Royal Temptation: Protecting the Desert Princess / Virgin Princess, Tycoon’s Temptation / The Prince's Second Chance. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ of the pictures of Mikael Layla was not so keen on—for there were a few of him with very beautiful women by his side.

      Many beautiful women.

      There he was on a yacht, with a blonde beauty lying topless on a daybed—or Layla assumed she was topless, because where her nipples should be the picture was all blurry.

      Layla found her lips were pursed, but then she shrugged.

      Her brother Zahid had been wild in his day.

      She did not want wild—she wanted fun and romance and dancing.

      Of course she would return to Ishla intact.

      There were simply some things that Layla wanted to experience before she married a man she did not love. She closed the computer and lay on her back, imagining a whole day spent in bed without having to dress or speak to another person. She thought of other things too, like a romantic dinner, sitting holding hands, and afterwards dancing—which was forbidden in Ishla. She imagined the brush of lips on her mouth… But then her eyes snapped open, for it was Mikael’s mouth that she was imagining.

      No.

      Layla dismissed that thought.

      Mikael was merely a means to an end.

      And a commoner too!

      She clicked on her laptop again, to see if any other foreign royals were visiting Australia, and sighed at the lack of news for there were a couple of foreign princes who looked as if they could be fun!

      Jamila, Layla’s handmaiden, knocked on the door, and Layla clicked onto a game of chess she was playing and then called for Jamila to come in and prepare her bath.

      When it was ready Layla went through and stood by the sunken bath as Jamila undressed her and then held Layla’s hand as she lowered herself in.

      ‘The water is lovely,’ she said as Jamila started to wash her. ‘Jamila?’ Layla’s voice was just a little too high as she attempted to sound casual. ‘Are you nervous about coming to Australia?’ When Jamila didn’t answer straight away, Layla jumped in. ‘Because if you are I can speak with father. I am sure I would manage on my own.’

      ‘I would be more nervous if you were in a foreign country without me to take care of you,’ Jamila said.

      Jamila adored Layla. She had held her the moment she was born—a few moments before Layla’s mother had died.

      Layla was the baby Jamila had never had—not that she could ever let Layla know that she loved her like a daughter.

      Neither could Jamila tell a single soul that she secretly loved Fahid—the King—and no one must ever know about the occasional love they shared.

      ‘Here.’ Jamila handed Layla a cloth, which she took, and she washed her private parts as Jamila washed her hair.

      Still Layla carried on speaking.

      ‘Well, you should rest while we are in Australia,’ Layla said. ‘You deserve to have a holiday too.’

      ‘Layla!’ Jamila’s shrewd eyes narrowed as she rubbed oil into Layla’s long black mane of hair. ‘What are you up to?’

      ‘Nothing.’ Layla shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘I just think that it would be nice for you to have a chance to rest and relax.’

      Layla said no more, but she was worried about how her plans might affect Jamila, who was old and very set in her ways.

      Trinity and Zahid, Layla had decided, would just have to bear the chaos of her actions. After all, they had had their fun—but poor Jamila…

      Layla swallowed and dismissed the gnaw of discontent. She certainly wasn’t going to change her plans to spare a servant’s feelings.

      ‘You are too thin,’ Jamila said as she looked at Layla’s skinny knees jutting up out of the water, her slender arms wrapped around them.

      ‘Jamila,’ Layla said, ‘I could fill this bath and you would still say that I was too thin. Do you remember when I was a baby and always hungry and you said that I was too fat?’

      Jamila’s hand paused as she went to rinse Layla’s hair—Layla should not remember those times. Jamila thought of those little fat legs and arms and her round belly. Layla had been such an angry, demanding baby and toddler. She had begged for attention from her father and it had been denied her as he’d grieved deeply for Annan, the late Queen. Jamila had tried to comfort the little princess with food, feeding her cream, honey, anything that might stop the relentless sobs that filled the palace.

      Such sad, sad times.

      ‘Let us get you dressed,’ Jamila said, quickly finishing Layla’s hair. ‘Your father wishes to speak with you before you leave.’

      Layla had chosen a simple burnt orange cotton tunic for the journey, but Jamila prepared a silver robe and silver jewelled slippers for her to wear on her arrival as there would be some dignitaries to greet them. Her fingers, toes and ears were dressed in pretty jewels, and her long black hair was tied in a low bun which was worn at the side of her head.

      ‘Dismissed,’ Layla said to Jamila, and then frowned when still she stood there.

      ‘You will listen to what your father has to say, won’t you?’ Jamila asked, for she too was worried at the thought of Layla beyond the palace walls.

      ‘Dismissed, Jamila,’ Layla said.

      Alone, Layla stepped out onto the balcony. The sun was starting to set and the sky was a fiery orange. The desert was like molten gold and it was a sight to behold, a view that she loved, and yet she knew there was more. She looked up to the sky, through which she would soon be being carried to her long-awaited adventure.

      She knew she was being bad, and yet she had tried so hard to be good.

      Once this was over she would be good for ever, Layla vowed.

      This was her last chance.

      Four years ago, when she was twenty, Layla had been dressed in white and gold and led down the stairs to walk into a room and select her husband from the men who knelt there.

      Hussain had been and still was considered the right choice. They had played as children, and her father had told her that marrying Hussain would bring many benefits to the people of Ishla. Yet as Layla had walked down the stairs she had remembered what a mean little boy Hussain had been, and she had collapsed and started to shout and scream.

      The kind palace doctor had smoothed out the offence caused by explaining that anxiety had caused the young princess to have a seizure.

      Layla smiled to the sky. She had not selected her husband that day.

      It had not been a seizure, just her temper exploding as she had looked at her wrist and recalled one time with Hussain.

      ‘How do you make a match burn twice?’ he had asked when Layla was nine.

      ‘Show me?’

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