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

by Kirsty Dallas

  My entire body tensed at his words, not because he suggested people might stare, but the suggestion that I was a whore. The media had painted me as some sort of jezebel, and now Bradley was suggesting my clothing made me one, too.

  “You know what, Bradley,” I snapped, “I don’t care what people think. I’m used to men staring, and as long as they keep their grubby, pervy hands to themselves, I could care less, and those people who assume I sell my body just because I wear an outfit that doesn’t conform to their idea of normal,” I huffed out a breath, “well, they can bite me.” I stormed out of the apartment, and surprisingly, Bradley followed. “Hello, Floyd,” I said as I approached the old man working the elevator. It kind of angered me that he was working like this. At his age, he should be happily retired and puttering around a cute little garden, not slaving over spoiled, uptight assholes.

  “Miss,” Floyd said with a big smile. His eyes stayed on my face the entire time, and there was no judgement in his expression.

  I gave Bradley a smug smile, and he shook his head with a smirk.

  “Sir,” Floyd’s attention turned to Bradley.

  “Sir?” I balked loudly.

  “Hey.” Bradley held his hands up defensively. “Don’t judge. Every day, for nearly two years now, I’ve tried to get him to call me just plain old Emerson, but he refuses.”

  “Probably because people don’t go around calling each other by their last names. It’s just weird,” I muttered. I didn’t miss the fact that Floyd’s smile grew wider. When the elevator arrived, we all stepped in. “Do you have a problem with what I am wearing today, Floyd? Bradley tells me this isn’t appropriate for jogging.”

  Bradley coughed down a startled bark of laughter. Floyd’s eyes did a professional and nonjudgmental perusal of my body.

  “Not at all Miss . . .”

  “Please don’t call me that. I’m not a miss kind of girl. Just call me Wiska.”

  Floyd nodded. “You have Ukrainian descendants?”

  I smiled; not many people realized the heritage of my name. “I do. My mother is Ukrainian, but she has lived in America for twenty-five years now. She met my dad when she was touring, and it was love at first sight.”

  “Ahhhh,” said Floyd knowingly. “That’s my favorite kind of love. Your mother sang?” he asked politely.

  “No, she was a ballerina. She was a star; people in her home country would stop her on the street for her autograph. Not so much in America, but she didn’t care for the stardom all that much, anyway. When she met my dad . . . well, she threw it all away for him.”

  The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. “There is nothing wrong with your outfit, Miss Wiska. If anyone has a problem with it, then perhaps they need to focus more on their own shortfalls rather than trying to point out others. Have a nice run.” Floyd gave Bradley a polite tilt of the head and murmured, “Sir.”

  I laughed as Bradley gave a frustrated shake of his head at Floyd’s refusal to call him Emerson. When we hit the street, the cool morning air made my breath catch.

  “I like Floyd,” I confessed with a shiver.

  “Everyone likes Floyd. You probably shouldn’t have dressed like that because it is autumn; the mornings are a little chilly this time of year,” Bradley said with an arrogant smile.

  “That’s okay,” I said, rubbing my arms. “As soon as we get moving, I’ll warm up.”

  A woman walked by, a fluffy dog leading the way on an outstretched leash. She gave me an unimpressed glance, not even attempting to hide her distaste over my choice in clothing. Well, if this was hoity-toity-ville, and every stuck up snob in the UK lived on this street, I was going to give them a special show. “Just let me stretch before we start,” I murmured.

  A couple, who had been a little less obvious with their disapproving stares, approached, and I bent over at the waist, touching my toes and pulling my head against my knees. I was flexible; my mother had been a prima ballerina, and apparently, flexibility came naturally to us. I heard Bradley groan and the muttering of the couple who walked by, but I didn’t stop; after all, stretching was very important before rigorous exercise. I continued to bend and stretch as the odd person ambled past. For the most part, very few gawked or made comment, but Bradley’s anxious shuffling from one foot to the other at my side was strangely enjoyable, so I dragged out my warm up routine. Obviously fed up with my little performance, he turned and jogged off. I did one last lunge before I followed him.

