Chapter Two
She was halfway down the metro station escalator when he called her name. She glanced up, and he was already bounding down the steps. He wove past two school kids in their blue-and-white uniforms and jumped off the escalator to land beside her.
“Hi. Sorry. It took me that long to pretend I’d gotten an urgent message on my phone, and get away from my dad. So, want to grab a drink somewhere?” His words were light, but one foot tapped on the tiled floor, as though he was eager to whisk her away.
She nodded, breathless. He led her up the other escalator with a light touch on the small of her back, explaining as they went, “My family’s house is just around the corner; I’ve got my rental car there. Any place in particular you’d like to go?”
“I feel like I’ve been everywhere already.” Hakan’s hip and shoulder brushed hers on the narrow sidewalk as he veered round a gate and down an alley between houses. His family must be well-heeled, or an old, established Istanbul family, to have houses in this neighbourhood. Her grandmother’s place was nearby, and was a posh condo, but not an old home like Hakan’s. She added, “It’d be nice to go somewhere that’s not trendy, or crowded, or difficult to get to, or involving explanations about where we’re from, or—”
“Had your fill of telling people we don’t know their second cousin’s wife out in Saskatoon, eh? How about some place on the water?”
“Good idea. Some place secluded, I hope,” she added in a lower tone, and let her shoulder brush his again.
“I know just the right spot.”
He opened a gate and beckoned her through to where his car was parked, fingers resting more firmly on her back as he guided her. Talking of families on the short drive down to the shoreline, they discovered they had a lot more in common than simply being second-generation Canadians. Both their parents had emigrated in the late ’80s and settled in Montreal, and they’d both been sent back to Turkey each summer as kids, to stay with grandparents. Education had been important to both their families, but they’d each chosen to study medicine on their own and not because of family pressure.
“I wanted to do something worthwhile,” Hakan said, as he wove in and out of the traffic that was constant at all hours of the day in Istanbul. “Not over a lifetime, but every day, every hour. To keep making a difference.”
She knew exactly what he meant. She’d felt grateful for the opportunities she’d been given, and wanted to help others, to guide them in their health and give them the knowledge to take care of themselves. She’d been hoping to do some volunteer work herself, with an outfit that provided medical care and support in some of the more impoverished towns in the country, or back in Canada. It was good to talk with someone who’d had that experience so recently.
As he parked the car on a steep hill in the vibrant neighbourhood of Bebek, their talk veered to med school, and their specialisations. Hakan didn’t sugar coat residency life, as so many of the others whose advice she asked tended to do.
“You don’t sleep, you forget to eat, you’ll forget your own name even,” he said, as they slipped and slid down the uneven cobblestone sidewalks towards the Bosphorus. He went ahead, holding out a hand for her at a particularly difficult place. “Everyone calls you Doctor. It’s exhilarating at first, after all the years of school. Except that it’s not you they want, it’s someone, anyone in a white coat. You could be Doctor Who, for all the notice they take of your face and name.”
One last drop, a set of stairs cut into the side of the hill, and then they were on level ground. Hakan kept hold of her hand.
“Where are we going?” she asked, distracted by the strength in his fingers, the solid grip that had her wanting to squeeze back, just to bring his touch even closer.
“Up ahead, see that cafe? There’s a private garden on the roof.” His thumb rubbed into her knuckles, as if he too wanted to deepen their touch, and was only waiting to get her alone. “My cousin owns the place.”
The sun had never before sparkled so brilliantly on the sea. Already the city felt brighter, livelier than it had in the past weeks, even down to the diesel fumes of the trucks zooming by, and the caterwauling of horns and brakes on the main road between where they stood and the boardwalk by the Bosphorus. Beside them and across the water, the windows of boutiques and in the upper storeys of the yalıs and whitewashed houses reflected the sunlight.
They switched to Turkish as they walked in, and Hakan introduced her to the girl behind the counter. He asked after his cousin, who wasn’t in that day, apparently, but the girl knew of Hakan, and was willing to let them sit in the private garden. She made up a tray of coffees and pastries, and gave him the key to the door, indicating a staircase at the far end of the room.
Ayşe headed up with the tray, and Hakan followed. At the top, he squeezed onto the last step beside her, body flush against hers, and unlocked the door. He took the tray from her, and let her go out first.
She spun in a circle, taking in the hammocks, the wicker furniture, the dozens and dozens of potted vegetables and flowers spilling their fronds everywhere. “This is perfect!” The noise of the road was muted to a dull roar, and an awning on the western side blocked off the view of the tiers of apartments on the hillside.
To the east, the view was open, all blue sea and white masts and, on the other side of the Bosphorus, elegant seaside villas. If she didn’t lift her eyes any higher, she could almost imagine that they’d travelled back in time, to when the ornate villas had backed onto wooded hills filled with the trill of nightingales and the warm scent of jasmine.
“This is perfect,” she said again, more quietly, coming to a stop beside Hakan. He passed her a cup of coffee on its saucer.
“Thought you’d like it. I’ve been to some crazy parties here before, at night. This is my first time without being surrounded by a crowd.”
That admission made it all the better. She didn’t have to picture him leading a string of pretty girls up to this spot; she was the first lucky one.
“Drink up, before it gets cold,” he said, and she realised she’d been staring again. Lowering her gaze, she took a long sip of the dark Turkish coffee. She’d had endless cups of the stuff since she’d arrived, but hadn’t attended much to the flavour. Not having three relatives at once ask whether it was to her liking was one thing, but watching Hakan’s mouth and throat as he took a sip of his own was definitely the deciding factor to her appreciation.
