After he fished in the refrigerator and the cupboard, he concluded he didn’t have the ingredients for pork chops with blackberry sauce. “What do I have? Yes, New Zealand green mussels to sauté in wine and butter. Zero time involved. Prepared on demand.”
Christian flicked the remote to a satellite radio station, Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons masterfully interpreted on the violin. I wish March had requested musical talent in my programming or special agent as the situation now requires. He made sure his mobile was near to hand, never knowing when Daniel might ring with more disturbing news. Prototype, more lucrative…or scrap the project and dismantle the evidence echoed like an ominous bell in his memory. If Daniel uncovered Mayfair’s real intentions for the Special Editions, he’d be courting certain destruction. With March holding title to him, would those plans affect Christian?
That unknown factor held him prisoner to a deep throbbing worry and twinges of guilt that he, unlike the others, was in no immediate danger.
In the interim, he must keep things as normal as possible. He imprisoned the doubts in a vault in his memory banks. There, the insecurity wouldn’t torment him.
Until the time for action came.
Christian exhaled a sigh, banishing any thought of Mayfair. He tapped the computer’s on button and waited for the ding to signal the operating system’s opening. Still preoccupied, he sank into the executive chair and clicked the link for the agency. The NASA job was still posted. Another link directed him to the application, including a summary of experience.
“I can easily do the job.” After he composed an email, he proofed and stalled on where he’d been educated. At Mayfair Electronics, Dover Street, London. Crash course. His optimism faded. Requirements: Security clearance, U.S. citizenship. Neither of which he had.
He blew out a long breath, rose and strolled to the bathroom, placing his mobile on the granite vanity. The bath was sandstone marble with an LED showerhead that changed colors with the water temp. The light segued from soothing blue at the coolest to green and red at the highest setting. He wanted to feel the hottest temperature. The spray peppering his body stung his skin for two turns under the showerhead, then his temp adjusted. With Vivaldi for accompaniment, he lathered his body with March’s Japanese Cherry shower gel and shampooed his hair with a citrusy drugstore brand. His ladylove was quite a contrast—expensive shower products and cheap shampoo. When employed, he’d order expensive hair products from a Hollywood hair designer for her.
Christian bounced from the shower/tub combo, grabbed a towel, and dried. The computer beeped for an email. In the nude, he trotted into the living room. Last week, while March slept, he’d applied for a position as a substitute professor of English Literature, though, in truth, he preferred the NASA job. Damp hair streaming to his shoulders, he strode to the desk facing the glass doors and clicked on Outlook. Funny coincidence that. His outlook was sunny except for the job situation.
The doorbell jangled, interrupting his planned speech for NASA. He shot to his feet, his gaze sheering to the glass wall, and froze. Damn, his visitor wasn’t UPS or FedEx, which would have been bad enough. A long groan expressed his exact feelings. Behind the sliding glass doors, Liz grinned at him. He gazed in horror at the ghost of his reflection. Why hadn’t he dressed in the bedroom? Too late now. Her gaze measured every inch—head to toe.
His first instinct was to wave and run. Why the hell did March leave the vertical blinds open? Was the view of treetops worth it? The last thing he needed was to entertain Liz while March worked. He knew she’d caught him studying the other woman last night. Daniel’s phone call had interrupted, and he’d forgotten to tell March why. In fact, he was at a loss to explain. Something about the woman—not her beauty or her body—fascinated him. In a way, Liz was a complete contrast to herself—the blonde, blue-eyed shell almost innocent with a certain seediness at her core. Still, ignoring the scantily clad creature in her black miniskirt and see-through lace top would be the height of rudeness. Being polite to humans was ingrained in his nature.
He covered his privates with one hand, wriggled his fingers in a greeting, and mouthed one minute. As he darted to the bedroom, he scrolled through his memory banks for a way to rid himself of their horny neighbor, only to find the subject sadly lacking. He tugged on jeans, his hair wetting the shoulders of the plain black t-shirt. Steeling for god-knew-what and not wishing to hurry disaster, he strolled to the door. Liz perched on the edge of the patio table, her legs slightly spread. Dear God, she wasn’t wearing panties!
