Royally Promoted

Chapter Six

‘SO,MALIK, EVERYTHING is in progress for you to meet some of the young ladies your father and I feel might be suitable choices for you.’

Having agreed to his arranged marriage, now that things were proceeding on that front, Malik couldn’t help but think that for someone to have compiled a list of possible women for him to meet in this day and age felt a little weird.

Yet, why should it? No reason; relationships that were fuelled by emotion ran far more of a risk of failure, when he thought about it. He’d had his brush with the emotional stuff and had reverted to what he knew, which was the partnership his parents had, one that had been arranged and had stayed the course.

His family was all very traditional. Marriages had been arranged for the majority of them to the best of his knowledge. He could have gone for the love option. His parents wouldn’t have objected. Only he knew the reason why he was content to let his head take the lead. And, if it pleased his parents in the process, then that was a bonus, even if it wouldn’t have been his primary objective.

‘Anyone on the list I might know?’

It was a little past four. Something had changed in the family dynamic and, despite the formality of the conversation, he was more relaxed with both his parents than he could remember being in a long time. Tea had been brought, mint tea served in ornate jade and golden glasses, and he was balancing the glass on his thigh.

‘Some, of course. A few attended the same school as you, although they would not have been in the same year. I have also spoken to a few of my own connections with some of our neighbours across the waters and your father and I have discussed possibilities.’

‘Possibilities...hmm. Tell me, how was it for you?’ He looked at them both. It was an impulsive, random question that suddenly felt important and his father was the first to smile.

‘I saw her...’ he shot Nadia a sideways look and made a so-so gesture with his hand ‘...and I thought, well, she will do.’

His mother laughed.

‘Your father has a very poor memory,’ she murmured, catching his gaze. ‘I was the one who decided that I might just as well accept what was on offer, even though I knew I might have to get him ship-shape and house-trained.’

‘So...what...? The arranged marriage was...?’ Malik was almost shocked.

‘It has worked well. That is what I will say.’

Malik fell silent. His remote parents, who had no highs or lows—or so he’d thought.

Was the road he had embarked upon the right one? He wasn’t marrying in haste, but would he repent at leisure?

In the face of sudden doubts, Malik held steady. If he had underestimated the relationship between his parents, then that was his fault. The fact remained that their successful relationship was based on pragmatism, two young people sharing the same goals because they shared the same background. No room for error. It was what he wanted...wasn’t it?

‘So...what’s the procedure for meeting these suitable women?’

He wondered what Lucy was up to. They had agreed their ‘pretend we never touched’ deal three days ago. Since then, Malik had discovered that some deals were tougher to stick to than others. He’d done deals that had made him a personal fortune but this deal, with no money involved, was crazily difficult to stick to.

She was fine, same as usual, nothing to see there. He’d kept looking. She’d smiled and chatted as she always had. He’d had to fight not to scowl at her continuing good humour. It hadn’t really occurred to him previously, but it hit him now that Lucy would doubtless have to precede him back to London, were he to remain in Sarastan to discuss potential nuptials.

‘I am arranging a ball. Nothing over the top, but a nice venue for you to circulate and meet whoever you wish to meet without the pressure of anything small and formally arranged. How does that sound to you, Malik?’

‘It sounds...fine.’

‘Naturally, Lucy, your secretary, would be invited. Perhaps she might wish to help with the arrangements, if that is what she is skilled at doing? We are more than open to suggestions.’

‘Lucy?’ Malik burst out laughing. ‘No. I can’t see that. She’s more than a secretary, as it happens. She has a brilliant brain, and in fact takes on a lot of complex work more suited to some of my own hedge-fund analysts. She...’ He paused, realising that he was going off-piste with his description. He thought of that kiss, and the feel of her lush body pressed against his, and flushed. ‘No, I don’t see her wanting any input.’

‘As soon as arrangements have been made, I will let you know the date, but certainly it will be within the next three weeks at most. And, son...?’

