Sex Idol

by Shelley Munro

  “She stand you up, love?” the brunette cooed. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” Antonio said, relieved they hadn’t recognized him outright.

  Both leaned forward, their enhanced breasts vertical like bookshelves.

  Curly hair pursed her ruby-red lips. “We can help ease your…frustration. Wouldn’t you like us to pleasure you?”

  “I’m married.” He shrugged apologetically and sipped his coffee. It was scalding hot and burned his tongue. Suppressing an unmanly yelp, he set the cup down with a loud rattle.

  “Marriage. Not very important in the scheme of things,” the brunette commented. She cemented the observation with a predatory smirk.

  “Maybe to you,” he snapped. “But I’m faithful to my wife. I don’t play around.” He turned his back on the women and took another sip of his coffee. The hot liquid hurt his blistered tongue.

  A wife. Where the hell had that come from? His mind drifted to Sasha again and the child she wanted. His child. The hairs at the back of his neck rose.

  A child would be part of him.

  Part of Sasha.

  Living proof of their existence.

  Man, that would be like marriage.

  The thought should have made him panicky. It didn’t. He turned the idea around and let it settle again. It didn’t matter a damn what he wanted now. With Bridget at his side, Sasha would remain teacher instead of contestant or…friend.

  A car pulled up outside the café. The same black vehicle he’d seen earlier today. Following gut instinct, he tapped the license plate number into his communicator.

  The throaty rumble of the engine ceased. Bridget sat in the passenger seat. She stared straight ahead, not looking at the man in the driver’s seat. But Antonio saw they were talking. Finally, she climbed out and stomped to the café.

  Antonio sat back and waited to see what Bridget would say, what excuses she would use when she came inside.

  “Sorry I’m so late.” The wooden chair legs scraped along the tiled floor when Bridget yanked it from under the table. “I can’t stay. I have a special catering gig for my boss. Something new. I start in fifteen minutes.”

  “Since when? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Bridget avoided his gaze. Lying. She couldn’t look him in the face and a tinge of pink highlighted her cheeks, clashing with her hair.

  “An extra shift came up at the last moment. I need the money.”

  “Still?” He eyed her guilty expression and pushed harder. “You haven’t said where you work. Where are you working?”

  Bridget shrugged and stood abruptly. “A place near Chinatown. I’ve got to go.” She cast an uneasy glance out the large plate glass window. “I’ll…um…see you ’round.”

  Antonio grabbed at her forearm and held her fast. “What sort of job? In the sex industry? Topless dancing?”

  “None of your business.” Bridget yanked from his hold, and this time, Antonio let her go. “I’ll be at training tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  A car horn blared, and Bridget glanced out the huge plate window in a furtive manner. “I’ve got to go.”

  Antonio sighed in frustration, accepting the inevitable. He’d have to tell her tomorrow. Heated whispering drew his attention and created a scowl. They couldn’t discuss it here with the avid audience anyway. “Be there tomorrow. Don’t fuck up another training session.”

  “I won’t. I’m not.” Bridget lifted her chin, her mouth working as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. “I’m not a fuck-up,” she repeated before scurrying from the café.

  Seconds later, the shiny monster car roared off.

  “Had a fight with your wife?” the brunette the table over cooed. She closed one eye in an annoying wink.

  “That, madam, is not my wife.” Antonio sprang to his feet and headed for the cashier’s desk. Damn, he hadn’t even told Bridget about the change in training times.

  * * * * *

  After a lousy night’s sleep, full of dreams of Sasha that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, Antonio crawled from bed and organized a long overdue service for his hover. That done, he cleansed and dressed, then strode down the narrow stairs leading from his apartment to the street. He waved down a passing hover-cab for the journey to Sasha’s school.

  It was early. A light mist shrouded the scenery, reducing visibility. A faulty street lamp flickered off and on, casting Sasha’s street with an eerie glow followed by dark shadows. There were no lights on the second floor of the warehouse. Damn.

