A long silence stretched his already tense nerves. Why didn’t the rude bastard speak? “Are you there?” He prompted.
“Paul here.” He mocked Christian’s terse greeting and his accent. “Jolly good, old chap, put March on.”
“She doesn’t feel like talking at the moment. We’ve only just returned from the hospital.” He paced in front of the glass doors, narrowly controlling his dislike for the other man. “Could you ring back later in the afternoon?”
“Ring back later? Hell, no. I want to talk to her, ask how she is.”
“She’s doing nicely.” He picked up a pencil from her desk, twirling it through his fingers.
“Look, Christian, I want to talk to my wife.”
“Ex-wife.” He started when the pencil snapped in half.
“Christian,” March whispered urgently, extending her hand. “Give me the phone. I’ll talk to him before you two get into a verbal sparring match. That will do matters no good at all.”
Christian spoke aside. “I don’t want him to upset you.”
She shook her head, wriggling her fingers. “It’s okay. Really.”
“I am not happy with this.” Unwillingness and anger slowed his progress to the sofa, Paul babbling in the background. “Allow me to set him straight.”
Wide-eyed, she shook her head frantically. He plopped the phone onto her palm.
For heart-pounding seconds, their eyes locked, his defiant, hers wary. The shock and concern in her gaze stalled the angry words crowding his throat. He stared down at her, wishing she could read his thoughts. Her gaze slid to the blank TV.
“Hello, Paul. Only a few minutes ago. I’m a little sore but fine.”
Christian wandered to the kitchen for the Pellegrino, opened the green bottle, and poured the sparkling water into a tall glass. The last thing he wanted was to listen to the one-sided conversation between March and her ex, but the apartment was small and his hearing keen.
“Do not come over. As I said, I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”
He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to grab the phone and tell the bastard where to go. Instead, like a good little robot, he served her drink. Irritated, confused by her relationship with a man she’d divorced, he strode to the door, slid back the glass, and escaped to the balcony. As soon as she rang off, he’d return.
Still, he heard her part of the conversation.
“Today is not the best day for you to meet him,” Weariness echoed in March’s voice.
“That bloody well does it. The jerk doesn’t care she had surgery two days ago. His only damn concern is to be in control.” He whirled, opened the door, and marched to the sofa. “Tell the bastard, in no uncertain terms, to go to bloody hell!”
March’s jaw dropped. He knew she was shocked. She didn’t expect his programming to permit hot expletives or displays of anger, but he’d had more than enough of Paul Morgan.
Christian,” she whispered his name in amazement. “I can’t do that.”
“Won’t.”
“Christian, please.”
“Please?” Christian longed to tell the man to get a life and leave them alone. He deliberately mistook her plea, extending his hand, palm up. “I’d be delighted to do so, March.”
She paled, and suddenly he realized he, not her jerk ex-husband, had upset her. His anger died, leaving him marooned in strange territory.
Chapter 9
March stared at Christian in disbelief. Was the android actually jealous—a flattering, but surprising, reaction? Programmed to love her, she supposed jealousy could arise. Still, couples loved without ever suffering the Green-eyed Demon. He certainly looked and sounded angry. Maybe his programming for passion had crept into his other emotions. As she watched, the hard expression faded, and he appeared, if anything, contrite.
“March, I apologize for overstepping my bounds.” He turned away, and, after a second’s hesitation, disappeared into the kitchen.
With a start, she remembered Paul on the phone. “Are you still there?”
“I am. Lovers’ spat?” He chuckled. “Heard part of it. Is your new honey jealous of me?”
“No,” she said. “He’s merely being protective. You may recall I recently had surgery. I’m in pain, Paul. Let me go. I need my meds. I’ll call you later.”
She pressed the off button, closed her eyes, wanting to cry. Maybe Christian was right. She should flush Paul from her life finally and entirely. Only problem with that solution was she’d lose the boys. What could she say to Christian to repair the damage on both sides of this love affair? He’d been angry; she’d been hurt. Now, there was an uncomfortable silence, too much unspoken.