‘Yes?’ He looked at his strikingly handsome parents, his mother elegant and exquisitely dressed, his father gaunt from his health scare but still a commanding presence. He didn’t see the coldness of an arranged marriage. He saw the warmth of two people who cared deeply for one another. How had he missed so much of that?

‘Should you wish a different road for yourself...’

‘A different road?’ His expression cleared and he looked at them thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘This is the right road for me. It worked for you both. It will likewise work for me.’

‘We are all different, Malik,’ his mother said. ‘Your experiences have shaped you differently.’

He thought of the other road he had almost taken years ago and then the image of his secretary flashed into his head, confusing him. Emotional, big-hearted, exuberant Lucy... If on one side of the scales there was a suitable wife, then Lucy surely weighed on the opposite side of the scales?

All that emotion... The love and respect he had overlooked in his parents was evidence enough that head would always win over everything else. It would always be the trump card in the deck.

‘This is what I want and what’s needed,’ he told them gently. ‘And a ball sounds like an excellent idea. Just let me know that date.’

Lucy was eating in the kitchen when she distantly heard the slam of the front door, a heavy, muffled thud that barely travelled through the vast distance of the palace. She immediately tensed. As far as she’d understood, Malik had gone to his parents and then would be heading out to the city to have dinner with some of his business associates.

The horde of invisible staff had gone for the day and she’d looked forward to having the place to herself, cooking her own food in the kitchen, rather than having exquisite stuff prepared for her, and eating in front of her laptop so that she could catch up on the drama series she was currently binge-watching.

So, when she heard the slam of the front door, she could only hope that Malik would scamper up to his quarters rather than detour via the kitchen.

The kitchen might be the size of a football field but it would still be impossible to miss her at the ten-seater kitchen table, in front of a bowl of pasta with a glass of wine next to her, kitted out in old tracksuit bottoms and a voluminous tee-shirt with a logo of her favourite Disney movie on the front.

Fork hovering mid-air, she watched with a sinking heart as the kitchen door was pushed open and there he was, in all his sinful glory. He was wearing a pair of beige trousers, a black tee-shirt and loafers that would have cost the earth. He hadn’t shaved and there was the darkening of stubble on his chin.

She’d spent the past three days with a smile pinned to her face, making very sure that her eyes didn’t do anything reckless and disobedient—such as linger on him.

They’d kissed and her world had been turned on its axis but she knew that it was vital that she repositioned her skewered world back where it belonged, on the right trajectory, and carried on as normal.

Nothing had been harder.

‘You’re here.’

He was mildly surprised as he strolled into the kitchen, headed for the fridge to grab a beer, opened it and then sauntered towards her to inspect what she was eating, before settling in one of the chairs facing her.

‘So are you,’ Lucy was quick to respond. ‘I thought you were going into the city after your parents’. How is your father doing?’

She self-consciously ate the pasta that had been on the way to her mouth before he’d interrupted her, and felt the flick of some wayward spaghetti and tomato sauce on her chin. She delicately wiped it off and proceeded to look at him with something close to accusation.

‘My father is doing fine and, yes, that was the plan,’ Malik agreed, drinking straight from the bottle and looking at her at the same time.

He’d breathed a sigh of relief the minute he’d returned from seeing his parents. With decisive plans underway for a marriage he had previously put off thinking about until necessity had brought it to his front door, Malik had suddenly felt hemmed in and constrained. That glimpse of his parents, the depth of their affection, had also thrown him.

A ball... Women he knew, and many he did not, would be at a glittering and impressive event and he would be able to converse with them, perhaps have his curiosity piqued by some of them...or else he would merely attend and assess the suitability of who was there.

He was going to be Prince Charming but without Cinderella, the glass slipper and the midnight cut-off. Something like that would certainly reduce the time spent looking. From a distant memory involving one of his cousins, he could remember an amusing but long-winded situation that had involved a matchmaker and a series of dates which had taken for ever, although in fairness had concluded in a positive result.

