Women crowded around the other dancer, sliding the ritual dollars into the waistband of his red thong. One bold hand stuffed a twenty dangerously close to his restricted zone. He bent to whisper to the offender that a lap dance was only twenty-five dollars. Even in the lap dance, there was a no-touch rule, but since nine o’clock, he’d seen many rules bent.
A loud whistle from his side of the stage captured his attention. Without breaking stride, he turned his head and met startling green eyes.
The woman shouted, “Hey, Blondie, aren’t you just the finest thing? I’ve got to have me a lap dance,” and tossed a twenty at his feet.
He couldn’t stop dancing to pick up the money, but what the hell, he’d begin making his mark in the world of male strippers. The attention and the admiration were invigorating—and intoxicating. He wanted to give the audience a good performance. Sometimes, being a mechanical wonder was good. He dropped into a full split, grabbed the twenty, and leapt to his feet in one svelte move. Tossing a come-on smile to the girl, he unzipped and wedged the money into his fly.
The green-eyed girl screamed, “Hell yeah!”
A cry of Woohoo burst from the crowd. The other men shot him murderous looks. His cue sounded, and, swallowing his pride, Christian danced to front and center stage. As choreographed, he crouched on his haunches, then knelt, but did not throw his legs over to strip. He kicked in his pleasure droid programming. Too far for touches, he reached out his hands to them, making eye contact with each girl pushing to get closer.
The music hit a thundering bass. Slowly, he withdrew the twenty from his fly to gasps and groans. Smiling, he inched his zipper down. The green-eyed girl pushed to the front as he lowered himself to his ass, slung his legs over, and the women began to strip him.
“No, ladies, allow me.” Now was the time he’d dreaded. He took a deep breath and slithered out of the black leather, naked except for the damned trapeze thong.
Nails scraped his skin as they tucked their offerings under his waistband. The green-eyed girl shoved another twenty deep beneath his g-string, her fingers coming close to embarrassing him. His programming made the intimate touch disgusting, and he fought an urge to recoil.
“Can I buy you for an evening?” she purred.
“For the rest of my life,” the woman beside her called.
Funny you should ask. Stranger answer, yes, you can. Or could she?
Daniel’s hurried warning resonated in his mind. Only prototypes for something bigger and more lucrative.
****
At two a.m., Christian, Liz, and Randy climbed the narrow stairs to the studio apartment above the club—Christian’s new home. Another week or two with nights like tonight, and he could return to his real home…and March. With the music silent and the smell of perfume on his body, he thought of her every step he ascended. He hoped and prayed she hadn’t cried. He had. Robot tears. If only the women tonight had known what he was…
Randy said over his shoulder, “You are damn good, but you didn’t make any friends tonight.”
I’m not here to make friends almost sprang to his lips, but he said, “I thought it was all about the show.”
Liz pinched his ass. “If you got it, flaunt it. And you got it in spades, babe.”
Randy laughed. “Don’t encourage him, Liz, and keep your lecherous hands off the merchandise. Christian, can I call you Chris?”
“If you like,” he said. Another step, another memory of March.
“We’ve got to figure out how to use that English accent.” Randy glanced back at him. “The girls will melt. Prince Charming and all that. Hey, Chris, I’m happy with the impromptu performance but try not to piss off the guys. How many lap dances did that redhead buy?”
“Three.” His heart cramped. The lap dance was touch-less sex. He had been physically ill trying to overcome the love encoded in his being. All in all, the green-eyed girl had spent over one hundred dollars on him and made it clear she’d like to take him home with her.
I just want to go home.
****
March paced by the front doors, staring at the rain, but seeing only Christian’s face. How long was it going to take Mayfair to answer the damn phone?
“Good afternoon, Mayfair Electronics, Ltd. How may I assist you?”
She took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. “This is March Morgan. I purchased one of the androids, a Christian model.”
“Yes, Ms. Morgan, I remember. He looked quite happy. Is there a problem?”
