Love For Sale

by Linda Nightingale

  “No, we plan to live here.” Christian continued smiling despite the challenge in Paul Jr.’s stance. “In fact, I don’t think your mother has any intention of moving from the current apartment.”

  Michael tucked his hands in his pockets. “Isn’t this engagement kind of sudden?”

  Her stomach twisted. God, where had she gone wrong? She wasn’t their biological mother but had raised them since a young age. She’d never have believed them capable of insolence. What had Paul said to poison them against her?

  Christian slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug, but his gaze flickered from one to the other of the boys. “Haven’t you ever looked at a girl and said to yourself, She’s the one? No one else will do.”

  Michael thawed a little, withdrew his hands from his pockets, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops. A trace of a smile brightened his face. “Yeah. My girlfriend. Man, I just looked at her, and I knew. She’s totally awesome!”

  “Michael, remember what Dad said.” Paul Jr. gripped the handle of the milk jug.

  March stiffened, anger flashing over her. “What did your father say, Paul Jr.? I’d be really interested to know what kind of lies he’s concocting.”

  “That he looks like a pool boy on Desperate Housewives.” Paul Jr. gave Christian an unflinching stare.

  March gasped at the virtual slap in the face. “Paul…”

  Christian’s face flushed angry, his struggle at control obvious. He bent over the back of the shopping cart. “Actually, Paul Jr., I don’t clean pools. I build those.” He gestured at a model of the Space Shuttle.

  “You put together toys?” Paul Jr.’s mocking tone embarrassed and annoyed March. “Wouldn’t you make more money cleaning pools?”

  Christian laughed. “Real ones.”

  “Your ignorance is hanging out, bro’.” Michael elbowed Paul Jr. “He means he’s a rocket scientist. What are they called?”

  “Aerospace engineers.” March wedged the carton of seafood into the basket. “Excuse me, but is this the Spanish Inquisition?”

  Christian straightened, smiling, open and friendly, allowing the boys to take pot shots at him.

  Paul was running out of ammunition. He aimed at Christian’s male pride and fired. “Dad says you don’t work.”

  “We only arrived yesterday late afternoon, but tell your father I’ll get right on that.”

  March crossed her arms. “Boys, it’s time you got my take on this. Marrying Christian will make me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

  “He’s younger than you,” Paul Jr. said, this last probably from his father’s arsenal.

  Christian edged around the cart to her side. “Actually, I’m not younger. I’m quite a lot older. What makes you think I’m younger?”

  Paul Jr. gestured. “All that hair. You’re a Brit, right, like Dad said?”

  “I am.” Christian nodded, smiling, an innuendo of sarcasm in his voice. “How did you guess?”

  “You sound like it.” Paul Jr.’s gaze never wavered.

  “Come on, Paul. She’s our Mom. Leave her alone.” Michael swung keys around his finger. “Dad bought me a car.”

  Disbelief widened March’s eyes. Paul had always vowed the kids would have to work and earn their transportation. “When did he buy the car?”

  “This morning at eight o’clock.” Michael tossed her a proud, excited smile, forgetting for the moment to be angry.

  After last night, Paul was trying to hurt her in every way possible, including buying his own son’s affection. When Christian reached for her hand, she flinched. A frown played across his face. He didn’t understand her reaction. Of course, she was his only focus. He’s programmed to love me. Now, her focus was divided between two separate and irreconcilable loves. In that heartbreaking instant, March felt completely alone.

  “That’s great, son. You’ll have to take me for a ride soon.”

  Michael looked long and hard at Christian. “I guess you’re busy now.”

  “Never too busy for you two.” With a glance and a smile, she included Paul Jr., but his hazel eyes, exactly the color of his father’s, were focused on Christian. She slung her arms around her children. “Tell me what you want for dinner tonight, and I’ll have it ready when you arrive at my house at seven.”

  “We need to get going.” Paul Jr. clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Dad will wonder where we got to. We only came for milk.”

  Michael cut him a sideways glance. “Sure, Mom. You know we love your fried chicken.” He shrugged at Paul Jr.’s frown. “Stay at home. I don’t give a rip.”

