Love For Sale

by Linda Nightingale

  “At three that afternoon, I interviewed with Randy, the owner of the club. He hired me to go on that night. I was very uncomfortable and reluctant, but, as I saw it, I had no choice. I aligned my pleasure droid programs, and the tips were double what the other men made.” He fished in his pocket for his wallet. “Perhaps, this isn’t the time, but here, March, finally something that I can contribute.”

  He placed the stack of bills on the console. With the current state of affairs at Mayfair, he feared being returned, but bloody hell, he’d had enough accusations and judgment. “Try to understand it from my point of view. I’ve been embarrassed up one side and insulted down the other, my pride dragged across the floor.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Oh my God, I’ve treated you as if you had no feelings…as if this were all about me.” Her gaze fled. “I’m sorry, Christian. Regardless of the outcome, I’ve treated you abominably.”

  His heart tightened as he imagined a shameful return to Mayfair. “I’m more than willing to forgive…and forget, if you are.”

  Staring out the window, she changed the subject completely. “That looked like a lot of money.”

  “Eight hundred, more or less.”

  After a heartrending pause, she blew out a long breath. “What did you have to do for that kind of money?”

  “I’m going to be brutally honest, March. Some of it is from tips on stage.” He hesitated, embarrassed and wary of her next reaction. “The majority came from lap dances. I hated gyrating above those women as if I wanted to have sex with them. I didn’t like strangers touching me or the rampant lust I smelled. But it was a means to an end.”

  Her eyes and her expression softened, but she swallowed hard. “I have this sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, but I’ll get over it. I…can understand why you did what you did.” She imprisoned him in a steady gaze and tearful smile. “Pleasure droid programs, huh? I think you kicked into that mode with me.”

  “Once or twice.” He counted on his fingers. “But when we made love, it was I alone who held, stroked, and kissed you.”

  She rested her head on the wheel. “Christian, I want you as you are, but this independent streak worries me, yet, at the same time, it’s what makes you human and individual.”

  He lifted a hand in a vow. “I promise I shall never give you reason to worry or to be sad.”

  “Your intentions were good. The way you went about them leaves a little to be desired.”

  At last, he risked a smile. “I agree. I wanted to help.” The next reason was painful…to them both, and he didn’t want to be looking at her, to see the effect he’d seen on her face those times before. He stared out the side window at the sizzling tarmac. “And…when your estranged family judged you, I saw the hurt in your eyes, in your expression, in your entire demeanor. I wanted to shield you, to try to change things with them, but you wouldn’t allow me. So, I did the next best thing. I tried to earn some money to help and to shut Paul up. It seemed that since I arrived you’d had problem after problem.”

  Her lips trembled. “The problem is theirs, not ours. I realized that when I found you gone.”

  “My darling, if it will restore your trust in me, return me to Mayfair for reprogramming, but come with me. I don’t trust them. I still haven’t heard from Daniel, which concerns me. I’m quite willing to undergo any kind of indoctrination if it’s for you, but please don’t trade me for…” He stroked the hand knotted on the steering wheel with a fingertip. “The latest model.”

  Lifting a tear-stained face, she smiled. “I might get more loyalty.”

  “Only a dog will be more loyal than I.” He grinned, risked a wink, then sobered as memories overwhelmed him. “Working in the club was a direct conflict with my programming. I had planned to come home—is it still home?—once I earned enough money to be of assistance. The continual rejections finally convinced me no other avenue existed.”

  “The part I don’t understand is how you could act in direct contradiction to the feelings coded into your very being.”

  “I don’t know. There is a fault somewhere.” I want to be me. Is that so wrong? But I love her enough that I’ll sacrifice self to make her trust me.

  She snuffled, digging in her handbag for a tissue. “I like that particular fault, except when it takes you away from me.”

  “May I kiss you?” He inclined his body over the console. “I guarantee I’ll never leave you again unless you wish it. Then I shall return to Mayfair of my own accord.”

  As gently as a mother with a child, she brushed his hair back from his face. “You not only may kiss me…I thought you’d never ask.”

  His hands covered her hands resting on his cheeks. When his lips touched hers, a primal shock shot through him. He yearned to be in their bedroom, in the big bed with her, stroking and caressing the woman he loved, not sitting in a car feeling awkward as a school boy. She parted her lips for his tongue, and he deepened the kiss. The passion simmering between them erupted into an inferno. Overnight in the strip club, the women had not aroused him. He was back with the one he was supposed to be with, and he was on go. His lover moaned, sinking her hands into his hair.

  “I missed you incredibly,” he whispered against her neck, eliciting a shiver.

  “I listened to sad songs and cried.”

  “Forgive me for a bad decision.”

  “You’re forgiven.” She sat back in her seat and winked. “This time. The money will come in handy.”

  “Let’s get out of this beautiful parking lot and go home,” he said.

  The remainder of the trip from a mistake to his utopia with March was far less intense. She even laughed about confronting Liz, spitting mad and jealous. As they passed the blonde’s apartment, Christian averted his eyes. Those memories weren’t keepers, yet they were engraved in his computer brain forever. He had many memories of the night at the club. Those recollections were experience, and experience for a novice human was good.

