Royal Temptation

‘I want someone to come and help me put on the television, and I want a thinly sliced and peeled apple to cleanse my palette, and then something nice to eat.’

‘Such as?’

‘Sweet,’ Layla said. ‘Some fruit. You choose for me. One other thing—can I get a joint from you?’

‘No.’

‘Okay, just some sweet milk to drink, then.’

Apart from when she had caught that cold from wearing damp clothes Layla had never spent a day in bed before, and she intended to enjoy it.

The maids delivered her food and Terrence, the butler, gave her a tutorial on the television’s remote control, and Layla lay in bed, still in Mikael’s shirt, dipping raspberries in white chocolate sauce and drinking milk laced with cinnamon and nutmeg while watching television.

It was fantastic!

She watched as the couple on the screen started kissing, and blew out her breath as she remembered her kiss last night with Mikael again.

She watched, eyes wide, as the man started to take off the woman’s top, and started to blush as he undid her bra.

Oh!

Layla knew that she should not be watching this, that she should turn it off, but she could not stop herself. She wanted some lemonade from the fridge. Usually she would use the phone to get Terrence to fetch it for her, but she did not want to be disturbed and so, with her eyes not leaving the screen, for the first time Layla fetched a drink for herself.

The couple were now on the bed, with a sheet over them, and Layla just about choked on her lemonade at the noises they were making. She reached for the phone—not to call down to the desk, though; instead she called Mikael.

‘I can’t speak now, Layla,’ he said. ‘I’m about to have a meeting with my client’s family.’

‘Just one question?’ she begged.

‘One.’

‘I am watching television and I think people are having sex in the middle of the day and they are not married to each other.’

‘You’re not watching television, then,’ he said. ‘You’ve put on the adult channel.’

God, he thought, another thing he’d have to have removed from her bill before her brother saw it.

‘Oh!’

He heard her gasp of disappointment. ‘Now they are putting on the thing where they try to make me thirsty again.’

‘That’s a commercial.’ He laughed. Okay, so she wasn’t on the adult channel. ‘Do you know the name of the show that you’re watching?’

Layla told him.

‘That’s what we call a soap,’ Mikael explained. ‘They’re not really having sex—they’re just acting.’

‘Well, it’s very good acting,’ Layla said. ‘She looks how I felt when you kissed me last night. Are they dressed beneath the sheet?’

‘I would think so.’

‘But I saw the top of his bottom.’

‘I have to go.’ Mikael hesitated as Wendy buzzed. ‘Hold on a moment, Layla.’

She would happily hold on, she thought—her show was back on and the couples were lying together and smiling.

‘I really do have to go, Layla.’

‘Just one more question…’ She didn’t get to ask it.

‘Layla, the jury’s returning.’

‘So soon? But—’

Mikael had already hung up.

He met with his client, who was sweating. ‘It’s not good that they’re back so soon, is it?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘A little bit of hope would be nice.’

He did not respond. He had done his very best for the filth that now sat next to him. What hope had he given his victim that night?

Mikael sat, his face impassive, waiting.

‘All rise.’

Mikael did.

* * *

Layla hopped on one leg as she watched the court reporter on the court’s steps and Terrence stood beside her, navigating social media and giving her updates.

‘The verdict’s coming.’

‘Oh,’ Layla said. ‘Do you think he’ll be upset if he loses?’

‘He rarely loses,’ Terrence said. ‘Probably…’ Terrence paused. ‘Okay, here it is…’ He paused for a moment and then read out the verdict. ‘Guilty.’

Layla gasped as pandemonium hit the courtroom.

‘They’re shouting abuse from the public gallery,’ Terrence said, reading from a laptop as Layla watched the news. ‘The judge is thanking the jury.’

‘What are they saying about Mikael?’ Layla demanded.

Nothing the court reporter or Terrence could find gave her a clue as to how he was feeling.

Mikael Romanov, the court reporter said, was, as always, a closed book.

Not even later, as he walked down the court steps and ignored the reporters, did his expression give Layla an inkling as to his thoughts.

‘Send someone to tidy the room,’ Layla said, ‘and I want more fruit and chocolate sauce and champagne…’ Rapid were her orders.

‘Champagne?’ Terrence checked. ‘I don’t think he’ll be in the mood for celebrating.’

‘Now, Terrence, please!’

* * *

Mikael’s expression was unreadable as he walked back to chambers—just as it would have been had his client been found not guilty.

No one could ever guess what went on in his mind.

He de-robed and took a long drink of sparkling water. Then, a short while later, his car gunned from the car park and Mikael left in a puff of smoke, driving straight to the hotel, where he threw his keys at the valet and this time told him to park it. He took the elevator to her door.