  “I’d like it if both of you came.” March pinned Paul Jr. with an arch look.

  “Dad won’t like it.” Paul Jr. squared his shoulders.

  “I don’t care.” Michael grinned. “The court granted Mom visitation. Who can resist her fried chicken?”

  “I’m game.” Christian snapped his fingers, his smile broadening. “Speaking of games, do either of you play WildStar? I have a character but haven’t played yet. I’m dying to see what this new game is like. I hear it’s awesome.”

  Shock fled across Paul Jr.’s face, his eyes widening. “You play video games? And you play WildStar? OMG, can I get an amen? Oh, swag money, I slaved around the house for the funds to buy it. What character are you?”

  Christian looked as excited at the two children. “Spellslinger.”

  Michael tossed the keys and plucked them from the air. “Oh, swerve doe, we need a Spellslinger on our team. We’re both warriors.”

  “Are we coming to dinner?” Paul Jr. nodded emphatically. “Yaaass! I’ll bring the game and my laptop. I know Mom’s computer wouldn’t run WildStar.”

  None of the teenagers’ buzz words made sense to March, but she discerned the underlying meaning. Delighted to find their Spellslinger, the boys had forgotten that Christian was the enemy. She’d feared this encounter would shatter their fantasy existence, but, bless his circuits, Christian had rescued the situation.

  Feeling all warm and fuzzy, March smiled at the three gamers. “The Warriors and Spellslinger can battle the bad guys for a couple of hours, then we’ll eat. Dinner can wait until at least eight if not later.”

  In a giddy mood, March chose organic chicken, potatoes for potato salad and fresh green beans. She wished she had Paul’s ice cream maker to freeze fresh peach ice cream. The Blue Belle creamery in Brenham produced ice cream second to none. She grabbed a carton of vanilla and a bottle of chocolate syrup for Paul Jr. In her pantry at home was a container of her favorite, butterscotch topping.

  As Christian loaded the groceries into the trunk, she bent over his back and hugged him. “You charming devil, do you really have a character already made up?”

  “I do. When we were in London, and you were asleep, I discovered WildStar.”

  She kissed his ear, snuggling her face into the fresh scent of his hair. “You never cease to amaze me. You certainly saved the day back there. You’re my Super Hero.”

  He straightened and his mouth flitted across her lips in the briefest, sweetest of kisses. “I think the boys and I will get along famously as long as your ex doesn’t win the battle for their affections.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” He gazed into her eyes, but his expression was distant. Finally, he shook his head and looked away. “Actually, no.” An emotion deeper than sadness stained his voice. Sorrow? Grief? “Given your ex-husband, my presence seems to be detrimental to your happiness. We are returnable for a full refund.”

  “Never.” March gasped, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t give a damn about him.”

  But Christian was right. What seemed like a victory might turn into defeat once Paul discovered the boys were coming to dinner with her new boyfriend. Michael and Paul Jr., caught in the middle, were going to be pulled both ways—between their natural father and their stepmother. The odds were in Paul’s favor.

  ****

  “There. All
done.” Christian swept her off her feet, carried her into the living room and spun a circle.

  “YAY, the groceries are put away.” March tilted her head, laughing.

  They were back in their safe haven, her daydream intact. The boys had phoned and were still coming for dinner. She let her feet swing, her hair flying. She was floating above the ground and never wanted her feet to touch reality again.

  He held her close as she slid down the front of him, loving the feel of his body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wriggled in his arms, refusing to put her feet on the floor. The look in his eyes tempted her to skip brunch for more sensual delights.

  Mischief glittered in summer blue eyes. His lips parted, tongue gliding along his lower lip. “Kiss me.”

  March obeyed, claiming his luscious mouth, her tongue gliding between his teeth, engaging in a passionate battle. When he touched her, she couldn’t resist. Hell, she couldn’t resist him if he didn’t touch her. She tightened her stomach muscles, rubbing her belly on the bulge in those hot, tight jeans.

