Kiss Read Free Page B

multi-layered nests of purpose-built apartments was her husband, she had convinced herself that if only she could locate him, he would come back to her. She had even found herself peering up at lighted windows, willing him to appear at one of them. Looking down into the street he might recognise her car. Then, overwhelmed by remorse he would rush down, fling his arms around her and beg forgiveness . . .
     
    But, of course, it hadn’t happened, because there were simply too many apartments and because by this time his silver-grey BMW would be locked away in one of those expensive, security-conscious car-parks. Furthermore, her husband would undoubtedly have far more interesting things to do than gaze out of a window. He had a mistress, a pregnant mistress, who was probably with him at this minute, exulting in her victory and listening with quiet amusement as he relayed to her the events of the afternoon.
     
    How To Discard An Unwanted Wife, thought Gina bleakly, a lump rising in her throat once more as she accelerated, pulling out to avoid a haphazardly parked car. Andrew and his mistress were probably talking about it right now, reassuring each other that since they were in love, nothing else mattered. What was a used wife among friends, after all? They were probably in bed, too, making passionate love and laughing at the same time because Andrew had been so clever and it had all been so wonderfully easy . . .
     
    Blinded by tears, she didn’t see the junction looming ahead until much too late. The next moment a sickening thud and the grating shriek of metal against metal shuddered through the car. Screaming, Gina slammed on the brakes and slewed to a halt as another dull thud echoed violently through her eardrums. Trembling so violently that she could barely get the seat belt undone, she fought rising nausea and wrenched open the car door. Fear and panic propelled her - somehow - towards the figure of a motor cyclist lying immobile in a pool of ice-blue light reflected from a nearby cocktail bar. My God, she thought, whimpering with terror, I’ve killed him . . . he’s dead . . . oh please, God, don’t let this be happening . . .
     
     
    Izzy wasn’t dead. Dazed, distantly amazed by the extent of the pain tearing through her legs - and by the astonishing fact that she wasn’t kicking up more of a fuss about it - she lay in her crumpled position at the roadside and listened to the sound of an hysterical female yelling, ‘I’ve killed him . . . someone help . . . I’ve killed him.’
     
    Opening an experimental eye, Izzy found herself at grating level. Now everything was starting to hurt and to add insult to injury the icy wetness of the road was beginning to permeate her clothes. But at least she could see her bike which was oddly reassuring, even if the front wheel was badly buckled and the handlebars appeared to have twisted in all the wrong directions.
     
    Then she saw the legs of the female who was making all the noise. Thin, pale-stockinged legs in high-heeled, mud-splashed shoes loomed before her.
     
    ‘He’s not dead!’ screamed the voice that went with them, and Izzy began to lose patience. Attempting to raise her head in order to see the injured man for herself - how many people had been involved in this accident, for heaven’s sake? - she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t able to do so. Embarrassed by her own weakness, she glared at the skinny, stupid legs in front of her. ‘Make up your mind,’ she said irritably. ‘And will you please stop screaming? He’s still going to need a bloody ambulance, whether he’s dead or not.’
     
     
    ‘She isn’t quite herself, but you mustn’t let it worry you,’ explained the young male doctor reassuringly. He neglected to mention that Izzy - to the delight of the night nurses - had just informed him that he had a gorgeous body. ‘It’s the after-effects of shock combined with the sedatives we needed to give her,’ he continued, his eyes