Pretty Wicked (5 page)

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.

~~~~~

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.

The playfully wolfish look was gone,
replaced with need, undeniable and as uncontrollable as a forest
fire. For a moment I could not look away from it. The shocking
intensity drew me in, and held me in its fierce grip. I felt an
answering call in the pit of my being. God, I wanted this man. I
wanted to feel his body thrusting into me.

Then I remembered myself. What the fuck was
I doing?

I smiled tightly and we began to walk toward
the lift. There was a foot between us, but the sexual tension
between us was so strong I felt it reach out and brush against me
as if he was touching my skin. Inside the lift I stared straight
ahead. Once, when I glanced sideways, I saw him staring at me. He
looked almost perplexed.

He settled me in the car and I wanted to ask
where we were going but I didn’t. Far more mysterious to be
uncurious. Instead I turned my head and watched Londoners spilling
out of restaurants and bars and enjoying the hot summer evening. I
turned toward Miko.

‘
How long will you be in
London?’

‘
Five days.’

‘
Oh.’ I wanted him gone. I
wanted to wreak my revenge and move on. Never see him again. So why
did that information hurt a little?

The car came to a stop outside the elegant
entrance of the Dorchester Hotel. The doorman greeted Miko by name.
In the lobby we took a left turn and were inside the coolly
pristine three Michelin starred Alain Ducasse at The
Dorchester.

Attended by several waiters we were shown to
and seated at the exquisitely beautiful and stunning table lumière.
It was surrounded by four and a half thousand shimmering fiber
optics, which dropped dramatically from the ceiling.

When the sommelier arrived and engaged Miko
in conversation I gazed at him. Hardly anything of the boy I
remember in jeans and black leather remained. He seemed so urbane
and sophisticated.

Eventually the sommelier went away, the
menus were whisked away, and Miko turned his entire attention to
me. His eyes held a sort of challenge.

‘
So,’ he said, his voice
deep and low. ‘Tell me about you.’

I smiled, just a hint of conspiracy in my
voice. ‘Wouldn’t that rob the mystery of our…dalliance?’

‘
What makes you think of
this as a dalliance?’

‘
Something that is meant
to last only five days could be classed as one.’

‘
I have not put an
expiration date on my desire for you.’

I shrugged carelessly and he frowned.

He reached forward and took my hand and
again a tiny frisson of electricity shot up my arm. Instinctively,
I drew back. He withdrew his hand and stared at me, his expression
suddenly enigmatic. Slowly, I let my hand brush against the white
tablecloth until it connected with his, then with my middle finger
I began to caress the inside of his wrist. He reacted beautifully.
His eyes flashed.

I blinked when his hand
moved suddenly and caught my wrist in his. Gently he began to run
his finger in circles on the inside of my wrist. I took a deep
breath. Fuck,
She
magazine was right. It was an extremely erotic thing done
properly.

‘
Are you playing games
with me, Lexi?’

Unable to speak I shook my head.

‘
Because it very much
looks like you are from where I am sitting.’

Instead of answering him, I let my toe run
up the inside of his calf, delicately but suggestively.

As an answer he put his hand on my knee. My
first reaction was unrehearsed and surprising. I parted my legs.
Thank God, warm cheese and black pepper profiteroles arrived. I
quickly busied myself with those. They were probably delicious, but
tasted like sawdust in my mouth. I swallowed them down with a big
mouthful of wine. I looked up and saw him watching me.

‘
When were you in
America?’ he asked.

‘
A long time
ago.’

‘
Is there any reason you
are being so evasive, Lexi?’

‘
I’m not being evasive. It
was a very long time ago and it was a…dull time.’

‘
So you like it
here?’

I took a sip of wine. ‘Yes, it’s nice.’

‘
Would you ever like to go
back to the States?’

‘
Maybe.’

He leaned forward. ‘Why do I get the
impression you don’t want to talk to me?’

I lifted my chin. ‘Let’s see how you like it
when you are being interrogated.’

‘
I wasn’t aware I was
interrogating you.’

I just stared at him.

‘
Go for it,’ he said and
leaned back in his chair.

‘
Have you always been
rich?’

‘
Yes. Do you hold that
against me?’

‘
No.’

‘
Good. I can’t help being
rich just as you can’t help being born in the family that you were
born in.’ He threw in a devastatingly attractive smile. ‘I work
eighty hours a week to earn my own keep. My father is not paying
for this.’

I blushed with shame. Fortunately, the food
arrived. I did not order a starter because I knew eating more than
a tiny amount was impossible while wearing this dress. Miko too had
refused a starter.

‘
Bon appétit,’ Miko said,
and I dug into my steak. Even though I was in turmoil I had to
admit the black truffle sauce was excellent. It melted in my
mouth.

‘
Is your food
good?’

‘
Mmm…’ I nodded, keeping
my eyes on his slow cooked shoulder of lamb.

He kept the conversation light during the
meal and refused dessert when I did.

‘
Not much of an
appetite?’

I grinned. ‘Are you kidding? I’m starving.
It’s this dress.’

His face changed. And I realized I had
forgotten to be sophisticated. I quickly looked away.

‘
Shall we have coffee
upstairs?’ he asked.

‘
Upstairs?’ There was an
edge of panic in my voice.

‘
I am in the Oliver Messel
suite.’

‘
Oh.’

~~~~~

B
oth of us were careful not to touch the other in the lift. I
stared fixedly ahead. That ‘thing’ between us seemed to intensify
in that confined space. My palms were sweating. Damn, I was in big
trouble. My heart was pounding so hard I felt certain he must be
able to hear it. It was a relief to get out.

The Oliver Messel suite was spacious and
decorated in an English countryside style, made opulent with
Italian gilt and bowls of freshly cut flowers. The floral curtains
had been drawn closed and table lamps glowed with yellow light. I
stepped onto the beige and pink carpet with trepidation.

‘
Make yourself
comfortable,’ he said, and closing the door went to order the
coffee.

Coffee arrived while I was in the bathroom,
reapplying lip gloss with a shaking hand. My eyes seemed shiny and
excited. I’ll just drink my coffee and go, I told my
reflection.

He had removed his jacket and was sitting on
a dusky green, long sofa. When I came in he rose to his feet and
waited while I took my place on the sofa next to him. I perched a
couple of feet away from him.

‘
Shall I pour?’

I nodded. My mouth was dry and I felt the
butterflies going crazy in my stomach. The last time my stomach had
hosted butterflies in it was seven years ago. I watched the curve
his body made as he leaned forward, and the way the muscles in his
arms and shoulders stretched his shirt.

‘
Sugar and milk,’ I said,
and was surprised to hear my voice sound high and
unnatural.

‘
Biscuit?’ he
asked.

I shook my head. ‘Same problem as
before.’

His eyes lingered on my body and I
suppressed the desire to cover myself.

He passed me my coffee and with his legs
angled toward me leaned back. I was terrified the cup was going to
rattle in the saucer, so I hastily put it down on the low table in
front of us.

‘
You shouldn’t wear such
tight clothes if men looking at you makes you so uncomfortable.’
His black eyes were dancing with mischief.

I wriggled to the opposite edge of the sofa.
‘Most men don’t stare so hard or so long.’

‘
British men are too
polite to stare. Come back to America, sweetheart.’ There was
laughter in his voice, but his eyes were undressing me with an
intensity that was unnerving. He looked positively
dangerous.