Istanbul Affair Read online

  Istanbul Affair

  By

  Joanna Mansell

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Liar,' he said evenly.

  'Don't you dare call me a liar!'

  'You want to be in this room with me,' Benedict said with absolute certainty.

  Amy had to fight very hard to suppress another shiver. 'I don't want to be with you and I don't want anything from you.'

  'Yes, you do,' he said, his eyes almost black now. 'You want this.'

  She supposed she had known all along that she was going to have to fight him. What she hadn't known was how short-lived that fight was going to be.

  Just one long, deep, overwhelming kiss, and all of her defences were undermined. Another kiss, shorter yet fiercer, and they began to fall apart.

  Benedict raised his head and drew in an unsteady breath. 'Do you want to be with me?' he challenged roughly.

  'No,' she managed to mutter, but in a voice that said the very opposite.

  The next kiss demolished the last frail shreds of her defiance.

  'Do you?' Benedict repeated. 'I want to hear you say it!'

  'Yes,' Amy found herself whispering.

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  First published in Great Britain 1991

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Joanna Mansell 1991

  Australian copyright 1991

  Philippine copyright 1991

  This edition 1991

  ISBN 0 263 77292 6

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amy ran her fingers distractedly through the silver-gold strands of her hair, and read the letter from her cousin, Angeline, for the dozenth time.

  Dear Amy, I'm in terrible trouble and danger. You must come to Istanbul at once. Book into the Golden Horn Hotel, and wait for someone to get in touch with you. Please, please don't let me down, or I don't know what will happen to me. And don't tell the police, or you might not see me again.

  Angeline had scrawled her name at the bottom, her signature almost unrecognisable. In fact, the entire letter was barely legible. It was as if the writer had written it in tremendous haste—or her hand had been shaking so much that she could hardly hold the pen.

  'This is crazy,' Amy muttered to herself. 'No one would want to hurt Angeline. The letter's got to be some sort of practical joke.'

  A loud knocking on the door made her jump violently, and she realised how much the letter had set her nerves on edge. A glance at her watch told her that she was late in opening the shop. She was in no state to deal with a customer, though. Whoever it was would just have to come back later.

  She was just reading the letter through yet again when there was another impatient knock on the door. Amy's green eyes flared. She got up, walked over to the door, yanked back the hefty bolts and whipped it open. Then she glared at the man standing outside.

  'The shop is closed! It says so very clearly on the sign. Or can't you read?' she demanded, not caring in the least that she was being very rude.

  The man glared straight back at her. 'I haven't come to buy any of this rubbish. I've come to talk to you. That is, if you're Amy Stewart.'

  Amy's eyes took on an even fiercer glow. The antiques and curios that she sold might not be to everyone's taste, but they most certainly weren't rubbish!

  'I'm Amy Stewart,' she informed him, her voice laced with intense dislike. 'But I can't see anyone right now. You'll have to come back at some other time.'

  She began to slam the door shut, but he neatly inserted one foot in it. Then, with one easy movement of his arm, he pushed the door open again and strode right into the small, cluttered shop.

  'If you don't get out of here in five seconds—' she threatened him.

  'You'll do what?' he said coolly. 'Throw me out?'

  He was standing very close to her now, towering over her, letting her see just how tall and powerful he was. Amy suddenly felt small, helpless and vulnerable, and she didn't like it, not one little bit.

  She moved quickly to the back of the shop and reached under the counter.

  'There's a burglar alarm here, and it's connected directly to the police station,' she told him tautly. 'If you don't leave immediately, I'll press it. The police will be here in just minutes.'

  'Oh, this is ridiculous!' the man said with a quick wave of impatience. 'I haven't come here to rob or rape you. I simply want to talk to you about your cousin, Angeline.'

  Amy blinked at him. 'Angeline?' she repeated. 'You know my cousin?'

  He looked back at her steadily. 'Yes, I know Angeline.'

  'And do you know where she is?'

  'Of course. She's in Istanbul, on holiday. I haven't heard a word from her since she left, though. No phone-calls, no letters, not even a postcard. That's why I've called round to see you; I want to know if you've heard anything from her.'

  'How did you know about me and where to find me?'

  'Angeline's talked about you several times,' said the man. 'And when we drove past here once, she pointed out this shop and said that this was where you lived and worked.' His gaze became impatient again. 'Well?' he demanded. 'Has she been in touch with you?'

  Amy slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans. She had shoved Angeline's letter in there when she had first gone to open the door. She didn't immediately pull it out and show it to this man, though. After all, she didn't know who he was. She didn't even know his name. She certainly wasn't going to confide in a perfect stranger.

  'Angeline didn't tell me that she was going on holiday to Istanbul,' she said rather evasively.

  'I shouldn't think that she told you everything that was going on in her life,' he replied brusquely. 'I got the impression that the two of you weren't particularly close.'