Reluctance screamed in his ear as he opened the door. “Good morning.” There he ran out of words.
“Morning. I need a cup of coffee bad. I work nights and just got home.” She rested her hand on the sliding glass door as if she thought he might slam it. Exactly what he longed to do. “What is that music? It’s very nice. Classical?”
“Vivaldi.”
Holding his gaze, she crossed the threshold. “I don’t know if March told you, or if she even knows, but I work in a male strip club. One of the bartenders.”
He retreated from her advance. “March didn’t tell me.” Sounded like an interesting job, but he didn’t want to encourage her by asking. “I’m sorry we don’t have coffee. March finished the package today.”
“Oh, well,” she said seductively. “Why don’t we chat for awhile? I like to get to know my neighbors. I must tell you, Christian, if you ever want a job, you should apply at the club. You’re hotter than any of the dancers.”
“Thank you. I’m not much of a dancer.” He finger combed his hair. “Perhaps, you should visit later when March is home.”
“Is she jealous?” She laughed, wriggling her shoulders, her breasts jiggling.
Her tone made fun of March, annoying him. He resisted the urge to tell her, in no uncertain terms, to leave. “Not to my knowledge, but I’m not comfortable with—”
“I’ll be a good girl…” She smoothed her hand down his chest.
Her boldness shocked him speechless, taking him a moment to recover. “Liz, not to appear rude, but March and I will soon be married. I’ve no desire to endanger our relationship.”
“What March doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” She cocked one hip, resting her hand at her waist, her blouse parting.
He looked away hurriedly. Whatever mild interest the dichotomy of Liz’s personality had stirred, it perished in a flash of irritation. “That’s not the way I see it. I do not intend to be unfaithful. Period.”
His rude dismissal broke another of the android More Than Ten Commandments, but Christian didn’t care. The situation warranted being abrupt.
“Think about dancing at the club. The money is good and the fun even better.” She stepped into him, fondling his package. “And if you ever change your mind, you know how to find me.”
A sector of his programming shouted, Don’t ever touch me again. What the hell, he’d already broken the requirement not to be rude. He captured her wandering hand and backed away. “Yes, right, I’ll remember, but actually, I can’t see that happening.”
Mischief sparkled in her blue eyes, her smile pure invitation. “Me…or the club?”
With an effort of will, he resisted the impulse to slam the door hard enough to break the glass. “Both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. One of which is to order coffee.”
She tossed her blonde mane, tilted her head, regarding him through long black lashes. “I wish I was one of those things to do. Okay, Christian, I’ll be going. Enjoy ordering that coffee.”
Not one of his programs prepared him for such an embarrassing incident. Completely at a loss, he simply waved. Should I tell March? I really mustn’t upset her. Then again, I did nothing wrong. From the beginning, we must be honest and trust.
As she descended the stairs, Liz glanced over her shoulder and blew him a kiss.
He leaned against the closed door, imagining himself as a stripper. Far too reserved for that kind of antics. At a vision of wearing a g-string,
he laughed aloud. “Enough nonsense.”
Returning to the computer, he hit send on the NASA email. Hopefully, by the time NASA responded, New York would have supplied a work permit and professional credentials. He folded his arms behind his head and shouldered back in the chair, but concern for his brothers and sisters seeped through his determination to forget. Daniel couldn’t contact him. How could he—Daniel had a Facebook page! He signed on, ran a desperate search. No Daniel De Bella in Facebook existence. The page had been deleted. A dark, uneasy feeling settled on Christian.
“I’ve no choice but to wait.” He consigned the escaped apprehension to its prison, focused again on March’s happiness. “I’ll do a bit of research to see if there’s anything new to add to my occupational coding.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I must stop talking to myself.”
Christian spent the remainder of the afternoon engrossed in aerospace. When March slid back the glass door, he looked up from the computer.
“Hullo, love. How was work?” He rose, and they met halfway. “I’m afraid I became lost in studying and forgot dinner. Still and all, the New Zealand mussels will be quick and easy.”