‘Enter,’ Layla called, and he took out his swipe card and let himself in.

She was sitting up in bed, still wearing his shirt. There was champagne in a bucket and he hadn’t had a drink in two months, and there was fruit and chocolate sauce. She understood him, Mikael realised, somehow she understood him—or rather she simply let him be.

‘Are you upset?’ Layla asked.

‘No.’

‘Because I thought you could just hide in bed with me. Not for sex. I have always dreamt of it, but today I found out it is really nice to sit in bed and just eat.’

‘Okay…’ Mikael’s voice was a touch wary, but he took off his jacket and tie, shoes and socks, and then opened the champagne. He poured two glasses and joined her, but lay on top of the bed rather than getting in.

‘How do you feel?’ Layla asked, and Mikael thought for a moment before answering.

‘Elated.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘There’s no such thing as a bad day at the office for me, Layla. That bastard is going down for a very long time.’

He breathed out, stunned at his own honesty.

‘Do you ever not try your best?’ Layla’s eyes narrowed as she asked a very brave question—one perhaps no one else would ever dare ask.

‘I try my best for all my clients. I fight for them with everything I have.’

‘Always?’

‘Always,’ Mikael said. ‘And then, if they are found guilty, I know, as best I can know, that a guilty man has gone down.’

The champagne tasted nice, Mikael thought.

‘Aren’t you going to ask if it bothers me…?’ He was surprised by the lack of the oh, so familiar question.

‘Clearly it doesn’t,’ Layla said. ‘I doubt many people could get you to do something you did not want to do.’

‘You did,’ Mikael said. ‘I took you on when I didn’t want to.’

‘Ah, but you were attracted to me,’ she said, and dipped a raspberry in white chocolate sauce. ‘Intrigued.’

‘I was,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t trouble you, then?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, and instead of eating the raspberry herself she fed it to him, liking the feel of his lips on her fingers and the wetness of his tongue so much that she did it again as she spoke on. ‘For a system to work, both sides need to be represented well. In some lands there is no such system.’

‘How does it work in Ishla?’

‘If you are found guilty of a crime you are either pardoned, removed or killed.’

‘You can be pardoned?’

‘Of course. It is at my father’s discretion and once you are pardoned there is no grudge, no stigma. If you cannot be fully pardoned then you are removed from society till you can be fully pardoned.’ She looked over at him where he lay on the bed, silent. ‘Why are you smiling?’

‘That’s what you do to me,’ he admitted. Maybe it was because she was here just for a few days—just a transient timeframe—which meant he could let down his perpetual guard a touch.

‘Did you always want to study law?’

‘No.’

‘Why did you?’

Mikael shook his head. His guard wasn’t that low. ‘It’s just as well you don’t read and write,’ he said, pulling her into the crook of his arm. ‘You’d be running for prime minister.’

‘But I can read and write,’ Layla said. ‘Just not English. But I am going to learn—it will be good for my work.’

‘You work?’ This he had to hear!

‘Of course—though I don’t get paid for it. My father was concerned because although the girls in Ishla were receiving an education their grades were far lower than the boys. We had a discussion and decided that I would speak with them once a month and encourage them. Now I speak to all the classes. Every day I have students, but I cannot know all their names. Their grades are improving,’ Layla said. ‘I’m very good at it and they love me.’

‘You’re modest too.’

She shrugged. ‘I loathe false modesty. I tell my girls to be proud of themselves and their achievements.’

They drank more champagne in silence.

Sometimes she felt his mouth on her hair; sometimes she felt his fingers stroke her forearm. It was the most peaceful Layla had ever felt. He dozed, and she liked the thump-thump of his heart in her ear, liked the rise and fall of his chest, and she liked the view too—because she could see the outline of what had been pressing into her last night.

‘What are you doing?’ Mikael asked as her fingers moved to undo the bottom part of his shirt.

‘I want to see the hairy bit beneath your navel again,’ she said, but his hand moved hers away and held it and she watched with a smile as the outline widened and stretched.

‘What made you want to study law?’ she asked again.

‘You’re persistent, aren’t you?’

‘Very, very persistent.’ Layla nodded. ‘I always get my own way in the end, so it would be much easier on you to just give in now.’

It was tell her or let her hand go.

Speak or find her mouth.

Mikael knew what he would prefer, but she had invited him to her bed ‘not for sex’, and it had been the nicest hiding place he had ever had.

He couldn’t even be bothered to put the news on and find out what was being said.

Okay, he’d tell her why he had studied law.

Some of it.

‘When I grew up I had no family. I just remember a flat and lots of people, but there was no one there that I called a parent. There were other children and lot of fights, drinking. One night everyone was moved on and I started to live on the streets.’

