 
FORBIDDEN (PART ONE)

## Natalie Aejaz

Copyright 2019 Natalie Aejaz

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_This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental_.

# CHAPTER ONE

TWO DAYS ON THE CRUISE ship and Zehab Deniz could not wait to step on Turkish soil again, so he could focus on the launch of his new hotel in Ankara.

Still over thirty minutes to go before he had to be in the dining hall for the gala event—enough time to get ready and check his emails again. After selecting a suit from the walk-in closet in his luxury suite, he dressed quickly, stepping back to regard his appearance in the full-length mirror. The black jacket and trousers were well-fitted, the two-piece among several items ordered from one of the best tailors in Istanbul for the cruise. It was already dark, and the sound of waves soothed as he sat at the desk and switched on his laptop. The status of his inbox was satisfactory, thanks to his assistant in Istanbul, who vetted his business emails and ensured that only the ones Zehab needed to personally deal with reached him. Most of the ones that did make it through were related to the launch of Deniz Ankara.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and allowing himself the luxury of a short daydream where the hotel was complete. He had instantly fallen in love with the old sprawling villa in Turkey's capital, and to give the project the attention it deserved, he left his luxury apartment in Istanbul to rent a place near the location in Ankara. He would do whatever it took to ensure the hotel would be an even more magnificent affair than Deniz Izmir, which he launched last year. He opened his eyes, cursing as he thought again of the time he would waste on this seven-day cruise.

Damn, time to leave for dinner already. He left the suite, using the cruise app on his mobile to guide him to the main dining hall. During the first couple of days on a ship such as this, the journey often proved more enjoyable than the destination, with surprises at each turn. He passed the spa, its aromas trailing behind him, and before he stepped out onto the spacious open deck, the sound of laughter and music hit him. The large swimming pool overflowed with fun-loving men and women, its bar and restaurant area packed. He ignored the welcoming glances of beautiful hostesses carrying trays of champagne, instead taking the stairs down to the hallway that led to the dining hall. At some point, he would take the time to explore the variety of artwork that lined the interiors, the colors and strokes highlighted by designer LED lighting.

Bright light flooded the dining area, crystal chandeliers and the buzz of conversation enhancing its ambience. Men in smart suits and women in expensive gowns sat at round tables in perfect arrangements. A nearby couple expressed their astonishment over the beautifully presented starter. The Turkey and Greece cruise attracted leading Turkish businessmen and international clients and since yesterday, Zehab had excused himself from several conversations about the future economic potential of Turkey, so he could maximize the time spent working in his suite. As he glanced around the room, searching for Emir, the eyes of women rested on him. Since college, he had been aware of his effect on the opposite sex, but none of the women here fascinated him.

_There_ was Emir. Dammit. His potential business associate appeared tipsy, and along with his whiskey, had downed any opportunity of meaningful discussion.

The other man grinned when he saw him approach. " _Arkadasim_. My friend."

Emir and he were far from friends, but he hoped they would become business partners. In his early thirties, Emir was the same age as himself and the son of Omar Badem—one of Turkey's leading entrepreneurs and a man whose business articles Zehab displayed on the walls of his hostel room during his college days. Two months ago, during an exclusive corporate event for hotel owners, Omar Badem sought out Zehab to make a lucrative offer. The business magnate had acquired an old hotel in Istanbul and planned to re-launch it as part of his global luxury chain, Alrihaz. It was both an honor and surprise when Zehab's idol suggested that _he_ head the development, as part of a partnership between Alrihaz and Deniz.

Ever since Zehab pulled his business to the top of Turkey's hospitality industry, he had received countless merger and partnership offers, but this deal was the first one worth investing in. Despite its success, the re-launched Deniz was a new enterprise, and joining another formidable and well-established corporate entity would secure its financial position while enabling Zehab to take risks that would increase the company's growth at an even faster rate. The only downside? Emir was in charge of negotiating the contract, which meant they were still far from completing the details. When Zehab received a personal invitation to join Emir on the cruise, he had no intention of wasting a week in the other man's company. But Omar Badem had personally called him, requesting that he attend the cruise, guide his son in the partnership agreement and complete the Alrihaz pre-launch arrangements.

Now that he was here, he intended to finalize the deal before this trip ended. And once back in Istanbul, he would ensure that as he headed the Alrihaz development, Emir's involvement in decision-making was kept to a minimum.

Emir leaned in, his voice low. "Look at that woman—no, that one with the big—" Zehab followed his gaze to the dark-haired Turkish woman in a long red gown, seated with a group of friends; surprised he did not notice her before. It was obvious why her full lips and ample cleavage, revealed by a plunging neckline, provoked Emir's interest. "Maybe I should go over and introduce myself. One mention of who my father is, and that dress will come off soon enough."

The tall, dark-haired Emir was a conventionally handsome man. Add his family name and the accompanying billions, and it meant there was never a shortage of stunning women less than a finger click away. So it was a mystery why he sometimes behaved in such a desperate manner around them, applying the same ferocity to acquiring the most beautiful women that he did to taking over business enterprises. Tonight, the copious whiskey he had consumed did not help the other man's behavior. "Her friends are with her. If you must approach her, perhaps do it in a...more private environment."

Emir nodded. "You're right." A relief. By the morning, the other man might have forgotten about her. "A more sophisticated approach would be better. Especially because she looks like a classy woman. Despite that dress." He turned his attention back to Zehab. "Tell me, how are things going with the Ankara deal?"

"We're on track to launch within a few months."

"And how about that other hotel you had your eyes on? In Istanbul, wasn't it?"

"I decided to let it go."

Emir waved his hand, dismissive. "You have to approach every deal believing you'll walk away a winner." Easy to say for a man with family money and the name of Omar Badem behind him. Zehab had worked hard for his own billions and did not intend to squander them on deals that were less than certain. The Alrihaz partnership, on the hand, was an enterprise worth investing his time and money on. "Whatever the situation, you need to stick to your values." Emir stared at him over the rim of the whiskey glass as he took a sip. "Tell me, what's your main value in life? Not the stuff you throw at staff to motivate their lazy asses, or the lists you put up in hotel rooms to make customers think you care about anything other than their money. What is your key value, above all else?"

A question easily answered, because over the years it was a principle Zehab had applied to his business _and_ personal life. "One should never lower their standards."

"Fantastic!" Emir's loud exclamation caused heads to turn in their direction. If Zehab did not think it would cause the other man to drink more in defiance, he would dissuade Emir from filling that damn glass again. "Never lower your standards! Up and higher. Keep the people you meet on the way close for as long you need them, but once you've stepped up on that next rung of the ladder, don't look back. It's not your fault they're being left behind."

What was more cringe worthy? Emir's open admission of his own professional ethics or the fact that Zehab himself, not always deliberately, often followed that same path in a bid to make Deniz one of Turkey's leading hotel enterprises?

Did Omar Badem share his son's inclinations when it came to business values? The opportunity to work with his idol had enthralled Zehab, but now he wondered if the father's public talk of moral values and corporate social responsibility would turn out to be just that—talk.

He had already missed the starter and dismissed the waiter's offer of bringing out a late serving. No need to prolong his time here for longer than necessary. As the liveried waiter served the main course of truffled langoustine ravioli, the lights were dimmed and the event host appeared on the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Star Cruises!" Dressed in a black tuxedo, he introduced himself as Rick, making the guests laugh as he told them they would have to endure his regular appearances throughout the evening. "But besides my handsome mug, there are plenty of other treats planned. The belly dance show is about to start. Prepare to be entertained by hot dancers who have traveled from around Europe, just for your _pleasure_." He slurped the last word.

According to the itinerary, there was entertainment in the dining hall each evening, but Zehab and Emir missed it last night, opting for the renowned cuisine in the Italian restaurant on the other side of the ship. Surrounded by modern Italian art, they sampled exquisite dishes designed by a celebrity chef. As the host walked off the stage to the sound of applause, Zehab longed for the refinement of the previous night's experience.

As a group of percussionists made its way to the front of the hall, the stage curtains parted to reveal seven belly dancers with their backs to the audience. Emir sat up straight, his drink forgotten. Drunken wolf whistles emanated from the crowd, and Zehab wished he had opted for a quiet evening in the Japanese restaurant on the upper deck, dining alone. Emir had no such misgivings. His eyes were glued to the stage, or more specifically, to the performers' scantily clad bodies.

A drummer started the piece with a familiar Turkish rhythm. When his companions joined in, the dancers turned to face the audience. There were more whistles as they shook their chests in unison. Zehab ignored the show and brought his attention back to the main course. The dish lived up to the extravagant claims made in the menu, the langoustine cooked to perfection. When there were more cheers, he glanced at the stage.

There _were_ performers from other parts of Europe, but he could swear the dark-haired one in the middle was Turkish. She layered undulations and chest lifts in complicated patterns over shimmies and despite his aversion to the dance form, he had to admit her skills were impressive. The other dancers stood behind her, three on either side. Turning their backs to the audience, they now performed backbends as cheers rose around them. They came out of the poses to descend from the stage—separating to approach individual tables, spending a few moments before each group of guests. Money was placed inside bras and belts, but some dancers only accepted tips in their hands. A red-haired performer danced for a table of men and encouraged by their cheers, bent over, squeezing her breasts. When a dancer approached _their_ table, Emir's eyes stuck to her cleavage. As she performed shimmies, her hips shaking frantically, Zehab lowered his gaze to the dinner, only looking up once she walked away after eliciting a generous tip from his companion.

_Trash._ The only way to describe the show.

After the belly dancers performed alongside two more musical arrangements, a break was announced. Rick returned to the stage to play comedian, and Zehab could only imagine how drunk several of the guests must be to laugh at crass anecdotes devoid of any intellectual humor. Emir turned to him. "Have you been to the spa?" No, he had not. "Two sexy therapists massaging you with sweet smelling lotions. _Arkadasim!_ You don't know what you're missing. This is an experience I envision for Alrihaz. Luxury treatment rooms, heated lounger, infinity plunge pool, steam rooms, infrared saunas—the whole works!"

Even if focused around a spa, at least the conversation had ventured toward Alrihaz. "It sounds wonderful."

"Yes, but father will only agree if _you_ say it's a good idea. The number of times he has said he would trust your business advice." The compliment was an honor. "But you must visit the spa here to see what I am talking about. A bit girly with the silk fabrics, twinkling lights and lotions, but...paradise!"

The building that would be Alrihaz was originally constructed in the design of a traditional Turkish palace, and much of those elements were retained during the restoration, with an outdoor heated swimming pool added to its vast gardens to bring a touch of modern luxury. Like Omar Badem, Zehab was keen that the facilities at Alrihaz be of the highest standard, but it was difficult to understand why such an experienced businessman had put his incapable son in charge of moving things along. Emir's lackluster attitude was a fucking hindrance to the final stages of the hotel's development. Zehab got it. Omar Badem was preparing his heir to take over his business ventures, but one thing Zehab had learned during the past few years was knowing when to stand back from a lost cause instead of throwing more time and money at it.

"I am sure it has been an insufferable break for you," the host Rick was now saying, "But the belly dancers are back."

When the curtains opened, the Turkish dancer was still in the middle, but two new dancers had replaced the ones on either side of her. After performing for a few minutes, the performers left the stage again to dance among the audience. Emir released a low whistle. "Look at that one!"

The voluptuous woman he admired was not with the dancers during the last performance. Her blond hair, blue eyes and breast implants were attracting plenty of attention from the men in the hall. As for Emir, he could not decide whether to stare at her large breasts or ample hips as they shook furiously. Zehab glanced behind her at the Turkish performer, who danced at a nearby table, dressed in a purple and silver outfit, the sequins on her bra shimmering in the light. The two slits in her floor-length skirt climbed all the way up her long legs, chiffon flowing around silver heels as she twirled. Long dark hair fell to her waist, swaying as she shook her head from side to side. Zehab lowered his eyes but looked up again to watch her move across the room. Now she danced for a family, joy emanating from her, those brown eyes sparkling as if she laughed through them.

Emir followed his gaze. "That one isn't too bad, either. Lacking on top, though." Yes, she was not as well-endowed as some of the other dancers, but the tight fit of her bra caused flesh to swell over the glittery cups. _Tempting._ Zehab looked away, uncomfortable with his thoughts—even though that was probably the reaction she craved.

He could not keep his gaze away from her for long and turned back to her, mesmerized by the waves of her flat belly. Cries of appreciation rose around her as she undulated her midriff. As she turned, her eyes met his for a moment. When she gave a seductive smile, unwanted sensation trailed inside him. What the fuck was wrong with him, reacting to a dancer in _this_ manner? She now had her back to him, and as she shimmied, the beads at her waist rippled—and when she lifted her hip to drop it with a kick, the skirt slits exposed the whole of her leg. Damn, the outfit gave the impression she wore no underwear: Zehab immediately pushed the thought from his head. A man at the table where she was dancing reached for her, but she jutted her hip out toward him, playful, before swirling away.

As she neared their table, Emir called for her to come over, his words slurred. She hesitated, glancing at the whiskey glass in his hand. Zehab inwardly groaned when several guests turned to watch as his companion took a wad of Turkish liras from his wallet and stretched his legs before him, inviting her to sit. The dancer's smile was no longer playful when she shook her head, but did Emir take the hint? He pulled out more notes, holding them out, but she walked straight past. Many pairs of eyes were now glued to the heir.

"Who does that slut think she is?" Emir muttered under his breath.

"Leave it, she is not worth it."

But the other man would not be told. He grabbed even more liras, his expression serious as he shouted at the dancer. She did not bother shaking her head this time, turning her back to him as she danced at the next table. Before Zehab could stop him, the drunken Emir had stood to approach her. Damn the idiot. If Zehab tried to stop him now, it would only cause a bigger scene. Emir stood in front of the dancer, and when he made a move to insert the notes inside her bra, she held his hand, her face tense.

"Slut!" he said. "Do you know who my father is?"

Her expression was cold as she held his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice loud and clear. "Why are you asking, sir? Do _you_ not know who your father is?"

Zehab could not decide who was more stunned: Emir or him. The dancer's expression did not even falter as her cold eyes flitted between them both. She gave the other man a final look of contempt before turning and walking away to dance at the next table. Muffled laughs rose around them as Emir was left clutching the money. Zehab stood to hold his companion's arm before he went after her, pulling him back to the table.

"Everyone is laughing at me," fumed Emir.

"Nobody cares." Damn Emir for embarrassing his father's name before some of Turkey's most elite businessmen.

The dancer had moved along the hall, and her smile returned as she performed, but her movements were less fluid. In the time he had spent with Emir, Zehab had seen no one even answer him back—most people subdued by an awareness of his wealth and power. But this woman—a mere _dancer_ —had refused his money and dared to insult him in public. A waiter came over to the dancer, whispering something in her ear. The smile disappeared from her face for a moment, but she recovered fast, graceful as she walked to the other side of the hall, where a manager waited. The officer could not be more sycophantic toward Zehab and Emir when they boarded yesterday, but as he waved his hands while speaking to her, he appeared too upset to consider they were in the presence of diners. The dancer's wide eyes lost their sparkle as she spoke, her cheeks flushed. What she said to Emir took guts, but she would pay for it. Eventually, the manager waved his hand, dismissing her. She glanced at Zehab's table before leaving the hall.

The lady in the red dress, who Emir had admired earlier, whispered something to one of her friends, and they both held their hands over their giggles as they stared at him.