  Nothing was going right for him today. He’d hoped Sasha would arrive early. The thought made him scowl. Someone else had answered the door when he’d rang the doorbell of the old flat over by Golden Gate Park, but it made sense she’d move to Arnie City and closer to her place of work. Come to think, he didn’t even know if she was involved with anyone, and that bothered him. He thought back to how things used to be between them and his frown intensified.

  Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he leaned against the cold brick wall of the warehouse to wait for Sasha’s arrival. She didn’t seem as open and lighthearted these days. Most of the time, she appeared so serious. It was as if responsibility weighed her down. Antonio missed her carefree, sunny smile. If running the school did this to her, then what the hell would a baby do? Raising a kid…

  His thoughts trailed off as he imagined Sasha swollen with his child. The vision didn’t repulse him now that he’d recovered from the initial shock. In fact, she looked cute in his imagination—like a sexy Santa Claus—since he’d dressed her in a red top.

  His child.

  Antonio shook his head. He didn’t do well with his family. How could he father a child? Nah, he liked his life the way it was, or he would once he talked Sasha into partnering him. They’d been good together and would be again.

  The thud of approaching footsteps dragged him from his thoughts. He straightened in anticipation. Man, he’d kill for a cup of coffee—something to take away the chill of foreboding that had hung over him since last night. Here’s hoping it was Sasha. Even Bridget would be a welcome face at the moment. He hoped she’d checked her messages because he wanted to settle this and focus on training.

  The footsteps approached and paused at the building across the road. A set of keys rattled. A door squeaked and slammed shut. Antonio slumped back against the wall.

  The communicator he’d crammed in his jacket pocket vibrated against his chest. Antonio retrieved it from his pocket and snapped it open. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Bridget.”

  “You got my message. Great. How long before you can get here?”

  “I can’t—” Bridget broke off.

  Antonio heard conversation in the background. A scream. “Bridget?”

  “Bridget don’t have time to talk to you,” an unfamiliar masculine voice snarled. And then the communicator went dead.

  Antonio stabbed speed dial but there was no answer. Uneasiness assailed him. Who was the man on the other end of the communicator? Shit, what if something serious was wrong? He cursed. There was no way of contacting her. He’d have to go to her place to make sure she was okay.

  “Antonio.” Sasha appeared out of the mist, pausing when she saw him. “What are you doing here so early?” She transferred the bag she carried from one hand to the other.

  “Couldn’t sleep.” He couldn’t explain the impulse he’d had to see her. A wispy breeze blew and Sasha’s flowery fragrance hit him. The scent had his cock stirring, his hands tingling with the need to smooth the loose tendril of blonde hair on her cheek behind her ear.

  His gaze wandered to her lips. Soft. Pink. Luscious. Damn, he craved a taste. Antonio closed the distance between them and following instinct, covered her lips with his. She softened, parted to allow him access, and he took full advantage. Her gasp brought him back to his senses, and his hands dropped away from her shoulders.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Kiss
ing her like that. He’d seldom kissed her in the past but he’d made up for it during the last week. And the weird thing was that even though she stared at him strangely, he wanted to repeat the exercise, preferably with fewer clothes and a convenient flat surface.

  Privacy. Just the two of them.

  No routines or rehearsing. In this instant, all he wanted was free, no-holds-barred sex for the pure hell of it.

  He nearly enfolded her into his arms before her bag hit him in the leg, the small thump bringing him to his senses.

  Crap, where was his brain?

  Antonio went to take the heavy bag she carried and she started. Antonio suppressed a snort. Hell, he wasn’t surprised she was nervous. His behavior wasn’t normal, and he couldn’t blame it on alcohol or mind-altering drugs or the fact that his brain had relocated, heading south for the winter. He had a Sasha addiction and the condition had snuck up on him when he wasn’t looking.

  “Let me carry the bag up the stairs for you,” he said, not wanting to increase her skittishness. In truth, he was edgy himself because he had no idea where his mind and lower brain were leading him. Uncharted territory, that was for sure.

