Love For Sale
Page 6
Christian ran his long fingers along the back of the sofa. “March, sit down. I’ll make a Mimosa for you. Later, I can unpack, or we can unpack together.” He beckoned. “Come, we’ll cuddle on the sofa.”
“You know exactly the right thing to say. Cuddling sounds good.” She sank down onto the couch, and he massaged her shoulders, fingertips kneading sore muscles.
“Are you not happy to be home? You’re tense.”
“I’m happy but a little sad. We had such a great time in England.” She inhaled deeply, letting her head fall back. “You give a good massage. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Silence stretched the moment. March wriggled around to look at him. Motionless, he gazed into the distance, a tiny frown puckering his brow. He seemeded focused on something far way. Had she offended him? The entire week in London, they hadn’t disagreed on anything.
“You’re quiet suddenly.” She rose to her knees, faced him, stroking his hand.
“Sorry. You asked if there was anything I couldn’t do. I was silent while I scanned my memory banks. I can’t find any instance when I’d lack the knowledge or physical capability.”
He sounded like a robot.
March shuddered. “Shall I make the drinks?”
“Stay where you are, dear. Transatlantic flights are tiring. Eight hours in those cramped seats, you must be exhausted.” He sauntered into the small kitchen, opened the fridge, and produced the champagne with a flourish.
“You don’t get tired, do you?” She hated being reminded he wasn’t human. Last Note to Self: Stop thinking he isn’t human.
He shook his head. “Where are the champagne glasses?”
God, he was beautiful standing there with an orange juice carton in his hand. Looking at him, her heart tripped over a beat. She’d never had much luck in the romance department…until nine days ago. Did it matter that he was programmed to love her? Melissa had said he seemed to love her before he was prepared. March had known she loved him the moment she saw him.
“March?” He gestured at the cabinets. “Champers glasses?”
“Oh, sorry. They’re in the antique cabinet. Mom gave me that piece. It belonged to her grandmother. The wood is American black walnut.”
He held two sparkling flutes aloft. “Lovely.”
The champagne glasses were the only Waterford she owned. After the divorce, with Paul keeping the china and crystal, she’d bought the four glasses on eBay. Tonight’s small celebration was the most important of her life. The lead crystal was definitely required. A man with a purpose, he strode from the kitchen and delivered a Mimosa.
Pulling the ottoman that served as her coffee table closer, he offered a black ceramic coaster. Their fingers brushed. A thrill as hot as lightning zipped through her. She never wanted that feeling to go away. He placed her drink on the decorative silver tray, his empty glass beside it.
She smiled, happy beyond words. “You don’t have to pretend to drink with me.”
“I want to.” He returned her smile, and the light in his eyes made her feel as effervescent as the champagne.
As she took her first sip, the telephone rang. March flinched at the interruption, the hair at her nape quivering. No need to be psychic to predict the caller. Dread gripped her by the scruff of the neck and shook her.
As the phone continued to jangle her nerves, Christian frowned. “Shall I?”
March slid down on the sofa, balancing her drink on her stomach. “Let it ring.”
“It could be one of the boys.”
She straightened. “How do you know about the boys?”
“Your profile,” he said as if the obvious were amusing. “Every aspect was fed into my memory. That’s why you are required to complete the form in such detail.”
“You know everything about me.” She blew out a long sigh. “I know so little of you.”
“Not everything. I’ve much to discover and explore. There’s little about me to know until you arrived at Mayfair.” He raised his glass in an imaginary toast. “We’ll have fun learning together.”
“Absolutely. To us.” She tapped her flute to his, crystal chiming.
Finally, the phone stopped the infernal ringing. If she knew Paul, he’d dial her cell. She knew Paul. His ringtone, All My Ex’s Live in Texas¸ played from the phone in her handbag. Damn, she didn’t want to deal with a Q&A from her ex. She had much more pleasant activities to pursue.
Christian frowned, looking as if he’d like to cover his ears. “Are you sure you won’t answer, March? Someone is desperately trying to get in touch with you.”