“I’m afraid so. He has disappeared. Yesterday, he left while I was at work, and I haven’t heard from him.”
“But that’s impossible,” the receptionist said. “Unless…something happened to him. Could he have been stolen?”
March thought of Liz and gritted her teeth. “I don’t believe he was stolen. We had a disagreement about his getting a job.”
“Ms. Morgan, that is quite impossible as well.”
“I’m sorry, but it is possible, and he is gone.” Her zinging nerves propelled March around the apartment. “I think he is…more independent than other models.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Is there a way of tracking each unit?” She halted at her desk, staring at the goodbye note.
“Yes, I believe there is. One moment, please. I’ll transfer you to someone who can help.”
The wait was ultra short, and the response equally tense.
“Good afternoon, Melissa here.”
“Melissa, this is March Morgan. To make a long story short, Christian has disappeared. I don’t think he was stolen. I think he left of his own accord. Is there a way to track the androids?” In despair, March flung herself down onto the sofa, absently stroking the cat’s ears.
“Yes, I can track him while you’re on the phone. I’m stunned. We’ve never had a model challenge his programming.”
“This one did.”
“You must return him for a full refund. We are quite willing to pay shipping on the deactivated unit. March, so sorry you’re experiencing these difficulties. There must be something faulty—”
“I don’t want to return him.” When March lurched to her feet, Mugs skittered beneath the entertainment unit. “I don’t want him reprogrammed either. I love him the way he is. I just want him back.”
“May I return your call?” The tap of computer keys filled a hesitation. “It will only take a few minutes to obtain his coordinates.”
“Yes, thanks.” March hit the off button and slumped in her desk chair for the longest wait of her life.
When the phone rang, she started and grabbed the receiver. “Hello, this is March.”
“Melissa here. March, we have an address for you. He is in Houston.” She rattled off the street and number too quickly, and March had her repeat the location.
“I’m not familiar with this address. Thanks, Melissa. I’ll give you a report later today.”
“March, you must seriously consider returning him for a full refund. Mayfair will send someone for him at no expense to you. We can’t afford for a faulty unit to expose our program. I’m sure we could reimburse you for your time and trouble as well.”
Why was Melissa insisting she return Christian? “That won’t be necessary.”
Fifteen minutes later, March stared in horror at the nightclub with its marquee advertising male dancers, featuring their new sensation Chris.
“Damn you, Liz.” A sob caught in March’s throat. “Damn you to hell and back. I was so confident he loved me—was programmed to love me—I didn’t see the real danger. You wily bitch, you finally seduced him. Maybe not into your bed yet, but into your den.”
Proud and dignified, her poor Christian was being stupidly noble. He was sacrificing himself for her. How humiliated he must have been begging Liz for a job. Even more so, to shed his clothes in front of a leering audience who’d devour his beauty and grace like hungry animals.
March rested her forehead on the steering wheel, sobbing.
Cha
pter 12
A minute later, she dried her eyes, swallowed her tears, and struck the steering wheel with her fist. “Liz, I’m going to pay you a little visit. The tracking system says Christian is here, but I want to know what you had to do with his leaving.”
In a fury, March drove home without remembering the route she took. She slammed the car door, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and glancing at her watch. Nine a.m. The slinky blonde would probably be in bed, but she was in for a rude awakening. She strode down the path, anger seething in her guts.
And met Liz coming from the front gate.
“You look pissed off.” Liz arched her brows, a smug, secretive look on her heart-shaped face.
“I am pissed off. At you. Just getting home?” Imagining the bitch with Christian heated anger to boiling. March had to concentrate not to fist her hands.
Liz cocked a hip, irritated now, narrowing her eyes. “If it is any of your business, Randy, that’s my boss, took me to breakfast.”
“Where is Christian?” She itched to wrap her hands around Liz’s long neck and strangle her. She’d never been in a fight in her life, never had the urge—until this moment.
