“Watch your ass!” Declan called after him and turned to walk the opposite way.
*
“Move a muscle, and I’ll drop you where you stand, pardner.”
Declan froze. The man’s voice came out of nowhere, deep and with a distinctive Texas twang. From the height the voice came, this was a very tall man.
Declan had jimmied open a back window of a home in the exclusive La Barria Prima subdivision that appeared vacant. He’d cased the white limestone house, found the security sensors, and dismantled each before breaking in. How had he missed seeing anyone when he’d prowled through the richly decorated rooms?
With a mental shrug, he reviewed his options. If the man were armed, he might not be able to overpower him. He’d have to use his wits. He was screwed.
He straightened from the pantry door and slowly raised his hands.
“You’re Declan O’Hanlon, aren’t you? The smuggler.”
Declan nearly jerked with surprise. Had news traveled so fast? “I’m an entrepreneur,” he said, baiting a hook to extend the conversation. He needed to figure out where the man was standing, so he slowly turned his head.
“I said, don’t move.”
The man’s deep voice sounded gravelly and mean. Declan doubted he had a sense of humor. Frustration curled his hands into fists. “Look, I’m not here to steal from you or harm you.” He injected calm into his voice. “I’m just—”
“Hiding out? On the lam?”
He frowned. The Texan seemed to be enjoying his predicament. “Yeah, I ran into a spot of bad luck.”
“I’d say. As we speak, your ship’s being flown to the impound lot.”
Declan dropped his chin to his chest and swore under his breath.
“Your problems don’t end there, buddy.”
He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to take his chances and start swinging. “You seem to know an awful lot about me,” he growled.
“I have my connections. Within a minute of your entering the house, I had your entire dossier. I know your grade school teachers’ names, what ship you first signed on with, and what planet has orders to blow you out of orbit if you return.”
“If you know that much, then you also know I’m not a violent criminal.”
“Right, you’re just an entrepreneur who happens to run contraband through Dominion ports.”
“There are worse things,” Declan muttered, his mind racing. Was this the angle he could work? “Most of my best customers are Dominion officials. I bring them quality stock, and in return, they turn a blind eye. Is that what this is about? Would you like to cut a deal?”
“You’re looking at some hard time for today’s business—not to mention for breaking and entering.”
Declan cocked his head to the side. “So why haven’t you already called the authorities?”
“I’ll get to that. First though, I need to get a look at you. Drop your drawers.”
Declan stiffened and hoped like hell the Texan only wanted to check for hidden weapons. “Is this really necessary? I can assure you, I don’t have any weapons on me.”
“Just do as I say, or I’ll place that call to the authorities.”
Declan’s lips thinned in irritation, but he slowly lowered his hands to his belt. He loosened his breeches and pushed them down to mid-thigh. “Satisfied?”
“Drop the duster.”
Declan shouldered off his coat and let it puddle on the floor.
“Raise your hands and turn around.”
Cursing under his breath, Declan turned to face his adversary. Only there wasn’t anyone there. “What the f—”
“Does it get any bigger than that?”
Declan jerked, his hands reflexively moving toward his crotch. “What did you say?”
“That’s gonna be a tough one to get around.”
After a quick perusal of the room, Declan realized the voice came from the ceiling. “What the hell are you talking about?” His gaze searched for hidden cameras—likely the guy was watching from some sort of monitoring room. “Can I pull up me pants?”
“Yeah, might as well,” the man grumbled.
Relieved the odd inspection was over, Declan readjusted his clothing. “Are you satisfied I’m not packing?”
“That’s for sure.” The man sighed loudly. “However, life-like was guaranteed. And your ass will do fine. Take off your shirt. I want to see your chest.”
Declan scowled and made quick work of the shirt, yanking it over his head while wondering if the man was checking him for a holster.
An appreciative whistle sounded from the speakers.
Every hair on Declan’s body rose to attention. “I don’t know what this is all about, but if you think—”
“You’re free of any exotic STDs—I scanned you when you entered the kitchen. Can you perform?”
“Perform?” The muscles in his shoulders and arms bunched in rejection of the suspicion formulating…
“You know—in the sack. Can you get it up?”
“Look, I don’t bugger men, and I don’t let men bugger me.” Alarm and anger hoarsened his voice. “If you’re going to use your weapon, you’d better do it now, because I’m out of here. Call the police, if you like.” He leaned down to swipe his clothing from the floor.
“Now, hold your horses. If you want a chance to free your crew and your ship, you’d better stop right where you are.”
“Some things aren’t up for negotiation,” Declan growled.
“Decky, baby. I’m not after your virginity.” This time the voice was feminine, mid-forty-ish, and amused.
Were there two of them? Declan straightened, his patience at an end. “Then what are you after?”
“I want to strike a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“My boss will be walking through the door any minute now. She expects a playmate for the weekend, but the playmate couldn’t be delivered. She’s going to be very grumpy.”
“Not my problem if her friend couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, but he just did.”
Declan didn’t much care for the sly note in the woman’s voice and narrowed his eyes. “Let me get this straight. You want me to fill in for this friend? And do what? Spend the weekend with your boss…shagging her brains out?”
