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,’