  It was early, and the streets were quiet. Those pedestrians we did pass generally did a double take at my bright, skimpy outfit. Most people were dressed for the office, in suits and dresses with slightly differing and yet very boring shades of navy and grey, and those who were jogging, walking, or being tugged impatiently along behind their dogs were dressed in obvious work-out attire, but a little less risqué than my own. I smiled, nodded, and said hello as we jogged past them, and after a while I began to tune them out completely as I took in my surroundings. We turned a corner, and I could easily make out the lush green parkland at the end of the street. Within a few minutes, we entered a gated garden estate. Tall trees towered over the path and an enormous manicured lawn opened to our right. It reminded me of Central Park back home in New York, and a pang of sorrow stabbed at my heart.

  I missed my home. My apartment was a tiny one bedroom, but it was mine and it housed all my stuff. It was like a comfy pair of granny panties that you couldn’t wait to pull on at the end of a long day. I missed my family, and I hated how disappointed my parents had been with me the last time I had seen them. My life in the adult film industry had been discreet, until Kasper came along. There had been no raised voices or harsh words spoken, but their silence and frowns spoke volumes. I had never been the perfect daughter; my independence and stubbornly strong will made sure I was the kind of daughter that kept them entertained rather than prideful. But this career choice had been too many steps in the wrong direction.

  “This has surprised me.” Bradley’s voice dragged me from my pity party.

  “What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  “Your silence. I assumed you were one of those girls who could talk a blue streak.”

  “What’s a blue street?” I wondered out loud.

  “Not street, streak. It’s a saying that means someone is a chatterbox.”

  “Oh, well, I like to talk, but when I jog, I like to just lose myself. I usually listen to music.”

  “What kind of music?”

  “I’ll listen to just about anything, but mostly the clichéd pop that most women listen to. I’m adult enough to confess I love Taylor Swift.” Bradley just nodded, an uptight expression on his face that I really wanted to wipe off. “What about you?” I asked, suddenly wanting to know more about this brooding, sexy mystery. Bradley shrugged, and my eyes were drawn to his tattooed, muscled bicep. I wondered what those arms would feel like surrounding me, holding me. DANG IT! That was so not going to happen; I was celibate now.

  “Hold up a sec,” Bradley panted, coming to a standstill.

  When he bent over, I realized his shoelace had come untied, then I promptly noticed how damn fine his ass was. I barely managed to hide the appreciative moan that wanted to escape my lips. He was sculptured like one of those fancy marble statues they seem to like so much here in the United Kingdom.

  “See, two can play at that game,” Bradley said with a wink when he stood.

  I blushed—I could feel the heat in my cheeks and ears—and I never blushed! I was perfectly comfortable with my body, clothed or otherwise, and I was perfectly comfortable with other bodies, clothed or otherwise. I was used to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, I was accustomed to ridicule and jokes, and I DIDN’T BLUSH!

  “Rock, some hip hop, but mostly rock.” He finally answered my question about his own taste in music.

  “What’s your favorite breakfast?” I quizzed him.

  “Huh?”

  “Cereal, eggs, or coffee?”
>
  “Lucky Charms,” he said with a confused frown.

  “I love Lucky Charms.” I sighed, wondering if he had any back at the apartment. “Oh, my gosh, swans!” I exclaimed, coming to an abrupt stop.

  “Nasty fuckers,” said Bradley, and he kept on jogging. When he realized I wasn’t making an attempt to join him, he stopped, his hands impatiently stationed on his hips.

  I walked off the concrete path and over the thick green grass, making a beeline for the majestic birds. “No, seriously, Wiska, they are nasty fuckers. Stay back.”

  I ignored Bradley as I approached the side of the murky lake in the middle of the park. I stepped out on a rock to get a little closer.

  “What are doing? Wiska, get back here,” Bradley demanded.

  “Stop being a baby. They’re just like ducks on steroids.” I stepped on another mossy covered rock, and my foot slipped, but I quickly regained my balance.

