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

by Kirsty Dallas

  We were so close I could have licked his lips; I could feel his warm breath, and a childish place inside me that wasn’t buried very deep, wanted to poke my tongue out at him. Instead, I huffed indignantly and moved back, putting a little space between us.

  “Oh, Wiska, like whiskers on a pussycat. I get it!” said Casey, snapping his fingers. “Pussycat. That’s very witty, Bradley.”

  Bradley rolled his eyes as we all stood from the car.

  “Alrighty, now that that’s settled, maybe you can show us your castle.” Casey gazed around the underground parking garage. “If this is a castle, then this must be the dungeon,” he murmured.

  It was a dimly lit, dank, concrete place that totally creeped me out.

  Casey turned his wicked gaze on Lionel. “I sure hope they have chains.”

  Lionel blushed while I giggled. Those two couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. It was sweet and made me long for things I thought I had, but didn’t. I had chosen the toad amongst frogs. That was my problem; I always chose the wrong path, the wrong career, the wrong frog. I just wanted to make the right choice for a change and make my family proud. That meant keeping my private life out of the public eye, keeping my clothes on, and ignoring all the frogs.

  I watched Bradley as he easily lifted my suitcase from the trunk. He looked so fine in that suit, and I just knew there would be a topography of well-developed dips and valleys under the expensive fabric. When he caught me staring, he actually smiled. Not a nasty smile, or a fake smile, an honest smile, with a dash of arrogance. Oh, hell. HANDS . . . OFF . . . FROGS, even the really sexy ones.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bradley

  I couldn’t get up to my apartment fast enough. I quickly introduced Wiska, Lionel, and Casey to a very curious Floyd, and then ushered the trio into my home. While they stood and gaped at the luxury, I quickly excused myself and headed for my bedroom. Even though my apartment was opulent and large, I only had two bedrooms, so I hadn’t been lying when I told Casey I didn’t have room for them. Carefully closing the door, I grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket and called Decker. It went straight to his voicemail.

  “Fuck, Decker, what have you gotten me into? I’m going to kick you in the balls next time I see you. Fuck that, I’m going to pay someone else to kick you in the balls. What the fuck is going on with Wiska? She has the media on her ass? And yes, it’s a very fine ass, but I need to know what’s going on with it, and I don’t mean lace or satin. Call me back.” I paused in my tirade and glanced around my darkened room. “And you’re a prick, and tell Andi she’s on my shit list, too.” Feeling happy with my little outburst, I hung up.

  Running a hand through my hair, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket before joining my guests in the living room where I discovered Casey cupping the breasts of a marble bust that sat against one wall. It wasn’t exactly mine; it had come with the apartment, and it was too heavy to move. I’m man enough to admit I liked looking at the marble tits from time to time.

  “I thought you were a dick man?” I mumbled.

  He glanced over his shoulder looking amused rather than pissed off at my bad attitude. “Oh, I am. You’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble if you had a nude male sculpture in this place. I was just curious. I’ve never touched boobies before.”

  “Boobies?” Wiska snorted.

  “Knockers, jugs, muchachas.” Casey shrugged. “I’ve never touched a single one.”

  “Well, trust me, the real deal doesn’t feel anything like that.” I smirked.

  Casey raised a brow, clearly curious. “So, you’ve been feeling up the marble bust, too?”

  “I am a man, aren’t I? If a gay man has his hands on them, you can bet your ass a straight man has touched them.”

  Lionel was checking out the kitchen while Wiska kept a considerable distance from the windows. I had heard her car confession that she was afraid of heights. I wondered how she would adapt to an eight floor apartment.

  “You can touch my muchachas, Casey,” Wiska offered as she leaned down to brush a hand over my 3D pinscreen.

  “He’s not touching anyone’s muchachas,” ordered Lionel.

  I grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and cracked it open. As I turned and took a mouthful I actually coughed it right back up. Wiska had the pinscreen off the table and pressed to her breast. The damn thing outlined every fucking curve of the mouthwatering mound, even the nipple.

  She grinned at Casey. “You may not be allowed to touch, but you can look at my breasts in this pinscreen whenever you feel the need.”