  March climbed the winding staircase ahead of him. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

  “No.” He smoothed her skirt over her very fine ass. “And I’m incapable of lying.”

  She stopped, turned, and arched a brow. “Withholding information is lying.”

  He grinned up at her. “No information withheld, judge.”

  “Take me to bed and erase these memories.” Her hand glided over his cheek in a loving caress.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the white down comforter. He bent over her, kissing her nose, her eyelids, and her ears, then his mouth devoured hers. His hands drifted to her breasts. Her nipples peaked, a little moan escaping her. She rose off the mattress into his caress. He longed to make slow, passionate love to her, but she was demanding satisfaction now. He traced her figure, shoulder to hip, then lifted her. She tugged off her jeans and red satin thong. She unzipped his trousers. The tuxedo pants drifted down his legs. Feverish anticipation scorched through him. He kicked free of the last vestiges of his shameful career as a stripper.

  She climbed to her hands and knees. He knelt on the bed behind her, leaning down to kiss the nape of her neck. Thunder rattled the windows as rain pelted the roof. Stroking her back, he made love to her slowly while the elements echoed the storm building between them.

  Release tossed him down on her back, her flimsy blouse the only barrier between them. On a little cry, she collapsed on her stomach. Still connected, he listened as her ragged breathing calmed.

  He whispered against her neck, and she shivered sweetly. “Did I succeed?”

  “Succeed?” She mumbled sleepily. “Without you, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

  “Succeed in making you forget.” He held his breath, hoping she actually had forgiven him.

  She wriggled beneath him, moaning into the pillow. “You did a damn fine job of erasing my memory banks.”

  “Trust me.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I shall never access those memories agai
n. They are shackled and chained to the walls of a rusty circuit box prison.”

  Whispering a laugh, she tilted her hips back against his. “This feels incredibly good. I love that you don’t jump off immediately. It’s a special connection, don’t you think?”

  “Special indeed.” He nuzzled his face against her neck. “I enjoy holding you in the afterglow. March, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Silence. Had she forgiven him? Was she thinking how to respond? He hated the thought of returning to Mayfair, the questioning glances, and the ultimate knowledge that he had failed his purpose. Had any of the other androids been returned? Anxiety hummed along his circuits.

  “March?” He rolled to his side, frowning.

  Fingers curled at her lips, his darling girl sighed in her sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Rain pitter-patted at the glass doors, fogging the massive trees beyond and lending the morning a certain mysticism. March called her little apartment the tree house. Unless at the doors she looked down, her view was a vista of treetops. Classical music drifted in the background. The tangy scents of mustard, mayonnaise, and dill pickle chips drifted from the slip of a kitchen.

  “Thank God for Saturdays.” She spooned deviled egg filling into the boiled whites. “What would you like to do today? We have the entire day to do whatever we wish.”

  “Let’s drive to the Hill Country. A day trip.” He chuckled. “Picnic in the rain.”

  “That does sound great, but tonight is our Employee Appreciation dinner/dance. It’s a fancy affair at River Oaks Country Club.” Spoon in hand, she winced. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

  He arched a brow, scowling, his lips pursed on a smile.

  She folded her hands beneath her chin. “Pretty please, will you go with me anyway?”

  “Of course.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Tux and gown?”

  “Oh, dear, yes. Since your tux is at the cleaners and won’t be ready until Monday, we’ll have to rent one.” She licked the spoon, liking the taste of her first attempt at deviled eggs. Not bad for no recipe. “I hope we can get one at this late date. What a ditz I am forgetting that important detail.”

  He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching her pepper the eggs. “What are you wearing?”

  “I bought a beaded evening gown on eBay in the spring.” She laughed. “I was an eBay addict until you came along. The dress is really pretty in a soft blush color.”

  “You will be stunning.” He molded his body to her back.

  She snuggled into his embrace. “I suppose I should eat breakfast, and we’ll set forth on our mission to find you a tuxedo.”

  “Aren’t deviled eggs a strange breakfast?” He massaged the tight muscles in her shoulders.

  Every time they brought the needles for chemo, she turned to stone, her tense muscles sore for days. Today, being the day after, her neck and shoulders were like a rock.

  “Probably, but I’m strange…now.” March’s heart plummeted.

  Two weeks ago, her pink hair started falling out. Before she was completely bald, she’d had her head shaved and a full lace wig applied. Gone was her graduated bob, replaced by shoulder-length blonde with three tone highlights. People at work liked the wig, as did Christian, but she felt a bit funny with so much hair.

  “Strange because…you purchased me?” His voice came gruff, scarcely more than a whisper.

  She whirled in his embrace, captured his face in her hands and kissed him. His arms tightened around her waist. If this continued, they’d be in bed again in minutes. She broke the kiss and smiled at her dream man.

  “No regrets there, darling. Not even one. I meant because I’m bald.” She could sleep in the wig, shower with a cap, and it looked natural even in a high ponytail. Every two to three weeks, it had to be removed professionally, cleaned, and reapplied.

