Acid Lullaby Read Online Free

clothes and crossed into the workout area. He paused briefly to watch an aerobics class as he stretched his hamstrings. He marvelled for a second at the line of sweaty secretaries wearing knickers outside their tights: jigging to the left and reaching to the right.
    Fantastic.
    It put him in the mood.
    The gym was always busy in the early evening and most of the machines were busy. Max found himself a treadmill and started his usual programme. He began to jog and found his eyes wandering across the view through the full length windows: across the redundant dock that was now only a giant water feature, past the ancient cranes that stood forlornly like skeletons in a museum, towards the hulking concrete minimalism of Cabot Square.
    The sun threw rosy washes of evening light over docklands. It reminded him for a brief moment of his childhood in India. Of the lonely nights spent hammering a football against the wall of the Foreign Office residential compound or of reading books while his father attended embassy functions. The sun had seemed so close then that it had frightened him. He had imagined the earth being sucked into its giant yellow mouth. He smiled.
    Kids’ stuff.
    He knew he couldn’t touch the English sun. Although – he mused – he could probably buy it.
    Twenty minutes later Max was in the shower and he took time over himself. He was especially thorough in the places where he hoped Liz Koplinsky’s attention might linger in a few hours’ time. He still jutted and rippled in the right places. His skin had still retained the olive sheen that his tropical childhood had earned. Viagra would not be necessary. Danny Planck was a cheeky bastard.
    He spent some time in front of the mirror. He shaved for the third time that day, thrilling at the smoothness of his skin. When he brushed his face against Liz’s Koplinsky’s inner thigh later there would be no friction. She would think she was writhing on the tongue of a ghost, or a God. He applied Clinique skin balm. He didn’t want Liz fixating on any unpleasant dry flakes of skin during dinner. Finally he applied a sliver of styling mousse to hold his brown hair back from his face and accentuate the brutal jawline that he knew was his finest feature.
    Fragrant and empowered, Max Fallon returned briefly to his office on the bond trading floor to stow his gym bag. A baggy-eyed blonde night secretary shouted across the floor that his cab had arrived. Fallon gave her a quick ‘thumbs-up’ and grabbed a book from his desk to enliven the cab ride to the West End. It would take his mind off Liz until he met her at 7.30. It was a dog-eared copy of a book called Gods and Myths.
    The Palais was an old favourite: a bright and airy Anglo-French restaurant that overlooked Covent Garden. It was much loved by the West End media mob: advertising executives and TV producers. Its small entrance lobby opened out spectacularly onto a huge glass-domed atrium.
    ‘Cool place,’ said Liz Koplinsky, handing her coat to a waitress.
    ‘Best in town,’ Fallon replied. He couldn’t take his eyes off Liz’s bare shoulders. Her black strapless dress was working a spell on him. Liz’s skin appeared totally smooth – no rogue moles or blemishes. He wanted to bite her, feel her melt on his tongue like white chocolate, slide over her perfectly smooth body. They were led to their table immediately. Fallon noticedthat Liz liked to brush her hand against the leaves of pot plants and the petals of cut flowers as she walked past. She was a sensual girl. He liked that.
    ‘So does this count as fraternizing?’ Liz asked as she settled in her chair and a waiter placed a napkin on her lap.
    ‘Socializing,’ said Max with a smirk.
    ‘What’s the difference?’
    ‘You’ve still got your clothes on.’
    Liz’s face softened slightly as she repressed a smile. ‘Oh that! It’s a New York thing. We don’t eat out naked.’
    Max switched the subject. He didn’t want to labour the point. ‘So