Carol Marinelli - Royal Temptation

‘I think I did have a seizure that time,’ she said. ‘Oh, Mikael, did you have an orgasm too?’

‘Layla…’ he warned, because her questions were at times so very direct. But he was laughing as he picked her up out of the bath and took her to the bed.

‘I can’t touch with my hand what is not my husband’s, but I want to see it.’

‘Well, you’re not going to,’ he said. ‘We’re already heading into very dangerous territory.’

‘Please, Mikael!’

‘Layla, everyone has limits, and you’re close to exceeding mine.’

‘You will sleep in the bed with me, though?’

‘Yes,’ he said. Preferably with a padlock on his belt. ‘I’m going to have a shower and then I’ll be in.’

‘Bring me your shirt.’

He was gone quite a time and Layla lay smiling until he came out. His trousers were back on and he had forgotten to bring his shirt out.

‘Sleep naked,’ Mikael said when she asked him to retrieve it. He was already climbing into bed. ‘Live a little.’

‘I’ll catch a cold.’

‘I’ll keep you warm.’

It felt very nice to be against him, to feel his hand stroking her ribcage and to rest her head on his chest.

‘Did you like your verdict party?’ she asked.

‘Was that what it was?’

‘Yes.’

How much easier would his job be if he came home to her at the end of a trial? Mikael thought, and then halted himself—because he didn’t like to think that way.

He was tired now. And maybe he was relaxed from the shower, or maybe it was because soon she’d be gone, but when she asked a question so pertinent, instead of evading it or changing the subject, he answered with the truth.

‘Where is Igor now?’ she asked. ‘Do you still keep in touch?’

‘No,’ Mikael said. ‘Just after I finished school Igor was shot and killed.’

‘Why?’ She went to lift her head, but his hand held her body down just a fraction and she chose to stay still, because he was answering her questions now.

‘Street court,’ Mikael said.

‘Street court?’

‘A woman with a very prominent husband was having an affair. One day her husband came home and nearly caught them, but the man escaped through the bedroom window. She confessed that she had been having an affair and her husband pushed her to name her lover. She and Igor had worked together for years, and the husband was furious and had him killed.’ Mikael was silent for a long time. ‘All the evidence pointed to Igor: the wife had confessed and named him, the husband had known they were friends. And yet, despite so much evidence, Igor was not sleeping with her.’

‘You know that for sure?’

‘I do know that for sure—because the person leaving her bedroom was me. I had met her at Igor’s work.’

‘She named Igor ?’ Layla was appalled. ‘Why would she do that when it wasn’t even him?’

‘Because she knew what would happen—she knew that her husband would have him killed and she did not want to lose a good screw.’

His voice was so bitter that Layla shivered, and even if she had never heard that word before she knew what he meant. She lay there as Mikael continued speaking.

‘I hate her more than the man who shot him. I hate her so much that when a witness comes on the stand I picture her and I tear through their answers. I make sure, if they lie, that I expose it on the stand.’

‘This is why you believe in a good defence?’ Layla asked.

‘Absolutely.’

‘So how did you get to Australia?’

‘Demyan,’ Mikael said. ‘He’s a friend of mine. I grew up with him but he had moved to Australia. I knew there would soon be a bullet with my name on it, so I called him and his aunt helped me get to Australia.’

Mikael got out of bed and went to get a drink. He did not want her shock and sympathy; he did not want the questions and the prolonged conversation afterwards.

He had told her—wasn’t that enough?

‘The woman you hate…?’ Layla asked, and Mikael gave a wry smile, because she could easily don a wig and robe, so perceptive were her questions. ‘Did you love her also?’

‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Well, it was the closest I’ve ever…’ He took a belt of his drink and then a very deep breath, wondering if Layla would notice his hesitation—because the way he had felt in the past didn’t come close to the way he was feeling right now.

Not that she would notice.

She was putting on her shoes in bed and admiring her long legs—but what he didn’t know was that it was for his sake.

She’d sensed that he no longer wanted to talk.

He had never met anyone like her. Mikael was far more used to women pleading for conversation, for emotion, for him to just open up a touch more.

Layla had had all three without even asking.

And the only thing opening up now was her knees as Layla offered a rather appealing distraction from his very dark thoughts.

‘Can you kiss me down there?’

It would, Mikael decided, be his absolute pleasure.

CHAPTER TEN

MIKAEL WOKE TO the sound of Layla ordering her usual thinly sliced and peeled apple with mint tea and water.

‘And coffee,’ Mikael said. ‘And cake.’

‘Cake?’ Layla frowned.

‘Cake,’ he said.

‘Could we have some chocolate cake and coffee too?’ Layla said to the chef. ‘And I would like my slice of cake just a little bit warm, with lots of cream to pour over it.’ She ended the call and gave Mikael a wide smile. ‘I love this phone; it’s just fantastic.’

‘I thought you’d always be ringing down your orders in your palace?’

‘No.’ Layla shook her head. ‘I just tell Jamila what I want and she gets it for me.’

‘So Jamila’s your maid?’

‘My handmaiden,’ Layla said. ‘She has been with me since the day I was born.’

‘Like a mum?’

‘No!’ She laughed at the very thought. ‘You don’t love servants…’ Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I do feel a bit sick, though, at the moment when I think of her. She will be so worried. Oh, poor Jamila!’

‘Sounds a lot like love to me,’ Mikael said.

‘So,’ Layla asked, ‘now that the trial is over, do you get that time off you talked about?’

He gave a wry smile. His work had barely begun. There would be sentencing, appeals… He closed his eyes at the thought of it all for a moment.

‘I have a very busy day today. I have to meet with my client, his family.’ God, Mikael knew where he’d rather be.

‘That’s fine. I am going to take a ferry and I am also going to do the Sydney Harbour Bridge climb.’

Mikael lay there and told himself that Layla was twenty-four. She wasn’t incapable. In fact she was possibly the cleverest person he had ever met…

And yet…

That gnawing of unease he had felt the first night when he had called the hotel to see what was happening was back.

It wasn’t Layla so much who concerned him but others. She had been so protected it simply didn’t enter her head that people might not be nice to her.

He closed his eyes as there was a knock at the door and tried to tell himself that he was overreacting, that of course she’d be fine out there without him.

Breakfast was delivered, along with something that Mikael was a bit embarrassed about now but had seemed a nice idea last night—there was a phone in the bathroom, after all…

‘Flowers!’ Layla was ecstatic ‘And a card!’ She opened it. ‘What does it say?’

Mikael groaned. He’d forgotten in the moment when he’d ordered them that she couldn’t read English, and now he’d have to read it out loud to her—but he waited till all the staff had gone.

‘“Layla, Thank you for an amazing end to a difficult day and an even more amazing night. Mikael.”’