‘As a beggar?’

‘And a thief,’ Mikael said. ‘When I was around twelve, maybe thirteen—I don’t know exactly how old I was—a government worker helped me. His wife was dead and he took me in. I shared his home with him and his son, I got an identity, an assumed date of birth, and I went to school. I was always Mikael, but I took his surname.’

‘What was it?’

‘Igor Romanov,’ Mikael said.

‘He adopted you?’

‘No,’ Mikael said. ‘I just took the surname. I was grateful to him, and worked very hard at school, but I still got into a lot of trouble. I was very angry. But when I got the gold medal at school Igor suggested law.’

Layla lay there trying to imagine a life without her family. She missed her mother every day, and even though she had never met her she knew so much about her.

Imagine not knowing anything…

Mikael lay in the dark place in his mind that he didn’t visit very often.

How he had fought to survive in a world where no one had cared if he lived.

Worse than that, though, had been the boredom—hour after hour to fill.

Had he not had chess, Mikael knew that he would have lost his mind. Day in, day out, night in, night out, hour after hour, he would sit with men older than him who taught him so well he could soon beat them—until people had started to pay for a chance to play him.

They hadn’t paid much, but it had been enough to feed him.

That was when Igor had stepped in, having heard about this boy who was being paid to play chess. Mikael had carried on playing, but there had been books then, and study, as Mikael had fast made up the years of education he had lost on the streets.

Layla’s persistent fingers had slid into the gap between his shirt buttons and now idly stroked the hair there. He went to move them, but from her breathing and the sudden stillness of her fingers he realised she was sleeping.

Mikael lay and watched the sun set over Sydney as the tension of the past few months receded.

‘Layla…’ He felt her stir, and despite having washed her hair himself he could still smell the exotic scent when she moved. ‘Would you like to go out?’

‘Out?’ Her hand pulled away from his stomach.

‘Dancing.’

She was off the bed in a moment, and peeling off his shirt as she headed to the bathroom. Mikael had never known anybody get dressed so quickly.

‘I’ve never danced,’ she said excitedly as she pulled on her glittery shoes. ‘What if I can’t do it?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage,’ he said, ringing down for a driver and preparing to head out into the world instead of locking himself in for the night.

The trial was over; it was time for some fun.

CHAPTER NINE

HE CHOSE A very private, exclusive club, but as the driver dropped them off there was still a line-up for the less than perfect. They lifted the rope as soon as Mikael approached—but not before Layla had already bypassed the line.

She wasn’t deliberately flouting the rules, Mikael realised, they had just never applied to her.

‘I want to sit at the bar,’ she said as they were led to a table.

‘Fine,’ Mikael said, because it was her night.

‘I want to order.’

‘Do so, then.’

‘What do you want to drink?’ she asked.

‘They know my order,’ he said

‘A drink for Mikael and one Irish coffee for me.’

He just looked at the barman who, to his credit, only blinked once.

‘Can I have some money to pay him, Mikael?’ she asked.

‘I have an account here.’

‘I want to pay, though,’ she said. ‘I want to buy you a drink.’

With his money!

‘Mikael!’ A couple of silks came over. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Bad luck—really thought you’d got him off.’

‘So did I for a while,’ Mikael said.

They chatted about work for a few moments, but all eyes were on Layla.

‘Where the hell did you find her?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘She’s stunning.’

‘She’s exhausting,’ he said, and looked over to where Layla sat perched on a bar stool. She was wearing a cream moustache and chatting to the now besotted barman, who’d been foolish enough to say that he’d noticed her shoes as she came in.

‘And now…’ Layla smiled to the barman ‘…I take them dancing. Come on, Mikael!’

She could dance!

‘It’s so easy!’ She beamed. ‘So sexy!’ She laughed. ‘No wonder it is forbidden.’

As she danced and swayed Layla had possibly never been happier in her life, and her exuberance and sheer joy were infectious. So much so that the mood at the rather staid club lifted and a night that might have been spent commiserating over Mikael’s loss seemed to have turned into a party—everyone was up and dancing.

‘You are sexy, Mikael,’ Layla said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He was so lithe and so full of surprises—for she’d thought he would sit at the bar, but instead they’d moved together and danced into the small hours.

‘Will you kiss me again?’

‘Not here,’ he said, and as the music slowed she leant against him.

‘When we get back to the hotel can we do what they did on the television?’

Mikael frowned. It seemed a very, very long time ago since he’d been told that the verdict was in, and only when Layla spoke on did he remember she’d been watching a TV show.

‘Can we act as if we’re having sex but keep our panties on?’ Layla asked.

