Читать книгу Royal Temptation: Protecting the Desert Princess / Virgin Princess, Tycoon’s Temptation / The Prince's Second Chance - Carol Marinelli, Brenda Harlen - Страница 19

CHAPTER TWELVE

THEY UNPACKED HER case and Layla put on her new bikini. They had a swim at the beach until, salty and dusty with sand, they returned home hungry.

Layla was determined to make lunch herself.

Hair tied up, her new bikini damp, she was frying a practice prawn in butter with Mikael behind her, telling her to turn it when it went pink.

‘It looks beautiful,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to tell my father about them.’

‘Do you want to go back to Ishla?’ Mikael asked the question he had tried to before, when Layla had been looking at his painting.

‘Of course I do.’

She didn’t even hesitate in her response, but Mikael persisted, knowing her answer had been automatic.

‘Are you sure that you do?’ He saw her face turn just a little and her lovely smooth brow was marred by a frown.

Until this morning she had not considered that she might have to say goodbye to people she cared about. Until now it had never entered her head that she might not want to go back to Ishla.

That she had a choice.

‘Of course I am sure,’ Layla said, though her voice suddenly said otherwise. ‘I love my family.’

‘I know that you do.’

‘It would kill my father if I left.’ Her voice started to rise as she pointed out the reality. ‘It would honestly kill him.’

‘Okay,’ he soothed.

‘I don’t like that question,’ she said. ‘I don’t like how it makes me feel inside. Please don’t ask me things like that again.’

‘I won’t.’ Mikael turned off the gas and, still behind her, wrapped his arms around her and held her till she relaxed back into him. But he could feel that her heart was racing—as, he guessed, was her mind.

‘Go,’ she said, because his words had unsettled her. ‘Go and have your shower. I want to make lunch by myself.’

Mikael left her to it, mentally kicking himself and wondering if he could have handled that any better.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Suppose she’d said no, that she didn’t want to go back?

What then?

Had he been asking her to be his wife?

* * *

Layla was determined to make a beautiful lunch—and she would if the butter knife she was trying to cut a tomato with didn’t flatten it so.

And the onion had made her cry.

Or was she just crying?

Damn you, Mikael, for asking me that, she thought. Damn you for making me stand here and cry and not want to go home to the land and the people I love.

‘Mikael!’ She was suddenly angry and walked through to the bedroom. She could hear the shower was on but had no qualms about walking in. After all, he had bathed her a few times.

What Layla saw, though, had her heart in her throat—and suddenly she wasn’t angry any more.

He looked up and saw the shock on her face as his eyes lifted from where he had been concentrating and he saw her standing there, watching him.

Then he watched her as the shock changed to a delicious smile and she stepped into the shower with him.

‘Continue,’ she said.

Mikael wasn’t sure that he could—until her mouth started working his chest.

‘Is this why you have so many showers…?’ she asked, and he gave a half laugh. ‘I thought you were just very clean!’

She loved the tension in him, loved the feel of his wet skin, and she slipped out of her bikini and then boldly dropped to her knees and kissed up his legs…slow kisses that changed to frantic, because she wanted so badly to touch and to taste what she must not.

He almost pulled her up by her hair, but he wanted her to see this, and wanted her pleasure too. He took her hand and placed it over his, on the outside, so that she did not touch, but she felt the motion and the building tension.

‘Oh…’ It was the nicest thing she had ever felt.

He bent his knees a little and rubbed himself over her and Layla watched in fascination, till her thighs were shaking.

‘Mikael…’ Every stroke brought her closer, and then she watched as their hands stilled but his shaft didn’t, and the moan that came from him as he shot over her was addictive, for she wanted to hear it again and again. It was that and the shots of silver that spilled over her that almost brought Layla to her knees with her own lovely orgasm.

‘What’s that noise?’ Layla gasped, at the sound of bleeping, but she was talking to thin air as Mikael had suddenly bolted from the shower. ‘What is happening?’ she asked, following him out. ‘Mikael, what is that smell?’

Layla found out what a fire extinguisher was as a naked Mikael tackled the wok that she had left unattended.

‘You’re supposed to turn the gas off,’ he said as he put the small fire out.

‘You shouldn’t have turned me on.’

She had an answer for everything, and Mikael stood back breathless and looked at the smoke on his gleaming walls. All he could think was that he was going to miss this.

‘I’ll make lunch,’ he said. ‘First, though, I’m going to get dressed…’

‘Why?’ she asked, wrapping her arms around him. ‘I like us like this.’

So too did Mikael.

‘Do you want to watch some pawn while we eat?’

He gestured to the chessboard and Layla nodded.

‘You didn’t laugh at my joke,’ he said.

‘I don’t joke about chess,’ she said.

But he realised she probably had not understood.

They had a very quick and less ambitious lunch, which consisted of tomato sandwiches with loads of black pepper, and then, naked, she took two chess pieces, shook them behind her back and held out her hands.

