Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Bradley’s gaze found mine, and I shivered at the intense look he pinned me with. “Maybe later. Get dressed, I’m taking you out on that date.”

  “You know, there is a method to asking a girl. As in, you actually ask her.”

  “I asked you last night.”

  I clearly remembered that, but this walking in and ordering me around was getting old. He needed to find some manners beneath that brutish attitude. I just sat there and stared at him, and after a few moments, he huffed and stood a little taller. I could tell he was cranky, and it made me want to smile. He was so cute when he was flustered.

  “Wiska, will you please get dressed because I’d like to take you out on a date, alone?” he gave Casey a pointed glare, which didn’t effect Casey in the slightest. He just smiled back, watching the interplay between us.

  “So, so close,” I sighed. “Fine, give me ten.”

  Pulling my feet away from Casey, I jumped up and ran to Bradley’s bedroom where I grabbed some fresh clothes. Secretly, he could have dragged me from the apartment by my hair and I would have been happy. Spending time with Bradley had quickly climbed the ladder of my top five favorite things to do. A warm bubble bath with a good book was still number one. I kind of hoped Bradley found a way to topple it from its prime position. Maybe there was something else that could be done in a bath that would leave me in a relaxed state of wrinkle toed mush.

  *

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we seemed to get further and further from the hustle and bustle of London.

  “To a quiet pub out of town, somewhere we can talk.”

  “We didn’t have to go out of town to talk. I’d have been just as happy if you had taken me to McDonald’s.”

  “Pussycat,” Bradley said with a grin, “I’m not taking you to McDonald’s. This place is owned by a previous employee of Willie Bianco. They’ve done the place up real nice; it’s got old world charm, and the food is amazing. “

  “Soooo,” I hedged. “Willie doesn’t bury his employees when they decide to leave?”

  Bradley laughed. “No, it doesn’t work that way. It’s just like any other job—you quit and move on. I guess some of the people more closely associated with the inner workings of the organization have less flexibility when it comes to quitting.”

  “Huh.” This mafia business wasn’t at all like the movies.

  The rest of the drive passed quietly, with Bradley pointing out certain places of interest. My gaze kept drifting to the sun that was dipping over the horizon. It was a beautiful night, and as we left the city, I finally began to see some of the English charm everyone kept telling me about. When we arrived at a cute, quiet pub, the parking lot was so full we had to park quite far away, down a cobblestone street, under a quaint old lantern style street lamp.

  “Must be busy tonight,” Bradley noted as he took my hand and led me back towards the pub.

  As we grew closer, the noise grew louder.

  “It’s rocking tonight,” I said with a smile.

  It seemed the nice, quiet place we had spent the last forty-five minutes en route to wasn’t so nice and quiet tonight.

  “Mr. Emerson,” said a short, balding man standing by the front door. He shook Bradley’s hand with a big, bright smile, then his eyes turned to take in little ol’ me.

  “You brought a contestant?” he asked, his gaze lowering to my breasts.

  I was silently thrilled when Bradley pulled me to his side possessively, catching the attention of Mr. McPervy who looked suitable abashed.

  “A contestant for what?” Bradley asked.

  “It’s Saturday, Mr. Emerson, Jell-O night.”

  “Jell-O night?” I asked, sending Bradley a what-the-heck look.

  “Go take a look.”

  The man stepped aside, and Bradley pulled me into a pub that radiated very little old world charm and something more along the lines of a WWE fight night. With a sprawling mahogany bar to one side, the other side of the pub was filled to capacity, and between the thick crowd, I caught glimpses of a large, inflatable kiddie pool filled with green Jell-O.

  “You brought me to a Jell-O wrestling contest? How . . . romantic,” I whispered with a chuckle.

  Bradley just shook his head, his mouth open wide with astonishment.

  “You like it, Mr. Emerson?” the doorman asked.

  “I don’t suppose Maggi’s Café is open?” he responded.

  “No, she flipped the closed sign an hour ago. In fact, you might find her in here somewhere. Her daughter Blair is wrestling tonight.”

  “Blair? Little Blair with the pigtails?” Bradley scoffed.