One fancy ball, a few dates and his fate would be sealed. The minute he had walked into the kitchen and seen Lucy at the kitchen table, he’d felt more settled. Looking at her was like looking at normality and he couldn’t help but enjoy the view.

She was in a weird outfit. The tee-shirt looked as though it belonged to a kid—maybe it was of sentimental value—and the jogging bottoms were faded. But nothing could diminish the startling prettiness of her heart-shaped face and enormous cornflower-blue eyes, not even the fact that she was completely bare of make-up and there was a trace of tomato sauce on her chin.

Memory of that kiss shared surged through him like a sudden shot of potent adrenaline.

He should go.

He drained the bottle, dumped it on the table and remained where he was. The tee-shirt might be baggy, but he could still make out the shape of her breasts, big enough to more than fill his hands.

‘That looks good,’ he said huskily. ‘What you’re eating. What is it? I... I actually haven’t had anything to eat tonight.’

Lucy tilted her bowl to show him what was left of her meal. ‘It’s spaghetti with tomato sauce from a bottle and some onions and garlic and cream, Malik. I won’t be fronting my own cookery programme with the recipe. Why are you back here, anyway? You haven’t said.’

‘Any left?’

He stood up, edgy and restless, and peered into an empty saucepan on the cooker. There were two shining silver-and-black range-cookers in the kitchen, built into the marble and granite counter tops. He knew he would find something splendid, hand-prepared and delicious in the fridge. Instead, he helped himself to some water, a block of cheese and some bread, and resumed his place on the chair facing her.

‘What have you got up to this evening?’

‘You’re looking at it.’ Lucy half-lifted her laptop.

‘You spent the evening on your computer? Tell me you weren’t working.’

‘Of course I wasn’t working, Malik.’

‘No need to be defensive.’ He looked up from his plate of cheese and bread and grinned. ‘But admit it, it’s not the first time you’ve worked after hours.’

‘It’s impossible to do that here.’

‘I’d have thought it was easy without the usual distractions.’

‘Usual distractions?’

‘Friends, family and pub crawls.’

‘Once. I’ve been on a pub crawl once and woke up the next morning swearing I’d never do that again. Have you ever done something like that? Or is all your outside time taken up with work?’

‘Seldom with work,’ Malik murmured, and Lucy reddened, struck into immediate silence.

She rose to clear her plate and Malik told her to leave it. It would be taken care of in the morning when his staff arrived. She ignored him and began washing the dishes she had used.

‘Some of us had to get on with the business of tidying up after ourselves,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘In the absence of anyone around to tidy up after us. In my family there was a strict rota and woe betide anyone who decided to abscond.’

Malik pushed his plate to the side, angled his chair so that he could stretch out his legs and looked at her. Her hair was casually pulled back into a ponytail. Half of it had escaped to curl down her back in feathery tendrils. He could have sat there and watched her like that for ever, and he wondered whether it was because he had just come from having a conversation with his parents about the future that awaited him.

Did the promise of a suitable wife make him suddenly lust for the possibility of an unsuitable lover? Or had he opened a door that should have remained shut but, now that it was opened, continued to tempt him to go inside and discover what lay behind it?

He fidgeted. He could feel the rush of excited blood stiffen him. When she spun round and he noted the bounce of her breasts, he hardened yet further to a point where he was uncomfortable and over-conscious of his erection.

‘You still haven’t told me why you’re back early. If I’d known you were going to show up, I would have...’

‘Gone into hiding?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then what? Would you rather I hadn’t returned?’

‘It’s your house, Malik. You can come and go as you please.’

‘That’s not what I asked. You’re disappointed to see me here. Scratch that,’ he ground out. ‘I cancelled the dinner. And it was with two of my father’s business associates—an informal meeting to discuss rejigging some of the board members to deal with my father’s early retirement. You can leave my plate, Lucy. You might be conditioned to tidy up after yourself, but you’re not paid to tidy up after me.’ He stood up, took his one plate and cutlery to the sink and, as an afterthought, washed it all and dumped it by the side of the sink, then he turned and perched against the counter to look at her.