  'Then why should she get in touch with me?' Amy parried.

  His eyes suddenly narrowed. They were very dark eyes, she noticed irrelevantly. Almost as dark as his hair. And they seemed to see far too much.

  'You know something, don't you?' he said with absolute certainty. 'Has she written? Phoned? What did she say?'

  For a moment, Amy very nearly blurted out everything. It would be a huge relief to share it with someone—all the puzzlement and alarm that had bubbled through her as she had read Angeline's letter. Then her mouth set in a more stubborn line. She didn't want to share anything with this man. Anyhow, it was fairly obvious that he couldn't help in any way. If he could, Angeline would have written that frantic letter to him, instead of to her.

  'I haven't heard from Angeline for ages,' she lied. 'If she hasn't been in touch with you, then she's probably got a very good reason. In fact, she's—'

  Amy had been about to say that Angeline had probably met someone else and immediately lost all interest in this man now standing in front of her. Just in time, she stopped herself. He would soon find out for hi
mself that Angeline had a very short attention-span when it came to men. 'After a few weeks, you know absolutely everything about them,' Angeline had said carelessly, more than once. 'All about their job, their family, their background, their boring likes and dislikes—and what they're like in bed. Then it's time to move on to the next one.'

  Amy didn't approve or disapprove of her cousin's way of life. It was just the way that Angeline was. And if she was in the process of dumping this man for someone else, then Amy didn't want to get involved. Of course, it didn't explain that strange and worrying letter from her cousin, but, since this man obviously wasn't involved in the mystery, he couldn't help to solve it. What she had to do now was to get rid of him, so she could read that letter through yet again, and try to figure out exactly what was going on—and what she should do about it.

  'Look,' she said in a very reasonable tone of voice, 'there's probably a perfectly simple explanation why she hasn't contacted you. Perhaps there's been trouble with the phone lines from Istanbul. Why don't you just go home and wait to hear from her? There's every chance that Angeline will ring you in the next couple of days.'

  The man's dark gaze rested on her levelly, as if assessing everything she had said to him. Amy's heart began to sink. If he knew that she had lied to him, then she would never get rid of him.

  A few moments later, though, he gave a brief nod of his head. 'You're probably right. Something's stopped her from getting in touch.' His eyes flicked over her. 'Are you sure you can't tell me what it is?'

  'No, of course not,' Amy said quickly. 'She'll probably explain everything when she does finally get through to you.'

  That distinctly disturbing gaze of his ran over her yet again, and this time it seemed to leave a small trail of shivers in its wake. Then he wheeled round and strode out of the shop, to Amy's intense relief.

  She discovered that she had actually been holding her breath. She released it in a loud, shaky sigh as he disappeared from sight. Then she hurried through to the small room at the back of the shop, and pulled Angeline's letter out of her pocket.

  As she skimmed through it, her eyebrows drew together in an anxious frown. What kind of trouble and danger could Angeline possibly be in? And why hadn't she told Amy more about it, so that she knew exactly what to do to help?

  She stared at her cousin's scrawled writing with worried bewilderment. Then she gave a slightly exasperated sigh. Reading and re-reading the letter wasn't going to help. She already knew it by heart, and there weren't any subtle clues in it that she had missed.

  Just then, a hand reached over her shoulder and ripped the sheet of paper away from her. Amy spun round, and found herself facing the man who had forcefully pushed his way into her shop just a short time ago.

  He must have moved as silently as a big cat. She hadn't heard any footsteps or a whisper of movement. It was alarming to think that a large, powerful man could move so silently.

  'I knew that you were lying,' he said tersely, as his dark gaze skimmed over the letter. 'I just didn't know why. I still don't know.'

  'Because this is nothing to do with you,' Amy hissed back at him, her heart thundering away at a very unhealthy rate. 'That letter was written to me. Angeline doesn't mention you, or ask me to get in touch with you. If Angeline's got some kind of problem, then I'll deal with it without any help from you.'

  'If Angeline's got some kind of problem?' he repeated incredulously. 'This letter was clearly written under duress, and she was obviously terrified when she wrote it. Just how much of problem does she have to have before you react in a normal, human manner?'

  Amy's green eyes flashed angrily. 'I'm certainly worried about my cousin. But you don't know her—'

  'I think that I know her a damned sight better than you seem to,' he interrupted, his own features darkening.

  But Amy very much doubted that. Men only ever saw one side of Angeline. They didn't know about the little tricks she liked to play—some of them simply annoying, many of them downright malicious. They didn't know that her life was spent in the restless pursuit of the next thrill, the next piece of excitement.

  Then Amy sighed. Despite everything, there were times when she realised that she was still rather fond of her cousin. And she thought that Angeline returned that affection in a careless, unthinking way. She supposed that was why Angeline had written to her, now that she was obviously in deep trouble.

