick bite, then sat up, moving around the room, confusing her and making her whimper with unmet need. At that moment, she knew it was him. It had to be. It was as if she’d been kissing him forever, he felt that familiar. She shivered in anticipation.
He ignored her another few minutes, but she could hear his breathing, labored, like hers as she stretched like a cat in a window, allowing the relaxation his hands had provided to ooze through her bones, muscles and sinew. She had never felt so good, or so horny, in her entire life.
“Are we done?” she whispered into the room.
“Not if you don’t want to be.” He had to be near her feet. She was aware of her complete exposure to him as his hands moved up her legs again. Her body was on fire, everywhere he touched her, making her want more. She gasped as he climbed up between her legs, his tongue drawing a wet line up one leg then the other, finally reaching the rock hard nub of her clit. He flicked at it, sucked it in, his moans of satisfaction making Elle’s flesh pucker and her hips buck and lift toward his face. She reached down and grasped his hair, fisting her hands in it, keeping him right where she needed him.
“Dear God,” she cried out as he slipped a finger inside her soaked walls, reaching up, high, under her pubic bone, finding her G-spot so quickly she wondered if he hadn’t been there before. “Ah, yes!” The orgasm gripped her, spun her around, made her see stars as her pussy clenched his fingers and gushed once again. She could practically smell his passion as it overtook the massage oil essence of the room.
“I don’t know how this happened Emre, but I am going to die if you don’t get your cock inside me in the next five seconds.” She slipped the eye cover off and gazed into the young man’s eyes, staring at her from between her legs, his lips and chin covered in her juices. “Please, fuck me.” Her voice was a mere whisper.
“Oh, my darling, I will.” Her heart sang in response.
Blue Cruise Excerpts
PG
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 shared introductions and 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 Deniz
Broker, Chase Manhattan Bank, 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? PG
Adem climbed up from the hull of the boat. It was hard not to take over the kitchen. But the the current chef and captain kept pushing him out, gently reminding him that he was the client now, that this was a 1Night Stand event, and he needed to go meet his date. He laughed and took the steps two at a time. Determined to enjoy it, not to feel guilty about buying himself the good time he deserved, Adem looked up and saw the American Adonis that haunted his dreams. Ray Bans covered his eyes, and he appeared utterly dejected by the sight of the boat.
Weak kneed was a new sensation to him, but Adem gripped the ropes along the stairwell from the galley and tried not to gape. He cleared his throat and stepped out onto the hot asphalt, the four steps he needed to reach his dream date the longest he’d ever taken. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, but he squared his shoulders and smiled. The sad, beautiful smile that greeted him in return rolled over his heart like a wave.
“Hello, um, English okay?” The tall man held out a large hand. Adem noticed the distinct lack of the ring he’d watched him accept from the Turkish man on this very boat. Was it two or three years ago?
“Yes, it’s fine,” Adem croaked. “I can speak English, Turkish or French, if you prefer.”
“Oh, I’ll stick to English, thanks.”
The man’s soft blue dress shirt fit his torso like a glove. His jeans were worn, nice and tight, cupping his ass perfectly. Adem gulped. The memory of that cock he’d watched and dreamed about, encased in the denim within his reach, nearly overpowered him.
“Good, good,” Adem ran a hand through his long hair. Damn, I should have gotten it cut. This man probably preferred his dates a bit less…shaggy. “So, we can board if you like.” He gestured toward the boat, unsure what else to say.
The blond god spoke. “I’m Caleb, by the way. Caleb Blessing.”
Adem blushed. “Oh, sorry. Let’s start over.” He turned and stuck out his hand again. “I’m Adem. Adem Broussard.”
He watched as Caleb clenched his jaw.
“I know. I remember you.”
“Oh, well, then….” Adem didn’t understand the emotions flitting over the tall man’s face. When Caleb pulled his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes, Adem would swear his fingers came away wet. He resisted the extreme urge to pull him into an embrace. Putting his hands in his pockets instead, he stood, letting the silence swirl around them.
