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The driver jumped out and held the car door open and Miko’s fingers brushed my elbow as I got in. He closed the door after me and went to the other side. The interior was wonderfully cool. Miko slid in and the car rolled away smoothly. He asked my address and I gave it. He closed the glass partition and turned to me.
‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Lexi Johnson.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But you are also very, very mysterious.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because you have the eyes of a woman who is hiding a secret.’
‘All women hide secrets, Mr. Barokas.’
‘Miko. I can’t have you calling me Mr. Barokas while my cock is deep inside your pussy.’
My mouth gaped with shock.
‘Why do you seem so shocked? I’m sure every man you meet must want to fuck you senseless.’
He was right—men were always falling over themselves to bed me, but I had never been affected by their lust, their passion or whatever they wanted to call it. Some had even called it love. I did not believe that for an instant. They loved an unreal thing. This thing I had become was not the real me. The real me was in my bedroom, curled up in bed with a good book.
‘Oh, here we are. This is me,’ I said.
The car slid to a stop and I scrambled out, into the hot summer night. He was around to my side faster than I could compose myself.
‘Well, goodnight then.’
He seemed amused. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’
I somehow managed to fumble with the keys and we stood together in the foyer of the building outside the lift doors. I called it and turned toward him nervously. ‘There is really no need for you to come any further.’
He didn’t answer, simply pulled me toward his tight body so I could feel his erection pressing, hot and hard into my belly. I gasped, shocked by the raging desire to have this man deep inside. It was so strong it made my body shake. I had not expected to respond like this to him.
‘Lexi,’ he whispered, his hand journeying from the top of my shoulder into the neckline of my shirt. His fingers were like silk, but on the mounts of his palms lived the excitingly rough calluses that came from training with weights.
I watched him as he bent his head and claimed my mouth.
Then I exploded.
There is no other way to describe how I fell apart under his mouth. Every cell in my body craved and ached for release as his silky fingers gently caressed my nipples through the material of my bra and shirt. I wanted to tear his clothes off and impale myself on him. How long since I was touched by such a violent hunger? Not since I had sat in a car under the canopy of a tree and looked at a star-filled sky. The thought brought demons. Old demons. I froze. So did he.
‘What is it?’ he asked, drawing back slightly.
‘Too soon. Way too soon,’ I gasped.
‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?’
I nodded.
‘Leave the office early. I’ll ring your doorbell at seven.’
‘It kind of depends on Janey.’
‘Ah, that woman who wears human skin shoes.’
I smiled weakly. ‘Exactly—that one.’
‘Leave her to me.’
The lift arrived and I walked into it.
‘Wear something nice,’ he said, and the doors closed on him. Immediately, my knees buckled. I looked at my reflection in the chrome walls. I looked wild. My hair, my eyes, my mouth, my cheeks. Everything looked so foreign.
I was playing with fire.
~~~~~
Six
I’d had a horrible day at work. Janey seemed coldly disgusted with me—always polite, but under the surface, simmering. As if I had left a dead rat on her breakfast tray.
At five to five I closed my office door and left. As I walked out of the building’s side entrance, I knew that my time at Salinger Inc. was coming to an end. It was the height of summer and the Tubes were always uncomfortably crowded with sweaty office workers so I decided to walk home. I set off at a fast pace down the familiar streets, and by the time I got to my one bedroom apartment it was only quarter past five.
My apartment was rented, of course, but I was rather fond of it. I would miss it if I left, but I was no longer sure if I wanted to stay on in England anymore. I sometimes thought I should return to America, perhaps live for a while with my sister in New York. But the thing that held me back was the fear that New York would not be slow and manageable the way London was.
I kicked my shoes off, undressed and sitting on a stool ruthlessly removed every last dark hair from my body. Then I dry brushed myself and stepped into the shower. The sensation of hot water sluicing down on my body, now as hairless and smooth as a plastic Barbie doll, was delicious.
I closed my eyes and thought of Miko. I was not by nature a revengeful person and yet I fantasized about hurting him the way he had hurt me. I turned off the showerhead and wrapped myself in my bathrobe. I dried myself and wrapping my head in a towel, I lathered my body with softly perfumed lotion before padding into my bedroom.
It was small and some would say poky, but I liked it. Done up in butterscotch and cream, it was my little cozy nest. No one else was allowed here but me. I unwrapped the towel around my head and blow dried my hair into a shining cascade of blonde curls that I then neatly pinned back. I dribbled the glass stopper of perfume behind my ears, wrists and between my breasts.
Let the world know that someone ravishing has drifted by.
Totally nude, I sat at the dressing table and did my face. Peach lipstick, plenty of mascara, highlighter across the cheekbones, and I was done. I got into a ravishing, strapless, deep red number with embroidered lace. It was very tight and a bit Jessica Rabbitish, but absolutely fabulous.
I moved closer to the mirror and stopped suddenly. My nose looked big. I stared at it. I turned away from the mirror. Oh my God, I’m not going to start that again. ‘Stop it,’ I scolded myself. ‘There
is absolutely nothing wrong with your nose. Nothing.’
I walked quickly to my cupboard and took out a file. It was filled with photos of the celebrities who had deformed and disfigured their faces with too much plastic surgery. I looked at them carefully one by one. Then I went back to the mirror and looked at my nose.
It still appeared a tad too big and though I itched to make an appointment with Dr. Yann, I knew that it was an addiction that I must not give in to. My therapist had explained that I would never reach perfection in my own eyes no matter how many times I went under the knife. Of course, I understood it on an intellectual level—on a practical level it haunted and damaged me the way any addiction did.
And it was all his fault.
I looked at the clock on the dressing table. Ten minutes to seven. I slipped into black high heels, slicked on another layer of peach gloss and walked out into the living room. I didn’t want to sit and crumple my dress so I just stood in the middle of the room and watched the clock.
The doorbell rang and I opened it, my hips at an angle, my spine arched, and a slow smile.
His eyes widened. ‘My,’ he said huskily. ‘I just had a vision of you.’
I lowered my voice. ‘Did you now?’
He nodded once, slowly, knowing. ‘Mmm…’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Dare I ask what I was doing?’
He grinned wolfishly. God, he was good enough to eat. ‘You might have been on your hands and knees.’
The breath caught in my throat at the look in his eyes. Now I would never again be able to wear this dress without the memory of that look. It struck me that I didn’t want him inside my home. Not this debonair, roguish and darkly handsome version of Miko. When this was all over I still had to hate him.
I reached for my purse from the side table beside the door and stepped out into the corridor. As I closed the door his hand brushed my bare arm and a jolt of electricity bolted up it. I drew back instantly, my eyes flying up to his.