‘Wasn’t in the mood for it after the visit to my parents,’ he confessed.

‘Should I ask how it went or will you remind me that it’s none of my business?’

Once upon a time, she thought with dismay, she wouldn’t have hesitated to ask him a question if it had been preying on her mind, but those days were gone, and in their place was this awkwardness...this awareness...that no amount of mental stain-remover had quite managed to remove.

She wanted to leave.

She didn’t want to leave.

And so she dithered.

Their eyes clashed and she felt her heart pick up pace. Under the tee-shirt, her nipples tightened into stiff, hard bullets jutting against the soft cotton. Between her legs, a dampness was spreading, making her giddy with heat and the burn of desire which she had tried so hard to ignore.

‘Have a nightcap with me,’ Malik invited huskily. ‘I’m in no mood for my own company.’

‘And I’m a last resort?’ Her voice was breathless, and the teasing jibe fell flat.

‘Far from it.’

Lucy hesitated, antenna on full alert, because retreating to the cosy room that overlooked the sprawling back lawns felt intimate—all her imagination, of course. She nodded and offered to make coffee, in a voice that was laced with doubt because the high-tech machine concealed behind one of the doors filled her with mild terror. The chef who prepared their meals was adept at handling it but she feared a mishap if she tried. With this prickly awareness zinging through her, she knew that the wise thing would be to politely decline and leave.

‘Maybe a nightcap...’

‘A liqueur? There are several available.’

‘You choose. I don’t know anything about liqueurs.’ She watched him as he poured them something amber-coloured in two small, heavy crystal glasses and then, as they made their way out, she decided to give in to her curiosity.

‘So...’

‘So?’ Preceding her, Malik half-turned to look at her with raised eyebrows.

‘When you say you weren’t in the mood...’

The airy sitting area was a wash of muted colours and silk hangings.

Malik sighed. He rested back against the mint-green sofa, waited until she had sat next to him, eyes alert, and pondered what to say. He reminded himself that this was his destiny and one to which he didn’t object. He knew what his goals were and he wasn’t a guy who had ever shied away from facing the inevitable. To be born in a certain place, within a certain family, came with expectations, but right now the expectations on his shoulders, the very ones he had volunteered to carry because the time had come, felt...too heavy to bear.

And with Lucy sitting there...with one leg tucked under her, leaning towards him, blue eyes round and unashamedly curious...

God, it felt as if she embodied a life without complication.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them to gaze at her in silence. ‘My future is hurtling towards me at pace,’ he murmured, sipping the liqueur. ‘Women have been sourced...plans have been made...the time is coming for me to choose a suitable wife.’

‘“Women have been sourced”?’ Her heart picked up pace; she felt painful, hurt. ‘Malik, you make it sound as though you’ve suddenly been transported back to mediaeval times.’

‘Not quite.’ He closed his eyes and half-smiled. ‘But not a million miles away, at least for me.’

‘But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, surely? You mother strikes me as a very reasonable woman.’

‘She is.’

‘So why do you have to do something you don’t want to do?’

Malik smiled wryly. ‘You’re mixing me up for someone who allows other people to run his life for him. If I didn’t want this arranged marriage, I wouldn’t be doing it. I can’t remember saying that marriage to a suitable woman was something I didn’t want to do, do you?’

‘I suppose not...’

‘Were you really taken aback to see me?’

‘It’s your castle. You can come and go as you please.’

‘Palace. It’s my palace...and that’s a non-answer.’

‘A man’s home is his castle. I admit you took me by surprise. I would have... I probably would have...’

‘Been hiding away in your rooms? Admit it, I make you uncomfortable.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course you don’t. Since when have you ever known me to hide away from anything? Since when have I ever been uncomfortable around you? We work perfectly together. Perfectly.’