Mikael peeled open the fingers on her right hand. He was black. There was a thrill of anticipation for Layla as he set the board up, and she lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She had had the same flurry of nerves in her stomach when she had first played with a stranger online.

A better flurry, in fact!

‘I don’t want any favours,’ she warned.

‘You won’t get them from me.’

Layla was white, within three moves it was Mikael attacking and Layla on the defence.

He watched as she removed his knight and then he swooped.

‘Mchfesa,’ she said.

Mikael could guess what that meant.

He set up again, and she opened as she had before, but again it was to no avail.

‘I am good at this!’ she said.

‘You are.’ Mikael smiled. ‘But I’m better.’ He wasn’t pulling rank. ‘I’ve played a lot.’ And, as naturally as breathing, he told her a bit about his time on the streets and how chess had saved his sanity.

He didn’t want pity, and he didn’t get it from Layla.

‘I have played a lot too,’ she said. ‘I would be out of my mind otherwise. Before I had my students, chess was the best company I had.’

Mikael looked up. ‘Have you ever heard the saying, “at the end of the day the pawn and the king go back in the same box”?’

‘No.’

She thought about it for a moment too long.

‘Checkmate.’ He smiled. ‘You are too easily distracted. You need focus.’

‘I will beat you one day,’ she warned, and then he saw her jaw clamp down, because no matter how they hid from the world and got lost in their own they were constantly reminded that the clock was counting down on them.

But instead of dwelling on that Layla focused on the game. She opened differently and awaited his response.

‘I’m thirsty, Mikael.’

‘Then get a drink.’

She didn’t. She moved into attack again and again, and suddenly they were game on.

‘I’m very thirsty, Mikael.’

‘Good,’ he said, refusing to allow her to distract him. ‘Shall I get up and run a tap?’

She shot him a look and stood up. Usually nothing distracted Mikael, yet as she returned and repositioned herself a very ripe nipple might have done. Had he had his time again he would not have made the move that he did. Not that his face told her that, and he hoped she wouldn’t see the opening he had given her, but as he watched her fork him with her knight he realised she had.

‘Your phone is ringing,’ Layla pointed out as she sacrificed her queen.

‘So?’

He let it go to voicemail as they played on, and soon her pawn had crossed the board and Layla had reclaimed her queen.

She smiled at him, but it wasn’t returned for his phone was ringing again.

‘What the hell does Demyan want?’ Mikael’s voice was irritated.

‘How do you know it is Demyan?’ she asked as he stood.

‘He has his own ringtone.’

‘That’s sweet!’ she said, and watched as he took the call.

The vague irritation in his expression disappeared and his face snapped to impassivity. She had a growing sense of unease as Mikael spoke in length to Demyan in Russian.

‘What did he want?’ she asked when he ended the call, and when he did not answer her straight away she knew that something was wrong. ‘Is it the baby?’

‘The baby’s fine,’ Mikael said.

But just as she relaxed he took her hands, and she knew she was going to hear bad news.

‘Layla, Demyan and Alina were so curious about you that they looked you up. Your disappearance has just hit the press. The police are looking for you…’

‘No…’ she whimpered. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘They won’t find me here.’

‘Yes, Layla, they will,’ he said. ‘The staff at the hotel will recognise you, and the booking was under my name. This is serious now.’

He let go of her hands, turned on the television and found the news.

There she was: black eyes, black hair, and a face that was unforgettable.

The police could be there in a matter of moments.

‘We need to get you back.’

When she didn’t respond he elaborated.

‘Layla, it will be better for you if you return under your own steam than have the police find you.’

‘One more night,’ Layla begged. ‘Mikael, please, I just want one more night.’

She was not manipulating him now; instead she was pleading.

‘Just one more night and then I promise that I will go back happy. I will never interrupt your life again, Mikael, if you will please just give me one more night.’

‘One more night…’ he said. ‘We’ll take out my yacht…’

He was already loading a cool bag with supplies: champagne, fine food—anything he could think of to give Layla the very best final night.

‘Go and get dressed and sort out the clothes that you’ll return to your family in.’

‘Mikael?’ She frowned. ‘I’ll get changed here, tomorrow, after our night.’

‘We won’t be coming back here, Layla. If we’re going to leave then it has to be now.’

It was the most horrible thing she had ever heard, and she simply did not now how to respond.

‘Layla?’ He was very calm; he could see how much she was struggling. ‘Come on,’ he said, deciding to find clothes for her. Just now it had nothing to do with her being a princess that she could not dress herself.

She was simply trying not to break down.

They were heading to his car in a matter of moments.

‘Mikael…?’ She said as he opened the passenger door for her.

‘You’re not driving.’

‘No, of course not.’ She was suddenly serious. ‘Tonight, if I tell you to make love to me, if I plead with you that I don’t care, please…’

‘You’ll be fine, Layla.’

She would be—he knew that.

But only for as long as she was in his care.