Their mockery was not lost on Emir. "I'll make sure that cheap dancer pays for this," he muttered.

Zehab had come to dinner intending to progress discussions on the Alrihaz project and instead, was subjected to a cheap dance show and witnessed his potential business partner make an ass of himself. "Let's call it a night, Emir." After that fucked up spectacle, he had no desire to remain in this hall a moment longer.

He helped a stumbling Emir to his suite and after seeing him inside, headed to his own. How would he bear him for the next few days? He sighed, tired of being on this ship, exhausted by the small talk and the need to put up a constant show. He had to somehow tolerate the spoiled heir for now. What were a few days compared to sacrificing his best years to return respect to the Deniz enterprise after his late father's mistakes? There had been women along the way, but the liaisons never lasted long, the quest to take his place among Turkey's elite always taking precedence over personal desires. He had come too far to step back from a lucrative partnership over a personality clash. If only they could leave the cruise without causing a damn scandal.

How to make Emir understand that years of hard work could be thrown away in an instant, with reputations easily lost?

When a figure approached from the other side of the hallway, he froze. It was the Turkish dancer, wearing a black silk robe over her costume. She paused, recognizing him, her expression concerned as she glanced behind her at the empty corridor. Damn that Emir! Because of him, a _dancer_ considered Zehab a threat. She continued to walk toward him, head held high. Her robe slipped when she came closer, and his gaze went to the smooth skin above her bra. As he drew a sharp breath, she pulled the material together, covering herself. Her voice was ice as she looked him in the eyes. "I'm no longer on the dance floor, sir."

Her back was straight as she walked along the corridor, without glancing at him. He wanted to tell her he was not like Emir. _He_ had no interest in her. After all, he was accustomed to the classiest ladies falling over themselves for his attention and would not touch this woman even if she threw herself at him.

But what did he care what a dancer like _her_ thought?

He switched on the laptop for the last time before going to bed, responding to the most important business emails and then opening one from Meryem. _Meryem Abdil_. The highly educated daughter of a London businessman of Turkish origin, she was an heiress to her father's corporate empire and an entrepreneur in her own right, running a successful fashion house in London. It helped that she was beautiful to look at, too. Long black hair, tall and slim, with an oval face and green eyes. In her regular social media updates, she always appeared to have stepped out of a salon, and the designer dresses she favored were sexy while remaining classy. No excessive cleavage or leg show for her. His grandmother Ada had been right when she first sent him Meryem's details.

This woman was perfect for him.

Over the last two weeks, they had regularly emailed each other and talked over the phone a few times. Meryem was delighted when Zehab told her about being invited on a cruise by Emir Badem, and since then, most of her messages contained a reminder that he must make the most of the opportunity. He did not need reminding—the Alrihaz deal was one of a lifetime.

He paused as he read her latest message. How would he feel about her visiting Turkey soon so they could meet? He intended to meet her at the first opportunity—the Alrihaz partnership _and_ a potential engagement with a woman of her social standing would cement his position among Turkey's most exclusive business circles—but he closed the email without replying, intending to answer once he checked his schedule with his assistant Yagiz. He leaned back in the chair, allowing himself a satisfied smile. A few years ago, Meryem would not have even considered him an option. That was all the time it took for Zehab Deniz to return his late father's hotel enterprise to its former reputation. His only regret was that Mustafa was not here to witness the Deniz brand expand to become a respected name in Turkey again.

He turned off the laptop and then took his time washing, relaxed under the rainfall shower, the marble flooring cool under his feet. In the bedroom, after drawing the bed sheet around himself, he lay wide awake. He often had difficulty falling asleep, his head full of plans for Deniz Ankara and concerns about the potential partnership with Alrihaz. But tonight, his thoughts kept returning to the dancer. Her determined expression when she held Emir's hand had been such a contrast to her former playfulness that it shook him. Admiration flared up for her, and he had to admit that watching her put that brat Emir in his place had been an experience.

But what had the incident in the hallway been about? How could he let himself down, staring at a dancer in such a way? Her reaction had not been of the inviting opportunist he believed dancers like her to be. _I am no longer on the dance floor, sir._ Tonight, it was not just Emir who was put in his place by a mere belly dancer.

No wonder Zehab could not get her out of his mind.

LEYLA HAD DEALT WITH MEN like Zehab Deniz ever since she started dancing. Hypocrites who would stoop to any level to secure a business deal but scorned women like her. With respectable personas and big talk of family values and being morally upright, they expected their own wives or girlfriends to behave within the boundaries of respectability while they were free to enjoy the so-called bad women outside their homes. There were two types of women for these men: the ones they had public relationships with and those they slept with and discarded.

It was obvious which category Zehab and Emir had placed her in.

She took a dance veil from her bed, twisting it between her fingers. The manner in which Zehab had stared at her in the hallway earlier...he would never look at a woman from his own social circle so brazenly. She knew who he was, of course. She had graduated with a business degree and still had the habit of following entrepreneurial success stories, so immediately recognized one of Turkey's youngest self-made billionaires in the dining hall. These days, he regularly appeared in eligible bachelor lists in magazine gossip columns as well as featuring in business articles in the more respected media. Unlike Emir, his reputation was squeaky clean, with not even the hint of an affair reaching the public domain. And like herself, he was an only child who lost his parents early on in life. According to a recent business article, his father had developed the Deniz hotel brand out of nothing, making public claims about spreading it across the world, only to witness its deterioration before his death.

Was his father's failure the reason Zehab had worked so hard to revive the business?

After graduating, sound investments led to him launching a luxury hotel in Istanbul a few years ago—followed by hotels in Bursa and Atalya. And when he opened one in Izmir last year, _she_ was unexpectedly booked to perform at its launch. The hotel was all mosaics, ornate features and plush carpets, screaming of decadence and living up to expectations raised by clever marketing.

"You're lucky a dancer like _you_ has the opportunity to perform here," the event manager had told her.

At the staff orientation sessions before the cruise, the rumor had spread that Emir Badem and Zehab Deniz would be on the trip. There was excitement among the girls, especially when it came to the playboy heir Emir Bedim, but Leyla had been more curious about the self-made Zehab. Tonight, as she danced, she could not have been the only woman in the hall struck by his looks: dark hair, a chiseled jawline and muscled frame. When she moved closer to his table, he was even more striking than those magazine photographs, his skin tanned and smooth, and beneath his jacket, those shoulders were broad and arms strong. And when he watched her, her steps nearly faltered under the intensity of those gray eyes. Not for the first time, she felt insignificant beside the other performers. Her olive skin and dark hair were a common sight in Turkey, and there was a tinge of envy for the dancer Pauline, whose blond hair, blue eyes and large breasts probably represented a fantasy of many males in the room. She hoped to show off her dance skills instead, which were superior to those of the other dancers.

Dammit. Why the hell had she stooped to trying to impress him? Unlike the spoiled Emir, he had faced struggle, but it was unlikely that his attitudes toward women were any different.

In the small attached bathroom, she scrubbed her face, removing the layers of makeup before taking a quick shower. Two days of the cruise already gone. She returned from the bathroom and wrapped a towel around herself. After hanging the chiffon skirt in the small wardrobe, she arranged the dance bra and belt in a box. Along with her glittery heels, it joined the other boxes underneath the bed. It was a small room, with just enough space for a single bed, a wardrobe and dressing table. She had stuck a large poster featuring the legendary Turkish belly dancer Nesrin Topkapi on the wall, and smiled at it now—taking in the performer's sparkly costume as she recalled her late mother's stories of how, when she was a child, she would wait with her family to watch Nesrin's performances on television.

When she climbed into bed, she was unable to sleep. Would men like Emir ever stop treating her in this way? She had started working as a dancer years ago, while she was still studying her business degree, and it was becoming more difficult to hold her tongue when she was propositioned. But she loved dance, and during years of upheaval, her practice had been a constant that brought stability.

_Please, let this cruise change things_.

After this cruise, there might be others...This three month contract would look good on her profile and possibly lead to bigger hotels and events. Perhaps she would not have to work in seedy bars anymore.

When her mobile rang, she glanced at the clock on the wall as she answered it. Who could call at this late hour? "Leyla? Yes, this is the main office." She was accustomed to calls from the event administrators, reminding her of when she needed to be available for staff briefings or arrive backstage. "Please can you report to Mr. Yusuf's office tomorrow morning at 9...Leyla?"

"Yes," she managed. "I'll be there."

Tears now stung her eyes.

It's only my second day on the cruise, and I've already blown it.

# CHAPTER TWO

ZEHAB SAT ON THE BALCONY, a fresh coffee in his hand and laptop on a small table before him. He would join Emir for breakfast later, in the continental restaurant on the lower deck, but for now he stretched his legs, loving the comfort of loose shorts and the sun on his bare chest.

Time to get back to the laptop. His grandmother Ada had emailed, forwarding photos of Meryem Abdil receiving an entrepreneurship award. He had already browsed through the images on Meryem's business page but clicked on an icon to see her in a floor-length black gown at the London ceremony. Tall and graceful, facing the camera with perfect poise, her lips were painted red and the green of her eyes highlighted by dark eye liner. This award would be the first of many; she was a woman he could introduce with pride to business associates. After sending details of countless suitable women to Zehab, Ada had found someone who caught his interest. His attention went to the proud man standing next to Meryem—her father Abdil and an entrepreneur whose name was often mentioned in the same breath as Omar Badem.

Zehab emailed grandmother, assuring her that there was no need for her to fret as Meryem and he were managing the courtship on their own. He then made a quick call to his assistant to catch up on the progress of Deniz Ankara.

"Everything is going according to plan," Yagiz assured him. "I have a meeting with the construction manager this afternoon. The architect has come up with an interesting addition to the reception area. I'll run it by you after I am given further details."

He should not be out at sea when there was so much to be done at Ankara. "I haven't received menu options for the launch event yet."

"I will send them to you by this evening. There was an issue"—issue?—"with a couple of dishes as the caterer had not taken different cultural preferences in consideration, but it is being sorted as we speak."

"Good. Anything else I need to know about?"

"There is a local paper that wants to interview you. Great PR for the launch. As soon as you can, if you could give me the date you will return to Ankara—"

"I can let you know now." He flipped through dates in his mind. "After the cruise returns to Istanbul, I will spend two nights in the city before going to Ankara the next day." He could always return to his office in Istanbul if something came up.

"I'll make all the arrangements."

After ending the call, he leaned back in the chair, eyes closed and face lifted to the sun. His head was playing delinquent this morning, too, and he cursed when it returned to the dancer. Last night, even as he willed himself to fall asleep, images of her dancing and standing up to Emir had continued to flit through his head. But the real discomfort began when his thoughts traveled to when he met her in the hallway, his mind out of control as he imagined how it would have been to take her in his arms—kiss and touch her...his body heated even now, followed by embarrassment that _she_ was featuring in his fantasies.

His late father was right—sitting idle only led a man to his downfall.

He pulled on a white tee shirt and jeans before heading out of his suite to join Emir for breakfast. When he reached the deck, the other man's face was pale enough to cause concern. "Emir. Have you eaten?"

"The thought makes me sick."

Zehab took the seat opposite him. The ship would soon stop at Kusadasi, the popular Turkish resort. He would not disembark and instead bring his laptop to the deck, which would have fewer passengers during that time. "Why aren't you in your suite? You should be resting."

Dark circles under the eyes marred Emir's handsome features. "We need to talk." A Turkish man at the nearby table stared at them, and Emir scowled at him until he looked away. "Looks like many people are having fun at my expense. No doubt delighted at how I was insulted by a _dancer_." So much for Zehab's hope that Emir might have been so intoxicated last night that he would have forgotten the event by this morning. He was not in the mood to be around a sulking child. "Damn them, do they know who my father is? I could buy any of the men here and their women—" He froze as he spoke. It should not have been possible for his face to turn any paler, but it did, as his eyes fixed behind Zehab.

Zehab turned to see what had caused Emir's reaction, drawing a sharp breath. The dancer who had been occupying his own thoughts was walking through the restaurant. Today, only eye liner and lip gloss adorned her face, her hair braided at the front and pulled back so it fell to her waist. Her sleeveless white dress was simple with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flowed from the hips to her ankles—giving the illusion that she danced while walking. A long slit exposed tantalizing glimpses of her legs. She glanced at them, aware their eyes were on her, passing their table with her head held high. Emir turned back to add sugar to his coffee, but Zehab's gaze remained on her. As she walked away, the sunlight caused her form to become visible through that dress. The outline of her breasts and legs sent reactions pounding through his body. Twice in the space of half an hour. What the fuck was wrong with him?

When she disappeared down the stairway, he returned to the unappealing sight of Emir. It was as if the other man's behavior was rubbing off on him.

Emir scowled. "Did you see how she walked past us? As if we are nothing!"

It _was_ a strange feeling, being treated in that way. He was also accustomed to members of the opposite sex fawning over him, expertly flirting and even sidelining other women to grab his attention.

When a smiling Turkish hostess in a knee-length black dress approached them, asking Zehab for his order, he decided on a light breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs and fruit. Emir's eyes were on the hostess's backside as she walked away. "Look at these beautiful women around us...that dancer is nothing compared to them, but she behaves as if she is Miss Turkey!" Zehab had the feeling her attitude had little to do with her looks, but who could explain that to Emir? The other man sighed. "Imagine the things that people are saying about me."

"People will soon forget about what happened last night."

Emir nodded. "Perhaps you are right." It was a surprise that he agreed so readily. "But I need to talk to you about something else...about Alrihaz." Zehab pushed away the image of the dancer floating by in that near-transparent dress. This was it. If Emir was going to discuss the partnership, Zehab would make sure they made headway on the details today. He was done with his damn time being wasted. The other man cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable. Shit. What was he about to come out with? "We will look at entertainment, obviously—"

"There is nothing to be concerned about on that front." Why the hell were they sitting here talking about entertainment when there were more important issues to discuss? "The event manager has excellent profiles to choose from. International entertainers, aerial acts, LED performers with the latest technology—"

Emir tilted his head to one side. "I was thinking of adding belly dance."

" _Belly dance?_ "

"Why does that surprise you? Didn't you have a belly dancer at the launch of your hotel last year? I read about it in the press."

Heat crept to Zehab's face at the unwanted reminder. He took full responsibility for that mistake. When Deniz Izmir was launched, he had been so damn focused on details like the guest list and food, that he left the entertainment to the new manager. By the time he discovered that the manager had booked a belly dance show, advertising was underway—he had been so incensed by the idea of such a performance in his hotel that he did not attend the shows at the launch event. It did not gratify him one bit that the show was praised in the press the next day, the reviewer questioning why local event managers preferred entertainers from outside Turkey when there was so much talent in the country.

A half-naked woman dancing in a venue launched under his father's name? The new manager was subjected to an extended round of loud curses in Zehab's office after the launch and then given his marching orders. Following that incident, Zehab made it clear to each of his managers that such indiscretion would not be tolerated. He expected high standards in all areas of his business. For Deniz Ankara's launch, he resolved to be involved in every detail, even if it meant he often had to work through the night.

But Emir did not share his misgivings. "Didn't you see how the guests enjoyed themselves last night? It was fun, hot and sexy. Everyone loves belly dance!" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "The entertainment we are already looking at is great but on the serious side. _This_ is what we need to liven things."

The belly dance show _did_ have a good response from the audience, but this was Alrihaz. "Many people see it as low class. Cheap and titillating—"

"What nonsense! It is a traditional dance of Turkey."