‘We did. Until that kiss interrupted the smooth flow of things.’

‘We weren’t going to bring that up!’

‘My apologies.’

‘You don’t sound very sorry. Malik...’

‘Maybe I’m finding out that I’m no good when it comes to make-believe.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—and what has this got to do with you settling down with someone who ticks all the right boxes anyway?’

Danger threaded between them.

The silence stretched. Her mouth remained half-open, on the cusp of saying something, something that refused to be said.

‘You’re getting married, Malik...’ Lucy reminded him jerkily. ‘This shouldn’t be happening between us!’

‘Jesus, you think I don’t know that? But... I’m finding it very hard to fight my attraction. The past three days have been torture.’ His dark eyes pinned her to the spot, burning with hot intensity. ‘Is it just me?’

He didn’t move an inch closer to her, and yet Lucy felt his words as forcibly as if he’d reached out and touched her.

‘I can’t believe you’re lost for words, Lucy, but on this occasion I think I like it,’ he murmured and the effect was devastating.

She trembled, her eyelids fluttered and the breath caught in her throat.

He was getting married!

To let anything come of this searing desire to sleep with a guy on the cusp of...whatever you wanted to call it...wouldn’t do.

But this was different...wasn’t it? There was no woman in his life, not even a name or a face, just a possibility. Yes, he would marry, and he would be out of her reach for ever, but right now this man was very much within her reach...

In an instant, Lucy’s mind flew ahead and a series of events unravelled at supersonic speed.

A wedded Malik would mean the end of her job, whatever he said. He would surely have to spend a lot more time in Sarastan and how would she fit into that scenario on a long-term basis? There was even a chance that he might emigrate completely because, if he married an aristocrat from there, would she want to up sticks and move to London?

She was facing the end of her career as she knew it, whether that end happened in a week, in a month or in agonisingly slow motion over a period of time.

And then...she would never see this man again.

But she was seeing him now, wasn’t she?

‘Well, of course I’m lost for words.’ Lucy bristled with vigour. ‘This isn’t a conversation I was expecting!’

‘We could talk about work, if you’d rather?’ he suggested unevenly and waited for her to take the bait, to come to him, to touch like he wanted her to touch.

‘It would be a lot safer!’

‘Do you want safe? Truthfully? Because, if you do, then safe is what you’ll get.’

‘I...’

‘This is a time for honesty,’ Malik said huskily. ‘We’re both adults. We’re both free agents at this point in time. So, do you want...safe?’

At this point in time...

‘No.’

‘I like where this is going...’

Lucy edged towards him and, when their bodies touched, she hissed a long sigh and shuddered.

She lowered her lashes and the thrill of the unknown and the highly anticipated rushed through her with tidal wave ferocity. She could have turned away, held him at arm’s length while she swooned in a suitably helplessly feminine fashion, but what would be the point?

This was their sweet spot and it was never going to happen again if she turned her back on it—and why shouldn’t she take charge of her own emotions, her own responses? She’d been a helpless fool with Colin, had let romantic thoughts of love turn her misty-eyed and vulnerable, but she knew the score here and, really, hadn’t her background geared her to go after what she wanted? She wanted this.

She could lose herself in a labyrinth of ‘shouldn’t’s... She could think about risk and consequences. She could reduce everything to a balancing act, weighing up the pros and cons coolly and rationally, but this burning desire she felt wasn’t cool and it wasn’t rational. It was something overwhelming that needed to be sated and, whatever thought of consequences tried to push through her haze of longing, it didn’t stand a chance against the thing inside her, that was telling her that to walk away from this would be a regret she would nurse for ever.

She curled her fingers into his shirt and tugged him towards her, tilted her face to his and unconsciously parted her lips.

‘Not here,’ Malik said gruffly.

‘Malik...’

‘Second thoughts?’

