Royal Temptation. Carol Marinelli

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