‘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, wante
d 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.’
‘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…
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