“Christian, I’m sorry, too. Maybe you’re right about Paul. Can we…” She winced as a sharp pain lanced her belly. “Please bring me those pain pills on the counter.”
In an instant, he was at her side offering her the medication. The hard-to-open cap was loose. Bless his heart. He thought of everything. She accepted the pain pill, washed down its bitter taste with the Pellegrino.
“Is the pain bad?” When she shook her head, he flung a desperate gesture. “Oh, March, can we start over from where we were before that phone call?”
Tears burned her eyes, and damn, her lip trembled. She choked out a “Yes.”
He knelt in front of her, placing his hand on her knee, gazing at her with such intensity she choked back a sob. “I’ll never react in anger again. It’s not in my programming. I don’t know what happened.”
“Melissa said you were more human than the rest. I believe you have emotions outside your programming. You think independently.”
“Perhaps.” Christian glanced away, then looked back. “But is that a good thing?”
She shrugged. “You’re good for me. That’s all I know, all I care about…and I love you.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each of her fingertips. Gazing deep into her eyes, he whispered, “I love you, too.”
A tide of emotions surged over March, tears threatening. She hated being so sensitive and weepy. Her fingers drifted through his silky hair. “I am very, very happy.”
In one svelte motion, he rose. “I am lucky, and I am happy.” His smile robbed her of breath. “Now, allow me to take you to bed. This was an awful thing to happen today.”
“The pain meds are making me sleepy. Just help me walk. I don’t want to stagger.” She grinned. “Again, I’m feeling high as a kite.”
Christian laughed, shaking his head, his lush hair flowing with the movement. “I wouldn’t know how that feels.” He scooped her from the sofa, and as if she were made of finely blown crystal, carried her to the bedroom. Gently, he laid her on the bed, covering her with the white down comforter. “If you need anything, call. I won’t be far away.”
“In this place, you can’t get far away.” She yawned and closed her eyes. Her last sight was his beautiful face.
****
In what seemed an endless journey to the living room, Christian’s footsteps dragged. Still, he couldn’t believe his actions, but he was glad March had forgiven him. The next challenge—to forgive himself. If she decided his thinking was too independent, she could return a faulty unit to Mayfair, her loan satisfied in its entirety. They could attempt to reprogram him—or what? He glanced at his mobile, anxious to hear from Daniel.
Anxiety burned along his nerves. He banished thoughts of Mayfair to their rusty dungeon. He’d made enough mistakes. March needed him, and she needed things running smoothly. He sank down in the executive chair, switching on the computer. When Windows loaded, he opened Outlook—mine needs adjusting—to check his mail. A little thrill rippled through him when he saw the NASA email, but before he double-clicked, in the reading pane, he read disappointment. The first line was a rejection of his application based on lack of experience.
“Damn, I’d have liked that position and am programmed to do a better job than most. Oh, well, there’s still the UH position.”
Three
emails down the list, disillusionment awaited. The university had rejected him as a candidate for the same reason. “How does one get experience if no one will hire you?”
He clicked on the Linked-In email listing five positions for which he was qualified, but the two rejections had discouraged him. Deciding to open that email later, he scrolled down and found an invitation from Facebook. Liz, the bartender and downstairs neighbor, had sent him a Friend Request.
“The woman is nothing if not persistent.” Not being a frequent visitor to Facebook, he clicked on the link and accepted the invitation. He breathed a laugh shaded by bitterness. “Damn, I’m not being allowed to use my programming. Perhaps I should consider stripping. Call Stefan and ask him to express mail a disk of bump and grind coding.”
Amused by a vision of peeling off his clothes, he searched YouTube and found several videos of male dancers gyrating in front of screaming women. Bored with the computer, discouraged and blue, he strode to the bedroom and checked on March. Hand curled to her lips, hair tousled around her face, his darling girl was angelic. With the YouTube flick still playing with his imagination, he turned to the full-length mirrors that were the closet doors. Smiling, he rotated his pelvis, pumped his hips shafting an imaginary lover, and whirled, tossing his hair.