  'All right,' she said at last, reluctantly, 'the letter's probably genuine. It would have been more helpful, though, if Angeline had told me what kind of trouble she was in.'

  'Perhaps she wasn't given the chance. Maybe this was all she was allowed to write. When are you leaving for Istanbul?'

  'When—or even if—I'm going is absolutely none of your business,' she shot back, with a fresh spurt of annoyance.

  'Oh, you're going,' he informed her, in a grim tone. 'Even if I have to drag you out there personally.'

  'I've a business to run,' she reminded him in a very cold voice. 'I can't run off to the other side of the world at a moment's notice.'

  'This shop full of rubbish is more important than your cousin's safety?' His mouth set in a line of pure contempt. 'Angeline was right. You really do dislike her, don't you?'

  At that, Amy's anger vanished and her mouth dropped open slightly. 'Angeline thinks that I dislike her?'

  'I don't know why you should,' he went on, his features still very clearly registering his own feelings on the subject. 'After all, you're the one with all the advantages, aren't you? Parents who are still alive, a stable home background, your own business—and, of course, all that money from your uncle. Most people would have been pretty bitter and resentful about that. Angeline wasn't, though. She just shrugged it off, said that if her uncle wanted to cut her out of his will, then that was OK by her. She earned good money as a model, she could make her own way in life. I admired her for taking that attitude.'

  Amy had gone quite stiff while he was talking. Angeline had had no business telling all those very personal details to a stranger. Except he probably wasn't a stranger to Angeline by now, she reminded herself with a suddenly resigned shrug. Her cousin soon got to know the men in her life very intimately!

  'Angeline didn't exactly have a deprived childhood,' she told him crisply. 'Her parents didn't die until she was nearly twenty. She had lived away from home for three years by then, and she hardly ever went back to see them. I got the impression that she didn't actually miss them very much. She's very self-sufficient.'

  'That isn't the way that Angeline tells it. She said that her world fell apart when her parents died. She missed them all the time, that she hasn't really got over their deaths, even now.' His gaze slid over her coldly. 'Perhaps you don't actually know your cousin very well.'

  Amy had always thought that she had understood Angeline only too well. She was beginning to feel just a little confused, though. This man seemed so certain about everything he was telling her. And although there were a great many things about him that she definitely didn't like or admire, he didn't seem the type who could be easily fooled by anyone. In fact, he appeared to be able to see the truth only too clearly. He had known at once that she was lying when she had told him she hadn't heard from Angeline. Surely he would have known just as easily if Angeline had lied to him?

  What if she had been very wrong about her cousin? Amy thought with growing unease. What if all that glitz and glitter had just been a facade, hiding some very deep feelings and emotions that Angeline hadn't wanted the world to see? Perhaps he was right, and she hadn't really known her cousin at all. That was a highly disturbing notion, and one that she needed time to think about.

  He didn't intend to give her any time for anything, however. 'When are you leaving for Istanbul?' he enquired curtly, for the second time.

  'I—I don't know.' She was feeling distinctly confused and flustered now, and she didn't like it. He was hustling her along far too fast. 'There are phone-calls I'll have to make. I can't just leave at a momen
t's notice—'

  He had almost forced her into admitting that she was actually going to Istanbul. A few minutes ago, she had been a long way away from making any such decision. Now he practically had her booked on the plane!

  He glanced at his watch. 'I'll give you a couple of hours,' he told her. 'I'll be back at twelve, to find out what arrangements you've made.'

  Amy glared at him with intense dislike. 'There's no need for you to come back at all!'

  He gave her a thin and totally humourless smile. 'I wouldn't want to deprive you of the pleasure of seeing me again.'

  She continued to glare at him. He obviously knew just how much she disliked him. It was equally obvious that he didn't care. He simply wanted to force her to abandon everything at a moment's notice and go careering off to Istanbul in search of Angeline.

  'Twelve o'clock,' he repeated. 'And by the way, in case you're interested—my name is Benedict Kane.'

  Amy wanted to yell that she wasn't interested in one single thing about him, but it was already too late. He had moved quickly and silently out of the shop, disappearing as swiftly as he had come.

  After he had gone, she ran and bolted the door to the shop. She didn't want anyone else coming in this morning. Any prospective customers would just have to wait until she felt ready to face the world again. And after Angeline's letter and that visit from Benedict Kane, that could take some time!

  She prowled back to the room behind the shop, slumped into a chair and stared at the wall. When she had woken up this morning she had thought this was going to be just another Monday. It was traditionally a quiet day, with few customers. She usually spent the morning dusting and tidying up the shop, had a leisurely lunch, and then caught up with any paperwork in the afternoon.

  Instead, she was sitting here wondering how long she was going to have to stay in Istanbul, and what she was going to find when she got there.