  A knock at the door snapped them apart. March squirmed free of his embrace, spun to face the intrusion. Her downstairs neighbor stood at the glass doors, smiling. Liz wriggled her fingers in a wave, glanced at Christian and, apparently, forgot March’s presence. The woman swept her hands through her long blonde tresses. Her ample—and fake?—boobs lifted and seemed to point at Christian.

  “She never comes up to visit. What is her deal? Forget it. I know what her deal is. Check out that scrimpy top and shorts. Never mind. Don’t.” March turned to smile at Christian. “I hope it’s not that freaking watermelon.”

  Forcing a smile, March hurried to open the door for their uninvited guest. “Liz, what a surprise. Please come in.”

  “Hi, March.” Her blue gaze locked on March’s husband. “Hi, Christian. I thought I’d come up and see if you wanted to come down for a little while. I infused the watermelon with rum, and boy, is it tasty.”

  “How nice of you, Liz.” Christian leaned against the kitchen doorway. “Actually, we’d decided on a champagne brunch…here. Kind of you to think of us, but we must decline this time.”

  “I understand. Totally.” Liz moved shoulder-to-shoulder with March and whispered loud enough for Christian to hear, “How romantic.”

  Delighted Christian had assumed control of the sticky situation, March glanced at him, winked, then turned back to Liz. “Did I tell you we’re engaged?”

  Lips painted crimson formed a perfect O. “Congrats. I’ll go eat that watermelon alone. Enjoy your champagne brunch, you lucky dogs.”

  Christian straightened, sauntering to March’s side, sliding an arm around her waist. “March picked me up straight off the boat, else I’d have been lost at sea.”

  “Really?” Liz hadn’t caught the warning in his tone and was going to start drooling any minute. “Bye, then. Later.”

  She aimed later at Christian, wagged her shoulders, her big tits threatening to spill from the red, slinky top. Surely, Liz had purchased the micro shorts and scrap of material hugging her breasts at a sex shop. The outfit was definitely ogle-worthy, designed to stir any man’s libido. March stifled a laugh and tossed Christian an amused glance. Her man’s blue eyes scanned Liz’s sexy bod, lingering on her breasts. March’s desire to laugh vanished. She gritted her teeth to keep from snapping at him. What happened to the damned programming? He was looking at the scantily clad hussy like a gift he’d like to unwrap.

  Heat flashed over March, firmly in the grip of the green-eyed demon Jealousy. “Have a good day.” Bitch. I’d like to invite you to stay and slip a laxative into your champagne.

  At the door, Liz thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Duh, I almost forgot.” She banged the door open and scooped a plastic-wrapped pan from a patio chair.

  “What’s this?” March glanced from the glass baking dish to Liz.

  “Brownies.” Liz tittered. “I made them. My family raves about my brownies. Hope you’ll enjoy them.”

  The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

  When she sniffed the wrapped container, the brownies smelled of rich chocolate, but all she could manage was one word. “Thanks.”

  Hurt and angry, she stood for a moment gazing after the rival who shouldn’t have been a rival. With a sigh, she turned.

  Christian had retreated to the kitchen. Clutching his cell phone, he wandered from the fridge to the stove—a short journey—then ambled into the living room, without a glance at her.

  “Very disturbing…and bizarre. I have this strange feeling Aguillard is behind whatever is happening.” Mugs rubbed against his leg, but he ignored the cat, something he never did. “By all means. Yes, of course, please keep me advised. I’ll do what I can. I stand ready to assist.” When he turned and saw her, he actually started. “Oh, March.”

  Was the conversation that private? She clamped her teeth on her thumbnail. Uneasy and on edge, she guessed, “Daniel?”

  He nodded, still gripping his phone, looking as if he were considering whether to share the contents of the call. Finally, a dark look shadowing his face, he shoved the phone into his pocket and blew out a long breath. “He feels he is being watched. Strange things are happening, giving rise to suspicions. Monica—the Monica model—disappeared, no interview, no adoption formalities.” His gaze grew as remote as he looked, some unnamed emotion flitting across his perfect features. “There one day; gone the next.”