“That someone belongs to my past. I want him to stay in the past.”
“Ah.” He chuckled. “Your ex?”
“Yep. I emailed him that I was going on vacation. I didn’t give him my return date. Why is he pestering the holy hell out of me?”
“Regarding the children, perhaps. They’re not yours, but you love them.”
She grabbed the cell. “That detail wasn’t in my profile.”
“I am learning the kind of person you are.” He stroked a finger down her arm, sending a yummy shiver over her. “You would love them.”
March blew him a kiss, wandered to the kitchen and took a deep breath. “Here goes. Hello, Paul. What’s so important?”
“Paul Jr. saw you return from your trip.” He paused. “With a man.”
Her ex tried to put everyone on the defensive. The truth was aggressive but damn difficult to force up her throat. “Yes, with a man. Paul, I’m…engaged.”
“Engaged?” His voice rose. “You went on vacation for a week and came home with a fiancé? Where did you go anyway? Did you meet him on the Internet?”
“A friend introduced us. My week was like a page from The White Cliffs of Dover. Something like, ‘I had no thought then of husband or lover, I was a traveler, the guest of a week, yet when they pointed the White Cliffs of Dover, startled I found there were tears on my cheek’.” She held the phone away from her ear, expecting a tirade.
“You and your romance novels. Get a grip, March. This is real life.”
A movement in the living room distracted her. She turned from staring into nowhere and watched Christian walking toward her. Quite simply, he took her breath away, and she lost the thread of her conversation with Paul. He came into the kitchen, halting close enough to embrace her. Her lover delivered the Mimosa with a smile, but his pupils were dilated, shading his eyes darker blue, his expression angry. Mayfair hadn’t even missed that small detail—that strong emotion darkened people’s eyes.
“Why do you take his bullying?” Christian whispered.
“For the boys,” she said aside.
“For the boys.” Anger darkened Paul’s voice. “Don’t bring that son of a bitch around my kids.”
Christian reached for the phone, but March dodged. “No. Let’s not make it worse.”
“What?” Too many beers affected Paul’s enunciation. “Does he want to talk to me? Put him on. I’ll tell him exactly where to get off.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She leaned against the counter, her back rigid. “Calm down, Paul. Why are you acting this way? We’ve been divorced for a year. Our only common denominator is the boys.”
“If he won’t allow you to see them, we’ll petition the court for visitation.” Christian added fuel to the fire.
March was thrilled he was willing to stick up for her, but at the moment, she wished he’d shut up. With his strength, her new husband could fold the old one into an envelope. Tears filled her eyes as she wished for the peace of their honeymoon in England.
“Petition the damn court.” Indignation ratcheted Paul’s voice louder. “They’re my kids by blood. Not yours.”
She lost control, her hand fisting at her side. “You’re being a raving asshole.”
Realizing what she’d said, she glanced at Christian. He stifled a laugh, his blue eyes sparkling. She was glad he was amused not shocked to the bottom of his British socks.
“Won’t come with you?” Her ex gave a dirty laugh. “That’s a problem, March. Sounds like you need a sex therapist.”
Shaking with anger, she tapped End on the screen. “Damn him. Sometimes, I’d like to strangle him.”
Christian cocked his head, regarding her with his anger-darkened eyes. “I can do that.”
“No!” She gripped his arm. “I wasn’t serious. I’d never send you to kill someone. You are too precious to me.”
I really must watch what I say. He takes me literally.
He crushed her to his lean, all male body. “Not as precious as you are to me. If something happened to you, I’d beg to be deactivated.”
“I like knowing you will go on and on, Christian. There is no doomsday for you. Oh.” She batted her eyelashes, struggling not to cry. “We’re way too serious for a happy homecoming. Let’s scoot back to the sofa and cuddle. I fully intend to drink that entire bottle of champagne. I love Mimosas.”
“And I love you. Shall we watch a movie?”