“He came to my apartment and said you two had broken up.” Liz gave her satiny blonde hair an infuriating toss.
March took that shot in the stomach, the pain almost unbearable. “Well, we haven’t. Did you finally beg him into your bed?”
“Look, he came to me.” Liz straightened to her full height, several inches taller than March. “He didn’t go to bed with me. He was so hot for me we couldn’t make it to the bedroom. We did it on the living room rug. Now are you happy?”
Happy? March was in a blind fury—and cut to her very soul. The internal wound began to hemorrhage. She thought she was going to throw up on Liz’s six-inch heels. They said love is blind, but hate’s vision was twenty-twenty. “You lying whore. Where is he?”
“Lying, am I?” Liz sneered. “You poor bitch, he’s not coming back. He’s living at the club. He’s the best dancer Randy has. He likes it, and he’s making a ton of money.”
March almost blurted, “How do I get into this apartment?” but the blonde trollop would run straight to Christian and warn him. The battle for the handsome android would have to wait until tonight. March planned to be in the audience when Christian bounced his fine ass into that nightclub.
“He’s addicted to the stage, now. You should see him up there strutting his stuff.” Liz’s malicious smile strained March’s tenuous control. “Women can’t keep their hands off him.”
Liz aimed every word to hurt March, succeeding admirably. She focused on the anger sizzling beneath her skin. These women who couldn’t keep their hands off him, including the bitch glaring at her, were handling her property. She’d traveled across an ocean to buy him, signed the contract for an exorbitant amount. He belonged to her. If he had to be reprogrammed, she’d accompany him into the makeover chamber, watch them every minute, but regret losing the man he’d been until today.
Angry tears scalded her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d let Liz see her cry. Suddenly, without willing it, her hand was drawn back to strike.
Liz winced, her chin jutted belligerently. “You better not even try.”
“Don’t count your money while you’re sitting at the table, Liz. The dealing isn’t done.” March paraphrased the lyrics from Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler.
“How incredibly hokey,” the other woman said, as March whirled and stalked away.
Tonight, March intended to repossess her man.
****
Christian danced sensuously close to the chair occupied by a blushing young woman. He braced his hands on her shoulders and undulated, his hips inches from her face. As if it had a will of its own, the future bride’s hand stroked his stomach. He straightened, lifting the chair until they were eye-to-eye. She squealed, grabbing the sides, but smiling and her eyes twinkling. He winked, returned her to the floor, and continued his erotic ballet.
“The girls paid for a lap dance. I want you,” his victim said.
The music switched from the thudding, sensual beat to the old song Shout. The women threw their hands into the air, jumping with the lyrics. He strode to the edge of the stage, prepared, but never eager, to strip for hundreds of pairs of hungry eyes.
Then he saw her, memories rushing over him on a wave of pleasure…and remorse.
March stood at the lip of the stage, staring at him. She was a quiet, still figure in the chaos, and there were tears in her eyes. Her pain struck a chord in him. He coasted to a halt at the edge, feeling as if he might plunge to his death. God, she was pale.
The women jumped to touch his boots, crying, “Take it off, Chris. Take it all off.”
March winced, closed her eyes. When she opened them, determination blazed in their depths. She braced her hands on the corner and vaulted to the stage. Heedless of the bouncer shouting for her to get off the stage, she strode through the spotlights, the colors tinting her paleness, and gripped his arm.
“Put your clothes on, Christian. Your career is finished as of now.” Eyes blazing, she gave him an angry shake. “You’re coming with me. Don’t even think of refusing. I’ve spoken with Mayfair.”
“Hey, bitch, get off the stage,” the redhead called.
“Yeah, girl, whatcha’ doing with our man!”
More shouts and rude remarks rose from the crowd, but Christian scarcely heard. Trapped in March’s flaming gaze, he stood motionless.
As if I want to refuse when your face, and your face alone, has haunted my sleep mode and every thought since I left you. He nodded, thanking all the mechanical gods that she’d come for him.