“That about sums it up.”
“What about after?”
“I told you. I can arrange for the release of your crew and your ship.”
“You can do that? How do I even know you have that kind of power?”
“I’m connected, ya know? I can even tell you who tipped off the cops.”
“Prove it. Give me a name.”
“Does Ronald McEwen ring a bell?”
Declan swore. “I knew it. That bastard Scot!”
“Now, if you’ll just settle down, we have some work to do before the boss gets home. You need a bath and a shave. Then we need to do something about those clothes—she said no cowboys. That duster and those boots reek of OK Corral…and whiskey, Samureen Black, unless I miss my guess.”
Still trying to get his bearings and figure out if he stood a chance at making a run for it, Declan stalled. “Who the hell are you, and how do you know so much?”
“Never mind. Start stripping.”
Declan folded his arms over his bare chest. “Won’t she be just a little upset that I’m not the person she’s expecting?”
“She won’t ever know.”
Declan raised an eyebrow. “Is this friend a paid companion, then?”
“You’re quick.”
Declan stepped backward toward the kitchen door. “So what exactly do I have to do this weekend?”
“Fulfill her fantasies—only problem is, she can’t tell you what they are. The service took her profile and was supposed to provide her with the partner who’d give her what she needs—not what she thinks she wants. I can tell you now, if you do what she tells you, she’ll be bored.”
“Is she so repulsive she has to h
ire a pleasure-giver?”
“Repulsive? Why would you think that?”
“She can’t find her own partner.”
The woman’s laughter did nothing to calm Declan’s fears. “She’s an exec. A stuffed shirt. She doesn’t have time to find her own man.”
The very last sort of woman Declan wanted to ride—stiff, unimaginative, unyielding. How the hell was he supposed to work up a hard-on?
“Are you any good?”
“Huh?”
“In the sack! No time to be shy. I need to know what I’ve got to work with.”
Declan shrugged. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“That’s not saying much.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied nastily, fed up with her snide remarks concerning his manhood.
“Aaa—gnes!” A strident voice came from beyond the kitchen door.
Declan jumped.
“The ca-ca’s gonna hit the fan now,” his captor muttered.
“I take it that’s your mistress?” he whispered.
“Yup. My boss, the dragon lady, my ball and chain. She’ll be in here in a minute. Whatever odd thing she says, just go with it. Remember, this is supposed to be a fantasy weekend.”
“I haven’t agreed to do anything yet.”
“Remember your crew and ship!”
In for a penny…out for a pound. “My cargo, too?”
“All right!” she hissed. “Do we have a deal?”
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t. But I’m the only chance you’ve got. It’s me or Sing-Sing. Do we have a deal?”
What the hell was Sing-Sing? Declan swore again. “Deal. You’d better not welsh, or I’ll tell the boss lady about our little arrangement.”
“Aaa—gnes!” Priscilla shouted again, and then paused to kick off her heels before continuing on to her bedroom. “What’s with you? Are you still sulking about me threatening to pull your grid?”
“Of course not,” Agnes replied, in a monotone. “I’m just a hunk of cells, no real intelligence, no feelings to hurt.”
Priscilla rolled her eyes and reached for the first button at the top of her white blouse. “So when is it arriving?”
“It?”
“My Pleasure Bot.”
“Oh, about your new toy…”
“Aaa—gnes?” Her hands froze on button number three. “Don’t tell me they can’t deliver.”
“No, no.”
“Whew! You had me worried there.” She continued unbuttoning her blouse, letting her mind roam to the coming hours. Already her body was juiced at the thoughts of the wicked things she wanted to try with her life-like, better-than-life-sized robot.
“Well, I just wanted to remind you of a few things first.”
“Like?” She hoped like hell Agnes wasn’t going to give her the list of the manufacturer’s disclaimers.
“You were promised life-like.”
“Yeah, yeah. Down to the wet tongue and hangnails, I’m sure.” She finished with the last button and peeled off the shirt.
“Just so you know, it’s also programmed to believe it’s a real person—to enhance the experience.”
The word “enhance” was the only one her mind registered. All day long, the thought of all that “enhanced” hardware aimed at providing her the ultimate pleasure had put heat in her cheeks and a bounce in her step. Her skirt joined the heap on the floor. “All right. Is there more?”
“Um…it’s in the kitchen.”
Priscilla’s body revved into hyperdrive, and she headed out of her bedroom. “Why didn’t you say so? It eats?”
“Probably does a lot of things even more disgusting in the name of realism.”
“Wow! Pinnacle’s going to make a fortune. I wonder if they need an ad woman.”
She reached to push the kitchen door, but it swung toward her, and she stepped back with a gasp. A tall, disheveled—shirtless—man stepped through. Her gaze swept over him in shock. “Agnes! Just what did you put in my profile?”
“Why, boss?”
Her hand swept over his shoulder and a muscle rippled beneath her palm. She jerked away her hand. “It’s…brawny. I prefer lean.” She backed away and looked up. “Dark hair? I like blond. And it’s hairy.” She sniffed. “Oh, and it stinks! Did you tell them I wanted a dark stinky man?”