  “It’s obviously been a while since you saw Blair.”

  “Not long enough,” I heard Bradley mutter. “Let’s grab a drink and see if they’re serving food,” he suggested, kneading the back of his neck nervously. “Scotch neat and a sparkling water,” Bradley called to the bartender over the rumble of laughter and voices. “Is the kitchen open tonight?”

  “Not tonight, but the chef is back there. I can have some chips whipped up if you like.” The Scot pushed the drinks across the bar, and Bradley handed him some cash.

  All the while, my eyes were glued to the rowdy crowd. I actually liked it; the energy in here was electric, and the people were in good spirits. I watched as cash quickly exchanged hands as bets were placed.

  “I’d appreciate that. We’ll wait down there.” Bradley pointed to the quieter end of the bar and quickly dragged me towards an empty stool, spinning me around and lifting me onto it, all in one fluid and impressive movement.

  “I’m not that small. I could have made it onto the stool on my own.” I chuckled.

  “I’m not risking any more broken limbs, pussycat.”

  “There are no swans around, so I should be fine.”

  Bradley smiled, and suddenly the busy bar around us seemed to fade away and we were the only two people in the room. It sounded awkward, but it wasn’t. Okay, it totally was, but I didn’t care. What I wanted was for Bradley to lean forward and kiss me. Was he thinking the same thing? I stared into his beautiful green eyes that seemed full of mischief and seduction. I wanted to know what was going on inside that head of his. He was probably thinking I was a creeper with the way I was just staring at him. We’d been staring too long, saying nothing. We were just . . . I don’t know, connecting or something. When his eyes dropped to my . . . nose? Did I have a booger? No, lips, his eyes dropped to my lips—thank goodness—and I instinctively licked them and leaned in a little closer. He was still staring at me. Was the lip licking lame? Did I look clueless? Seduction wasn’t a class I excelled in. Oh, screw it, I was going to kiss him. He was taking too long to make the decision, so I was going to be the proactive woman I was and make the decision for us both.

  “EMERSON!” The high pitched scream made me flinch, and without warning, a red haired woman flung herself at Bradley and wrapped her arms around his body. Her hands roamed unashamedly down his back and were brazen enough to grab his ass.

  With a firm but gentle push, Bradley managed to disentangle the female from him. An embarrassed hue filled his cheeks as he cast me an apologetic smile. Clingy bear was dressed in a scrap of bikini, her firm round breasts barely contained in the triangle cups. She was stunning, but her eyes held a touch of cray, cray. Rather than feel jealous, I kind of felt sorry for Bradley as he tried to keep the ginger twat away.

  “Blair?” Bradley choked out.

  Oh, this was the pigtail wearing girl Bradley hadn’t seen in a while. I was guessing she didn’t wear pigtails much these days. It appeared she didn’t wear much of anything these days.

  “I missed you so much,” she purred, wrapping her arms around Bradley’s neck.

  I raised a brow at Bradley, and he tried valiantly to peel Blair away again. Okay, she was getting a bit too handsy with a man I was beginning to think of as mine, and like Bradley, I didn’t like to share. Blair was pushing a green button, and any minute I was going to Hulk out
and throw her through a wall.

  “That’s sweet of you to say. I’d like to introduce you to Wiska.”

  That seemed to get her attention, and she finally let go of Bradley, which somewhat pacified me. Blair spun around, her face not one of friendship. Yet, I pushed my shoulders back and smiled the sweetest, fakest smile I could manage.

  “Well, hello! I love your bikini. It’s gorgeous,” I gushed.

  I didn’t love it at all, it was far too flimsy for a pub, but I could fake nice with the best of them. Blair didn’t return that faux kindness, though; instead, she entirely dismissed me and turned back to face Bradley, her deep red lips curved in a seductive smile. Well, that clueless hussy! Anger boiled dangerously beneath my skin. I could feel my muscles trembling, and I just knew my clothes would tear from my body as I went Hulk any moment now.

  “So, Emerson, I’m thinking we should pick up where we left off the last time we saw each other. Namely, you . . . between . . . my thighs.”