  “That is very unsettling. Frightening, in fact. Are they watching him because they think he’ll betray their project? I can see why you’re worried about him. I hope he isn’t in trouble.” As if by magic, March found herself standing in front of him. His despair had magnetized her to comfort him. “What can we do? Talk to me, Christian. Tell me what’s going on. You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

  “Am I allowed no privacy?” The question was blunt, his voice deep and intense—and his eyes rebellious.

  She gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  His jaw dropped as if another entity had possessed him. Shock, and yes, fear, darkened his eyes. For an instant, he looked as though he’d drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. March was too stunned and hurt to do anything other than stare at him.

  “March, I apologize,” he said in a rush. “You know I didn’t mean that. It was just a human response. Daniel is in trouble. I’m very concerned. I promised to help in any way I can. The remaining androids are alarmed by Monica’s disappearance and anxious about their future, but there’s bugger-all any of us can do at the moment.”

  She didn’t move to touch him. One touch would seduce her. “I understand.”

  But did she? How was it possible for a robot to demand his privacy?

  Chapter 6

  “You seem okay about last night. You didn’t say much in bed.” March settled her coffee cup in the dishwasher. Head tilted, studying him closely, she waited for a response Christian wasn’t prepared to give. “We didn’t make love for the first time since…”

  To avoid her questioning—and slightly accusing—gaze, he circled her waist with an arm, pulled her close, and snuggled his face against her neck, hoping like hell she didn’t read too much into his silence. “Sorry, love. Daniel’s call concerns me. I know it’s their problem, but who knows when it may become mine.”

  Images segued lazily through his memory. Petite, curvy Monica had disappeared. Mahogany brown hair, softly waving down her back, laugh deep, musical, sensual. Before March had captivated him, Christian and Monica had winked at disaster. Any romantic contact between the androids was forbidden. They’d never given in to temptation, but desire had sizzled between them. Though those enticing moments seemed long ago, he couldn’t help being more concerned about Monica’s fate than the others.

  “Not yours, alone. Ours.” March rubbed his back in long, delicious strokes. “It’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?” His future, potentially his life, rested on her answer.

&nbs
p; If he made her angry, if she returned him to Mayfair, he’d face the same uncertain fate his friends now feared.

  She held him back, gazing into his eyes. “I’m sure. Now, it’s that awful time.”

  “You look gorgeous.” He took her shoulders, turning her, admiring her in her black suit with a black and white satin blouse. “I’ve never complimented a woman in a pantsuit.”

  She patted her hair, pretending to primp. “How many prospects were you paraded before?”

  “Over thirty interviews.” He followed behind her, hands at her waist, as she walked to the living room. “Some only viewed photos. One woman wanted me with the proviso that my hair be cut short, but, at the end of the day, being bi-curious, opted for a customized Samantha.”

  “Her loss. My gain. I’m way too happy for it to be a Monday! Have a good day, good-looking.” She tweaked his cheek, slung her handbag over her shoulder and frowned. “Will you be okay without a car?”

  “I’ve nowhere to go. I’m certain I can apply for work online. Today, I’m searching for a job. I can’t have you supporting me.”

  “There’s not much support, darling.” She stroked his hair, letting her fingers trail through the strands. “You don’t eat or drink. Your wardrobe needs supplementing, but frankly, I prefer you without clothes. I have to go, babe, or I’ll be late. See you about six.”

  Christian kissed March goodbye on her first Monday back at work. She turned, opened the sliding glass doors, blew a kiss over her shoulder, and left him watching her descend the winding stairs.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he whispered. He wandered to the sofa, picked up the remote but didn’t switch on the TV. “I’m bored already.”

  Christian meandered to the bedroom, made the bed, and grabbed clothes to put on after a shower. At Mayfair, he’d enjoyed the whirlpool tub. I wish we had a jetted tub. March and I could spend many erotic hours with candles and wine and frothing water.

  “I’ll prepare dinner.” He returned to the kitchen, took a cookbook from the top of the fridge, and scanned its pages. “I’ve no idea what sounds good. This dish, perhaps.”