Protecting the Desert Princess

by Carol Marinelli

  His hands were warm and dry and his fingers moved to the tiny scar on her otherwise flawless skin.

  ‘What happened there?’ Mikael asked.

  ‘When we were nine Hussain, my future husband, showed me how to make a match burn twice.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘I don’t know him,’ Layla said. ‘We played as children. I get to choose my husband, but I have been told, for the good of Ishla, that Hussain would be the wisest choice. My heart does not think so, though.’

  He wanted to lift her wrist and kiss it better. Mikael had never felt anything like it before. But then Layla got too close.

  ‘What are your family like?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t have any family.’

  ‘Are your parents dead?’

  Her question was so clinical he was able to answer.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t elaborate; instead he dropped hands and took up the menu, started to read out the choices, but she halted him.

  ‘You choose for me,’ she said. ‘I want what you order—I want to try your favourite thing.’

  ‘Is there anything you especially like or dislike?’

  ‘I want to try whatever.’

  So Mikael ordered for them. He taught her how to peel the fattest, plumpest prawns and their fingers played together in the warm water bowl.

  ‘I love these,’ Layla said. ‘I want to eat prawns again.’

  ‘Don’t you have them in Ishla?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I must ask my father to get some for me.’

  Mussels, oysters—all were bliss. But Layla just wanted more prawns.

  ‘I could live off these,’ she said, and then very rapidly changed the subject back to where she wanted it to be. ‘How can you not know if your parents are dead or alive? Can’t you trace them?’

  ‘Leave it, Layla.’

  ‘But I want to know.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to tell you.’ Mikael refused to reveal anything. ‘What do you want for dessert?’

  ‘Prawns.’

  After a draining black day it was a lovely night, and as he dropped her off at the hotel Mikael did the right thing: gave the valet his keys for a short while and saw her to her door.

  ‘Aren’t you staying tonight?’ she asked as they approached her suite.

  ‘I hope there’s no need for me to stay,’ Mikael said. ‘Unless you’re planning on going out again?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There is no need for me to go out tonight. I have had the best day and the best night of my life and I am feeling very content.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Well, almost the best day,’ Layla said. ‘But it would be even better if you kissed me.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ he said.

  ‘One kiss.’ She smiled, swiping her door pass. ‘Anyway, you have to leave me your shirt to wear—I still don’t have a nightdress.’

  ‘Your brother asked me to—’

  ‘You don’t have to keep my promises for me,’ Layla interrupted. ‘I shall be returning to Ishla a virgin.’

  ‘We were talking about a kiss!’

  ‘So what’s the problem, then?’ Layla said.

  She soon found out.

  Mikael turned her around to face him and it was a little like being in the car, with him trying to put on her seatbelt. Every touch had her awareness heightened. She stood shivering in anticipation as he positioned them. She felt his hand on her shoulder and his face move to hers, and then she was lost—because nothing in her imaginings could have prepared her for those arrogant lips turned tender.

  His kiss was very soft at first, and one hand rested on her waist, the other at her shoulder.

  Then she felt the slip of his tongue and the slide of his hand to the back of her head. She had not known that tongues kissed too. It was shocking, it was sensual, it was the gateway to paradise—and her hands went to his hair now as she matched his tongue. And then, whether it was his hand on her bottom or just the call of her groin, they moved in closer and that was the problem—one kiss led to more.

  She could feel him hard at her centre, but more than that she could feel the strain of her breasts and the pull low in her stomach as Mikael kissed her ever deeper and then pulled his head back.

  One kiss and her chin was red and her lips swollen.

  ‘I’d better shave next time,’ he said.

  ‘We agreed one kiss.’ Layla smiled. ‘But now I know why it is trouble…’

  He released her. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘You need to leave my nightdress,’ she said. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

  ‘I am,’ he said, ‘but I’ll try and finish early.’ He was worried about her going out without him, but at the same time didn’t want to curtail her. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘I have a very special day planned,’ Layla said as he took off his shirt and handed it to her. ‘I am not getting out of bed.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mikael waited for her to elaborate but she had clearly said all she wanted to on the subject.

  She looked at him, naked from the waist up, and wanted more of what she had so recently felt. ‘Can you kiss me now, so I can feel your skin?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ he said, putting on his jacket and pocketing his tie. ‘Night, Layla.’

  ‘I have another thing on my bucket list now,’ Layla said as he headed for the door. ‘I want to have an orgasm.’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Seriously, Mikael.’ She saw him to the door. ‘I thought you could only achieve orgasm with sexual intercourse, and even then only if you were lucky. Am I wrong?’

  ‘Very wrong!’ Mikael almost groaned. ‘Goodnight, Layla.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LAYLA AWOKE LONG after sunrise and lay in bed for a happy hour, just remembering Mikael’s kiss and replaying it over and over, before ringing down for breakfast—only to find out that it was lunchtime.

  ‘What would you like, Layla?’ The staff thought she was wonderful, and the head chef was brought to the phone to help her with her order.

  ‘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.’