  Bradley rolled his eyes, and I stood, not at all intimidated by this shameless, flirty, English twat.

  “How about I wrestle you for him.”

  Bradley’s eyes just about popped out of his head, while Blair looked completely taken aback.

  “You want to fight me for him?” she asked, a little outraged.

  “What, you don’t think he’s worth it?”

  Her mouth dropped open for a moment before she shook herself back into a state of semi-composure.

  “I mean, if you don’t think you can win, that’s fine. Bradley and I were leaving soon, anyway.”

  “Bradley?” Blair echoed, confused.

  “Honestly, I wouldn’t be upset if you didn’t think you were up to it,” I continued sweetly, and Blair’s back stiffened.

  “You don’t appear to have a suit,” she sniffed indignantly.

  I waved her comment off with ease. “No problem. I’ll just wear my panties and bra. I’m not ashamed of my body, and since Bradley and I have been living together, he’s seen my underwear.”

  Blair balked at that and gave a stiff nod. “Fine, I’ll go let the organizers know.”

  Once the little red tart disappeared from sight, I turned to Bradley and gifted him with the most innocent smile I could muster.

  “What panties are you wearing?” he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

  That’s what he got from the scene that just transpired?

  “The purple ones,” I huffed, wrangling my jealousy back under control.

  “Geez,” he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not sure I can let you strip down and show this room full of maniacs your beautiful body.”

  “I’m wearing underwear; it’s just like wearing a bikini. Now, I have to go and get all wet and slippery, and take care of your crazy stalker.”

  “She’s not crazy. She’s just . . . excitable.”

  “She’s nuttier than squirrel shit,” I snapped, letting him see my irritation.

  Bradley grinned. “Are you jealous, pussycat?” I glared at him, but he just continued to smile before leaning in to whisper in my ear, “I never touched Blair. She was way too young, and even if she wasn’t, she’s not my type. But I still kind of hope you are jealous. There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants and is prepared to Jell-O wrestle for it.”

  A burst of laughter escaped my lips, and soon we were both laughing at the absurd direction our night had taken.

  “Hi, I’m Maggie,” came a bright, cheerful Irish lilt from beside us.

  I pulled away from Bradley, ready to fend off another jilted, wannabe lover, and took in a tall, leggy, brunette beauty with a sweet smile and dimples. She paid Bradley no attention, her eyes heavy on me. Oh, perhaps it wasn’t me who needed to be defending my territory this time.

  “I hear you are wrestling Blair.”

  “Good news travels fast,” I murmured.

  Maggie’s gaze roamed over my body, and I shifted, feeling a little awkward under her study. I was more accustomed to being ogled by men, not women. Not that I had a problem with it; it was just new.

  “Yeah, word travels fast in these parts. Come with me, I’m pretty sure one of my suits will fit you.”

  I smiled and handed my drink to Bradley. Before I could step away, he grabbed my fingers in a loose grip.

  “Pussycat, you don’t have to do this. We can head back into town and find a McDonald’s. I’ll even buy you a caramel sundae.”

  I patted his cheek in an attempt to let him know that I was okay with this. I was actually excited about Jell-O wrestling. I’d never done it before, and although it wasn’t on my bucket list, I was totally last-minute adding it.

  “Tell you what, let me take care of this red haired succubus, and then you can take me to Mickey D’s for a burger, and maybe, if you’re very, very lucky, I’ll let you get to second base in the backseat of your car.”

  Bradley’s eyes flared with undisguised arousal. “You’re on, pussycat.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Bradley

  Well shit, operation whisk Wiska had taken a deadly turn for the bizarre and interesting. A busy Saturday night in this place was supposed to be no more than eight people sitting at the bar. It was supposed to be quiet, the lights dimmed to a shade that you could hide in, the air filled with the smell of steak pie and Guinness. Instead, it was yell-if-you-wanna-be-heard loud, the lights were a shade of ugly and bright, and the air held a strong odor of sweet Jell-O and alcohol, which kind of reminded me of shooting Jell-O shots in college.

  I held my and Wiska’s drinks high as I pushed my way through the crowd. Finding a familiar face, I moved up alongside Lenny “Two Socks” and nodded a hello. I still, to this day, had no idea why they called him Two Socks.