“HBO. Super series by a well-known fantasy writer.” She didn’t think he’d recognize the author or series name. Not in my profile. “I’m behind a week.”
“Sit down. Put your feet up. I’ll handle the remote.” He clicked to the menu of cable offerings, scrolled down, and chose HBO.
The opening music thundered from the small TV, and Christian laughed. “I’m behind a week as well. Daniel and I were addicted to this show.” He turned, discarded the remote. “Cuddle alert.”
He darted to the sofa, fell gently on top of her. She locked her arms and legs around him, loving the feel of his shaft hardening against her belly. They turned their heads toward the tiny television. Cheek-to-cheek, tangled in a lovers’ embrace, they were settled to enjoy their favorite TV show when a phone chimed.
“Bizarre, that’s my mobile. I know no one to call me. Probably a wrong number, unless…Mayfair, perhaps. I’d best answer.” Frowning, Christian wriggled in her grasp, and they unwound from their knot of arms and legs.
“Mayfair?” She shook her head, as confused as he looked. “It’s too late. The office would be closed, and why wouldn’t they call me instead?”
He dashed across the room, fishing a new Android from his pocket. “Christian here.” He muttered, “Daniel,” then silence gripped him, his face slowly losing color. “You’re being watched?”
March rose from the sofa, drawn by his bewildered expression, dread seeping through her. From the tenseness of his posture, she wasn’t dying to know what Daniel was saying. He would tell her. Wouldn’t he? In answer to her thought, he held the phone away from his ear and tapped Speaker.
From three thousand miles away, Daniel’s voice came clear…and cautious. “I think we were a prototype for something much bigger and more lucrative…or they plan to scrap the project and us—damn their eyes, I have to go.”
The line went dead, the tense hush resonating in March’s bones. She and Christian stared at each other, stunned motionless. Finally, he broke the breathless stillness, launched a furious pacing as he muttered, “Lucrative?” He faced her, his frown deep and troubled. “What could be more lucrative than selling love…and lust?”
She winced, her heart plummeting. “Do you feel like my sexbot?”
“No. Sorry.” He shook his head in a forceful denial, wandering the apartment in aimless pursuit of the mystery Daniel had presented in a three-minute call. “I am simply at a loss.”
And I thought this man came with no baggage.
She flopped on the sofa, staring blindly at the TV. “What are we going to do?”
“Wait.” He drifted to rest beside her, slid an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I’m sure Daniel will find a way to make contact again. Until then…”
Chapter 5
“We simply must get out of bed to go grocery shopping.” March stroked his long, hard shaft. “I’m craving New Zealand green mussels sautéed in butter and wine.”
“March, if you continue…” He captured her hand, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.
While in waiting mode, it seemed Christian was determined to continue their honeymoon, keeping her one happy woman. Last night, after Daniel’s cryptic phone call, he’d made love to her three blissful times. Satiated and travel weary, she’d fallen asleep with Christian spooned around her back. Without a smidgen of dinner.
“I didn’t mind missing a meal last night.” March jumped from bed, stood looking down at him. “Didn’t hurt my waistline at all. This morning, however, bacon, cheesy eggs and toast with lots of coffee is what I need. Up and at ’em, sweetheart.”
I know you don’t eat almost slipped between her lips, but that wouldn’t be treating him as human. So easy to forget he wasn’t a real man because he was more masculine than any she’d ever known. His birth certificate and her certificate of ownership were filed in her safe. Time to stop thinking of him as anything other than a living, breathing male.
“How you abuse me.” He smiled. “Give me ten.”
He rose smoothly, almost gliding to his feet. Each movement impressed upon her again how elegant he was. Though she’d spent the night in his arms, it was still hard for her to comprehend that he was really here, really hers. He tossed his suitcase on the tousled sheets, riffling through his clothing. Last night, they’d been too wrapped up in each other and the Mayfair mystery to unpack. Today, together, they’d hang his things in the closet stuffed with suits, a few dresses, pants and blouses, and her favorite—formal gowns. Where she’d inherited the taste for dressing up was a mystery. Anything fancier than jeans was of no interest to her mother, who preferred yoga and sweatpants.
