felled tree, on a blanket under the stars. There, finally, she had given herself to him.
Robbie was gentle, taking his time, not wanting to hurt her. As she lay back and whispered, ‘I want you,’ a low groan escaped his lips and he moved himself on top of her. Unbuttoning her blouse, he slid a hand on to the skin there, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm. She shook from deep within.
They stayed like that, his hand over her heart.
‘I love you,’ he said.
It was like finding the answer to a great mystery and realising it was something so simple all along.
‘I love you, too.‘
‘Be with me,’ he said. ‘Always.’
She raised her head to kiss him, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. ‘Always.’
His hand found her breast and she moaned softly, her nipple hardening under his touch. He wrapped an arm underneath her and pulled her body up towards him. On instinct she felt for his hardness and freed him from his jeans, and that part of him wasn’t a frightening, threatening thing but a warm, familiar part of the boy she loved.
Her body was ablaze, every fibre wanting him inside. When he entered her she felt a brief, sharp pain, but it was a wonderful, exquisite kind of pain and she savoured it, slowly easing into the rhythm of his movements, fitting with him, until they were just one person. As the pleasure mounted and a hot prickliness began at the point where they joined and then swelled within her, she gave herself up to the most blinding, body-shattering feeling she had ever known. She wrapped her legs tight around him and pulled him further in, wanting him, needing him, loving him and never wanting him to stop.
Afterwards, as they lay naked in each other’s arms, he asked her again. Except this time it wasn’t a question.
‘Come away with me.’
She looked into his eyes and brushed away a lock of dark hair. ‘You know I will.’
Once more they made love, and this time it was slower, more passionate, and even though it was dark she could see him watching her all the while. This time there was no pain, just that indescribable heat that surged through her. She could never have guessed that pleasure like it existed.
She should have known it couldn’t last.
‘Well, well, well,’ said a rasping voice, the light from a battered torch bathing their bodies in yellow light. It was Lester, drunk and swaying, his lank hair in a thin rope down his back and his lips split and cracked.
Laura grabbed her clothes. Robbie pulled on his jeans, eyes fixed on the other man.
Lester fumbled in his belt for something. In the bald light they saw it was a gun. He waved it in their faces, his eyes manic.
In her heart Laura knew something terrible was going to happen.
‘Somebody better tell me what the hell’s going on,’ he growled, ‘or I swear to Christ I’ll blow both your brains out.’
Las Vegas
The MGM Grand Garden Arena was a pit of clamour and excitement. Thousands filled the space, surging up its steep flanks, waving banners and punching the air, surrendering to the adrenalin of the night. The focus: a small square lined with red rope. In minutes, two of the world’s greatest fighters would take to the stage.
Elisabeth arrived late–it was the first event in months where she and Robert hadn’t made their entrance together. She peeled off her fur coat and took a front row seat next to her fiancé. He was talking to the city mayor but smiled and stood when he saw her.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said, kissing her chastely.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she muttered. She offered no excuse. In truth she had fallen asleep after the spa session and had been dreaming of Alberto Bellini so vividly that she had missed her alarm.
‘Don’t be.’ He stroked the hole of flesh her gown revealed at the small of her back.
‘Elisabeth, what a pleasure to see you.’ Oliver Bratman, mayor of Las Vegas, stood to greet her. He was clad in a royal-blue pinstripe suit with a beetroot cravat spilling out the top pocket. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Oliver.’ Elisabeth kissed him. ‘You look well.’
‘As do you.’ He grinned. ‘Must be the flush of an imminent wedding.’ His eyes glittered. Oliver was tall and bald, with thick, dark eyebrows and a nose mapped with burst blood vessels.
Elisabeth’s eyes flitted to Robert’s and he laughed smoothly. ‘Fear not, Oliver, you’ll get your invite.’
The roar of the crowd was deafening as the boxers were brought in. One was Mexican, his opponent British. Elisabeth had been watching these fights since she was a girl, dragged along by her father and not understanding why anyone would want to watch two sweaty men punching the lights out of each other. But over the years she had started to see a grace in it and now she found herself swept along in the pulse of the night.
Robert kept his hand on the small of her back. Once she would have found it electric; now she found it stifling. She focused on the fight.
The men’s bodies were slick with sweat as they swiped and punched, bouncing on their toes. The clash of their skin as they intermittently held each other was mesmerising.
Elisabeth was on her feet, so caught up in it that she barely noticed Robert taking a call. When he hung up he looked alarmed.
‘I’ve got to take this outside,’ he said. His face had gone completely white.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
He shook his head and said something in her ear. It was impossible to hear above the noise and he had to repeat it. Still she couldn’t understand.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she shouted.
‘No,’ he said quickly, patting down her concern with his hand. ‘I’ll be back.’
Elisabeth watched him go. When she turned to the ring she saw the British guy was down. His eye was split and there was blood spurting from his nose. He got to his feet, resuming the dance, a pink bubble popping at his lip.
And then, on the far side, she caught sight of Alberto Bellini. He was staring at her. He looked taller than usual, his snow-capped frame even whiter beneath the lights. The rest of the room vanished–it was just the two of them, their eyes locked. She averted her gaze. He could not know what he had done to her.
They had been avoiding each other since the night of the Oasis. She had expected him to visit her dressing room, half of her wanting