The bouncer climbed to the stage. “Lady, you have to get off the stage.”
Christian waved him away. “She’s with me.” He glanced at March’s stony expression. “Or I’m with her. We’re leaving, Dan.”
The big, burly man gaped at Christian as if he’d sprouted wings. With March, he felt like he could fly. How he’d missed her in the one day of separation. The DJ cranked the music louder, the crowd getting restless, wondering if the interruption was part of the act. David danced from behind the curtain, rescuing the show. Elated, Christian followed in March’s wake, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers. The jacket, shirt, and bow tie lay in a puddle on the floor beside the bride-to-be staring after him as if he’d been a mirage.
The next few hours promised to be brutal. It was obvious March thought he enjoyed his new career, when, in fact, the opposite was true. One night’s tips weren’t a fortune, but he had something to contribute to their relationship. He felt the heat of Liz’s gaze on his back. He hoped his actions wouldn’t reflect negatively on her. She meant well. What did she think of March’s appearance and his sudden departure? Actually, her opinions were of no consequence. Christian had been repossessed. He was going home.
Or was he? Indeed, March might rush him to the airport with a one-way ticket to London. At the end of the day, he hadn’t thought his plan to make some money through. He’d never expected her to find him, but to return to her with something to contribute. His heart skipped a beat of fear. Would she exchange the problematic unit for a new model without his independent streak? The car loomed ahead. Troubled about her welfare and his future, he stepped in front of March to open the driver’s door.
She shot him a killer look, then slid into the seat. “Just get into the passenger seat.”
Yes, the journey would be long and tense…best not think of the apartment as home anymore.
He sank into the car, crossing his arms. As the sedan sped along Richmond Avenue, faster than March normally drove, the silence gnawed at his nerves. “Aren’t you going to speak to me? Talk to me, March. I know you have lots to say.”
She shook her head, refused to speak.
“Please don’t be angry.” He unfolded his arms, wishing to appear approachable. “I can explain everything. Perhaps, it is better to wait until we r
each ho…your apartment. I have something for you.”
The silence broke on a rush of accusations. “I can’t believe you ran away with that damned Liz. She told me you had sex with her. On the living room floor. Couldn’t wait to stick it to her?” Angry, heartbroken tears stained her voice. “Tell me the truth or I will return you to Mayfair in exchange for another android of the Christian line.”
So, it would be as he feared. March intended to rid herself of a thorn in her side. “I did not have sex with Liz. That is the absolute truth. I never even considered it. My programming—”
“Your programming is screwed way the hell up. You weren’t supposed to be capable of leaving me sick and alone. Oh, hell, just in leaving me period. You were supposed to love me. I should hate you…” Her mouth puckered in her battle against tears.
He held up a shaking hand. “Please, March, if you return me, order them to deactivate me and reuse the parts. I can’t bear—”
She gasped a breath. “But I don’t hate you. That’s the problem.”
“The problem seems to be that I love you, and you love me. Give me the opportunity to explain.” He ached to touch her—touching her might heal the wounds they’d dealt each other, but he dared not even brush a fingertip to her cheek.
She was an emotional time bomb that might explode in his hand. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Little tremors shook her body as she fought some inner war. “You hurt me more than I thought possible.”
“Oh, God, March, you are the last one I would want to hurt. Pull over, and I’ll tell you now all there is to tell. Why I did what I did, and what happened in the one night I was lost and as lonely as you were.”
She swung the car into a Walgreen’s parking lot. “Okay. Start talking while I’m still inclined to listen.”
“Since I arrived, you’ve had nothing but problems. From your family, financial worries, including your payment on me, and Liz’s attempts to seduce me. I had tried every avenue to obtain work to help you with the monetary burden and, perhaps, silence at least one of your ex’s accusations. I needed to help. So, that morning, I went to Liz’s door and asked about a position at the club. She did her usual seduction routine, but I think she finally realized it would never work.
Love For Sale Page 14