“What are you doing?” March lay on her side, propped on an elbow.
Embarrassment and pleasure mingled. He shoved his hands into his pockets. In a way, I’m glad she saw me. Am I an exhibitionist? Good trait for a stripper.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.” She smiled, narrowing her eyes. “What were you doing?”
“Dancing.”
“Dirty dancing. Are you watching movies in your head or something?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” He swung his hips in rhythm to the music in the video. “You’d be surprised what the clip is.”
“Yum! Do that again.” She applauded. “I imagine I will be surprised. Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”
“Guess.” He tugged his sweater over his head and flung it at the bed.
“You’re a male stripper.”
“Exactly.” He bent to kiss her. “Clever girl.”
“Not bad.” She whistled. “Not bad at all. I’d certainly pay for a lap dance.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay.” He straightened, shook back the hair she’d swept over his face. “I’m disappointed. Neither the NASA nor the UH positions asked for an interview.”
“Give it time. Don’t worry. We’re okay. You don’t eat. You don’t drink, and I don’t have to take you to the beauty salon to have your hair colored.” She frowned, looking at him strangely. “Where do they get the hair?”
He hunched a shoulder, creeping toward the bed, monster-fashion. “From the dead.” When she paled, he regretted the joke. “Actually, wigmakers. Mine is 100% European Remy. Are you hungry?”
“I want to eat you alive.”
“Cannibalism strikes someone in the US every five seconds.” Christian winked at the reason he was alive. If not for March, he might have remained a long time at Mayfair waiting to be adopted and given a personality. “Lie down. Rest. Yesterday, you mentioned homemade chicken soup. Soon, you will smell it cooking.”
I would do anything for you. Including ridding you of a pain-in-the-arse ex-husband.
****
“The boys have invited me for dinner tonight. I really don’t want to go without you, but…well, I think it would be awkward.” The first thing March did when she arrived home from work was remove her bra. “I haven’t seen the boys in over six weeks.”
Three weeks of that time had been spent in recovery, but March’s doctor was pleased with her progress and allowed her to return to work.
Christian shrugged. “What is awkward about a brawl in the kitchen? Go. I’ll watch a movie. I haven’t been through your collection yet. I’m glad I have eternity.”
March pinched his cheek. “Are you trying to tell me I have too many movies?”
He rolled his beautiful blue eyes, dragging out a, “No-o-o.”
Flopping on the bed, she tugged on black jeans and a too large t-shirt. She didn’t care if the kids and Paul saw her without a bra, but Christian’s expression clued her in that he might.
“Okay, handsome, what’s on your mind? You have that thoughtful look.” She grinned, brushing her hair.
He shrugged, his gaze drifting to the mirror, studying her reflection. “Never mind.”
“If you want me to wear the bra, I will.” She stripped the t-shirt over her head, snagged the bra from the floor, waving the dainty pink satin in front of him.
“There’s so little of it, I dare say…” He bit the lower lip of a smile.
“Now you’re calling my underwear scanty.” She flung the bra at his head.
Christian caught the undergarment mid-air. “A fortnight, and I can see what’s under the matching thong. Just saying.”
“Oh, you are bad. Hand that to me.” She fastened the bra, adjusted her girls and tugged the black shirt, a flame dragon emblazoned on front and back, over her head. “Going now. Dinner is at seven. See you about eight thirty unless they want to watch a movie with me.”
“Have fun.” He followed her to the front door. “I’m watching the second film of Lord of Rings.”
March slid her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his, “I know I repeat myself, but I love you.”
For answer, he hugged her tight to the length of him and kissed her. Was her darling trying to claim possession? Works for me. Damn, she longed to throw him on the bed and ravish him. Her recuperation had amazed her doctor, but sex was prohibited for at least two more weeks.