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re not my slave. Don’t worry about dinner. And work was work. After two weeks out of the office, I had a hundred emails and a stack of files on my desk. I’m home with you now, and I want you to kiss me.”
Hugging her closer, he lowered his mouth to hers. She moaned, her lips parting. He deepened the kiss, and her petite body molded to his length. He kissed her until his shaft was hard and throbbing, and March clung to him breathlessly. Damn was the worst expletive his programming allowed. Damn, March could kiss!
“Yum, now that is the way to welcome someone home.” She stroked his back. “I think I’ll make a drink, smooth off the rough edges. First, it’s off with the bra and shoes.”
He freed her, holding her at arms’ length and smiling. “Change into something comfortable and sit on the sofa. What cocktail would you like? I’ll get it.”
She fluttered her eyelids. “Can you make a margarita? The mix is in the bottom cupboard by the sink.”
“I think I can manage.” He dotted a fingertip to her nose.
Five minutes later, March whirled into the living room in a gray chiffon caftan. Darker sequins accented the dipping neckline and long sleeves. She tossed him a captivating smile and a saucy wink. Holding the sleeves wide, she twirled to the sofa and reclined full length. He followed her dramatic entrance, placing her drink on a coaster on the ottoman. When she turned slightly toward him, the wispy chiffon molded to the outline of her smooth, round breasts. An unwanted vision of Liz flashed before his eyes. When should he tell March about his unwelcome visitor? Later…first…
His willful hands couldn’t resist touching the woman who owned him and to whom he was devoted. Between thumb and forefinger, he massaged her nipple. Her back arched into the gentle pressure. She closed her eyes, exhaled a long sigh as her head tilted on the elegant column of her neck. He drew his lips along her throat, her answering moan arousing him, but last night, she’d said they needed to talk more.
He sank to the floor at her feet. “The ice is melting in your drink. If that matters…”
“It only matters because it’s been a hard day, and the margarita looks perfect. I like the thick salt on the rim.” She tapped his cheek. “We can pick up where we left off after dinner. Anything eventful happen today…like the FedEx man paying a visit?”
Christian tensed. He dreaded telling March about Liz’s bold overtures. Later, when he’d thought about the sexually charged encounter, he’d been humiliated. It was obvious Liz wanted to use him for sex. One of the ten androids had been specifically set up as a plaything. He was grateful March loved and appreciated him for more than pleasure.
“What’s wrong, hon?” March sipped her drink. “You’ve gone suddenly quiet, just sitting there staring at me.”
He studied the uninteresting beige carpet. It was difficult to gaze into her eyes and confess, but at last, he looked at her. “The FedEx man did not come, but I had a visitor. Our downstairs neighbor arrived on our doorstep, asking for coffee.”
“Liz?” March paused with the margarita halfway to her mouth. “What did she want…never mind.”
“I didn’t invite her, but she, more or less, pushed her way inside. She told me she works at a male strip club as a bartender.” He swept a hand through his hair. “She made some very overt suggestions about…sex with me. I told her we were engaged. That didn’t deter her.”
“That bitch. She waited until I was at work to make her move. I’d like to slap her, but people don’t really do things like that.” Her hand drifted from his hair to his cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t invite her in. Sounds like she was pretty bold.”
“Very bold.” He decided not to tell her the woman had groped him.
March plunked the drink on the coaster, patting the sofa in front of her. “She’s beautiful, sexy, thin, blonde, and blue-eyed, exactly what most men want.”
Was she fishing? Asking him if he desired Liz?
“No, March.” He grinned, accepting her invitation to sit with her. “I did not want to have sex with her. You are it, babe. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Thanks for telling me about Liz.” She touched her lips to his in a fleeting kiss. “A lot of men wouldn’t.”
He rested his back against the arm of the sofa. “I dreaded telling you. The whole fiasco made me feel like a device for her pleasure.”
“Sex with you is great, but…” She snuggled against him. “You know I love you. Don’t you?”