Yes, the dance form had traditional roots in Turkey and was often a part of women's functions. When he was a young boy, his own female relatives would get together regularly to dance in their homes. But in shows such as the one last night, the dance was provocative and not something he wanted to associate with, professionally or personally. "You have the best international entertainers keen on contracts at Alrihaz. Why would you go for this?"

Emir waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We will have plenty of space to fill with entertainment. Putting in a belly dancer here and there won't affect the schedule."

Fuck it. If it was what the other man wanted _,_ Zehab would not waste his energy trying to convince him otherwise. He had better things to do with his time than spend it arguing over a partnership that was not a done deal. "In that case, perhaps you could instruct the entertainment manager to recruit a renowned belly dancer with an international following—someone who would complement the hotel's high standard."

"I think it would be good to promote local talent." Emir sipped the coffee, his lips curling up in disgust at the taste. "I have someone in mind."

"Who?"

"The Turkish dancer from last night. I checked with a staff member this morning. Her name is Leyla." _Leyla._ "She's in her mid-twenties and lives in Istanbul. You have always wanted to recruit local, haven't you?"

Yes, but not for this job. There were dancers like Leyla in every bar in Istanbul and there was nothing special about her...nothing that warranted a dream contract. "Why do you want to recruit _her?_ "

Emir shrugged his shoulders. "Don't you think she stood out?"

Dismissing last night's fantasies, "She was just another dancer. And Alrihaz does not need just another dancer. It needs the best." Emir did not respond, forcing Zehab to try a different tactic. "What about last night? After what happened, do you think this is a good idea?"

"I do not believe in letting personal feelings affect business decisions." He sighed. "But I imagine the dancer will not be enthusiastic if I approach her with the proposition. That is why I was hoping _you_ would talk to her."

What the fuck? "Me?" Again, he wondered that this man-child was Omar Badem's son.

"Yes. You." Emir leaned back in his chair and stared straight at him. "How about this? If you convince her to work in the new hotel, the partnership between Alrihaz and Deniz will be negotiated on terms favorable for you." With all the willpower he could muster, Zehab remained seated instead of leaving the table in a rage. Faced with constant adversity, he had always proven his business credentials since graduating from college. He had worked hard to achieve success—forgoing women, outings with friends and other pleasures that most men his age regarded a necessary indulgence. And today, the terms of a professional partnership depended on him recruiting a _belly dancer?_ Did the other man deliberately insult him? It was tempting to say no and walk away from this despicable proposal, but then Emir would only draw out the negotiations. And Zehab had assured Omar Badem that by the end of this trip, the terms of the partnership would be agreed. In any case, Zehab did not have time to waste. He had already initiated plans to take the Deniz brand beyond Turkey's borders, and the partnership with the global enterprise Alrihaz would enable a faster expansion.

And now the childhood memories returned; Zehab's father promising that one day they would travel the world as guests in their own hotels.

"Why don't _you_ speak to her?" A dancer like her would never say no to such a chance.

Emir leaned forward. "Do you think that after what happened, she would agree to an offer of work that came from me? If I was the one asking?" Perhaps not. But after the way _he_ stared at her in the hallway last night, Zehab may not have much more chance at convincing her. But if he managed it, it meant the partnership—the kind of association his father spent his life working toward—would be on paper. On _his_ terms. This would not be the first unsavory experience he tolerated to take the business forward, and it was unlikely to be the last.

Emir's smile was more of a smirk. "Indulge me on this one point, and your advice takes priority on other decisions related to Alrihaz. I will practically be a silent partner."

Why did Emir even wanted to recruit her—no, do her a favor, because that was what this was—after she insulted him? But whatever his reasons, they were not of any concern. In fact, such a childish demand might be what it took for the immature heir to move the business arrangement to the next stage. All Zehab had to do was ask the dancer Leyla one question and this damn deal would make progress. He broke his own rule of everything being talk until an agreement was signed, already visualizing his company expanding beyond Turkey. He could see the pride on his dear grandmother Ada and the sophisticated Meryem's faces as Deniz spread to countries outside Europe. It had taken a lifetime, but his dream—his father's dream—was within reach.

"Emir. If I do this, then you keep out of any decision-making when it comes to Alrihaz."

The other man readily agreed. "We both know that this stuff goes over my head, anyway. It's father who keeps wanting me to be involved."

Again, Omar Badem's insistence on including his son in business deals made little sense. Zehab glanced at the stairway Leyla had disappeared down a few minutes ago. A two-minute conversation and he would save days and weeks of time through not having to deal with Emir. "In that case, I will speak to her." After the cruise, he would return to Istanbul ready to head the new Alrihaz development, and once he joined hands with Omar Badem, few companies in Turkey's hospitality industry could touch them.

Fuck it. Speaking to the dancer was a small price to pay.

# CHAPTER THREE

LEYLA HAD TAKEN THE SHORTCUT across the deck to Yusuf's office even though staff had strict instructions about keeping out of the way of guests.

After receiving the call about this morning's meeting, she had found it difficult to sleep, resulting in her getting out of bed later than she intended. She was late for the appointment with Yusuf, and it only took a couple of minutes to cut across the deck. It was just her luck that Zehab and Emir would be in the restaurant. Emir's expression made it clear she was not forgiven. _As if I'm the one who needs to be forgiven._ When Zehab's gaze fell on her, she almost turned back to take the long way toward the manager's cabin. Instead, she drew a deep breath and continued. Only a few more seconds, and she would be there. She did not look at him but felt those gray eyes on her as she walked past.

Now she waited outside that toad Yusuf's office door. The despicable man must have taken great delight in summoning her. She knocked again, and his loud voice came from inside the room. "Wait!" Anything to remind her of his senior position.

Please. Just let him reprimand me and end it there.

It took many auditions and a lot of hard work to obtain this contract. When she boarded the luxurious ship two days ago, it still felt like a dream. This experience was a far cry from the restaurants and bars she had spent her career dancing in. She had put her business degree to use in her dance enterprise, spending nearly as much time on marketing as she did on her dance practice, but what to do about the prejudice against local dancers and event organizers who gave the best gigs to international performers?

Had the manager forgotten about her? She knocked at the door again. "I said wait!"

There was a small sofa in the hallway, but she stood by a round window that looked out on the deck, where Zehab sat. A hostess brought breakfast and coffee to him and then lingered by his shoulder, smiling at his breakfast as if she fancied eating it herself. He smiled and spoke little, unlike Emir, who—despite his wretched state—was unable to stop talking to the beautiful lady next to them. The hostess placed a hand on the back of Zehab's chair, and a shot of jealousy went through Leyla. Strange. It was an emotion she was unaccustomed to when it came to men. In fact, when she was a teenager, her friends labeled her as weird because whereas they took every opportunity to huddle together at school and talk about boys, Leyla remained at a distance, her head full of shimmies and choreography. And when she entered adulthood, her luck with the opposite sex did not improve. She had had a boyfriend, Mehmet, until last year. He seemed to accept her profession, but when their relationship became serious and they talked about her meeting his parents, he insisted she had to give up dance. When given a choice between performing and him, she chose the former.

The hostess now shifted closer to Zehab, whispering, but he did not pay her any attention. What did Leyla care who he enjoyed himself with, anyway? Yet there was relief when the woman walked away.

Zehab had dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt, far removed from the imposing persona of last night. Sat on the sunny deck, he appeared relaxed, and her eyes moved to his shoulders, strong and muscular under the tight fit of his tee shirt. How would it feel to be taken in those arms and be pressed against his chest? It was a silly fantasy, something that would never happen—something she did not want to happen. But there was nothing wrong with harmless amusement while she waited. So she allowed her imagination to travel with her gaze, from his shoulders to his chest, to his waist and lower...

There was a shout from the distance. Was someone calling her? Now it was louder. "Leyla! Come in."

Flustered, she looked away from Zehab to rush into the manager's office. For a few moments, she had forgotten about the unpleasant meeting. In his late forties, Yusuf had opted for his usual attire of a dark suit, and when he sat back in his chair, his swollen belly was visible as it strained against his trouser waistband. His expression made it obvious that this experience would be even more difficult than she feared. Last night, when he called her to him in the hall, he had asked how a third-rate dancer like her dared insult an illustrious guest like Emir Badem, but she had remained composed enough to not respond to his insults. What was the point? These men only saw provocation in her performances and would never see past the shimmer to the work she put into the art form. Or appreciate the joy she experienced when a performance brought smiles to the faces and praises to the lips of audience members.

When Yusuf spoke, a fold of skin wobbled under his chin. "That was an unfortunate incident."

_Remain calm, whatever the toad says._ "I handled it in the best way I could." She had never liked this man who treated employees as if he was doing them a personal favor by allowing them to be on the ship. He reserved a special disdain for the belly dancers. That annoyance rose again as she recalled their first meeting in Istanbul, when he tried to convince her to work at a lower salary than the other performers, just because she was a local. But she knew her worth and stood her ground, demanding the advertised pay for the job. He was surprised by her refusal to back down, even indicating it might jeopardize her chances of being selected. Her insistence on being paid fairly was a good move, because not only did she secure the contract, but after joining the cruise, it was obvious that the other dancers were not as skilled as her.

Yusuf looked down at the desk, his double chin resting on his chest. "Leyla. You offended an honorable guest."

"Sir. I allowed the minimum of drama to take place, given the situation."

"You could have taken the tip, and nobody would have been insulted."

Because dancers were beyond insult? "And the fact he invited me to sit on his lap? And then tried to stuff money inside my bra? You see nothing wrong with that?"

He was surprised by her words. Booking agents and artist managers were not accustomed to performers, especially those of the female variety, talking back to them. As if artists did not spend years practicing their craft, often living off a pittance so leeches like Yusuf could have good entertainment for their events and earn fantastic commissions. The manager did not even consider her words. Or feelings. "The other dancers don't mind."

And that made her wrong for standing up for herself? "Some of them do mind, but they have no choice but to put up with it. They have to make a living."

"I do not understand what the fuss is about! You are a belly dancer. It is to be expected." As if she had not heard that excuse before from different venue managers. It was why she had given up complaining about customer behavior long ago. Yusuf paused before sighing deep, a waft of his stale breath floating across the table. Leyla shifted so she faced the other way. "Can you blame a few guests for behaving in that manner? When you think of the things belly dancers do? You know as I do that in clubs, some of them make themselves available for men to—"

"There are also male guests who cannot help but behave like assholes around dancers. So by that definition, all men who come to watch the dance shows deserve to be treated as assholes, right?" Damn her tongue. Why did it always go out of control when it came to this subject?

Yusuf's voice hardened. "One thing is clear, Leyla. You do not fit in with the values of our company." He glanced at the table again before looking up at her. "So we're going to let you go."

"Let me go? But I have just started a three-month contract—"

"If you had bothered to read that contract, you would know that Star Cruises expects its staff to uphold certain standards. This action is well within our rights." He opened the file before him. Her contract. "You will receive full payment for this cruise, but there is no need for you to perform from today."

"You can't do that. I left a job for this contract."

He shrugged. "If you are unhappy with the decision, you are well within your rights to pursue a case in court"—as if the toad did not know that she was in no financial position to do that—"and unless there is something else you want to say, this meeting is over."

She could scream at the unfairness. When tears bit at her eyes, she lowered her gaze. She would not cry in front of him, she just would not. She stood. "Thank you for your time. Sir."

I could kill you, you bastard.

When she had closed the door behind her, the tears fell. _What the fuck am I going to do now?_ She had been sharing an apartment with another woman in Istanbul, but after receiving the offer for three months of work with the cruise company, she gave up her room. Nowhere to live and no job. She wiped at her eyes and there was Zehab, stood before her. What the hell was _he_ doing here? This was the fault of that pervert friend of his, but nobody would ever dare say anything to the likes of _them_. Because they were not just men, but rich fuckers. His eyes landed on hers, and the apparent concern on his face only made her want to have a go at him. And she was pissed with herself, too, that he would see her like this and know they had hurt her. Her voice was bitter when she spoke. "Come to gloat, have you?" She was out of order talking to a guest like this, but what could he do? Complain to Yusuf?

He swallowed. "Are you all right?"

"No. And your privileged ass must be so pleased by that news."

Surprise flitted across his face, but she was done with these men whose main accomplishment in life seemed to be putting women in their place, whether in the home or at work. There was a choice tirade of insults at her lips but she did not want to give him the satisfaction. And to be honest, she did not put it past Yusuf to leave her stranded at Kusadasi, just to teach her a lesson. Before walking past him, she gave Zehab another cold look.

Men like him would never allow her to practice her profession in peace, always ready to sabotage her hard work and achievements.

ZEHAB HAD ONLY GONE AFTER Leyla to put Emir's offer in front of her.

Leaving his breakfast on the table, he decided to get this over and done with before he changed his mind. As he approached the stairway from the deck, he glimpsed her through the window as she entered Yusuf's office. Leaning against the wall as he waited in the hallway, he considered how he might bring up the subject of Alrihaz. He was accustomed to negotiating with experienced business magnates in board meetings as they discussed terms and conditions of lucrative contracts, so why the hell was he stressing over this trivial matter? It would be a straightforward conversation—just the mention of Alrihaz would have her salivating.

By the time Leyla came out of the office, he was ready to make the offer. But she left the room with tears streaming down her face. Something had upset her, badly. An unfamiliar sensation pulled inside him—her misery was such a contrast with her happiness when she danced. He wanted—needed—to know what was wrong and had a mad desire to comfort her, but she looked at him with an expression of such hatred that it took him aback. And then she mentioned his privileged ass. No woman—or man—had ever talked to him in such a rude manner; not since he left college, anyway. He remained silent as she walked past him, leaving a hint of her perfume lingering behind.

What the hell had caused her reaction?

He entered the manager's office without knocking on the door. He had to know what upset her. Now. Yusuf stood to shake his hand. "Mr. Deniz. Please sit. How may I be of assistance?"

"What did you say to her?"

The manager covered his frown with a smile. "Sir is talking about Leyla?" He nodded, slow. Yusuf sat, inviting him to take the seat opposite. "I have let her go."

Zehab looked up, an edge to his voice. "You _fired_ her?"

The other man now appeared nervous. "Yes. You will be pleased to know that I have taken immediate action. We all saw how she insulted Mr. Badem, your dear friend—"

So that was what caused her tears? Before her expression turned so cold. This squirming worm of a manager had fired her for refusing to take a tip from Emir? For responding to his insult? It was an effort to keep calm. "Call her back and tell her you have changed your mind."

"But—"

Zehab leaned forward, his voice rising. "Call her back. Or else _you_ may need a new job."

Yusuf picked up his mobile, his fingers shaking. "Please ask Leyla to return to my cabin. No, she needs to come immediately. It is important...now!" He placed the phone back on the table, an artificial smile stuck to his lips. "Some coffee, Mr. Deniz?" Zehab refused, but the manager was keen to appease him. "Do not worry, sir. I will be discreet about your request." Did Yusuf just wink at him? "It is normal for guests to...be interested in dancers."

Zehab's jaw tensed. He would tolerate no one thinking he did this for any reason other than recruiting Leyla for Alrihaz. This manager thought that he— _Zehab Deniz_ —was interested in a belly dancer? His voice hardened. "Nobody is interested in anyone. I do not want a dancer to lose her job over an incident that involved my business associate."