Thinking of Christian and sex, March wound down the staircase in a drizzle. The cobbles could be slick in the rain. Dumb ass had forgotten an umbrella and hurried along the path to Paul’s apartment. Before she rang the bell, he opened the door.
“Come in, March. Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Don’t start, Paul.” She sidled past him, shaking her damp hair.
Michael emerged from the hallway to his bedroom. “Hi, Mom. We rented a movie to watch after dinner.”
“With buttered popcorn?” She hugged him.
He wriggled free. “Of course. Guess what the movie is.”
She pressed her finger to her lips, pretending to seriously consider. “A romantic comedy.”
“Yeah, right. It’s super action, lots of car chases, flaming wrecks and blood.”
Paul Jr. wandered into the hall. “Hi, Mom. Great to see you.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “It’s been a really long time.”
Paul peered around the door frame. “Dinner.”
The pine trestle table that, along with the two china cabinets, had been their dining room furniture was laden with her favorites, lamb, peas and roast potatoes. There was even a Black Forest cherry cake. Red wine brimmed in the good crystal glasses, the gold rim on the white fine china gleaming. Christian had taught her the proper way to lay silverware. The place settings hadn’t been laid exactly correctly, but Paul had even used the linen tablecloth. He’d spared no effort to impress, but why? Was he trying to charm her back? That old you don’t know what you got until you lose it adage?
“Thank you, Paul. This looks delicious.” She sank down in a ladderback chair at one end of the table; he at the other, exactly as it had been when they were married.
“Mom,” Paul Jr. said. “How’s Christian?”
“Yeah, we had fun playing WildStar that night.” Michael stabbed a roasted potato. “He’s really fast in his moves. Almost as if he doesn’t have to think at all.”
Her ex stopped with a bite of meat halfway to his mouth. “He’s fast in his moves all right. Sorry. I know. Don’t start.”
March quirked a brow in a silent reprimand.
Slicing his lamb, Paul Jr. wasn’t looking at her when he fired the innocent arrow. “I saw him on the balcony last week talking to that girl from downstairs. I waved but h
e didn’t see me. I was going to invite him over to play.”
A flash of heat zinged over March. Jealousy. Was that bitch ever going to give up the chase? Why hadn’t Christian told her about Liz’s visit? Was it possible that her persistence had paid off? Stop it, March. He’s programmed for you. He did tell me she came up, asking for coffee. Did he forget about this little conversation? Hell no, he’s a robot.
Paul Jr. stared at her. What had he seen on her face that made him say, “He was upstairs on the balcony. She was on the foot of the stairs. He didn’t look like he wanted to be talking to her.”
Her ex stared at his food as he said grudgingly, “He seems to be looking after you. Pass your plate, and I’ll serve your lamb. The mint sauce is in the fridge, Michael. Fetch.”
For the remainder of the meal, no one mentioned Christian, but he was never out of March’s thoughts. What was he doing? Had that damn bitch seen her leave and paid another visit? Buy your own man, Liz. As Michael had described, the movie was non-stop action. Long before the credits rolled, March was ready to go home.
At ten fifteen, she climbed the stairs to paradise. Six weeks with no sex, but Christian wasn’t cranky. Was Liz taking care of him while March worked? Jealousy fired the tips of her ears. Liz was the kind of woman most men would find hard to resist. Granted, Christian isn’t most men, but…No, he is quite simply tuned to my wants and needs.
The sliding glass doors were closed but not locked. No sign of Christian. Her heart leapt into her throat. Where was he? Usually, he waited at the computer or would be watching a movie. In the manual provided with Christian, it said that because the androids thought faster than humans, the potential existed for them to become more easily bored.
An uneasy feeling crept over March. The Two Towers was far longer than the blood-soaked action film she’d endured. She slid the door open, took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold. A wave of musky incense overwhelmed her. What the hell? The fragrance was sweetly suffocating. Where did he get the appalling stuff? She pushed deeper into the room, extinguishing the smoking stick.
Love For Sale Page 11