Hakan set down his cup and moved around behind her, lifting the hair from her shoulders and sweeping it back. She was glad she’d kept it loose, instead of knotting the waves into a bun in her usual careless way. “You’re the loveliest flower in this garden,” he murmured into her ear.
Ayşe spluttered into her coffee. “Now you sound like a real Turkish guy.”
He laughed. “You’re right. Doesn’t mean it’s not true though.” One hand tightened on her shoulder, then slipped down to her collarbone, as the other rested on the back of her neck. His thumb pushed into the dip directly below her hairline.
Cup and saucer clattered as she set them down, and turned in his arms. His kiss was soft, and tasted as sweet as she’d expected. He had one leg between hers, and she leaned in, pressing her whole body into him, letting him know she wanted to continue. His hands came around, framing her face, as his tongue met hers.
It took only one deft movement for him to lift her onto the edge of the table. She wrapped her legs about his, drawing him as close as possible, finally, and his hands swept down her back, lifting her shirt at the edge of her waistband.
His kisses cut off her breath, making her dizzy, but she could not stop reaching for more. She held him to her with her hands in his hair, keeping his lips locked to hers.
His hands slid further down and he cupped her inside her skirt. His every touch was a thrill. She wanted all of it at once, the sweet kisses, the heat of his body against hers, the hard muscles under his clothes. She started to tug up his shirt as he kissed his way along her nape, sucked on her earlobe. A moan of pleasure escaped her, and then his lips were back on hers, his own groans vibrating in her mouth.
He pulled his hands away long enough to shrug off his shirt, and returned more ardent than before, and she stopped caring whether anyone could hear them.
They broke apart again for the brief instant it took him to hike her shirt up and over her head, and then his bare chest pressed on hers, lowering her back onto the table. He pushed aside the tray, then shoved his hair off his forehead with the same hand, looking down at her with an expression to match the taste of his kiss. She could almost see the waters of the Bosphorus wavering in his eyes.
She grazed the side of his face with a finger, stubble prickling her skin, and he leaned down to brush a gentle kiss onto her mouth. “I’ve never been this impulsive before,” he murmured against her cheek, as he lowered her bra straps.
“You know how it is with Canadians,” she said, feeling brave and daring and cherished all at once. “We come alive in the summer.” She gasped at the last, as his thumbs came over her nipples. He closed his mouth over hers once more, pressing his hands over her breasts even as he pushed up against her waist with his hips.
“Can’t get more summertime than this,” he said softly against her cheek, then broke away and scooped her up off the table.
She caught a glimpse of the street down below over the railing, crowds hurrying up and down the sidewalk, a simit vendor standing by his cart, and a couple of fishermen angling at the edge of the boardwalk. Everyone going about their business, unaware of the pleasure to be had on the heights. Suddenly recalling that the garden belonged to a cafe, she asked in a low voice, “Are you sure no one can see us up here?”
“Nope.” He fell back onto the nearest hammock with her on his lap. “D’you want to stop?”
“Nope,” she echoed. More real was the possibility that the waitress from downstairs might appear at any second, or anyone else with a key. Hakan’s arms were around her waist, holding her tight against his smooth, tanned chest. She decided she didn’t want to let go, no matter who might happen to come through the door. She would regret breaking away from him more than any momentary embarrassment.
One hand found its way into her hair again, knotting the curls around his fingers. Her head fell back under his kisses, as he sucked on her lower lip, then down her neck, until his mouth closed over her nipple. He let go of her hair and unclasped her bra, tossed it aside. His hand kept going, curving over her hip and resting on her thigh, thumb pushing a fold of her skirt against her centre.
She arched her back, and he accepted her invitation, rubbing her with his palm as he suckled first at one breast, then the other. Suddenly he broke away again, and tipped her onto the hammock as he stood up. Her sandals had long since fallen from her feet. She had her first glimpse of his height as he shucked off shoes, jeans, and boxers. She’d been right; his skin under his clothes was lighter. Dark hair curled up his legs, down a line over his belly, and met in the middle. He was half-turned aside, slipping on a condom. She rose up on an elbow, and kept her other hand out, ready to trace the lines of his tan the instant he returned to her.
He caught sight of her outstretched fingers and clasped her hand in his as he straddled her across the hammock. He only let go long enough to tug off the rest of her clothes, then twined their fingers once more.
The hammock swayed alarmingly as she shuffled to her side and they lay facing each other. She took her time exploring his skin with her fingers, grazing a line over his hips and then grasping him in her hand. He followed her lead, trailing his fingertips up her thighs, towards her centre, nudging her legs apart just enough to slip two fingers inside, teasing back and forth. His mouth locked on hers, oh so sweet, and she fell back once more onto the smooth linen of the hammock. It rocked gently now, like a boat on calm waters. His fingers slipped out and he held himself up on his muscled legs as he eased himself into her.
Gradually, he rested his weight on her, and stayed without moving for a beat. He filled all her senses, delicious taste and a brief scent of musk along the warm skin that brushed and tingled against her, as he very slowly began to move in and out. She couldn’t meet his rhythm, as she couldn’t push up against the hammock without setting them swaying, but Hakan seemed to know just the right angle at which to pitch himself to drive them both to distraction. She wrapped her legs around him, dug her nails into his shoulders, urged him on. Her moans grew louder as he moved faster, and his heavy breaths turned to groans against her neck. She didn’t want him to stop, wanted them to keep on together for so long, but already her pleasure had reached its crest, and the sound of her name on his lips brought her over the edge as, with a deep throaty groan, he spent himself inside her.
Far below, a motorboat sliced the water. Seagulls mewled in the air above them. Their heartbeats slowed together, as they lay chest to chest. Hakan pressed a kiss to her cheek, and kept it there.