The bot’s narrowed brown gaze followed her as she paced in front of him. His face grew a blustery red.
“They have a few kinks to work out in this model.” She waved an encompassing hand at him. “It does understand English, doesn’t it Agnes?”
“Sure does,” Agnes said, her voice sounding a little strangled.
The bot’s eyes slitted.
“Well, at least they got that much right.” Priscilla eyed his wide, hairy chest. The muscle beneath the sun-dark skin looked well developed…hard. She might be able to get past all the dark hair—the body was mighty distracting. “Let me see what my money’s buying. Take off the rest of your clothes.”
When the bot didn’t move, she huffed and reached for the leather belt. A large, hard hand closed over hers and pushed her away. She glanced up in alarm. The look on the bot’s face could have curdled milk. “Agnes? It looks angry.”
From between gritted teeth, the bot said, “It prefers to be called he.”
Chapter Three
‡
Declan eyed the half-dressed woman with irritation…and reluctant interest. She wasn’t any bigger than a minute, the top of her red head barely reaching his shoulder. But all the creamy, freckled skin revealed between the beige, satin strips of her underwear clothed a body with all the necessary curves. His cock agreed and stirred behind the placket of his breeches.
Then she opened her mouth again. “Agnes? Don’t you play dumb now. What the hell was in my profile?”
Although pitched lower than her previous shrieks, her voice still held an imperious note that set his teeth on edge. No wonder the woman couldn’t find a man of her own. She was a bossy little snipe.
He had the overwhelming urge to tell the woman the truth, just to get her to shut up—and give Agnes a taste of her own brand of poison. Two women couldn’t deserve each other more.
“Just the facts, boss,” Agnes said, her tone blithe. “I’m sure they added their own statistics regarding your purchasing behavior in order to come up with the right blend of male properties to suit your needs.”
“They just should have given me an order form with a checklist for my preferences. Tonio’s more my taste!” She scowled, looking him over like he was a lumbering bear rather than a man. “I’ve half a mind to send it back.”
He grunted his disapproval.
The woman gave him a startled glance. “Him back,” the woman corrected. “I mean, who in her right mind would want something so primitive?”
Some dark primitive emotion stirred in his belly. The woman needed to learn a lesson or two in manners. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he replied, adding a silky texture to his voice.
Her gray eyes widened. Was she shocked he could do more than grunt? Then he saw a telltale flush rise from the tops of her breasts to her cheeks. He’d bet a case of Samureen Black that arousal soaked her panties.
“That’s a recommendation?” She eyed him with doubt shadowing her gaze. “It’s too late to get a replacement, isn’t it, Agnes?”
“Much too late,” Agnes muttered.
“I guess I’ll keep him,” she said, her voice sounding less than enthusiastic.
“Then what are we waiting for?” he said with exaggerated relish, his hands going for his belt.
Her eyes widened like saucers. “Wait a minute!” She held up a hand.
Declan stared. A moment ago she’d wanted him out of his clothes.
“Shouldn’t we get a few things straight first?”
He took a step toward her. “What’s to get, other than naked?” He slipped the belt from the loops of his breeches and lifted it hig
h, his gaze holding hers as he dropped it to the floor.
With a stubborn tilt of her chin, she said, “We could start with what I’m supposed to call you other than it.”
He narrowed his eyes at the termagant. He knew a stall when he saw one. “I have a name. Declan. What’s yours?”
Her pretty, pink mouth gaped. “You don’t know my name? Why wouldn’t Playthings tell you my name? They know absolutely everything else about me.”
“To increase the realism?” Agnes whispered.
He wished like hell the older woman would show herself. He preferred to gauge the mettle of his adversaries by watching their eyes.
“Just imagine,” Agnes continued, “that you’re two strangers meeting for the first time.”
The redhead’s scowl could have singed an oven. “First times suck!”
“Perhaps you’ve been going out with the wrong men,” he purred, and then grinned at the acidic glance she shot his way.
With a tomato-red flush of anger, she said, “There is no way this was programmed with me in mind. It’s impossible!”
“Is his face so unattractive?” Agnes asked.
“How should I know? I can’t see his face under all that stubble. He could be hiding a weak chin.”
He lifted his brow and scratched his beard, feigning unconcern. A weak chin?
Thunderclouds couldn’t match the fierce displeasure roiling in her stormy gray eyes.
Declan’s grin stretched wider. Goading this one to anger should be a sport. He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman with his clothes on—ever. He scratched his balls for good measure.
“Ugh! His manners are as disgusting as his smell.”
“Is his body unappealing?” Agnes’s voice sounded a tad strained.
“He’s too large.” Her gaze swept over him, pausing at his chest then trailing over his arms. “But he does have interesting bumps.”
Bumps?
Her hand reached out to smooth across the muscle on his forearm. “I don’t think I ever dated a man with bumpy arms.”
Declan couldn’t resist. “If you’ll let me remove me breeches, you can touch me legs. The bumps are bigger.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why would they give it sarcasm? Couldn’t they figure out I get enough from you, Agnes?” she said, aiming her shout to the ceiling. “Tell me again: it’s too late to return it for another model.”
The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) Page 2