The ingratiating smile on the other man's face did not shift as he changed his tune. "Nobody is insinuating that, sir. After all, what would a man of your standing want with someone like Leyla?" He lowered his voice. "I have heard the poor girl doesn't even have parents. Can you imagine the things she must have had to do—" The door opened behind Zehab, the scent that had invaded his nostrils in the hallway entering the room. Yusuf reacted as if he had just seen his favorite person in the world. "Leyla! Thank you for coming."

Zehab stood. "I trust there will be no need to speak on issues of this nature again."

Yusuf also stood to shake his hand again. "I understand."

Zehab turned to Leyla, but she did not even look at him. Her cheeks still shone where her tears had rested. He directed a glare at Yusuf, one that caused the manager to collapse onto his chair, before walking past Leyla and then closing the door behind him.

Later that afternoon, a part of Zehab wished he had remained in Yusuf's office as the manager gave Leyla the good news, so he could have seen the happiness return to her face. How would she have reacted after Yusuf told her she would not be fired?

He pushed her from his mind as he sat on an outdoor deck and went through the launch plans for Deniz Ankara. Wearing just shorts, he was relaxed and glad to return to work—hell, there was plenty to get through.

Emir was already on Kusadasi beach. He had badgered Zehab like a child, insisting he join him, only relenting when Zehab said he intended to talk to Leyla about Emir's offer today. He had no intention of seeking the dancer out, not yet. As soon as Emir was out of the way, he came up to this deck. There were only a few guests around and plenty of empty tables so he settled at one with a strong coffee. But the lack of people meant the hostesses were even more attentive than usual. They were only doing their job, but when a hostess approached him for the umpteenth time in an hour to check if sir required something from the menu, his patience was gone. And then a comely American lady ignored the rest of the empty tables, asking if she could share his. At that point, he decided that the only way to escape distraction was to return to his suite, telling the surprised woman that she was welcome to have the table to herself.

In his suite, a call to Yagiz, confirming that Deniz Izmir was fully booked for the upcoming season, restored his good mood. His assistant had collated recent reviews of the hotel and the accompanying restaurants. It was being recommended in all media, and even though it only opened last year, was rated alongside the longer established hotels in the city. Fantastic news.

Around lunchtime, he ordered a chicken _Pad Thai_ to be delivered to his suite. He barely tasted it, examining images and reports of the Ankara development in between forkfuls. As he clicked on his post-cruise schedule, there was a knock at the door, and he pulled on a pair of jeans, expecting a bored Emir to be back from his excursion. But when he opened the door, he was stumped by the person who stood there.

Leyla?

For a moment, he could not speak. What the hell was she doing here?

Something constricted inside his chest when she smiled at him. "Can I speak to you, Mr. Deniz? It won't take long."

"Come in." He wanted no gossipmongers seeing her outside his suite, especially after Yusuf had already questioned his motives for helping her.

She hesitated, the invitation seeming to surprise her, before stepping inside. When he closed the door, she stood in the middle of the suite, her mouth open as she took in the expensive floorboards, three-piece sofa set, table, desk, chair and balcony. He leaned against the wall, watching—finding her reaction entertaining—as her gaze rested in delight on the large mirror that covered most of a wall.

Her eyes were even larger now they opened in wonder. "It is so beautiful here. You have everything!"

He shrugged. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Passenger list—" She clutched at the skirt of her white dress as she spoke. Normally such an intrusion would have pissed the hell out of him, so why wasn't he irritated with _her?_ "I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to say thank you." Her eyes glanced at his chest before darting away. "For speaking to the manager. You have no idea how much it means to have my job back." The breeze from the balcony caused her hair to fly across her face. "I thought you were like your friend..." She shook her head. "But you helped me."

He did not help her, not really. If it was not for the Alrihaz contract, he would have no interest in Leyla...Would he? He cleared his throat. "Emir regrets the other night. Unfortunately, he did not have the chance to apologize—"

"I do not expect apologies, not anymore." She was now serious, and he missed her smile. "I've got used to this behavior."

When she stepped back to admire artwork on the wall to the side of his desk, Zehab swallowed. She had moved closer to the balcony, and the light made her clothing semi-transparent. The breeze caused her dress to mold against her body, outlining her form, but she was unaware as she admired the painting's colors. His gaze traveled over her, and a mad fantasy crossed his mind, of taking her in his arms and exploring that tempting body with his mouth—kissing her eyes, tasting her lips, caressing the soft mounds visible above her dress neckline...

I have to stop this insanity.

He turned away from her, searching through the wardrobe for a shirt. There were only a few options in there, but he needed time to get rid of that growing problem in his jeans. There was a mirror in the wardrobe, and he could not help but watch her reflection in it. She had moved from the artwork to stand in front of the large mirror. What _would_ she have done if he approached her? Responded, most likely. After all, weren't women such as her always on the lookout for men like him?

What was he doing, fantasizing about a liaison with someone like her? It was only last night that he told Emir he would never lower his standards. His eyes were on her reflection as he pulled on a shirt, and she was now shimmying her hips as if unaware of his presence. He dragged his gaze away as he filled his mind with images of Meryem, his ideal woman. Once he had calmed down, he slammed the wardrobe door, the sound for her benefit. She stopped shimmying. "I'm sorry. I do it without thinking, as soon as I see a mirror."

"Why don't you sit down?"

If she continued to stand by the light wearing that dress, he was not sure if he could control these uncomfortable urges.

"I'll leave now," she said, to his surprise—the woman he had imagined her to be would take every opportunity to get closer. "Mr. Yusuf somehow gave permission for the dancers to use the quieter decks today. As there are fewer guests on the ship, they will be empty." There was a wide smile on her face. "I am looking forward to being in the sun, I get fed up being stuck in my room all the time." She tilted her head at him. "You didn't go to Kusadasi?"

The popular beach resort had too many tourists, and he had little liking for it, despite the fond childhood memories of visiting it with his mother. "I had work to do."

Her eyes widened as if this was the most unbelievable thing she had ever heard. "You chose to work instead of going to the beach? While on vacation?"

He nodded. "Work is important to me."

"And what do you do when you're not working?" He once frequented art galleries and auctions, but he did not have time for even that activity since he purchased the villa in Ankara. She raised her eyebrows. "Come on, there is something else you must do." When he shook his head, she ventured, "Do you enjoy your work?"

" _Enjoy_ my work?" It was something that never crossed his mind. After leaving college, he was driven by the need to restore Deniz's reputation and once that objective was achieved, his only concern was to reach the top of Turkey's hospitality industry. Enjoyment did not come into it. But that was something _she_ would not understand. Better to change the subject. "But why aren't _you_ on the beach?"

That scowl was cute. "We're not allowed to leave the ship." And now she suddenly grinned. "In case we compromise any guests." He could not help it—he smiled at her words. "Such a shame. I've never been to Kusadasi."

Never been to Kusadasi? "But don't you live in Istanbul?"

"Yes, but I only travel when I visit my auntie in Konya or have shows outside Istanbul, like at your hotel in Izmir last year." That threw him. _She_ was the belly dancer who had performed at the launch event? "But I am so looking forward to when the ship stops in Greece, and I will see it from the deck. I have never been outside Turkey."

That was difficult to believe. "Not even to other parts of Europe?"

"Never." She sighed. "But I've always dreamed of traveling."

The idea of her viewing a port from the ship and that being her only experience of the country made him feel weird, almost...angry. "We stopped at a port in Greece yesterday."

When she pouted, he almost groaned. "The manager would not allow us to go on the deck and told us to rehearse instead." She shrugged her shoulders, drawing his attention to her cleavage. "Anyway, I better get going."

"Wait." He stepped in front of her, opening the door and then checking to make sure nobody was in the hallway. "You can go now."

Her friendly expression faltered, uncovering the hurt underneath. She recovered fast, giving him a bright smile before she left the suite.

That afternoon, when Emir sent Zehab a message asking him to meet him in the main dining hall again for dinner that evening, he was not as wary of the experience as he had been the previous night.

He chose a dark gray suit and once dressed, he still had half an hour before he needed to leave for the dinner hall. As soon as he logged onto his laptop, he received a notification that his grandmother Ada wanted to speak to him. Moments later, a video of her appeared on the screen. How long had she been waiting for him to log on? Her face was full of makeup and her hair tied back in a bun, a hairstyle she had preferred for the last few years, believing it ironed out her wrinkles. She was in a black shirt and trousers, smiling as she leaned into the camera. "Are you all right? You look tired."

"No need to worry, I am all right." He smiled to reassure his grandmother, the only living relative he was close to.

Tiredness be damned, he would not stop until he achieved what he had set out to do, driven by the same determination that once consumed his father Mustafa. Despite being economically challenged, Mustafa's father sent him to a good college where his inferior status was only emphasized by his better off cousins and new friends. After college, Zehab's father borrowed funds and worked like a madman, launching Deniz hotels around Turkey. He was close to opening one in London when he made ill-fated professional decisions that led to the collapse of the business he spent years building. He died a few years later, but for Zehab, his father was lost to him the day he learned he had ruined himself—lost all that respect he worked so fucking hard to accumulate. Mustafa was berated for his ambition by the family, only his mother Ada comforting him in his time of need. Zehab never forgave his relatives for the taunts that did not stop until father was on his deathbed.

His grandmother now frowned. "You are a strange boy. I would never have thought that it was possible for someone to look more exhausted after going on vacation."

"When will you stop treating me like a child?"

Ada leaned back, sighing. "You will always be a child to me. Until you have children of your own. That reminds me. Meryem wants to come to Turkey to meet you."

"I just needed to sort out my schedule."

"You _will_ meet her?"

"Of course."

A mischievous grin lit her aged face. "Wonderful! I will speak to her and arrange—"

"We have spoken about this several times. Meryem and I have an understanding."

"And does she also agree that you should postpone any potential engagement until after you have secured a deal with that idiot Emir, and Deniz is on its way to becoming a recognized name around the world?" She shook her head. "Your father wasted his life for this damn hotel business. By the end, he wasn't even my son anymore. Don't do the same."

The partnership with the global brand Alrihaz was not only the next step; it also meant that his late father's dream of expanding the Deniz name around the world would become a reality. Fast. "I am doing this for _him_."

"Now is not the time to drag up the past." She sighed, deep. "Tell me, how is your vacation going? Anything interesting?"

An image of Leyla flitted before his eyes. Soon, he would watch her dance again. "No, grandmother."

After ending the video call, he opened his inbox. There was another message from Meryem, asking if she should make arrangements to visit. She did not wish to push, she emphasized, but would have to arrange the trip around her work, so the sooner she knew the better. He looked forward to meeting her in Istanbul, he responded, and would be in touch soon to make plans.

EMIR WAS IN A MORE somber mood tonight, always a relief.

As they enjoyed the starter of burrata and blushed tomatoes, the conversation was bearable as it hovered around developments in the Turkish hotel industry. The hall's brightness and its high occupancy did not bother Zehab as it did last night, the laughter and noise not as invasive. Men and woman sat in poses that showed off their finery as liveried waiters rushed past tables, the aromas of sizzling main courses wafting with them. Last night's host, Rick, made an entrance—accompanied by loud enthusiasm, as if he was already a close friend of audience members. When he announced the belly dance show, Zehab tried to project disinterest as he picked up his whiskey glass. The drummers played in perfect unison as the curtains opened, but Leyla was not among the dancers. Perhaps she would perform after the break?

"She won't be here tonight as there is a rota," Emir mentioned, "There are also shows in the theater every evening, so the performers switch between the two venues." He sipped his whiskey. "Did you speak to Leyla?" Zehab shook his head. He only remembered about the damn job offer once she left his suite. "You should talk to that manager—what's his name? He can arrange a meeting."

Yusuf was the last person Zehab wanted to discuss Leyla with. "It will get done without involving anyone else." He returned the whiskey glass to the table. If he had known she was not performing, would he have been as keen to attend dinner tonight?

"I spoke to father this morning." He forced his attention to Emir. "I told him that by the time we return to Istanbul, the partnership will be in place, and he was delighted."

Zehab kept his voice level. "It would be an honor to work with your father."

There was a sly smile on Emir's face. "I mentioned there were minor issues to sort before we agreed on the details"—the weasel was reminding him that he would draw out the negotiations if Zehab did not deliver what he wanted—"and he is keen we confirm the contract terms, so he can meet with you and get things going. Apparently, your work ethics are invaluable, and he wants you involved in Alrihaz as soon as possible." The other man leaned back, regarding him as if he had never seen him before. "Do you know something? When father talks about you, and how you pulled Deniz back up to where it once was, there is a spark in his eyes." Emir's jaw was set, his expression grim. "The last time father expressed his pride in me was the day I graduated. Since then, I have only been a disappointment."

And that surprised him? "In his interviews, your father only has high things to say of you."

"Yes, but does that spark light his eyes when he speaks about me? No. It hasn't for years." Emir took another gulp of whiskey, frowning. "Since you announced Deniz Ankara, father makes a point of reminding me of your success at every opportunity, and how you are _self-made_. _He_ is the one who insisted I invite you to this cruise. So we could talk over the contract details."

The other man's resentment was not his problem. "That is understandable."

Emir scoffed. "Do you know what the real reason is? He hopes I will learn from you. That's the reason he asked me to handle this negotiation, or else he would never let me anywhere near such an important contract." And it now made sense why Omar Badem had requested that Zehab join his son on the cruise. The news should have flattered him—that the respected entrepreneur recognized his achievements and worth. But Emir's voice dripped ice as he spoke. "I am sure he wishes he had a son like you. What do you think? Would it have been less disappointing for my father, if _you_ were his son?"

Zehab had put the delays to the contract down to the other man's lack of discipline, but perhaps an underlying antagonism was behind Emir's behavior? The reasons made no difference, in any case; it was only the outcome that mattered. Jealousy and animosity were the price of success, and his business decisions would never be swayed by others' emotions.

WHEN ZEHAB AWAKENED THE NEXT morning, the ship had stopped in Crete. His eyes were heavy, and a bloody headache was coming on, due to another night of tossing and turning. He passed on breakfast, and after answering his emails, took his time in the shower, relaxing under the fall of the water.

He would remain on the ship again because Crete was another of those destinations that no longer held any novelty. Had Leyla been up to the deck for her first view of the country? Shit. She had this terrible habit of popping into his head unbidden. When he did get to sleep last night, she had featured in his dreams in a rather pleasant manner. Had she also been thinking of him? She would be on the ship all day, with few guests around...it would be so easy to arrange to meet. He leaned against the wall for support as he allowed himself the pleasure of a fantasy, imagining her in the shower with him, her naked and wet body sliding against him, her nipples grazing his chest as that beautiful mouth made its way from his neck, down over his stomach...

He cursed as he turned off the shower. Deniz Ankara was all that had occupied him for the past few months, which meant he had been without a woman for too long. That explained the confusing thoughts about Leyla, the type of woman who did not deserve a second glance.

Why can't I fantasize about Meryem instead, who is perfect and coming to Istanbul to meet me?

He contacted room service to order coffee and toast and then sat in front of his laptop for half an hour without writing a word. Perhaps a short break would do him good. Dressed in black shorts and a gray tee shirt, he went up to a deck. Even the few people there were too much, so he moved on. Further up, a lady—the one who caught Emir's attention on their first evening in the dining room—lay on a lounger, clad in a tiny hot pink bikini. She smiled at him, gazing at his strong legs, but he ignored her. It was less busy as he walked toward the areas with fewer facilities, and soon he reached a deck where there were only a handful of dancers and no guests. His gaze automatically searched for Leyla among the performers, but she was not with them—not that he would have talked to her in public. There were giggles and loud whispers as he passed the small group of women. The next area was deserted, perhaps because there were no facilities, and no staff other than a single crew member. Zehab checked the cruise app. This deck led to another, which was likely to have no bodies. Perfect. He followed the directions and sure enough, the area contained only three loungers. And Leyla.