  “Bradley’s obviously been feeling the need to look since you walked out of the arrival gate at the airport,” Lionel murmured from beside me.

  I was still coughing but noticed Wiska either ignored him or didn’t hear him.

  Lionel winked before walking away. “Where should we put our bags?”

  I wrangled back my composure and led him to the guest room. “I only have one spare room,” I admitted when they all followed behind me. It was a big room, but once Casey and Lionel dropped their luggage on the floor, there clearly wasn’t much room left for anything else. “The couch in front of the TV folds out into a bed; it’s surprisingly comfortable.” Wiska gave a nod then looked to her suitcase, obviously not sure what she was going to do with it. “My room is a fair size. You’re welcome to put your things in there if you’d like.”

  Now why the fuck would I go and say that? I wanted to face palm myself so bad my fingers twitched. Was it too late to change my mind? I shook my head with frustration and turned, leading her to my bedroom. I pushed the door open and allowed her to enter first. I patted myself on the back for making the bed today; I normally didn’t.

  “You call this a fair size!” Wiska exclaimed.

  I glanced around the room trying to imagine it from her eyes. I guess it was kind of big; a king size bed sat between two long, stained glass windows. A bedside table stood on either side of the bed, a large antique wooden chest at the foot of it. A single, soft lounge chair sat in one corner and an enormous flat screen TV was mounted to the wall in front of the bed. The walk in closet was probably the size of an average kitchen, and it was just about full. The adjoining bathroom contained a large shower with dual shower heads and a Jacuzzi big enough for a four person party. Okay, perhaps ‘fair size’ was a slight understatement.

  Wiska peeked through the bathroom doorway, her eyes wide as she spun around, taking in the enormous space. Her eyes settled on my bed. “It’s so big,” she murmured.

  My dick twitched as my thoughts took her innocent statement to a whole other place. What could I say? I was well paid by the Bianco family. I liked nice stuff, and I loved a nice, big, comfortable bed. Wiska strolled straight across to that nice, big, comfortable bed and dramatically flung herself across the luxurious quilt, her huge breasts bouncing with the movement. I just about swallowed my tongue.

  “Mmmmmm, it’s so soft. I’m used to laying on hard ones. This is a nice change.”

  Tongue swallowed. I shuffled nervously, feeling a little like a pervert and a lot like a lust struck fool. When her arms rose over her head exposing a sliver of skin between the low cut of her jeans and her tight t-shirt, my eyes zeroed in on that small territory of flesh, and I found myself wondering how soft and warm she would feel. A small grin played at the corner of my mouth. Oh yeah, I’ve got something hard for you to lie on, pussycat. I tried to discreetly push my rapidly rising cock back down and grimaced. We are not singing this fucking tune, I reminded my ignorant dick.

  Wiska suddenly sat up and stepped down from the bed. Yep, stepped down. She was so tiny her feet didn’t reach the floor, which had me take note of the fact that if I stood between her open thighs, it would line us up perfectly for . . . NOTHING, NOT A FUCKING THING! I shook my head and placed her suitcase on a chair beside the doorway.

  “I’m not here all that much. I work long hours, so feel free to come in here and grab your stuff whenever you need it. You can use my shower
if you’d like.” Wiska smiled, and I could see it was full of honest appreciation.

  “Thank you, Bradley.”

  “Not a problem, pussycat.” We stared at each other for what was probably a little longer than comfortable. I noticed she had a dark freckle at the corner of her upper lip; it appeared to be the only mark to blemish her otherwise flawless skin.

  “This is pretty,” she murmured, walking toward the katana mounted to the wall.

  It was the first time anyone had ever used the word ‘pretty’ when talking about my sword. Hot, cool, sexy, badass, they were the words girls usually used when gushing over the ancient weapon. The sword in my pants had a whole list of other adjectives.

  “Is it real?” she asked. I nodded. “Do you know how to use it?”

  I shook my head. “Not really much use for sword play in my life these days.”

  “Then why do you have it?” Her tone held nothing but curiosity.