‘No. Even though it’s a terrible idea.’ She laughed softly under her breath. ‘Although terrible ideas can be fun now and again, I guess. Have you ever had a terrible idea and gone through with it?’

‘Tell me you’re not about to have a long, meaningful conversation now when I can think of a thousand better things to do that don’t involve talking...’

His low, hungry groan was an invitation she couldn’t resist but she still yelped and laughed when he stood up, swinging her up with him in one fluid movement and almost knocking over the table with the liqueur glasses in the process.

He carried her swiftly upstairs as though she weighed nothing, which was just excellent for her self-confidence. His dark eyes flicking down to her, glowing with desire, also did the trick with this gloriously handsome guy, she the object of his desire.

And he the object of desire for every red-blooded woman under the age of ninety on the planet, she thought as heat poured through her.

He occupied a magnificent wing of the palace that was kitted out for the guy who didn’t like being too far away from work. She was dimly aware of a sitting area that included a table of boardroom size at one end and a stark arrangement of leather and chrome, so different from the furnishings everywhere else.

When he nudged open the door to one of the bedrooms, his bedroom, the breath caught in her throat and she stared around her, absorbing everything as he gently lowered her onto a bed the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

She saw dark colours...deep burgundies, rich velvets, glass, metal and silks....

Then, there was him.

She died and went to heaven as she watched him undress very slowly in the shadowy darkness. He stripped off the shirt first and she breathed in deeply at the sight of his muscular torso, the width of his chest, the dark hair shadowing it. She almost couldn’t look as he stepped out of his trousers and then hooked his fingers under the waistband of his dark boxers.

‘Enjoying the view?’ Malik drawled with amusement.

‘Very much so.’ Her voice was a dry croak. She was sprawled on the bed, watching as he neared her, and then, when he was close enough, he eased off the boxers and she stopped breathing completely. Her eyelids fluttered and she propped herself up on unsteady elbows to shamelessly stare at his impressive, throbbing erection.

‘Still okay with the view?’ he asked huskily.

‘Better than the Empire State Building...’ She breathed.

‘I’m in favour of that comparison. Your turn now.’

‘My turn?’

‘I get on the bed and watch you strip down to your birthday suit.’

‘Uh...really...?’

Malik leant down, caging her in, and nuzzled the side of her neck and he didn’t stand back as he looked at her with serious, dark eyes.

‘Are you shy?’

‘Reasonably. It’s not that unusual.’

‘You’re beautiful.’ He kissed her slowly and tenderly until she was melting from the inside out. ‘But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Lucy. And that includes doing a striptease for me, much as I would enjoy the view.’

He joined her on the bed and undressed her in the semi-darkness, respecting her shyness, and Lucy loved him for that.

She had never felt like this before, never felt such tenderness as the final piece of came off, joining his in a heap on the floor.

She sighed and forgot about thinking altogether as Malik began to explore her body. He kissed her until she wanted to explode, until she was pushing her body hard against his, squirming with her hand behind his neck, caressing and drawing him as close as it was possible for him to be.

It had been a long, long time and never like this. She felt reckless and wanton. She wasn’t the young, na?ve girl who had once given her heart and her body to a guy who had ended up hurting her. She was a woman yielding to the sort of passion she had never dreamt possible. Daringly, she parted her legs so that he could sink between them, and she shivered at the bulge of his erection against her, the promise of penetration filling her with unbridled excitement.

She arched up as his big hands cupped her breasts and then shuddered with pure pleasure when he took one of her stiffened nipples into his mouth to suckle on it, his tongue darting over the bud, driving her crazy so that the sighs turned into moans and her body heaved under his.

‘I want you...’ She groaned.

‘No more than I want you...’

He caressed her breasts, stopping now and again to take deep, steadying breaths, then he began to work his way down her body, which was smooth, rounded and soft under his hands. He raised her heavy breasts and licked the sensitive skin beneath them... He rubbed her nipples until they were tough under the pads of his fingers and, when he trailed his tongue along her rib cage and down to her belly button, it was unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world.