‘No,’ Mikael said. ‘And I don’t wear panties.’

‘Please?’

‘No,’ he said again.

‘I’m tired of dancing now.’ Layla sulked.

‘Good.’

The driver took them back to the hotel.

‘Thank you for taking me dancing.’ She looked at him. ‘Will you stay here with me tonight?’

Mikael had been thinking about the same thing all the car ride back to the hotel. ‘Well, I’ve just had a chat with my self-control and, yes, I will stay here with you tonight.’

‘Where are you going?’ Layla said as they stepped into her suite and Mikael headed straight for the bathroom.

‘To shave,’ he said. Because she bruised like a peach and the kiss he wanted to give her would have her face in shreds.

Layla sat on the edge of the bath as Mikael rolled up his shirtsleeves, went through the hotel tray and then rubbed shaving cream in his jaw.

‘I think I sweated,’ she said.

Mikael shook his head a little at her way with words.

‘I would like another bath.’

‘Run it yourself, then.’

She met his eyes in the mirror and held his gaze, and the look between them seemed to go on for ever.

‘Did you enjoy dancing?’ he asked.

‘Very much,’ she said, ‘but not as much as our kiss.’

Without another word she stood and turned. She put in the bath plug and added oils as if she was making a very complicated recipe, and Mikael tried to concentrate on shaving as she started to undress.

Off came the red dress.

Then she slipped off her shoes.

The razor hovered at a safe distance as Layla took off her bra and he saw her pert breasts and dark swollen nipples.

Her panties were next, and Mikael rinsed his face for a very long time. But even with his eyes closed all he could see was the silky straight triangle of hair.

He checked in again with his self-control as Layla spoke.

‘Can you wash me again?’

‘I think you can do that yourself.’

‘I am sure that I can,’ she said, ‘but I like it when you do it.’

She did.

She wanted to be kissed by him again and she wanted the feel of his arms and the touch of his naked skin. Mikael turned around and she looked at him, wanted to see more of him.

‘Can you remove your shirt?’

He did, and he was more beautiful than he had been asleep on the sofa because now he was awake, and she saw the stretch of muscles as he removed it. Her eyes did not guiltily jerk upwards from the snake of ebony hair this time; instead they moved down, and it was very clear that what she was feeling was matched by Mikael.

‘You could take the rest of your clothes off,’ she invited.

‘I don’t think so,’ Mikael said, because someone had to stay in control here and he guessed it would have to be him.

‘I ache from dancing.’

‘Ache no more,’ he said, kneeling down.

Mikael washed her far more slowly than Jamila did. First he washed her neck and shoulders, and Layla closed her eyes in bliss at the feel of his fingers soaping her and the sound of him breathing.

Then he washed her arms, and it tickled a bit as he lifted one and soaped her. And then her breath caught as his hand soaped her breasts, one at a time and very slowly. Layla could feel her aching nipples and she looked down to where they were swollen and stretched. Her head was so heavy she rested it on his shoulder and started to kiss his neck.

His neck tasted wonderful, almost as nice as his mouth, and whatever he was doing with her breasts had her hungry to taste him some more.

‘Move your mouth lower,’ Mikael warned. ‘If I have to face your brother it’s going to be hard enough looking him in the eye without—’

He didn’t finish, and Layla didn’t really get what he meant, but as she pulled back she saw the red mark her mouth had made. She moved her deep kisses to his shoulder, licking, sucking and relishing the feel of her wet naked skin against his.

Mikael massaged her aching calves, and then his hand moved between her thighs.

‘Jamila hands me a cloth for down there,’ Layla said.

‘Do you want a cloth?’

‘No,’ she said, but she was very honest as his fingers explored her intimate lips. ‘Just touch me on the outside, though. I will be examined when I return.’

Mikael hated the thought of her being examined but said nothing.

With his free hand he lifted her mouth from his neck and kissed her as he had wanted to since the verdict had come in.

Layla felt the fierce passion of his mouth, the untamed desire of his tongue, even as his fingers stayed gentle. His tongue did to her mouth what she wanted his fingers to do. She was clinging onto his head, squeezing his hand with her thighs, urging him as he resisted. He worked her clitoris and her mouth, holding on himself as he felt her mounting tension.

‘Mikael—’ She pulled her lips back in panic, but he smothered her protests with his mouth, and she held onto his shoulders as something rippled through her, warmer than the water she bathed in and yet it made her shiver. Her thighs clamped around his hand and still he stroked her—and a shocked Layla came for the first time to his hand as Mikael fought to stay gentle.

He stopped kissing her and she rested her head on his shoulder as the something receded and a new calm invaded her.

‘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.’