  “It looked cool?” She glanced my way, and I grinned. “And girls like it?”

  “There it is,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  “There what is?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  “I couldn’t see the matchup between you and Decker. He’s your best friend, and Decker is a dirty pervert . . . well, a sweet dirty pervert, and he’s only a dirty pervert with Andi now, but you seem so refined and swanky.” She waved a hand in my general direction.

  I was leaning against the doorframe, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. There was no way I was walking into my bedroom with her standing in there, because there was no way I would be able to keep my hands to myself.

  “Swanky?” I asked, my grin slipping a little. Swanky kinda sounded pompous.

  “Swanky suit, swanky shoes. Not sure about the tie, though; you’d look better in green—it would match your eyes. But yeah, swanky. Decker is so not swanky.”

  The fact she knew what color my eyes were caused an instinctive male reaction; my chest pushed forward, and I all but strutted like a peacock under her observation. “Pussycat, Decker can be swanky when he needs to, and trust me when I say I can be a dirty pervert when the situation calls for it.” Wiska rolled her eyes at me, which I found highly amusing.

  “All men have it in them to be dirty perverts, but the fact you actually look me in the eye when you talk to me, rather than talk to the soul sisters on my chest, means you are a decent man.”

  My smile quickly turned to a frown. “Decker talks to your boobs?” If Decker was checking Wiska out while he was not only dating but living with my cousin, I was totally putting a hit on him.

  “No, he talks to Andi’s boobs, regularly, but plenty of men spend more time wondering what size cup I wear rather than what color my eyes are.”

  “Well, if I were to be honest with you, I have been wondering what cup size you are.” Before she had a chance to look irritated, I continued, “But your eyes are blue, a pale blue that I would imagine rivals the Antarctic ice, and they have a darker blue ring around the edge which enhances the color inside.” Shit, where the fuck had my balls gone? I sounded like a damn romance novel or something.

  Wiska blushed. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I think I’ll freshen up and then see if Lionel and Casey want to go for a walk. Are you sure you don’t mind if I use your bathroom?”

  “It’s not a problem.” The thought of her all soapy and wet . . . Gah, dammit, if my dick wasn’t caged in boxer briefs, it would have bobbed eagerly with excitement. Be excited all you want, fucker. You are so not tasting that.

  I stepped forward and led her into the white bathroom with black marble counters. I grabbed a fresh towel from one of the hidden cupboards. When I turned around, I just about walked into Wiska. She was holding a tiny blue G-string and matching bra in one hand, fresh clothes in the other. My eyes were glued to the blue lace, and I tried valiantly to look away. They were just clothes for god’s sake, ignore them. But, the fact they wrapped around my favorite parts of the female body kept drawing my gaze back to the fragile fabric. I silently cursed, knowing that every time I looked at Wiska now, I’d be thinking about those scraps she called underwear on her body.

  “Ummm, I’ll leave you to it.” I suggested, careful to step around her and pull the door closed behind me.

  Making sure I was suitably belt-tucked—as in my chubby was stuffed discreetly between my stomach and belt—I buttoned my jacket to further hide my stubborn dick’s demand, and quickly retreated to the safety of the living area. Lionel and Casey had put their things away and were admiring the view from my ceiling to floor windows, not far from the couch where Wiska would sleep.

  “This might bother Wiska,” Casey said, pointing at the windows. I showed them the cords that pulled vertical blinds across the space, and the men nodded with satisfaction.

  “You guys could always sleep out here and give the lady the room,” I suggested.

  Casey, who had fallen into a comfortable lean against the back of my couch, turned and rubbed his hands over the white leather.

  “We could. This couch is the perfect height,” he purred.

  Even Lionel blushed at his wicked thoughts.

  “Stick to the bedroom,” I mumbled, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Spare key is in the bowl by the front door. I have to get to work and won’t be home until late. The place is yours. Just, please,” I gave them my best puppy dog eyes, “please don’t fucking redecorate while I’m gone.”

  I had seen Casey and Lionel’s apartment in the States. While modern and sleek, it was also full of obscure erotic art, which wasn’t so bad, but the feminine touches like the pink and lavender cushions, the fluffy white throw, and the scary stuffed animals Casey adored wasn’t exactly my kind of thing.