  Sasha handed over the bag of books, her heart racing. She wasn’t sure where to look. He’d kissed her. Again. The shockwaves continued to reverberate through her body while she relived the feel of his mouth against hers.

  “Key?”

  “Oh!” Heat crept into her cheeks. Sasha fumbled in the pocket of her workout pants and fished it out.

  Antonio shifted beside her while she tried to force the old metal key into the lock. “Let me.”

  Wordlessly, she stood aside and let Antonio deal with the stubborn lock. “Is…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Is Bridget on her way?”

  “No. I’ll explain upstairs.” Antonio started up the stairs, leaving Sasha to shut the door and follow.

  A quick glance at her watch confirmed it would be half an hour before the first of her morning students arrived. Sighing, she followed. Spending time with Antonio had made her love him even more than she had before. Although she’d attempted to keep him at a distance, it wasn’t working. She was failing, and Antonio’s kisses didn’t help. They made her dream of things that could never happen.

  Antonio set her bag down on her desk and turned to her. “Bridget can’t make training. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I intend to check on her so I can’t stay, either.” His concern for the other woman made Sasha want to cry. And that made her feel worse since it was pure jealousy driving her emotional state.

  “No problem.” She forced a bright smile to show there were no hard feelings. “You don’t need to explain.”

  “Yes.” He closed the distance between them, “I do.”

  Sudden panic rose in Sasha. “I’ll make coffee.” Anything to keep her hands busy and off his tempting body. She made the mistake of glancing at him, his mouth. Again. He caught her and raked her with a heated appraisal, enough to force color to her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry for mucking you around, sweetheart, but I need to check on Bridget.”

  Once again, jealousy swept her in a tidal wave. It wasn’t fair. Then, she reminded herself that her goal was a child so she could have a family. Her own family. All she wanted, all she needed from Antonio was one active sperm to make her pregnant. Heck, she didn’t even need his cock to deliver it to her womb. She could use a syringe.

  Sasha forced a nod. “Okay. When did you and Bridget want your next training session?” She strode over to her desk to pick up her handheld. “My schedule is full.”

  Antonio sauntered over to the door. “I’ll confirm once I talk to Bridget, but I think we should be fine from now on.”

  “I see.” The tight sensation in her chest made it difficult to breathe. Concentrate, she thought. Hold it together until Antonio leaves.

  “Do you have any classes or private lessons tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?” Antonio asked.

  “To talk about the routine with you and Bridget? Sure. I guess I have to eat.” Sasha winced. Lord, she was a sad case. Desperate for whatever crumbs he threw her. The sooner this contest finished the better.

  Antonio scowled and left his position by the door to join her. He tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, serious and unlike his normal self. “No, I don’t want to discuss the routine. Bridget won’t be there. It’s a date. Just you and me.”

  “A date.” Sasha blinked at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

  A blinding grin played across his face without warning. “I’ve never been better. I’ll pick you up at eight. Dress in something sexy.”

  Sasha’s mouth worked, but not a sound escaped. A date. Dinner. Sexy. Her thoughts whirred, confusion combining with a ray of hope.

  Antonio kissed her before departing. A cheerful whistle floated up the stairs until the thud of the door blocked the sound.

  “A date,” Sasha whispered. She pinched her cheek hard to make sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole episode.

  Chapter Eight

  Antonio walked to the end of the street, trying to formulate a plan to find Bridget. Sasha kept getting in the way. A date. Man, his mind said one thing and his mouth came out with another.

  A jet-propelled people mover whooshed overhead, the rush of air blowing his hair and tugging at his clothes as it slowed to a stop halfway down the street. The cross-town mover. Antonio took off at a sprint and leapt through the doors seconds before they closed. Students and businessmen crowded the interior.