  “Emerson, thought you’d be at the Lovely Lounge tonight,” Lenny said with his own nod.

  “Not tonight. How long has Kelly been Jell-O wrestling?”

  Lenny chuckled. “Must be about three months now. He tells me revenue has tripled on a Saturday night since he introduced it.”

  “I’ll bet,” I murmured, noting a few women strutting around in nothing but strips of lycra and string.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you caught wind of this. Emerson and female flesh go hand in hand, don’t they?” Lenny joked.

  “I can’t deny the old Emerson was a lover of female flesh.”

  Lenny gave me a questioning look. “There’s a new Emerson in town, and he doesn’t like female flesh?”

  “Seems he prefers only one woman’s flesh these days.”

  Lenny’s eyebrows rose. “Nooooo, Emerson’s gone monogamous?”

  “I’ve always been monogamous, Lenny, but I’ve rarely had a relationship to use it in.”

  At that moment, Wiska walked out of the bathroom on the other side of the Jell-O filled kiddie pool, and my tongue rolled out of my mouth and across the floor. Well, at least that’s how I imagined it looked—images in my head were always funnier when turned into a cartoon impression. She was wearing a white bikini that wasn’t quite as insubstantial as Blair’s, and yet I found it far more appealing.

  Lenny whistled. “Damn.”

  “Careful Two Socks, that’s my monogamy there.”

  “Double damn,” he grunted, casting me an impressed look.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the large, round bellied man in the center of the ring bellowed. The crowd went quiet . . . well, quieter. “Bah, who am I kidding, there are no ladies or gentleman here, perverts the lot of ya,” he laughed. “For our first battle this evening, we have a special treat for you.” The man turned to Blair and encouraged her forward. “In the red corner, we won’t say what she weighs, because that would be rude and she’d probably hit me, but she is a feisty little ginger-nut with a temper to boot. Please give a round of applause for our reigning champion, BLAIR.”

  The crowd went nuts.

  “And in the blue corner, hailing from New York and looking like an angel of temptation
in her white bathers, we have WISKA.”

  The crowd was much less enthusiastic, and offended by their cavalier attitude, I hooted and whistled on Wiska’s behalf. She turned in my direction and gave me a double thumbs up. Her smile was wide, and her eyes held an excited gleam. Then the people around me began placing bets with each other, most in favor of Blair. Insulted, I turned to Lenny.

  “Five hundred says my girl takes red down.”

  Lenny killed himself laughing, before finally straightening. “You keen to lose some money tonight, Emerson?”

  “I won’t be losing, but how about we make it a little more interesting.” Lenny gave me a look that said he was clearly listening. “You tell me what the hell ‘Two Socks’ means.” He laughed, again.

  “Blair is a tiger. Your wee little slip there has no chance. When Blair wins, I want that five hundred pounds, and you can get me a meet with Willie.”

  I rolled my eyes. Lenny worked for Willie, but he was so far down the ladder he would likely never meet his boss, and I doubted I’d be able to set such a thing up.

  “I can ask, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Lenny held out his hand. “Good enough for me.”

  Finishing my drink, I set the empty glass down on a table, placing Wiska’s beside it. By the time my eyes moved back to the ring, both the girls were standing in the ankle deep green Jell-O—Blair sulking; Wiska beaming. A little blue tag hung out the back of her bikini, and Lenny explained a red one was tucked into Blair’s. The objective was to grab a hold of the other woman’s tag, kind of like tag football. Easy enough. Blair obviously had the advantage, having wrestled before, but she would underestimate Wiska’s flexibility and strength, not to mention her intoxicating enthusiasm. Finally, a bell rang and the girls began to circle each other. Blair kicked off the verbal assault with vengeance.

  “So, you’re Bradley’s flavor of the week. You look like boring ol’ vanilla to me. He’ll toss you aside any day now.”

  Wiska laughed, and I could tell it wasn’t forced. “Oh, sweetie, your schoolgirl crush is adorable. I could just pinch those pretty little cheeks of yours.”