Christian tugged a black sweater over his head and slithered into tight matching jeans. She nearly salivated. Her husband was damn gorgeous, but he was going to fry in the cashmere turtleneck from Harrod’s. March smiled. Obviously, he wasn’t programmed to consider the weather outside when making wardrobe choices.
“Darling, maybe you should rethink the sweater. Try this.” She unfolded a black t-shirt supplied by Mayfair. Thank God, it doesn’t have their name and logo. “It’s hot in Houston in August.”
“My internal temperature adjusts to the external temp, but I suppose I will look rather ridiculous in winter clothes at the height of summer.” He stripped the sweater over his head, his hair topsy-turvy, and slid into the t-shirt, the knit fabric hugging his muscled chest.
Grabbing the brush from the vanity, he smoothed his hair. “There.” He tapped her butt with the brush. “We’re ready to knock ’em dead. Let’s go.”
A trio walked to the parking lot—Christian, March, and her new friend dread. After yesterday’s shouting match, please don’t let us run into Paul. They made the perilous journey without incident, and Christian strode to the drivers’ side.
“What are you doing?” March gaped at him.
“I’ll drive. Keys, please.” He extended his hand, palm up.
“You don’t—of course, you do. Sorry, I forget I’m with a genius.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I’m sure you can drive, but you don’t have a license.”
“Oh, but I do.” He produced his wallet with a flourish. “An international driver’s license. Though at the moment I’m suspicious of her motives, Mother Mayfair thinks of every eventuality. I needed a form of identification other than the passport.”
“What was I thinking?” She breathed a laugh and dropped the key on his palm.
Ten minutes later, after a near accident when a mammoth diesel pickup rumbled out in front of their car, they arrived at the grocery. Thanks to Christian’s lightning fast, computerized reactions, they avoided a collision by several feet. The truck driver had the audacity to blow his horn. Christian had the innate courtesy not to respond.
Looking around
him, he sauntered to the passenger side, opened her door and handed her from the car. The big Texas sky was cloudless and as bright blue as Christian’s eyes. A mild breeze ruffled the smooth length of his hair. Sunshine lent him a halo. He dropped a kiss to her cheek, then her earthbound angel rescued a cart abandoned in the parking lot. Who would have thought grocery shopping could be exciting and fun?
“Why are people so lazy they can’t return carts to the designated area?” He steered with one hand, caressing her fingers with the other. “This could damage a car.”
On one of the three dates she’d had since the divorce, the jerk wanted to grill at home, meaning her house. When they’d gone to the grocery, he’d walked ahead of her with the cart, leaving her trailing behind like a second-class citizen. It was much better to buy a man. March filled the cart with anything that looked good, and everything sounded delicious.
“Never go to the grocery hungry.” March turned to find a cranny in the loaded cart and froze with the New Zealand green mussels forgotten in her hand.
Michael and Paul Jr. stared at them across the narrow aisle. Michael’s collar-length hair had been shorn to a business cut. With each passing day, Paul Jr. looked more like his father. Michael shot Christian a judgmental glance, then pinned her with an accusing look. Car keys dangled from her eldest’s fingers. Paul Jr.’s focus was on Christian, his expression stony.
“Hi, Mom.” Michael flung a gesture at Christian. “Is this your future husband? Dad said you were getting married again.”
The boy scanned Christian, a slight frown playing with his brows. Though Michael’s tone was accusatory, she thought she heard sadness in his voice. Was he afraid, with a new husband, she’d turn her back on them?
“Hullo, Michael, Paul Jr.” Christian smiled, extending his hand. “I’m Christian.”
Reluctance was too mild a word to describe the way Michael and Paul Jr. accepted the friendly handshake.
“So, are you going to take Mom back to England?” Paul Jr.’s normal slouch became perfect posture as he fired the first shot in the interrogation, and March flinched.