If his painfully throbbing erection was anything to go by, then time was definitely not on his side. But he wanted to please this woman, wanted to make sure nothing was rushed, wanted to take her gently and feel her body and his move as one. Wanted to watch the spread of a satisfied smile warm her face.

Jesus, he wanted to be romantic. It was a notion he squashed just as soon as it appeared. Romance? No. This wasn’t about romance. Romance was alien to him; it was something that was a recipe for disaster.

This was about desire. Desire fitted perfectly into his well-oiled world. It was something he could control. Were there risks attached? Fact was, they understood one another, so what would those risks be—what? Besides, at this point, he felt as though he was on a fast-moving train, something thundering along, carrying him on it, something from which, right at this very moment, it would be be impossible to dismount.

He dipped his tongue into her belly button and then went lower and felt her shudder helplessly against him. He nuzzled into the soft down between her thighs and, when he parted the folds of her womanhood, she cried out in a near sob and held her body still for a few seconds.

He flicked the sensitive bud and she tossed and writhed under him. Her fingers were curled into his hair and, yes, he could have brought her to a climax—he could feel her edging inexorably towards one—but he wanted and needed to be inside her.

He was so close to coming himself, as he straightened and hunted briefly for the pack of condoms he kept in his wallet, that he had to try and detach himself—difficult when she was naked on his bed, a vision of absolute perfection.

‘Hurry up,’ she urged, tossing and looking at him with hot, slumberous eyes.

‘A demanding woman. I like it...and I’d like nothing better than to oblige.’

He entered her with a deep, steady thrust, felt her tighten around him, heard her rapid breathing and soft moans and he was filled with a sense of wellbeing and satisfaction.

He watched her as she came, watched the rise of colour flooding her cheeks, her parted mouth and her fluttering lashes, and only then did he allow himself to let go. And, when he did, it was...explosive.

The best thing he’d ever felt, as if he’d gone through a portal and, just for a while, had entered a completely different universe.

He was still on a high when, eventually, his orgasm subsided and he rolled off her and lay flat with one hand over his eyes. He felt her wriggle onto her side and then he could feel her eyes boring into him. He wondered whether regrets might happen. He hoped not.

‘So...?’

Malik half-opened his eyes and slid a glance sideways, to look at her warily.

‘So...?’

‘No point pretending that this never took place.’

‘That would be difficult,’ Malik agreed.

‘In which case we need to talk about it. I know that’s probably not your thing, Malik.’ Lucy propped herself up on her elbows and pinned him with steady, unflinching blue eyes. ‘I can’t picture you doing a lot of chat after sex. I might be wrong, granted—am I? Wrong?’

‘You know me well...’ he murmured in return.

‘But this isn’t going to go away if we ignore it, so here’s what I suggest.’

‘Lucy, maybe we could save the post-mortem for later?’ He heaved himself up so their bodies mirrored one another and then he swept some of her long, tangled hair from her face. ‘I could think of something a lot more interesting to do right now. Nothing too strenuous, but guaranteed satisfaction nevertheless.’

‘That’s very tempting, Malik. I really love the thought of guaranteed satisfaction, but I have a much better idea. I think you should maybe go and get us something to drink...tea or coffee or something...and then we can discuss what happens next.’

Post-coital conversation... He had never wandered that road before. He’d not even come close. The minute sex was done and dusted, Malik’s thoughts invariably turned to work, at which point he would gently but firmly begin the process of removing himself from whatever bed he happened to be in. He should be irritated and impatient with this unwelcome detour. He wasn’t a guy who lay in bed for hours chewing the fat with women he’d just made love to.

‘I’ll go for the something option,’ he murmured. ‘And don’t move a muscle till I’m back.’

He began to slide out of bed but, beforehand, he dropped a kiss on her mouth and then hung around for a couple of seconds longer just because he wanted to taste a little bit more of her...