  Christian had offered to drive her to these salon appointments, but she refused, horrified at the thought of him seeing her hairless. He carried her plate of eggs to the dining room, and they sat facing each other across the square glass table with its pedestal of petrified wood. The living room/dining room was an open plan L-shape with apartment standard blah beige carpet. If she owned the place, she’d have the entire space tiled in marble, including the bedroom.

  “You’re quiet,” he said. “Deep thoughts?”

  “Thinking I’d like to buy a house or a condo. When this is over, we’ll look into what’s for sale at an affordable price.” She bit half an egg, then returned the remainder to the plate.

  He nodded. “After you fell asleep, I spent last night applying online for jobs.”

  She tensed. “You are persistent.”

  “If I were gainfully employed, we could afford more house.” He straightened the tapestry of a grand piano hanging behind the table.

  How nonchalant he sounded when she knew he longed to help financially. His concern touched March. However, she didn’t care to chase him down in another shady profession. Did the other androids seek jobs? Or was her Christian different? My Christian is very different. She’d bet none of the other droids had worked in a male strip club. So sad, some would end up sex pets.

  March ate the eggs, strode to the kitchen and tucked the plate in the dishwasher. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see you in a tux.”

  Today, he wore a blue shirt and navy trousers that made his eyes appear even bluer. Her gaze swept his long, lean body. Sinful how much she loved looking at him. She could spend hours visually devouring him. He returned her intense study, a trill of excitement rippling over her. Both started when the doorbell jangled.

  A woman, uniformed in the purple and orange of an overnight carrier, smiled through the glass doors. Christian strode across the room and opened the door. For a long moment after he accepted the envelope, he stood staring at the label. A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She rushed to his side. He waved the package, a strange expression on his face.

  “From Mayfair.” He looked wary, his gaze accusing.

  Heart hammering, she pulled the tab and, with a slight tremor in her hand, produced the contents. The letter read,

  Enclosed please find the work permit for Christian. Through our connections, we have secured two interviews with prospective employers. He should contact…

  March stopped reading and handed the gift to Christian. “I believe you’ll find this of great interest.”

  Christian glanced at the Mayfair logo and went rigid. An intense blue gaze sheered to March. “Are…you returning me?”

  “Good lord, no.” She waved a hand, indicating that he should look at the contents.

  In seconds, he had read the letter, then quickly examined the attached documents. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. When he looked at her, amazement glittered in his eyes. “March, if I could sing—you didn’t have me programmed with musical talent—I’d sing Impossible Dream. Monday, I shall contact these two leads.”

  “Congratulations, baby. I know how much this means to you.” She kissed his cheek. “Take those inside. We’ll file them when we return. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find a fine looking tux for tonight. We have something to celebrate!”

  She strung her handbag over her shoulder as he opened the door. Hand-in-hand, they faced the world. Without an umbrella, the misty rain jeweled Christian’s hair, rendering him as otherworldly and ethereal as the morning. Since they received the package from Mayfair, he’d been smiling. His beautiful smile always took her breath away. He was happy, and she was happy. Tonight, they’d set the town on fire.

  “We’ll try the tuxedo rental shop in the Galleria.” March tossed the keys to Christian. “You drive. I hate Galleria traffic.”

  Parking was hectic, but finally March and Christian were on the escalator. Below, kids skated and squealed in the ice arena. The noise of a busy mall surrounded them. Men and women glanced at Christian, radiating presence but totally unaware of the ripple he caused in the normal world. They arrived at the rental shop and strolle
d in, glancing side-to-side at the racks of formal clothes. This location even rented women’s gowns.

  “I need a tux tonight.” Christian smiled at the sales assistant gaping at him.

  “Yes, sir, what size?” The young man sounded a little breathless as if Christian’s good looks had winded him.

  Christian gave the sales assistant his sizes. “I’ll need formal shoes as well.”

  All but licking his lips, the young man stared at his customer. “I believe we can accommodate you. Just a moment, please.” He ruffled through an overhead rack and produced a fine tuxedo for a rental. “The trousers aren’t hemmed, which should give you the length you require. We can have them hemmed within an hour.”

  Her beautiful android devastated the man further with a smile. “Where are the fitting rooms?” He whispered a laugh. “Shall I model?”

  “Absolutely,” March said for herself and the stricken sales assistant.

  And he is as wonderful as he looks.

  Christian juggled a formal shirt, the tux, tie, and cummerbund into the fitting room. He was svelte, elegant, and would look great in a tuxedo. His wheat-colored hair would look even paler against the black. March walked to the case displaying the studs and cufflinks. The formal shirt came with plain black studs. She wished she could buy the gold cufflinks and studs for Christian.

  “I hope you won’t mind my saying, but your husband is strikingly handsome.” The clerk strolled behind the counter and unlocked the case. “Would you like to see any of these sets?”

  She shook her head, pride surging through her. “I don’t mind at all, and yes, he is.”

  You could have one, too, if you want to drop a small fortune. At that thought, her heart nosedived, but it wasn’t true, was it? None of the other androids were like her Christian. Look your fill. This one belongs to me.