Читать книгу 200 Harley Street - Lynne Marshall - Страница 39

THE DEMONS WERE whispering in Lexi’s ear again. Those horrible little voices of self-doubt and self-deprecation.

She’d fought hard to keep them at bay as it seemed as if there had been constant reinforcement of them in her life.

First from her parents. Then from her boyfriend. The one who’d liked her name and standing instead of Lexi Robbins the person, Lexi Robbins, the human being.

Jack Parker had spent most of his time mocking her bedroom performance and mocking her flat chest. It had taken her a long time to get the measure of him. And it had been at his insistence that she’d gone for the boob job.

Her hands went automatically to her breasts. Automatically to the over-sensitised skin that Iain McKenzie had just been touching.

The rain was pelting down, soaking straight through her thin raincoat and even thinner jersey dress. But Lexi didn’t care about the rain.

She was feeling a surge of anger in her belly.

It had taken too long, too many years for her to come to terms with who she really was and not who people thought she should be. The gentle, steady support from her aunt had been invaluable. She wasn’t about to stand back and let those old feelings invade her life again.

She was strong now. She was determined.

She leaned back against the wall as her legs gave way a little under the maelstrom of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her.

She could see her ex’s face in her mind. The super-confident Jack Parker squeezing her small breasts contemptuously and comparing them to the latest model in the newspaper. Telling her that she’d never look good in their holiday shots in the Bahamas. The ones that he’d tipped the newspapers off about.

And his caustic, consistent putdowns had chipped away at her already low self-esteem.

She had already worn two sets of chicken fillets in her bra. She hadn’t particularly liked her body shape herself. Dresses that had fitted her around the hips and thighs had sagged over her chest—unless she’d worn her chicken fillets. But she could have lived with that because the rest of the world hadn’t seen her naked.

Only Jack had. But he hadn’t liked what he’d seen.

It had taken all her strength and resilience to get rid of him. Once she’d had the breast implants he’d started suggesting other improvements. So she’d made the ultimate improvement and got rid of him—tossing his clothes out onto the street—before he’d dragged her down any further.

She would never, ever let another man do that to her.

Let another man make her feel that way.

Not even Iain McKenzie.

It had taken her time to accept the changes to her body. To finally realise that she did actually like the shape she had now. She only wished she’d made the decision for herself. She wouldn’t let anyone chip away at her self-esteem again.

She started to walk in the rain. Striding down the same street that he’d taken, following the road to his townhouse. She didn’t care that it was late at night. She didn’t care that she was the only person crazy enough to be out in weather like this—right now it matched her mood.

And as if to magnify her building temper, there was a flash of lightning above her, closely followed by a rumble of thunder.

Her anger built with every step she took.

She knew there was something between them. Any fool could see that.

How dared he call what had just happened a mistake?

He’d felt every single thing that she’d felt. He’d felt every tiny little spark and electric current that she had.

He’d been every bit as turned on as she’d been.

Did he think this was something she did every day—in the middle of the street?

No. She wouldn’t let him treat her like that. Not for a second. Not in this lifetime.

Her footsteps quickened. Her normally bouncy curled hair was drenched, hanging in bedraggled ropelike swaths around her head. She reached up and rubbed her eye, coming away with a dark-washed smudge. What little mascara had been there was now obviously streaked down her face. But she didn’t care.

She had no desire to go home and get changed. To strip off her wet clothes and climb under a warm duvet. The lightning flashed again. It was spurring her on, guiding her path straight to his door.

She climbed up his steps and put one finger on his doorbell, pressing hard and leaving it there. The other hand she clenched into a fist and banged on the door. She wouldn’t be ignored. She wouldn’t let Iain ignore whatever this was between them.

The door creaked open just as a rumble of thunder sounded overhead again and the dark clouds pitched above her.

Iain was bare-chested, obviously in the middle of stripping off his clothes. The dark circles under his eyes and shadow along his jaw only fed her fury even more.

‘Lexi! What are you doing here?’

She pushed past him—not waiting to be asked to come in, and stood in the middle of his wide hallway, letting a huge puddle of rainwater form at her feet.

She clenched her jaw. ‘You. Won’t. Treat. Me. Like. That.’ Every word was forced. Every word angrily controlled.

His hands were trembling as he closed the door behind her, shutting out the storm outside but not the one inside.

She said nothing. Stared him down. Watched the changing emotions on his face. She was strong enough for this. Whatever it might be.

She could see the pulse throbbing at the base of his neck, see every dark, curly chest hair standing on end.

But he didn’t say a word. Not a single thing.

He just moved. And started kissing her like she’d never been kissed before.