She stood with her back to him, in a white bikini top and shorts, her gaze running along Crete's striking coastline. Her longing was obvious as she took in the long stretch of sand, a smile on her face at the sight of people lazing on the beach. As if sensing his presence, she turned, hiding her surprise behind a smile. "Mr. Deniz?" She glanced around her. "You also wanted to be alone?" She picked up the duffel bag resting on a lounger. "I'll get out of your way."

He shook his head, his eyes flitting between her bikini top and tiny shorts. "There is no need."

"It's all right." She struggled with the bag strap. "Anyway, I should get to know the other dancers if I'm going to be with them for three months."

Again, her reaction was not what he had grown to expect from women like her. His business associates often spoke of how it was the dream of every dancer to trap a man of means. Yet Leyla could not get away from him fast enough. His voice was firm. "You can stay." Because he did not want her to leave? "You won't disturb me."

Her eyes lit up, making his chest tighten. "Thank you." She moved her bag from the lounger, placing it on the floor. "Because I am in the mood for reading my book." Zehab sat on the lounger next to hers, removing his tee shirt. "The girls are great, but they love their gossip." She then blurted, "And most of it's about you and Emir!" Her face turned pink as she placed her hand over her mouth, as if surprised by her own admission. The expression made him smile. "I'll keep quiet now." She sat on a lounger before opening her bag to pull out a book and sunblock. When she lifted her hips to remove those shorts, he nearly suffered a heart attack. The sight of her in that revealing bikini was bloody tempting...damn, a book would be handy for him, too, if only to divert his attention. She twisted her body in all directions to spread sunblock over her legs, and when she arched her back to apply it to her shoulders, he almost asked if she needed help.

Why the hell was he behaving like Emir?

She lay back and buried her nose in a book—judging by its cover, it was a Turkish romance novel. She glanced at him over the top of her book. "You can lie down." Her smile was teasing. "I promise not to touch you."

He also smiled before lying across the lounger. Shit. What an idiotic idea. It was too comfortable, too intimate a position. What the hell was he doing? Just yesterday he worried about the possibility of someone seeing her leave his room, and now he lay by her on an empty deck? With them both dressed in next to nothing. What if a crew member came along?

And when did _he_ get so fucking uptight?

There was nothing untoward about this. He closed his eyes, her gentle breathing calming, and the sun hot on his skin. Being on the deck with her, just the two of them, was peaceful. Some time later, her earlier comment sprang to mind, and he opened his eyes. She was still engrossed in that book. "Leyla, what do your friends say about Emir and me?"

She gave him a friendly smile before turning over to her front, resting on her elbows to look down at him. "What do _you_ think?"

He pulled his gaze away from how her arms squeezed her breasts together. "I can't even imagine." He _could_ guess at the gossip that went on in the dancers' changing rooms, but he wanted to hear it from her.

"I could tell you, but I fear it may embarrass you."

"I am not easily embarrassed."

She lifted her eyebrows, as if she did not believe him. "How much detail would you like?"

Feeling brazen, he replied, "As much as you want to give."

She laughed. "Don't worry, it's all good stuff." She bit her lower lip, giggling. "Apparently, you and Emir are sex on legs." He could not prevent the grin from spreading across his face. "No need to look so pleased about it." Her familiar attitude would have offended him if she was anyone else. "One girl would like to do some very violent things to you in every location possible on this ship, and that includes the public bathrooms. If she knew I was here with you, she would scratch my eyes out."

None of the women he was accustomed to would talk so openly. Hailing from prestigious backgrounds and with images to protect, they monitored every word that came out of their surgically enhanced mouths. "You're teasing me."

"I resent that accusation." She covered her mouth in mock indignation. "This morning, some girls went into extreme detail about what they would do to you if they got you alone. Your chest and lips were ravished over and over again, sir. And as for the rest of you—" She fanned herself with her book, her movements exaggerated and the clownish display a departure from the sophisticated dancer on the stage the other night.

He laughed out loud. "You are mad."

She stared at him, curious. "It's the first time I've seen you laugh. It suits you." When he did not answer, she turned onto her back again. "Anyway, thank you again. For helping me yesterday."

Again, that discomfort. "As I said, it is nothing."

"You will never understand what it means." Her voice was now heavy as she sat up.

"What is wrong?" He also sat, almost reaching for her. That smile was still fixed to her face, but there was a sudden distance between them that confused him.

"Nothing." She shrugged. "You won't get it, but when Yusuf told me I was fired, for a moment I had had enough. I considered giving up performing."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

She paused, her eyes flitting across his face. "You think little of my profession, don't you?"

What was there to think highly of? "There is other work you could do."

"I love what I do." She tilted her head to the side, staring at him. "There _are_ other jobs I could do. Just for money. But what could be worse than that?"

Most people worked for just the money, so what was her problem with it? "You are right. I do not understand."

"At least we agree on one thing." She smacked her book shut. "I work as a dancer because I love it. And dancing is more important to me than the fear of what others may think."

"But don't you get affected by those men staring at you? At your body?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Why? Do you?" Her head tilted as she grinned, teasing him and sending a reaction to his nether regions. "You obviously don't have a high opinion of belly dance, perhaps because it affects your sensibilities. Why don't those same sensibilities get affected by hanging out and working with men like Emir? Because male transgressions are not as offensive?"

"I do not agree with Emir's behavior the other night."

"Yet being seen with _him_ in public is acceptable to you. Why?" The matter was not as straightforward as she made out. "Why is it that however _he_ behaves, he is still respected?" She sighed. "And who the hell cares about respect, anyway? It's just about putting on a public face, denying what you truly want to impress strangers. Ridiculous!" Wasn't that what had made him pursue his business endeavors with such ruthlessness? To make a name and impress others? He pushed the thought away. What the hell did _she_ know about these things? All she had ever done was dance. She placed her book and sunblock inside her bag. "Of course I have a hard time, but it's been harder. When I was at university, I danced in bars that were little more than brothels—"

" _Brothels?_ " Fuck. He hardly knew her, yet the thought of her in a place like that pissed him off.

"I only danced, mind you." Why was she so open about her past, when most people would hide such details? "I still perform in cheaper bars and restaurants sometimes. It's not great how men turn an art form into something dirty and then treat _us_ as if we're cheap." She swung her legs over the lounger's edge. "But few people are lucky enough to make a living from what they love. If others think or say bad things about me, there's something wrong with _them_ , not with what I do."

She reached for her shorts, pulling them over her ankles. She lay back on the lounger again, and when she lifted her backside to squeeze into them, Zehab pulled his eyes away. He had to keep her talking, divert his attention from her lithe limbs. "Why don't you stop working in those bars and restaurants? Do more jobs like this?"

"Because I enjoy performing in sleazy venues." She grinned at his expression. "Come on, local dancers aren't valued unless they're famous, regardless of talent. The best contracts go to the famous performers or the ones from outside Turkey. I only got the show at your hotel because the dancer's flight was delayed and the more well-known artists were not available at short notice. Your entertainment manager had booked a belly dancer from Russia." She took a tee shirt from her bag and then lifted her arms to pull it down over her body. When it stuck above her breasts, it took all his willpower to resist the urge to reach out. She pulled it down with no assistance, but in Zehab's mind, the backs of his fingers trailed down her soft skin. "Enough of my misery, that's not what you came to the deck for. I better get back...the guests will return soon."

"I will speak to Yusuf," he said, impulsive. "About allowing you to leave the ship when we stop tomorrow."

There was a question in her voice. "If you keep intervening on my behalf, it will not only be the manager who is confused."

Her eyes locked with his as she bit that luscious lower lip. He needed to look away before he did something stupid. But he had no control over his gaze, and as it moved over her breasts and shorts before landing on her lips, her breath quickened.

"Leyla!"

She turned away, breaking the moment. Quickly standing, she picked up her duffel bag. "Shit! It's one of the dancers!"

Another high-pitched cry. "Leyla! Where are you? We need to change the choreo for tonight."

Before leaving, she paused, staring at him. "Hope to see you at tonight's show, Mr. Deniz."

Damn the anticipation that rushed through him. "You'll be in the dining hall tonight?"

"Yes." She gave him another smile before turning, hurrying down the stairway.

He lay back, closing his eyes as he tried to relax. But now the deck felt too empty. He wanted the sound of Leyla's laughter, her smiles and those furtive glances. As he pulled his tee shirt on, he could not decide whether he was relieved or pissed that they had been disturbed, but one thing was certain.

He needed to keep a distance from her for the rest of this damn cruise.

# CHAPTER FOUR

THAT EVENING, LEYLA CHOSE a black and gold outfit. As she pulled the satin skirt over her hips, she recalled how Zehab had stared at her on the deck, all broody and intense. And a sensual fantasy entered her mind, of dancing just for him. _Where the hell did that come from?_ Her ex-boyfriend Mehmet had often harangued her to do a private dance for him, even as he complained about her performing in public, but she had always resisted, uncomfortable. Yet the idea of dancing for Zehab caused heat to pool between her thighs.

"Leyla! Are you ready?"

She smiled at Pauline. "Nearly." As the only Turkish dancer in the group, Leyla felt like an outsider at first, but Pauline made her feel welcome. She enjoyed their little chats as they got changed each evening, surrounded by the conversations and excitement of the other girls. "I just need to check my costume." The belt was covered in gold embroidery and shiny beads dangled from it. The bra was tight with padding that forced her breasts together, and she arranged the matching bead necklace to provide coverage. Once she had fastened the matching armlets to her upper arms, she lifted her hands in different positions to ensure the costume, particularly the bra, would stay put during the performance. "It looks all right?"

Pauline adjusted Leyla's belt at the back. "That's better."

"Thank you."

"Leyla? When you have a chance, could we go over the exercises you use for belly rolls? I just can't get my stomach to move like yours."

"Of course. We can do it in my room. How about coffee and cake, too?"

"That sounds bloody awesome."

As the dancers made their way backstage, Leyla's mind went to the earlier conversation with Zehab. She had opened up to him about her love of dance, even though he had made it clear how little he thought of her profession. The disdain for her occupation was not new, so why did it bother her that he thought the same as many others?

She was not naïve—it was obvious he was attracted to her. If those looks he gave her were not enough indication, there was the fact that he spent time on the deck with her and had even offered to intervene with Yusuf again on her behalf. Men like Zehab did not behave that way toward random dancers. And to be honest, since he arranged for her to keep her job, her opinion of him had changed. When she visited his suite yesterday, she was initially amazed by the room she had previously only seen in the cruise brochure, but then her attention went to his bare muscled chest. Heat had burned her core, surprising her. And today, on the deck...they had shared a moment. _Shared_ a moment? _Leyla, don't be an idiot._ The most she could hope from Zehab was a little less contempt.

After she had waited backstage with six other performers for half an hour, the event manager came over. "Ready for your inspection?" Tall and handsome, he had also become the subject of salacious talk after being introduced to the dancers—until the first night when he announced he would check their costumes before each performance to make sure they were up to the standard expected. The fucking worm. Pauline wore a particularly brief bra today and apparently warranted a longer visual inspection than usual.

A backstage assistant approached the performers, dressed in a business suit as if she was on her way to a corporate meeting, her dark hair pulled back and glasses perched on the end of her nose. She barely glanced at them. "Going on in five."

Leyla breathed in, a knot in her stomach even after years of performing. She had warmed up but did a few more stretches to relax her mind before she followed the other dancers. As the curtains opened before them, they faced the stage. She scanned the guests, and there was Zehab. Had he seen her? Her cheeks turned pink as she looked over the audience, to the lights ahead. Another deep breath. Her teacher Defne often told her that if she was having fun, half the battle was won. She smiled, and as the music started, she danced to the applause.

EVEN BEFORE THE CURTAINS OPENED, Zehab looked for her among the glitter, sparkle and smoke effects on the stage. Tonight, it was he who had arranged with Emir to meet in the dining hall, and there was only one reason. Leyla. Not because he wanted to talk to her about the contract but because he wanted to see her. The other man was pleasantly surprised when Zehab arrived early.

"You should have come to the island today," Emir now told him. "The women were falling over me." During the evening, he had only half listened to Emir's tales of his exploits, his mind on the upcoming show. The starter of hand cut aged venison was beyond compare—he resolved to sample more of the cuisine on the cruise—but by the time the main course was served, he was checking his watch, impatient. At last, Rick came to the stage to announce that there would only be one belly dance set tonight, followed by aerial acts after the break. The curtains opened, and there was Leyla, looking like...a goddess. Zehab cringed at the comparison, but as she stood on the stage in a black costume that hugged every curve, he wondered how he could have thought she was nothing special when he first saw her dance. He could not look away from her hips when she performed a fast shimmy before descending from the stage, the other dancers following her.

As he watched her dance, unfamiliar longing rose inside him. There was no denying it. He _desired_ her.

She stopped at a table where a family was seated, and when she leaned back, lifting her left hip, Zehab's eyes traveled from her gold heel to the top of her leg, transfixed by the exposed flesh. After a jump, she performed another fast shimmy. And then she turned and smiled, just for him, the gesture forcing him to look away. Why did she have such an effect on him? Because he had not had a woman for so long? When he glanced at other women in the hall, those he would usually consider more beautiful—and classy—than her, he felt nothing. As Emir stared at him, he shifted his attention to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

"She seems rather happy with you," his companion remarked. "Does that mean you've spoken to her about the job?"

The job? Zehab released a soft curse under his breath. There had been plenty of opportunity on the deck today to speak to her about Emir's offer, but instead he had been fantasizing about sticking his tongue down her throat. "Give me a couple of days, Emir. It will get done."

A man reached out for Leyla, but she stepped away from him, graceful. Zehab clenched his fingers into fists under the table when the fucker talked to his friends, loud, about the things he would like to do to her.

The seven dancers gathered in the middle of the hall. Leyla might not be as popular as some other performers, and Zehab did not know much about belly dance, but as they performed together, it was obvious how talented she was compared to the rest of the group. She was right—she worked hard at what she did. When she lifted her hips and moved her chest, there was preciseness _and_ grace in her movements. Yes, her performance was sexy—very sexy—but it was the playfulness about her that drew him. Her expression was transformed by her happiness as she danced, making even him smile. Was that what Emir had seen? Was it why he wanted her to work at Alrihaz?

Emir beckoned the performer with blond hair over. Would the other man never learn? The dancer approached their table and stood before Zehab, shimmying her enhanced chest at him, but he fixed his gaze on his whiskey. She turned to Emir instead, who placed a few notes in her bra. She gave him a delighted grin and another wiggle of her hips. As she spun, he grabbed her arm to pull her closer and then whispered in her ear that there would be more liras if she came to his room later. What the fuck was wrong with the man? She stepped back, shaking her head at Emir, giving him a polite smile before moving on.

Leyla now moved to a table where a couple sat. When the woman held out money, Leyla jutted her hip out to her, the movement so sensuous that a response rushed through Zehab's body. He glanced away, as if other guests might read his thoughts. When he dared to look at her again, she was inviting the woman to place the liras in her belt to the sound of good-natured cheers. She was still laughing as she twirled away from the table. The dancers returned to the stage for one final performance together, and then the show was over.