  “Fuck it. If you fall in, it’s on you.”

  “I’m not going to fall in.” Hopefully. I wasn’t the most elegant person which was one of the reasons I was never as good a dancer as my mother. I stepped on another rock, and the swans began to paddle away from me. “They are so pretty,” I whispered as I stood and watched. “Can you take a picture of me with the swans? I want to show Casey and Lionel.” I glanced back at Bradley who stared at me like I had grown another head. “Hurry up. The longer I’m out here the more chance I have at falling.”

  He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and aimed it in my direction. I struck a pose, arms wide, big grin on my face, and when Bradley’s face morphed into one of panic, I followed his gaze over my shoulder. A huge black swan was approaching and his eyes almost glowed red with territorial anger.

  “Oh, crap, nice swan.” I tried to scurry off the rock, and my foot slipped again, but I caught my footing. “Good swan. Swans are vegetarians, right?” I blabbed as I stepped to another rock, still too far to leap to safety. This rock was also slippery, and I easily lost my balance rushing. My foot went one way, my body the other. I was going down; I knew it, the swan knew it. I was bird meat. I landed heavily, my arm reaching out to try and catch my fall on a neighboring rock. I heard the snap more than felt it. It was only a few seconds later before the hurt filled my body with agonizing pain, though. While Bradley flapped his arms in an attempt to scare off the swan from hell, I staggered out of the freezing water, cradling my wrist.

  “Holy shit!” gasped Bradley. “I told you they were nasty fuckers.” Once the swan had moved back out into deeper water, he turned away from the lake and smiled, his grin quickly turning to laughter when he took in my sopping wet appearance. “Please, let me take another photo,” he spluttered.

  I pinned him with a glare that should have made him shiver in his Nikes; instead, it just made him laugh harder. I grimaced as I tried to move my hand.

  “Fuck, did you hurt yourself?” All laughter stopped as he took three determined strides towards me. He reached out to touch my arm, and I pulled away.

  “Don’t touch it,” I snapped.

  “Let me see,” he brushed off my snippy attitude.

  “No, it hurts.”

  Bradley raised a brow. “Is this a good time to say, ‘I told you so’?”

  “Yeah, while I’m freezing cold and in pain. Go ahead, mock me.”

  Bradley’s eyes softened, and he shook his head. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I grew up with Decker and his two brothers. I’m used to broken limbs and stitches.” After only a moment’s hesitation, I allowed him to pull my injured hand away from my body as he carefully examined it with warm, gentle fingers. “Can you move it?”

  I tried and let out a small yelp when pain speared through my hand and arm.

  “Pussycat, I think you might have broken something,” he whispered.

  The thought of a broken bone made me woozy. I’d never broken anything before. I was clumsy, so bruises and cuts were normal. I had even endured a concussion once, but broken limbs . . . I felt ill. The world in front of me began to spin, little black dots floated in my vision, and suddenly, Bradley and the nasty ass swan were gone as I fell into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 5

  Bradley

  “You could have killed her,” Casey said matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic,” I snapped back. “And I’m not at fault here. I told her the swans were shitheads, and she ignored me.”

  The nurse smiled and Wiska started giggling hysterically . . . again. Well, she had warned them she’d had a previous adverse reaction to morphine, but they were determined to get some decent pain relief into her when they reset the broken bone.

  “I can’t believe I was attacked by a swan. This must be new for you.” She giggled as the nurse diligently ignored my and Casey’s argument.

  “Actually, it’s quite common; they are very territorial, especially if there are young around,” the nurse calmly replied. “Also, swans mate for life. If one dies, the other dies of a broken heart, so they are very territorial of their mates, too.”

  “That is so romantic.” Wiska swayed as she swooned. “Wow, you have really pretty eyes,” she continued, staring at the male nurse who simply smiled.

  I, on the other hand, scoffed, loudly. I hadn’t meant to. I didn’t even know what a fucking scoff was until that moment. When Casey and Lionel both gave me a ‘what the’ look, I might have even blushed.

