Pretty Wicked Read Online Free PDF Page B

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