He could have watched her dance all night.

WHEN ZEHAB CLOSED HIS EYES that night, Leyla danced before him. He threw off the bed covers in frustration. Fuck. It would be more productive to work instead of trying to sleep.

When he switched on his laptop, a video call came through from Ada.

"Did you sort the contract yet?" Despite the late hour, his grandmother was impeccably dressed in a purple skirt with a matching jacket and black blouse. It hit Zehab that he had never seen his grandmother repeat an outfit. Her hair was braided and fingernails painted in a shade that matched her suit.

"I am working on it."

"Why do you take so much time to reply to Meryem's messages?"

"You know I am busy. And she understands. _You_ worry for nothing."

"I do not worry for nothing. I told Meryem you were also interested in meeting her, and she mentioned she is thinking of booking a trip to Turkey in a few weeks." How often did his grandmother and Meryem speak?

"It's too soon." He had been keen to meet the heiress ever since they first started talking, so what held him back now?

"It is time you settled down." She glanced at a freshly manicured nail and then him. "I told her we will be delighted to see her, and she should make the arrangements with her company."

He sighed. "I have other issues to deal with. There is the Ankara hotel and Alrihaz." If Emir could get his ass around to finalizing the contract.

"Meryem is a modern girl with her own ambitions. She will be happy with just an engagement ring for now."

As his grandmother rattled on, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to picture Meryem, but only saw Leyla. Was Yusuf right? _Was_ he infatuated with a belly dancer? He clicked an icon in the monitor's corner and brought up an image of Meryem as grandmother talked. Success, beauty and sophistication. She was a woman who would dazzle associates at business events. A life partner to make him proud. "Just let me finalize this contract, grandmother. Then you both can do what you want." Ada was so surprised that she did not speak for a moment. Then she clapped her hands. "Get the deal sorted, and then we can plan your engagement."

Really? "I have not even met her yet. Why do you always—"

"Nonsense. We both know she is perfect for you."

Having decided on that, his grandmother lost interest in him, logging off. She was probably already on the phone to Meryem, arranging her visit to Istanbul.

The attraction to Leyla was unexpected, but it would be easy to keep away from her during the final days of the cruise. The last thing he needed was a scandal after working so hard to build his reputation and fulfill his father's dreams. Nothing would stand in the way, definitely not a random dancer.

But how had he forgotten to mention Emir's offer to Leyla, when the partnership was within reach? After speaking to her first thing in the morning, he would have nothing more to do with her. If she took up the Alrihaz job—and he had no doubt she would—he could easily avoid her. Once the cruise was ended, he would put her out of his mind for good.

Meryem is perfect for me.

He pulled on jeans and a tee shirt. The quiet deck they had been on earlier today—damn his body's response to the memory—would be empty, what with most guests at dinner, parties or relaxing in their rooms. Music played in a hall as he passed. Emir had mentioned there was a nightclub with DJs each evening, but that was one event he could never convince Zehab to attend.

As he stepped onto the outdoor deck, he paused, his breath catching in his throat. Leyla stood at the railing, looking out at the ocean, in the same position as earlier today. She had removed her makeup and wore a beige floral dress that ended a few inches above her knees, a blue chiffon shirt over it. She turned, her eyes widening at the sight of him.

He needed to explain himself. "I—I didn't know you were here."

"You won't mention it to anyone?" She worried her lower lip. "I'm not allowed on the deck without permission." He shook his head. She glanced at the water before turning back to him. "I will leave now. It is getting late."

But he did not want her to go. "Stay."

"What about your reputation?" She tilted her head to the floor, staring up at him through dark eyelashes. "What would people think if we are seen together at this time?" All those rules and regulations suddenly seemed ridiculous. When he moved closer to stand next to her, her brown eyes were on him, her voice soft. "Seriously, Zehab. Do you think this is a good idea?"

No. He placed his arms on the rail, leaning on it, the smell of sea water surrounding them. Leyla's long hair flew behind her in the wind, and when there was another gust, it fell across her face, sticking to her lips. He longed to reach over and push it back into place, but where might that lead?

Despite the silence between them, there was no discomfort. He could stay by her side for hours like this, but this was an opportunity to bring up the job. She would say yes, and then he would stay away from her. A crap thought. "Leyla. I have an offer for you." A frown creased her brow. She had probably been propositioned many times before, but it irked him that she still compared him to other men she had encountered. "You have heard of the Alrihaz group of hotels?"

"Of course." She nodded. "Owned by...your friend Emir's father?" She sighed. "The kind of place I can only dream of stepping inside."

"I am entering a partnership in the enterprise."

"I have read about that, too."

There was something not right about Emir's offer. But just one question, and Zehab would be closer to his goal. "Would you be interested in performing at the new Alrihaz hotel?"

"The one in Istanbul?" Her eyes opened wide. "I did not have you down as someone who makes jokes."

"You are right. I am not in the habit of making jokes."

"I do not believe you."

He smiled. "That I do not make jokes?"

Surprise crossed her face before she grinned back at him. "That you guys would want to hire _me_. When there are so many other dancers to choose from."

"You are a wonderful dancer." She deserved this contract. "Emir and I have discussed it, and we would both like to have you at Alrihaz."

"I doubt it, after what happened that night."

"He was drunk." He added a lie. "Usually, he would never behave in that manner and regrets his behavior. But he is a businessman who wants the best for his hotel. You made an impression on him."

"I suppose if you say so, it must be true"—businesses such as Deniz were not built without twisting facts, yet he never felt guilt about resorting to such tactics before now—"But, I'm not sure..."

She continued to surprise him. She had mentioned she was struggling for decent work, and now she was hesitant to accept _this_ offer? "If you have questions, you can join us both for breakfast tomorrow to discuss it further."

She chuckled. "Yusuf would suffer from spontaneous combustion if he saw me with you or Emir. The managers here turn a blind eye to what goes on at night because it keeps the guests happy"—a flush spread across her cheeks—"But staff have strict orders to keep away from the guests during the daytime." She wrinkled her cute little nose. "And we're not allowed near the restaurant areas."

"That's a shame. They have the best international chefs designing the meals."

She grinned. "Life of a performer. We get set meals each day."

It was something he never gave a thought to. To be on a ship that offered the finest cuisines, yet confined to set meals? "Can't you order from the restaurants, not even breakfast?"

She shrugged. "You know something? Even if we could order from the restaurants, I reckon I would still go for _kahvalti_ each morning." The subject shifted from what they had been talking about, her eyes shining when she spoke about the traditional Turkish breakfast as if she could taste it. "The lunch and dinner may be basic, but at least they serve performers with a full breakfast—cheese, olives, fresh bread, honey, black tea..."

He was enjoying the delight on her face way too much and needed to get the conversation back on track. "Think about the offer. And if you have questions, just ask. The pay will be great."

"A hotel like Alrihaz can do better than me." She stared at him, eyebrows raised. "So what is the real reason for offering me the job?"

"What other reason could there be?" Did she imagine he would use the offer to get her into bed? His voice turned cold. "I do not need to use contracts to get women I want."

A smile played on her lips. "You're saying you want me?"

Dammit. Now was not the time to tease him. "I am not saying that."

Her mouth twitched. "Do you think I didn't notice how you stared at me tonight? I have danced in front of enough guys to recognize that look."

Her openness was refreshing, but he tensed at the thought of the men who had watched her dance, their eyes on the skin revealed by the slit in her skirt and the tantalizing flesh above her bra. "I am not like other men."

"Do you know something?" She turned to face him, leaning back against the railing. "I believe that, or else I would not be on this deck with you."

She was confusing him, when he needed to keep his head clear. Why wouldn't she give him a straight answer? "So you accept the offer?"

"I will consider it."

Consider it? This was the opportunity of a lifetime for a performer like her. Why wasn't she jumping at the chance? Before he could question her blase attitude toward the generous offer, the wind blew her shirt down her arm, exposing her smooth olive skin. He shifted toward her to pull the material back up, but instead was overcome by the urge to move his lips to her shoulder. When he softly kissed her bare skin, she sighed with pleasure, and he then moved his mouth to the base of her neck. He gently licked, making her shiver. What the fuck was he doing? He lifted his head, intending to back away until he looked down into her face. Her lips had parted, her breathing labored.

How the hell was he supposed to walk away from her?

He groaned as he fastened his lips on hers, needing this. She fell against him, her hands going to his chest. Her touch drove him wild, and he shifted his hands to her backside, pulling her core tight against him, her body shuddering in his arms as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. It was not close enough. Heat rushed to every part of him, driving away all other thoughts apart from the need to be with her. When he moved his lips down her neck, seeking out the area at the deep neckline of her dress, she released a moan and arched over the rail, the shirt slipping further down her arms. He explored her soft flesh, kissing and gently biting, relishing the sounds that left her mouth, but he wanted more. So much more. He slid his hand over her hip, reaching the hem of her dress, and she gasped as he stroked the inside of her thigh before moving higher, toward the lace of her panties. He needed to stop but could not remember why. Especially when she released another moan, louder, as he felt her wet softness through the material. "Zehab!"

Fuck. His body and mind were out of control, every inch of him consumed with the need to touch her.

He slipped his hand inside her panties, closing his mouth over hers as he pressed two fingers inside her. She panted, clutching his shoulders for support and riding his fingers as he thrust them into her, matching each movement with his tongue. As he pushed deeper, she pulled her mouth from his, pressing it against his shoulder to stifle a scream, shudders shaking her body. "I-I'm going to come."

"Not yet, Leyla." Despite the urgency pumping through his veins, he would not let this end so soon. He wanted to be inside her, but dammit, there was an unfamiliar need to give her as much pleasure as he could, put her desires before his own. He pulled his fingers out of her, ignoring her whimpering protests as he sank to his knees before her. Pulling her panties down, he pressed his mouth against her. She gripped the rails, her knuckles turning white as he ran his tongue over her swollen clit. Damn, she tasted so good. He sucked her clit, relishing her trembles when he sank his tongue inside her heat.

"Zehab," she whimpered. "Please."

Her jaw was clenched with need, her lips parted. Just a little more pressure and she would come against his mouth. Fuck, no. He wanted her to come around _him_ as he sank inside her. Ignoring her pleas, he stood, taking her lips again and kissing her harder, pressing his erection against her so she could feel how much he wanted her. "I want you," he groaned.

Her voice was strained. "I want you, too. _Now_."

Madness overcoming him, he shifted her dress to her waist, intending to pull it over her head. And then the sound of laughter came from the stairway, fading away just as suddenly, but not before bringing them both back to reality. He quickly stepped back, drawing a deep breath as she straightened her dress. Her chest heaved, her lips quivering. Dammit, he could not stay away from her. He pulled her to him again, kissing her hard before lifting his head. "Leyla," he managed, his breathing ragged. "Come to my room." Nothing else made sense in the face of this need that raged through his system.

She appeared as confused as he felt. "I also want you, Zehab." Despite her words, she pulled back, her eyes bright. "But I need to know...you won't regret this?"

Regret?

He did not answer, her question bringing him to his senses. What the fuck had he been about to do? He had gotten so carried away that he would have taken her on this public deck, without any damn protection. All those years of discipline discarded in a moment. He shook his head, wishing he could be more like her and just go for what he wanted. "Leyla. I—"

She stared into his face, her eyes damp and lips trembling. "I understand."

Before he could stop her, she stepped away from him, turning and running down the stairway. He turned to face the ocean again, gripping the rail; resisting the fucking urge to go after her. Dammit, he wanted her, more than he had any other woman.

But she was not for him.

LEYLA RAN THROUGH THE hallway to her room, not giving a fuck if any guests saw her.

Inside her room, she lay on the bed, remembering how good his lips felt moving down her body, his fingers pressing inside her. The heat at her core was agonizing as she imagined their naked flesh together, Zehab on top of her, inside her...why the hell did she walk away from him?

Because when she asked if he might regret this, there was hesitation on his face.

Fuck it. There was no point even thinking about it. In his world, she was beneath him, and even if this went anywhere, it would only end up in regret. Or worse. After taking a quick shower, she wrapped herself in a towel before sitting on the bed. Best to fix her bloody mind on something else.

What about the job offer at Alrihaz?

She did not fancy working for Emir. For entirely different reasons, she did not want to work for Zehab, either. But the contract for this cruise company was only three months, and she would be mad to reject this opportunity. What were her options after leaving here? A tour abroad with the agent Nijaz? She shuddered at the sleazy affairs in Istanbul's nightclubs he had previously booked her for.

The experience on this cruise ship would look good on her profile, but Alrihaz was the next step up. When she first heard of the company's new hotel development, she visited its website in case the event managers were looking to hire belly dancers. She only got halfway through the list of entertainment lined up for the launch—famous musicians and performers from different parts of the world—before she put all thoughts of working at the hotel out of her mind. Damn. She had now received an offer to work there. The thought of dancing alongside renowned artists both terrified and thrilled her. The luxury hotel would give her exposure and credibility, and it was a chance that a dancer like her might never receive again.

But what about Zehab?

If she worked for Alrihaz, chances were they would meet. She rose from the bed, the memory of Zehab's kisses and his touch tormenting her. She barely knew the man but had responded to him with such abandon that had he persisted, she would have allowed him to do whatever he wanted with her body.

What is wrong with me?

She dressed in jogging pants and a tee shirt and then climbed underneath the covers, but her head and body betrayed her. Even flinging a pillow across the room in frustration did not help. What her treacherous body wanted was irrelevant. She needed to push him from her mind and forget about what happened on the deck.

Men of Zehab's status only used women like her, dumping them sooner or later.

# CHAPTER FIVE

ZEHAB SAT ALONE IN THE dining hall.

After that night on the deck, he had deliberately avoided Leyla—and temptation—making excuses to steer clear of the shows. It was fucking agony not seeing her, images of their kisses and what could have been playing havoc with his mind. But he could not stay away this evening. It was the last day of the cruise, and after tonight, he may never see her again.

When the host finally announced the belly dance show, knots tightened inside his stomach. _Please be here._ He liked to think he was so eager to see Leyla because he needed a reply to the Alrihaz job offer, but as his impatience increased, that excuse made no sense.

The truth was he wanted to finish what they started that night.

When she walked onto the stage, every damn muscle in his body tensed. She was a seductress in red and gold; the tight shiny bra pushing her breasts high and that fitted skirt stretching down her body. Fuck, all he could think of was her response when he covered that soft body with kisses, those whimpering sounds she made when he _tasted_ her. When she caught his eye while descending from the stage, her step faltered, eyes widening. He could not help it—his lips curled up at the effect he had on her. As she danced at a nearby table, their eyes met again, her cheeks flushing to a brighter color than her rouge. Was she also thinking of that night? Heat pulsed through him at the thought. Too soon, the show was over. As the performers left the hall, he returned to the hallway.

He could not keep away from her. Not tonight.

He worked out where the back of the stage should be, but a woman stood before him, dressed in a black skirt and blazer, holding a clipboard. She raised her eyebrows when he said he wished to talk to one of the dancers. "I'm afraid that will not be possible." Her voice was polite and firm, making it clear she did not intend to give way.

He was accustomed to getting his own way, but now was not the time to do anything that might make things difficult for Leyla after he left the ship. "I want to speak to Leyla." What the hell did it matter what anyone thought? He would be off the cruise ship tomorrow. "Please could you ask her to see me outside my suite? It is urgent."

The woman's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "I will pass on your message, but I wouldn't hold my breath. She's received such offers before, and I've never known her to say yes."

