The smirk crossed her face. It was
hard to stop. It began in the tight crease of her mouth and crept up to Cupid’s
Bow. The god of love was coming good. A passion was being quenched. A need being
met. Desire satisfied.
She put the phone down. She sat on
the sofa. Glass of cold white and she kicked the bin-liner of clothes. Nicky
Chadwin was on the move. And those expensive trainers were beckoning like the
siren looking for a new Lorelei.
Tomorrow. 2pm. Lured to destruction.
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