  Antonio took possession of a corner and kept his head down, wishing he’d driven his hover instead of putting it in for a service. He’d jump off near Bridget’s apartment and talk to her flat mates. If they couldn’t help, he’d head for Chinatown. Everyone knew Bridget. Someone would know where she worked.

  “It’s Antonio Perez,” a young woman whispered.

  “On the mover?” her boyfriend said. “Nah, don’t think so. It’s one of those professional doubles.”

  “I tell ya, it’s him.”

  Antonio hunched his shoulders to appear smaller, less like a Sex Idol contestant. Perhaps he should have hailed a hover-cab. He snorted. Sasha had addled his thinking. When he should have been concentrating on training and the upcoming contest, he thought about her instead of more pressing matters. Finding Bridget. Ending their faux partnership. Instead, Sasha crowded into his mind.

  A date, for God’s sake. They’d never done dates before.

  The young couple’s whispering became heated, driving up his alarm. The last time he’d caught the mover, a group of young females had ripped off half his clothes. From the corner of his eye he watched, prepared to bolt the instant the mover stopped and the doors slid open.

  The female sidled up to him. “Go on. You’re him, aren’t ya?”

  Antonio tried to ignore her but five minutes later, he emerged from the mover with an aching butt where she’d pinched him and her communicator number. He felt violated. Damned if he wasn’t going to keep the number and sue her ass if a bruise appeared.

  He stomped down the street, turning onto a narrow lane. The converted warehouse was halfway down. Broken bottles littered the lane and lurid graffiti and old advertising hoardings selling designer lube covered the old brick walls. Nice neighborhood.

  Antonio leaned on the intercom until someone let him inside. He strode into the dim foyer and took the narrow stairs leading to the top floor two at a time. He thumped on the door and checked his surroundings since he hadn’t visited here before. The interior of the building appeared aged but well cared for, much better than the view outside promised.

  “I’m looking for Bridget. Is she here?” he demanded when the door opened. The screams he’d heard rested uneasily in his mind.

  “I’ve no idea where she is,” the woman said. “And I don’t care.”

  She attempted to shut the door in his face but Antonio forced his foot inside. The collusion bet
ween metal and his boot hurt like a bitch, but at least gave him the opportunity to ask more questions. “Doesn’t she live here?”

  “Used to. She skipped out without paying the rent. She might be a top sex performer, the public might love her, but I don’t. That it? Can I go now?”

  “Thanks.” No wonder she was belligerent if Bridget had done a runner. But why? Antonio didn’t understand. They made decent money on the circuit, even if they had won little this season. She’d said something about needing money but it had sounded no worse than normal for Bridget.

  Antonio retraced his steps and hailed a hover-cab once he arrived back on the main street. It set down beside him.

  “Where to, man?” the driver asked in a disinterested tone.

  Antonio opened the rear door and strapped himself in, preparing for takeoff. “Chinatown.”

  The driver took off abruptly, zipping in front of a delivery truck. A loud honk rent the air and Antonio felt the truck driver’s glare drill through his back.

  “In one piece, driver,” he instructed. Antonio leaned back and thought of Sasha. A date. He grinned. His grin died without warning. Shit, where were they going on this date?

  Perhaps Maxwells?

  He considered the starchy waiters with their snobby, holier-than-thou attitudes and discarded the restaurant from his mental list. No, he wanted somewhere intimate with good food and service, a restaurant where the rest of the diners would leave them—and his butt—alone. A place where the rest of the males didn’t stare at Sasha.

  His communicator rang, interrupting his musing. Bridget? He checked the screen, but the number was unfamiliar. “Perez.”

  “Antonio, it’s Sasha.”

  Sudden fear knotted his throat. Surely she wasn’t canceling their date? “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Yes. Sort of. Bridget just rang. She said her mother is sick and has taken a sudden turn for the worse—”

  “Why didn’t she ring me?” There was a distinct edge to his demand. Dammit, his communicator had been on the entire time. Bridget was avoiding him.

  “She said she couldn’t get you, that she’d tried several times.”