"I need to see her for professional reasons."

"Of course you do, sir."

Zehab walked away from the woman, fuming. Because she was right. He needed an answer from Leyla on the contract, but he also _wanted_ her. She was all he had thought about over the past two days.

If she came to his suite tonight, it would only lead in one direction.

He returned to the dining hall, his heart thumping when the second dance set was announced, as if he had never seen her dance before. The wait was soon over. The curtains parted, and there she was, those soft brown eyes on him, her smile secretive as she undulated. His gaze traveled over those lithe limbs as he imagined her melting in his arms...

"All on your own?" Emir's voice cut through his musings. The other man was tipsy as he took the seat opposite him, filling a glass with whiskey and then drinking it faster than Zehab would have liked. There was the sound of laughter, and Zehab looked up to see Leyla pulling up an older Turkish lady to dance with her. After an initial hesitation, the lady's friends also joined in. They obviously danced at home, and as they followed Leyla's movements, she was delighted.

"I understand why you want her at Alrihaz," said Zehab. "She is a very talented dancer."

There was spite in Emir's laugh. "You think I'm interested in her talent? All I'm interested in is what's between her legs!" It was not the first time the other man had talked about women in such a manner, but now Zehab could have hit the bastard. Fuck, he needed to calm down before he created a scene. "What? You seriously thought that—" Emir laughed again, an unattractive sound. "You imagine I would let her get away with insulting me? In public? Wait until she is working for me. Let's see how she refuses me then!"

Zehab's jaw clenched. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it doesn't make a bloody difference. You just make sure she says yes to working at Alrihaz, and I promise you will never regret it."

Zehab cursed himself for his fucking stupidity. When Emir first put the deal in front of him, he had wondered why he wished to recruit her. How had he not figured this out before approaching Leyla? Or maybe deep down he knew but had not wanted to see...not wanted to see anything that might delay the partnership's progress?

Why the fuck did I send Leyla that message?

Damn it, if she came to see him tonight, he had to keep away from her, even if it killed him. And he had no idea of what he would say or what fucked up excuse he was going to use, but he needed to convince her to stay away from Alrihaz...and Emir.

In his suite, Zehab removed his blazer and tie, relieved to be free of the constrictions. There was no knowing if Leyla would come, yet he paced up and down the suite until there was a knock at the door.

Shit. Why the hell did she turn up?

Because she trusts me.

When he opened the door, she stood there, chewing on her lower lip; a black robe over her costume.

"Come in." She glanced around the room before stepping inside. He closed the door behind her, cursing the messed up situation when his body instantly responded to her proximity. He would speak to her about Alrihaz and then get her out of here. "I have to talk to you about the contract."

"Oh? I thought it might be something else." When a seductive smile played on her lips, he looked away. _I cannot touch her._ She grinned. "Just kidding. I also wanted to speak to you. About the contract."

"I spoke to Emir, and I think—"

"It's a yes."

"What?" No, this was not supposed to happen.

Her eyes were bright. "You have no idea what this means to me. Working at Alrihaz would be a dream come true."

Was it too late? "But what about your reservations?"

Her lips twitched. "It might be a challenge, but I'll keep my hands off you."

But could he keep his hands off her? "After the other night, don't you think it will be difficult for us to work together?"

She swallowed, and there was that damn blush spreading across her cheeks again, pushing the contract and Emir from his head. "We won't be seeing each other that much, I guess." Her fingers now twisted the material of her robe. Just one tug of the belt that held her robe together, and she would stand before him in that red costume. "And when we do, I am sure we can keep ourselves under control." A silence settled between them. It could have lasted no more than a few moments but felt much longer. When she spoke again, her voice was high. "I am glad that is settled." She pretended to yawn, and the action made her breasts heave. Fuck. "I suppose I better get going."

She turned away from him, but he placed his hands on her waist, pulling her against him. "Are you sure?" he whispered into her ear, his damn body out of his control. After tonight, who knew when he would see her again?

She threw her head back against his shoulder, her voice strained. "No." He needed to resist, but right now he did not give a damn about anything other than how her warm body pressed against him. He brought his mouth down to her neck, kissing it as he pulled her robe down over her arms. Keeping one hand at her waist, he took the other to her breast, cupping it.

She arched against him. "Zehab."

His name on her lips drove him wild. He turned her around and kissed her hard, his tongue exploring her passionate mouth as she molded her body against his. Keeping his lips on hers, he walked her into the bedroom, where he pushed her against the wall, his tongue seeking hers again. He needed her so badly that it hurt. He opened the belt at her waist, releasing her robe, slipping his fingers inside and tracing them around her navel, her belly muscles contracting in response. "Leyla," he groaned. "You have no idea how much I have desired this."

There was no turning back now. Taking both her hands in his, he held them above her head, pressing her to the wall with his body, kissing her mouth, neck, anywhere he could. As her chest heaved with passion, her nipples pushed above that red bra. He groaned as he let go of her hands and placed his hands at her waist again. She whimpered in anticipation, whispering his name and encouraging him as he moved his lips down her neck. When he closed his mouth over her nipple, licking and sucking, she moaned, loud. Her hips undulated against him as his fingers moved to her other breast, fondling that bud until it was also erect. When she lifted her leg to wrap it around him, pressing her core against him, the agony was fucking unbearable.

He pulled himself away from those beautiful peaks to lift her in his arms, laying her on his bed to stare down at her. Her hair spread across his pillow, her eyes dark and full of passion. Her lips parted as her breath quickened. He lowered himself on top of her, and she hungrily kissed his chest as she struggled with his shirt buttons. He shrugged out of his shirt and fastened his lips around her nipple again. And then the other. Fuck, he could not get enough of her. He moved lower, kissing her stomach, reminded of how its undulations had teased him earlier, and when he trailed his tongue along the waistband of her dance skirt, she whimpered.

He needed to see the body he had been fantasizing about. He turned her over, running soft kisses over her back as he moved his fingers to her bra clasp. Pulling the shimmering garment away from her shoulders, his hand shifted in front of her to cup her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple and eliciting groans of pleasure from her. He then moved his palm down, pushing it inside her skirt to hold her sex, his head flinging back when she pressed her backside against his erection. She now shivered with need. "Zehab," she whispered. "Please."

Kissing her lower back, he shifted her skirt down, nearly coming at the sight of her in a gold colored thong. He quickly got rid of that, too, and then turned her over again. His eyes never left her as he removed the rest of his own clothing. He took a condom from the bedside cabinet and as he pulled it on, she edged closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and increasing the urgency. He covered her body with his, and when her fingers trailed down his chest and past his stomach, he could no longer hold back. He would die if he was not inside her soon. Grabbing both her hands, he held them to either side of her head as he used his body to pin her to the bed. She gasped as he entered her with a thrust that was harder than he intended. He lifted his head to look at her face, concerned. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she panted. "Don't stop." Her legs wrapped around his waist, inviting him to press into her again. He kissed her lips as he pulled back. When he pushed again, she called out his name, her hands fisting his hair to deepen the kiss. As he moved inside her, she raised her hips, the pleasure of the deeper connection sending shudders through him.

"Leyla. Are you trying to kill me?"

The tension built until he was close to exploding. She pulled his face toward her again for another kiss, even harder this time, letting him know she was also desperate for him. When a loud cry left her lips, he lost control, thrusting harder, his need for her so strong it felt as if it could not be slaked.

Shudders shook her body as she was overcome by her orgasm. As he also came, he marveled that the pressure did not cause his heart to stop. "Leyla," he managed. "You are amazing."

When he lay back on the bed, his heart was beating as if it planned to thump out of his damn chest. What the fuck just happened? Being with her had been beyond anything he anticipated. All that mattered right now was how perfect it felt as she lay next to him, her breathing soft and head on his shoulder. For the first time in years, something other than his business and reputation had consumed him. Something apart from financial success mattered.

But this could not last.

She brought her fingers to his lips. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She turned her face to look up at him. "You don't think I'm going to chase you for an engagement ring or something, do you?"

His lips curled up. "Is that your plan?"

Her fingers went to his jawline, gently stroking. After that earth-shattering orgasm, he should not be getting turned on so soon, and although he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her again, he had to hold off. They needed to talk. "Zehab. I am not a child. I understand what this is. One night."

He kissed the tips of her fingers, and she rewarded him with a gentle smile. "If it means anything, I had intended to control myself."

She settled against his shoulder again. "We both knew where this might lead if I came to your room tonight...and I am okay with it. More than okay." She rubbed her nose against his chest. "So what else is bothering you?"

"It's about you working at Alrihaz."

She sat up and looked at him over her shoulder, her expression pained. "You no longer want to offer me the contract?"

If he backed out now, she would presume it was because he had got what he wanted. He pulled her to him. "It's not that. But would you prefer to work at my hotel instead?" What new madness was this? "Deniz Istanbul?"

She sighed as she turned over to her front and perched herself on her elbows to stare at him. "Why are you making this more complicated than it is?" He drew his gaze away from the sight of her breasts pressed between her arms and looked into her eyes. He needed to tell her the truth, but she spoke before him. "The last couple of days...I thought about how I might not see you after this cruise. After all, your friend could change his mind"—just the mention of that fucker Emir was enough to piss Zehab off—"And I decided that even if it is for one night, I wanted to be with you."

They had both wanted this, so why did it feel as if he had somehow taken advantage? "And tonight will be enough?"

Her lips twitched. "After that experience, maybe not." Her eyes were bright as they stared into his. "But if I am working at Deniz, it will be more difficult. I would be employed directly by you."

"But it will be...challenging even if you are working at Alrihaz."

She placed a finger across his lips. "Believe me, I understand. And if I had a half-decent offer elsewhere, I would not take this job. But at the moment the only other option I have is for a tour abroad." Why did his gut clench at the thought of her going away? "But I don't trust the agent. And if you're not a famous dancer, shows outside the country can be a risk." A deep sigh. "One of my friends went abroad last year for a series of performances. When she returned, I expected stories of beautiful locations and hotels—" A frown marred her brow. "The agent took her passport. The pay was nothing like she had been promised, and she was forced into other work..."

Leyla taking such a risk was unthinkable. "So the Alrihaz job is your best option?"

She nodded. "But I'll only take the job if you are comfortable."

He kissed her lips, soft. "You should accept the offer." The main thing was that she be safe.

"You don't need to worry. I know this ends here, and I promise you won't get any hassle from me. At Alrihaz, you will be a partner"—her eyes shifted from his—"and me? A dancer unworthy of you."

Leyla was more than capable of standing up to Emir. But she was so understanding about how Zehab would stay away from her after tonight that it made him feel like a cad. "Leyla. You are not unworthy."

"I am to you. Or else, this would not be for only one night." Before he could argue, her lips were on his, igniting a fire inside him as her hands moved down his chest. She pulled away to look into his face, a wicked glint in her eyes. "If we only have tonight together, we should make the most of it."

When she closed her mouth over his again, he twisted his fingers through her hair and kissed her hard, as if his damn life depended on it. The thought that he might never kiss her or hold her in his arms again reached deep inside, clenching his chest and affecting him more than it should.

But one night with Leyla would have to be enough.

###

The concluding part of the story, FORBIDDEN (Part Two), is available for purchase. Follow Zehab and Leyla's journey as things really heat up between them.

Fancy a hot novella? Subscribe to my email list and receive a free steamy paranormal romance.

Thank you.

Natalie Aejaz, Author

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I love making things up!

I am Natalie Aejaz, an author who enjoys travel and make-believe.

While managing a plethora of other activities, I focused on a series of social novels over the past few years. I wrote my first fantasy romance a few months ago, unexpectedly becoming addicted to the fun and freedom of creating universes. The opportunities for play were as limitless as my imagination and since then, I tend to write in the paranormal and contemporary romance genres.

CONNECT WITH ME:

Twitter:  www.twitter.com/natalieaejaz

Instagram:  www.instagram.com/natalieaejaz

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/natalieaejaz.writer

# BOOKS BY NATALIE AEJAZ

Blood Moon

(Adult Paranormal Romance)

Book 1: Marked by the Alpha

Book 2: Demon's Soul

Book 3: Bitten and Twisted

Book 4: Lion's Heart

Shifters Unleashed

(Adult Shifter Romance)

Book 1: The Wolf's Bride

Otherworld Warriors

(Adult Fantasy Romance)

Book 1: Hela

Book 2: Zhinghaas

Standalones

Blood Rose: A Vampire Romance

Starstruck: A Paranormal Romance

Lost and Found (Part One)

Lost and Found (Part Two)

Forbidden (Part One)

Forbidden (Part Two)

# CHAPTER ONE—LOST AND FOUND

A woman lost in a big city, a reluctant friend in need, and a confusing attraction.

Sonia did not expect to be reliant on a stranger on her first day in London. Imposing on Juan goes against the principles of self-sufficiency instilled in her, but she intends to work her way out of this situation as quickly as possible.

After years of hard work, Juan has set up his business and new home, and it is the worst time for Sonia to disturb his ordered life. When he reluctantly agrees to provide accommodation in exchange for her help with his new company, the only consolation is that the arrangement is temporary. And strictly business.

Thrown together by unexpected circumstances, they both make the best of the situation. But will they be able to stick to their agreement when sexual attraction flares between them?

LOST AND FOUND (Part One) is the first part of a steamy duology.

* * *

"MAMA. CAN YOU STOP CRYING, please? I'm not off to a prison cell or something."

Yes, it was Sonia's first trip to London, and she was going alone, but when would mother let go and allow her to take care of herself?

Mama's gaze was stuck to the electronic departure schedule, eyes wide as if an evil spirit might jump off the train any second now and abduct her only daughter. "Why do you have to go to that big city? All on your own?"

Sonia rolled her eyes at her best friend Jennifer, who stood behind mama on the station platform, trying not to laugh at the older woman's antics. Passengers rushed around them for no apparent reason, keen to catch trains that were not even due for departure, and the smell of burgers from a nearby café made Sonia's mouth water. But with knots tightening inside her stomach as the time to leave came closer, she was unable to eat. She could always grab something when she reached London. She raised her voice because of the noise. "I won't be _all on my own_. Rick will be there."

The words only sent her mother Ruby into a fresh flood of tears. "You worked so hard on the catering company and now it's finally making a half decent profit, you're throwing it in. For a _man_."

Sonia gave Jennifer a resigned glance. Mother and she had gone around in circles, back and forth over the same arguments, ever since she announced the decision to leave. "You won't understand, mama."

She toiled in her mother's company for years to get it to the point where it could be considered successful. Yes, it was making a profit, but she was done with being a partner in a small enterprise and living in a village that held no importance for anyone apart from its residents. She wanted a break.

No, she wanted a new damn life.

This was her first time outside the county of Northumberland; that was how fascinating her first twenty-six years had been. She had been desperate to escape for a long time, even before she met Rick. A hotshot accountant from London, his upmarket lifestyle and stories of the big city gave a glimpse of a world away from this mundane existence, her dreams expanding until they could not be contained by a village that did not make it to most maps of England. "I need to get away from here. And it's not like I'm emigrating to a different country—oh, for God's sake, mama, can you pull your tee shirt down?"

With her increasing weight, mother's fashion sense had become ever more dismal. She was stood on a busy station platform in Northumberland, dressed in a baggy tee shirt and floral pants that were never meant to be worn in public. Her tee shirt had ridden up and exposed her expanding stomach, but did she ever care about who she embarrassed? Look at how she insisted on attending business meetings in those ill-fitting check dresses. In her world, if you had a good relationship with clients, it gave you license to dress how you wanted.