  “Hush, Bradley, yours are prettier,” Wiska chastised.

  At least that removed Casey’s and Lionel’s gaze from me. They were now both staring at her—Lionel a little worried, Casey highly amused.

  “What about me, poppet? Do I have pretty eyes?” Casey asked, batting his lashes.

  “You know you do. You blink those gorgeous, not so innocent eyes at Lionel, and he literally bends over for you.” Wiska gave the nurse a pointed look. “I mean that. They’re gay.”

  “Thank you, Wiska,” Lionel said, though there was no admonishment in his tone.

  “She is properly stonkered,” I murmured.

  “What the hell does stonkered mean?” Wiska demanded.

  “Wasted, drunk, stoned,” I explained.

  “I’m not drunk,” she said, waving her hand in the air. Obviously, she caught sight of something fascinating with her hand, because she waved it around in front of her face for a good minute after.

  “Poppet, you are as baked as a pie.” Casey murmured with a click of his tongue.

  “Hey, is it okay if I write a check for this? Funds in my bank are kinda low right now.” The nurse hesitated for a moment before resuming to wrap Wiska’s arm and wrist.

  “You’ll have to speak to billing about that.”

  “What do you mean funds are a bit light? Ryder asked if you needed an advance for this trip, and you said you had it covered.” Lionel stood from the bed and crossed his arms, standing over Wiska like an angry parent.

  Wiska rolled her eyes, a habit I found slightly adorable. If I could have come up with a more manly word than adorable, I would have used it. As it was, adorable was all I had.

  “I did have it covered, silly! I paid for my flight.”

  “What about living expenses?” Casey asked, flustered.

  “I’ve got that covered, too. I just didn’t have swan attack in my budget.”

  “I’ll cover it.” I sighed, knowing very well I could more than afford it.

  “You will not,” huffed Wiska, trying hard for indignation, but looking more like a drunken sailor.

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said, trying to mimic my tone and voice.

  When the nurse finished wrapping her arm and moved aside, I leaned forward and placed one hand on either side of her legs, effectively trapping her.

  “Yes, you will,” I said with a little more force.

  She tried to focus on me, but I was obviously too close, and she ended up looking a little cross-eyed and a whole lot darn cute. Cute, that was as fucking bad as adorable
.

  “I’m going to pay for your medical expenses, Wiska, since I should have thrown you over my shoulder and walked you away from the tempting evil swans. You are obviously tempted by sparkles and pretty things, so I know for next time. For my error though, I will pay your hospital bill.”

  Wiska’s head tilted, and she moved back a little so she could see me properly.

  “If I say no, will you promise to spank me later?”

  My mouth opened to come back with a witty retort; instead, I came up with nothing. The thought of Wiska’s naked backside in my lap turned my brain to mush and my cock to steel.

  “Okaayyyyy, she’s really going to regret she said that later,” murmured Casey.

  “Why? Bradley’s not going to spank her. She’s not ten!” Lionel snapped.

  The mood in the room had chilled slightly, only Wiska seemed impervious to the three grumpy men standing around her.

  “Firstly, you like to be spanked and you’re over thirty, and secondly, she’s high as a kite right now. She’ll be embarrassed later.”

  “Well, I’m not a child, and I like to be spanked, too,” whispered Wiska. “So, tell me, Bradley . . . are you up for the job?”

  She spoke with a seductive purr that drove me crazy, then she smiled. Her beautiful blue eyes were shining with warmth, her sexy lips begging for attention. When her gaze dropped to my rock hard dick, I seriously thought about pressing her to the hospital bed and kissing all the sass right from her mouth. Instead, I stood back, quickly.

  “I’ll go talk to billing,” I said, backing away from the room.

  Casey watched me with a raised brow, Lionel swung around to help Wiska, and I ran. Well, not physically, but metaphorically. I moved down the hall and into another that was currently empty. I stopped and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to get my raging hard-on under control.

  “I told you we’re not going there. She’s a porn star for Christ’s sake.” I gently banged the back of my fucked-up head on the wall behind me.