  “Lionel and I promise not to redecorate,” Casey said with a smile.

  I lingered, waiting for the catch, and when I realized none was coming, I gave a nod and left. I hesitated at the door a moment longer, reluctant to leave my unexpected house guests alone. One thought of Wiska bouncing across my bed, and I promptly stepped away from the door.

  “Too damn tempting,” I muttered as I stalked away.

  CHAPTER 4

  Wiska

  “The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.” I burst into dance as Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” reached the chorus. My iPod was up as high as it could go, leaving me in a world of musical bliss. I twisted and swung my hips in a move I learned at the pole dancing class I had taken with Andi and Leah last month. I moved around the fold out couch, folding my sheets as I went.

  Bradley’s apartment was divine. A wide open space with polished wood floors and enormous rugs. The walls were white, and the furniture was mostly grey, but splashes of color had been used to bring life to the place. Like the turquoise cushions I currently rearranged on the enormous U shape, leather sofa that had stretched out to make my huge bed for the evening. A bright red leather chaise in the shape of a wave sat before the floor to ceiling windows, which were blissfully covered by blinds. Some sunlight would have been nice, but it wasn’t worth the nauseating eight story view.

  “To the fella over there with the hella good hair . . . Ough!” My teeth snapped together as my butt hit the floor. I had tripped over a pillow and found myself in an ungraceful heap on my ass. “Damn,” I murmured, leaning over to rub my offended rump, glaring at the harmless pillow. As my gaze rose, I felt a curious flutter in my chest when I realized Bradley was standing in the room.

  I pulled the buds from my ears as I took a leisurely perusal of his stunning body. Shorts sat low on his hips and the tank he wore showed off his nicely toned biceps, the left one decorated with a tribal looking tattoo. He was wearing a frown, no surprise there; he had worn it yesterday. When I noticed the running shoes on his feet, I smiled and scurried to stand.

  “You run?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement. There was no missing the way his eyes roamed over my body, too. It didn’t really bother me; men had always found my body desirable. I was us
ed to the stares, and who was I to criticize when I had been openly gawking at him moments before.

  “I do. I’ll be back in an hour,” Bradley mumbled as he moved toward the front door.

  “Oh, oh, oh, give me two minutes. I’ll join you. I love to run, but I didn’t want to go off on my own. I’d get lost. I’m not real good with directions,” I called out as I ran down the hall and into his bedroom.

  His sheets were rumpled, the quilt shoved to the bottom of the bed. It looked comfy and lonely at the same time. No one should have such a deliciously big, soft bed with no one to share it with. Or maybe he did have someone to share it with. Just because Bradley didn’t live with someone didn’t mean he didn’t have a girlfriend. He had been dating my co-worker, Leah, back in the States, but that was six months ago. A handsome man like Bradley Emerson would surely have moved on.

  I pulled on a pair of ankle socks; they didn’t match, but, meh. I slipped on my shoes and ran back into the living room where Bradley stood in the exact same place I had left him. “Ready!” I sang. He didn’t move, his gaze lingering on my body. Okay, his staring was starting to border on creepy now. I glanced down in an attempt to figure out what had him gaping. “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s what you’re going to wear?” he asked a little gruffly.

  I was wearing my favorite hot pink, lyrca running shorts paired with a navy lycra sports bra that crisscrossed in the back. Admittedly, I purchased it from Victoria’s Secret, but it was most definitely exercise wear; I had the one hundred and twenty-five dollar receipt at home to prove it. It was a cute outfit that I jogged in often.

  “Ummm, yeah?” I replied.

  Bradley ran a hand over his face and groaned. “You can’t wear that; people here don’t dress like that to run.”

  “What the hell do they wear then?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Normal clothes, normal shorts that cover your ass.” His eyes landed on my breasts. “A shirt.” I rolled my eyes and started walking towards the doorway. “I’m serious, Wiska, every man within a five mile radius will be staring at your ass, and every woman will be looking at you like you are some sort of street walker.”