“I do.” Christian kissed the top of her head, her hair scented citrusy. “When are you going to marry me, lovely lady?” He snapped his fingers, the solution occurring to him. “If we were married, I could apply for a Green Card, the work permit no longer necessary.”
She lifted a pale face, her eyes rather wide. “Soon. I’m fine the way we are for now. Are you?”
“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” He stroked her arm, shoulder to fingertip. “Shall I start the mussels? I’ve chilled a bottle of white wine.”
“You think of everything.” She wriggled in his loose embrace. “You are perfect.”
“Mayfair tried to achieve perfection, but I have flaws, March, I assure you.”
Burying her face in his hair, she giggled. “Strength isn’t one of your flaws. Any man who resisted a blatant offer of sex from Liz is strong.”
“Yes, she is attractive, but I wasn’t interested in her or the proposal.” He tweaked her earlobe. “Neither was the little soldier as I heard him called on the telly once.”
“The soldier is not little.” Eyes sparkling, laughing aloud, she clapped her hands. “I’m glad the good boy stayed soft, because he sure gets hard for me.”
He kissed her hand, the tip of his tongue teasing her palm in an erotic, sensual caress. Gazing at her through his lashes, he said, “He’s up for you now.”
“Yum.” She unzipped his jeans, slid her hand beneath the waistband, closing her fingers on his hot shaft. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“This.” He kissed her, the passion in her resonating in him, and lifted her, laying her gently on her back on the floor.
For a moment, he held his breath, simply worshiping the woman gazing at him reverently. If she returned him, only Mayfair knew what would happen to him, but more than that, much more, dear God, he loved her.
Eyes hooded, lips parted, she tugged the caftan to her waist, wriggling into position. This was going to be hot, hard, and fast. Balanced on his arms, gazing into her eyes, he thrust into her. Her head drifted to the side, her eyes closing as her hips lifted and a moan tempted him to feather kisses to her parted lips. He drifted down on her, relishing her softness. Her nails raked his butt, urging him to satisfy her.
He stroked in tempo to her groans. She rose up beneath him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Her mo
uth opened on a silent scream. His body trembled as release swept them into ecstasy.
Chapter 7
March’s cell phone chimed Paul’s ringtone.
“Crap.” She gasped, still breathing hard and fast in the afterglow.
“Who is it?” Christian rolled off her, arm flung across his eyes, lying on his back fully clothed except for the good parts. “Have you noticed how a phone always interrupts important things?” he muttered.
“I’m tempted not to answer, but it might be about the boys.” She struggled to her feet, and cursing silently, rummaged in her handbag for the obtrusive phone. “Hello, Paul.”
“Damn.” Irritation was obvious in Christian’s voice.
Annoyed that Paul had, yet again, intruded on her intimate time with Christian, she flopped onto the sofa, tickling his belly button with a toe. The symmetry of that small V of skin, showing where his shirt had come unbuttoned, made her want to lick him all over. He laughed, squirmed, and leapt to his feet. When he slid a classic Peter, Paul and Mary CD into the player, she tossed him a smile and a thumbs-up. The song was Blowin’ in the Wind. How many roads must a man walk down…
“March, your doctor’s office has been calling here looking for you.” Paul used the scolding tone he sometimes gave the boys. “No message. Call and give them your new contact information. Write this number down.”
Feeling unreal, she pointed at a ballpoint with the oil company’s logo. “Christian, please hand me the pen.”
“Oh, he’s there? Living with you, is he?” Paul sneered.
“We’ll talk later, Paul.” Every second ratcheted her nerves tighter. “I need to reach my doctor before six. Sorry, I forgot to update my personal file.”
“What’s wrong, March?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“I don’t know yet.” Her heart beat a symphony of dread. “I need to go.”
Frowning, Christian strode to her side. He didn’t speak but slid a comforting arm around her waist. In the heaven they had carved for themselves, she’d forgotten about the biopsy. God, she was scared to death. Linda McCartney had died of ovarian cancer, and several of the women at work had suffered from breast cancer. One of them didn’t survive. It can’t end now that I found him.
Love For Sale Page 8