"If your man leaves you, it is difficult." Mother blew her nose, loud. "But if you have no means of supporting yourself, the situation is ten times worse."

"Thanks, mama." Not all men were like mother's idiot husband, who left her alone with a six-month-old baby. Sonia had only dated Rick for a few months, but he was serious about her—why else would he regularly come up north to meet her, despite his busy lifestyle in London? There was nothing to worry about.

"The most important thing for a woman is to be financially independent." Ruby's favorite utterance. "After a few more years, the catering business would have earned enough so you never had to rely on anyone."

A few more years in that village? No way. "I don't want to be part of the company anymore. I'm tired of working so hard for little profit."

"And what will running away solve?" Ruby wiped her nose with a tissue. "You don't understand. Women like _us_ have to struggle doubly hard." An immigrant single mum, with little skills or education, Ruby had fought through her circumstances. She instilled the same principles of work and discipline into her daughter.

Sonia sighed. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm not an _immigrant_."

"But that is what the locals see you as." There went mama with the locals again. "We have to work to get respect and prove we're not here to sponge off others."

"I have no intention of sponging off anyone. When I'm in London, the first thing I'll do is find a job and my own place to stay. And until then, I've got a few savings."

She would have to make them last until she found employment, because she had opted out of her partnership at the catering company.

A brand new start.

Now Jennifer's eyes were on the electronic departure schedule. Sonia could swear her friend's lips wobbled when she said, "It's time to leave, babe." Those knots inside Sonia's stomach tightened, making her nauseous. She might have felt better if she had managed to get hold of Rick, but he had not answered his phone all morning. Oh well, he was a busy accountant in the big city—he probably had a million and one things to deal with. The main thing was that he knew what time she would arrive at Kings Cross.

As passengers boarded the train to London, her insides quivered, and for a moment she was tempted to listen to mama and return to the predictable comfort of everyday life. But only for a moment.

She stepped forward to give Jennifer a tight hug. When tears filled her best friend's blue eyes, Jennifer wiped them away, flinging her brown hair back. Her voice caught. "You look after yourself, babe. And if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Now it was time to leave, Sonia was on the verge of crying herself. "I know, babe. Thanks."

She hesitated before turning to mama. Damn, how the hell was she supposed to say goodbye to her?

She hugged her mother, who had aged prematurely, lines of anxiety and worry etched into dark skin that was smooth when she arrived in this country. Those regular henna top-ups could not hide the sprinklings of white that gradually spread through her black hair. "Bye, mama. You take care of yourself—"

And now she was also in tears. Guilt pierced her, because after she was gone, Ruby would be alone. After the shitty life she had. But once Sonia made a go of things in London, she would understand.

_I'll make you proud of me, mama_.

TRUST JUAN'S NEW MANAGER TO call this morning and say sorry, but he had received a better offer elsewhere and would not be turning up today—his first bloody day of work. Juan did not bother entertaining his explanation, biting back the choice words that came to mind as he hung up on the idiot. The opening of his southwest London shop, Oasis, was a few days away. He had not recruited sales assistants, despite advertising in the usual spots, and now his manager had been poached. Would he have to postpone his plans of focusing on his true passion, interior design, yet again? "Shit!"

Daniel was the last person he would recommend calling for assistance in any serious situation, but this was an emergency. His younger brother's response was typically Daniel—of course he would love to help at Juan's exclusive new home decor shop: after all, he had taken a day off from work hoping someone would palm manual labor off on him. But to his credit, his brother canceled his date for that evening, proving himself to be more useful than expected. If only he did not insist on blasting that bloody rock music as they worked.

Juan kept the ladder steady as Daniel added crystal candle holders to the top shelf. There was plenty of room on the lower shelves and the units that stood in the middle of the large shop, but Juan wanted to create space. Lots of it. One could never have enough space. Staffing problem aside, the store had turned out as planned. Black shelving was arranged along its white walls in geometric patterns, with designer LED lighting enhancing luxury items.

Daniel's phone beeped. "Got to keep an eye on the old dating app." He grinned as he checked the notification. Juan had no time for the nonsense of these apps, but his handsome brother was a hit with the ladies online. If only he did not bombard him with stories of one hookup after another. It only emphasized how Juan was missing out. "A new connection. How fucking hot is she? Look at her—"

"Careful, Daniel!"

Daniel's response was to fake being unsteady on the ladder. "Save me. I'm going to fall!"

If his brother planned to act the clown, Juan had a good mind to deliberately throw him. "If you've used up your quota of seriousness for today, Daniel, feel free to leave." His brother pretended to drop an exclusive vase, hand-painted with abstract art. "Fuck you, asshole."

"Mate, if a woman ever excited you as much as these lifeless objects do, I would have at least one niece or nephew to torture by now."

"I've had other things on my mind." Like becoming financially secure. Working all the hours God sent for an interior design establishment, to save money for investments, was a goal difficult to balance with his personal life. He _had_ dated, but not as often as he would have liked. And then there were his living arrangements, hardly conducive to getting laid. Bringing women back to his studio apartment, where the main piece of furniture was a large double bed, did not create the best first impression. His last date was three weeks ago, and when he insisted they move on to _her_ place after a restaurant dinner, his companion had asked what he was hiding in his flat. A decomposed skeleton? No, just a decomposing man who could not remember the last time he had sex.

That bloody music was giving him a headache. Juan pointed the remote control at the sound system to turn the volume down, ignoring the feigned hurt on his brother's face. "These objects are not lifeless."

Daniel picked up a tea cup, handmade from clay, bringing it close to his ear. "You're right, I can hear it breathing." He held the piece against his chest, his tone rising to a high pitch. "Hello little one, how lively are we feeling today? Livelier than Juan? Well, that's not much of an achievement, is it?"

Despite his exhaustion, Juan grinned. "Idiot."

"I'll second that," came the familiar voice from behind him, as the door opened.

Daniel let out a shout of delight at the sight of their cousin Ray, giving him a hearty smack on the back. "Where have you been?"

"Where have _you_ been?" Ray asked. "I hear you're the one with the stories."

Daniel shrugged. "I've been keeping many ladies happy...I think of it as social service."

Their cousin made a quick round of Oasis and once again, pride surged through Juan at its pristine condition. "It's looking good. Now tell me, how can I help?"

"You mean I wasn't your first point of call, big brother?" Daniel pretended to be disappointed. "Is this what I gave up tonight's hot date for? To play second fiddle to our cousin?"

Ray smiled at him, as if indulging a child, before turning to Juan. "Ann called me. She said you might need help?"

Daniel sniggered. Their mother fretted about Juan in the same way she had the day he left for college. In fact, even more now she had other things to worry about. Like how he had hit his thirties and was still single.

"Thanks, but we're pretty much done here."

"Are you sure? It's a onetime offer?" When Juan nodded, Ray raised his eyebrows, impressed. "And how's the apartment going upstairs?"

"I've not had a lot of time to work on it." The flat had two bedrooms, and he planned to convert one into an office where he could design. Living in London and not having to commute to a workplace would be quite the experience. Everything would have been perfect had he not been down to a zero number of staff. "It's inhabitable though, just about. It only needs a lick of paint and a few"—Daniel snorted—"What?"

"We know what _your_ lick of paint is like." His brother exchanged a knowing glance with Ray. "You'll still be at it months from now, Mr. Meticulous!"

Juan grinned. He would complete this particular job at breakneck speed because as soon as his apartment was ready, he intended to jump into the dating scene big time. He could already see himself in that sophisticated kitchen, cooking, while his date—tall with blond poker straight hair and in a designer mini dress—sat at the dining table sipping wine. Oasis would need his constant input and his new interior design business required his full commitment, but he sure looked forward to lots of no-strings-attached sex alongside. Damn, he could not wait to move upstairs and get on with his life.

It was time to enjoy what he had worked so hard to build.

SONIA SAT BY THE TRAIN WINDOW, anxious as the world outside sped by.

Ever since deciding to shift to London, she had anticipated arriving in the big city, playing the scene over and over in her head. But now, each time the train passed a station, her heart sank a little further into her new heels. She tried Rick's mobile again. Still no answer.

After boarding at Northumberland, she _had_ thought it strange that he did not respond to her calls, but put it down to him being busy—after all, he was a successful accountant in a big city. But her mother's warnings now flashed through her head.

You can only rely on yourself, Sonia. Nobody else.

At Kings Cross station, she stood on the platform. Alone. _What do I do now?_ The announcements came over the speaker, one after the other, but none was for her. Noise surrounded her, too much noise. Trains arriving and departing, passengers talking and laughing, a myriad of ringtones and text notifications. A mobile beeped. Hers? She pulled her phone out of her handbag. A message from Rick. Heart in mouth, she read it. _I'm so sorry, but you have to understand I've worked hard to get to where I am. It's not fair that I should have to support someone else. We're both looking for different things from a relationship, so it's best to end this here._

She tried his phone again. One ring and then a dead tone. As if her number had been blocked? She wiped the dampness from her eyes, not wanting to appear as vulnerable as she felt in this new city.

She should have guessed. There was that hesitance in his voice when she first talked about her plans to move here. But she had been swept away by dreams of London. Why hadn't he just told her he did not want her to come? Weren't Londoners supposed to be straightforward?

And now Ruby was calling. If she did not take the call, her mother would be on the next train, lecture-ready. "Hello. Mama?"

"I called a few minutes ago. Why didn't you answer?"

"I was busy getting off the train."

"You've reached London? Has Rick picked you up?"

"He was waiting at the platform for me." The lie made her feel pretty sorry for herself.

"He's happy to see you?"

"Of course. I told you that Rick's a good man. He'll look after me."

"The important thing is that you learn to look after yourself in that city. Well, let me know when you've reached the apartment, won't you?"

She blinked back her tears. "Yes, mama."

A sigh. "You know what I think about you going off to London on your own"— _I was not supposed to be on my own_ —"But it's done now. Just make sure he treats you right, that's the main thing. Love is overrated." _I've started to believe you, mama_. "And if things don't work out, there's always the business here, never forget that." A deeper sigh. "You were doing so well—why on earth you chucked it in to head over there for a man you barely know, I'll never understand. Just promise me you will now seriously think about your future."

She ended the call and sat on a bench, crowds of people moving past. In her village, she would be a conspicuous sight, sitting alone and almost in tears; but over here, nobody noticed her. _I could disappear and nobody would care._

Her mobile rang again. Please let it be Rick! Nope. Jennifer. Her friend was breathless with excitement. "How's your hot lover boy?" Now the tears came. "Darling, what's happened?"

More tears as Sonia explained that she sat on a bench alone, with her bright pink suitcase purchased for the trip, in a smart blue dress she could not afford and new black heels that now hurt. "I should have known when he wouldn't give me his address," she sobbed. "But why didn't he tell me when I said I was coming here?"

"Because he's a bloody coward, that's why." Jennifer followed her observation with cuss words that would have made Sonia cringe if she was not so pissed at Rick.

"Please don't tell mama."

"I won't. Just get your ass back here and we'll sort things out—"

She hesitated, but only for a second. "I'm not coming back. This will only prove mama right." She loved her mother—most of the time—but Ruby had always known what was best for her. And even the catering business had been mother's creation. Sonia wanted something of her own, independent from mama. "I have to make it in London." If she went back, would she have the guts to leave again? She had been desperate to get out of there for so long, even before she met Rick. Now she had left the village, she would somehow stay out.

"But what will you do there?" The question had Sonia in more tears _. I don't know, Jennifer. I don't know_. "Oh darling, you'll be okay, wait and see. You turned Ruby's business around, remember? She never used to receive those big catering orders before you joined her." She was right, but making it in London was a different ball game. "Sonia. You've always been...naturally clever, unlike me. Anyone would hire you."

"But I know no one here—"

"Hold on! I've something in my bag"—Sonia could imagine her friend going through her fluorescent green bag, searching for God knew what among the paraphernalia she was fond of storing in there—"Here it is!" What on earth might she have that would help in this situation? "A gentleman"—Jennifer giggled—"A very hot gentleman popped into the shop two weeks ago." She worked in a store that sold all sorts of junk. It was a dead-end job, but it kept her out of some of the mischief she was in the habit of getting into. "He purchased a few small lamps – ugly little white things I never expected to sell – and took my card. I have _his_ card, too." And this would help Sonia, how? "The thing is, he lives in London. As we got chatting, he mentioned he was setting up a new shop and hiring staff or something." Or something? "He'd be a fool not to take you on. I'll text you the address of his store. Just tell him Jennifer sent you. He's a super friendly guy. And as I said, hot."

The people who surrounded her on the platform were so busy that they did not glance at her, not even out of curiosity. Like her, Jennifer had spent her life in a village in the north. Kings Cross station was enough to gauge that things were different here. "He'll remember you? And you're sure he mentioned hiring staff?"

"Of course. Tell him that Jennifer from Artful Deco sent you. The one who sold him the white lamps. Trust me."

"I'll let you know how I get on. Speak to you later, babe." Sonia had trusted her barmy friend many times in the past and more often than not ended up in a sorry way. Her phone beeped. Jennifer's contact was a Mr. Freeman who lived in southwest London. If nothing else, perhaps he would recommend somewhere to stay. Sure, it was a big city and not her village, but people could not be so busy that they would not offer a little help to someone in need? She resented asking a stranger for aid, but it would be the last time, because she was not going to get into a stupid scenario like this again.

Mama was not the only one able to work her way out of a shit situation.

Whenever Sonia headed outside her village to the nearby city, she found the crowds intimidating—but they were nothing compared to the swarms she had to negotiate as she searched for the underground train, the Tube. Passengers of all shapes and sizes rushed in and out of the station, shoving against her, no time for anyone or anything. Negotiating the crowds as she wheeled her pink suitcase behind her, she reached the underground station and found a map. Deciphering it was another matter. So, each Tube was represented by a particular color? She needed to board the yellow line and then change to the red one to get to Bethnal Green. A lady stood next to her to check the map, and Sonia gathered enough guts to ask for directions to the yellow line. Pointing at the sign ahead, the woman looked at her as if she was a daft bat. Okay, so there were obvious signs highlighting the gates for each Tube.

When she reached the automatic gate, it did not open for her. She stepped back to let impatient passengers through before joining the queue again. The woman in front of her tapped her purse at the side of the gate, and it opened. Logic told Sonia it was not the purse that had done it, but two teenage boys behind her made irritated sounds, as if the few seconds she took to figure things out were the mightiest inconvenience any human had inflicted on another. In a panic, she pulled her purse out of her bag and tapped the side of the gate. Of course it did not work. Genius.

"Excuse me, lady," one of the teenagers said, a cap covering most of his spotty face, "Are you planning to wait until Christmas?"

Now she was flustered. And dangerously close to tears again. "Erm...my purse is not working."

The teenager rolled his eyes as his friend sniggered. "This is why we have citizenship tests before letting people into the country."

"Can I help you?" Sonia turned at the deep voice, facing a striking pair of green eyes. Dressed in a black jacket and dark jeans, the man was tall, probably around six feet. With dark hair, smooth ivory skin and a strong jaw, it was as if he had walked off the cover of one of those magazines she flicked through on the way here. And then he smiled at her—the first friendly expression she had encountered since arriving at Kings Cross.

###

LOST AND FOUND (Part One) is a hot and steamy romance and the first part of a duology that features a 'happily ever after'.