“Well, let’s go, shall we?” the gorgeous, obviously unhappy man snapped, as he stomped toward the boat.
Adem’s gut clenched. This was not turning out like he’d hoped. Not at all.
Part of him was glad that Adem had backed away earlier, but after a good sleep he acknowledged he would have happily thrown the kid down and fucked him hard, right then, if only to take his edge off. But he had an idea there was more happening here, and needed time to absorb it. And he was that, a kid. Easily ten if not more years younger than Caleb. He had stared up at the darkening blue sky and thought of Elle and her constant arguments against her own relationship with Emre at first. She had been forty when they met, Emre twenty-five. They had worked out fine, mainly, Caleb reflected, because both Emre and his brother were old souls. He sighed at the fleeting thought of Tarkan and stretched. Adem had glanced up from his paper and smiled, patted Caleb’s leg and stood.
“C’mon sleeping beauty, let’s hit the shops.”
Caleb had placed a chaste peck on the man’s soft cheek, before changing into linen shorts that nearly matched Adem’s, He pulled a polo shirt over his head and followed him off the boat, up to the city center. They’d provisioned for the next two days, planning to stay off shore. Caleb felt himself slipping back into that comfortable place he had occupied for so many years in Turkey as Adem bargained and purchased and pointed out the sights.
“You know,” Caleb said when they were back on the boat. They sat at the deck table overlooking the azure sea. “I never thought I’d come back here. But now I remember why I loved it so much.” He raised his glass to Adem who did the same. “To Turkey.”
“To us,” Adem had whispered, making Caleb shiver.
Adem leaned back and sipped his wine. Caleb tried not to stare, but finally gave up the fight.
“Tell me what happened.” The young man’s voice was low. Caleb shut his eyes and relived the nightmare, sad, but somehow relieved to be telling it.
By the time he’d finished the story, Adem’s eyes were watery, but Caleb’s were clear. He realized he’d never actually told anyone the real story of how the thing had happened so quickly, how they all had to rush back to Turkey to give Tarkan’s meager remains the proper swift burial as per custom. It had been a god awful blur, but Caleb suddenly remembered details with more clarity now that he was describing events to Adem.
“I lost my parents too, right about the same time. It’s how I got the money to leave this,” he waved at the boat, “And open The Perfect Table.” Caleb nodded, encouraging him. “Traffic accident in the French countryside, big lorry, small car, too much wine.”
Caleb sighed and spooned up a bit of rich chocolate mousse. He leaned over the table and put the morsel near Adem’s lips. Never taking his eyes from Caleb’s, Adem took the bite and swallowed. He returned the favor, taking a minute to dredge one of the fat strawberries on the dish in front of them through his mousse before holding it to Caleb’s mouth.
Caleb darted his tongue out, licked it, took a small bite then the whole thing, chewing, relishing the rich bitter chocolate and the burst of berry in his mouth. He melted into Adem’s smile again, then with resolve stood and took the slender man’s hand. Once standing together, he ran a finger down his smooth cheek, and pulled his long hair free of its leather tie, letting it flow down his shoulders like a shimmering ebony waterfall. His breath stuttered at the sheer beauty of this man in his arms before leaning down and slanting his lips over Adem’s.
The kiss was tentative at first. Caleb could taste chocolate, with traces of wine, but the deep flavor of Adem was that of Turkey itself, rich, spicy, salty and delicious. He held the back of Adem’s neck, threading his fingers in the other man’s hair, and probed deeper with his tongue, sweeping inside his mouth, making room for him to do the same. He moaned when Adem wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him close, grinding his erection against Caleb’s.
I want to say thank you to Liz Crowe for visiting today. Remember to leave your email when you comment, so I know where to send your book. Also, please indicate in your comment which book you would like to have: Turkish Delights, Blue Cruise or Tulip Princess. As always, my winner will be chosen using RANDOM.ORG, the random number generator.
