Love For Sale (12 page)

“Why must you tell him?” He concentrated on starting a car he’d driven numerous times. “He is
your
ex
-husband.”

His tone was surprisingly possessive. Was Christian capable of jealousy? That emotion, though she’d entertained it herself, served no one and seemed out of place in a man customized to love and respect one woman. Or was it? Jealousy grew from possessiveness.

She shifted in her seat, leaning against the locked door. “Because of the boys. I must tell them. They’ll find out I’m ill.”

“I see,” he said, but clearly he didn’t.

Battling self-pity and tears, she choked out, “If anything happens to me, what will become of you?”

He pressed the lever for the windshield washers, watched the wipers swish back and forth. Almost matter-of-factly, he said, “I shall be deactivated. Permanently.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. A surge of dread and sorrow winded March. It was a moment before she replied. “I won’t allow that. My Will can provide that you be returned to Mayfair without any explanation why. They will reprogram you for another.”

A blue crystal tear escaped, drifting down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away. “It would never work. Never. They couldn’t reprogram what I feel for you. If you instruct Mayfair, they will deactivate me; otherwise they will try to reprogram me, refund your money and sell me to someone else. They’d be selling that purchaser short. Please…if anything, please, I want to be deactivated. Anything else would be torture.”

“You can’t die. You’re immortal.” She seized the hand on the console, squeezing his fingers.

He looked distant, thoughtful, a little frown creasing his brow. “If only there was a way to make you immortal, too. Mayfair was working on a daring project…but it was in its infancy. Risky. Probably illegal. Quite mad, in fact. So, you must stay with me.” He slid his hands into her hair, gripping the back of her head, kissing her with all of the passion in his voice.

When he released her, she sank back in her seat. “What kind of project? Could it be the reason Daniel is afraid?”

Christian tensed. “Dear God, they wouldn’t dare.”

“Dare what?”

“Transfer the consciousness of a mortal into the body of an android.”

“That’s insane.”

He arched a brow. “They weren’t even on the doorstep. It was merely a spark in my namesake’s brilliant mind. I don’t think even Mayfair would be that mad.”

“Mind transfer would raise a bigger hue and cry than cloning. But it’s impossible, so…” March sighed heavily. “Tonight, I must visit the boys. Better sooner than later.”

Christian shifted to Reverse, reluctance in every line of his body. “I’ll accompany you.”

“That will only aggravate matters.” She waved a hand in a helpless gesture. “This part of it, I’m afraid I’ll have to endure alone.”

Chapter 8

“How’s your young man?” Paul greeted her at the door to his apartment with a smirk.

March bristled but quelled a scathing comeback. Mustn’t let her ex push her buttons and divert her from her duty. “He’s fine.” She squared her shoulders, and her voice took on an edge. “Everyone had better get used to seeing him around. We’re going to marry. Paul, that’s not why I needed to drop by.”

His mocking expression changed to a look of concern. “Come in.” He stood back for her to amble into the bright light Paul preferred. In fact, it appeared that every light in the house was on. The electric company loved him.

The instant she was inside, the mouthwatering fragrances of fresh baked bread and beef stew tempted her stomach to a low growl. The man could cook when he took a fancy.
Fancy? I’m not British. Christian’s vocabulary is invading my subconscious.
A fleeting smile brightened her mood, then her heart plummeted into the quiet despair that now possessed her.

He mistook her smile, his expression warming. “I’ve made a big pot of beef stew. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head, looked away as she settled her handbag on one of the massaging recliners and faced him, her gaze glued to the floor. “I saw my doctor yesterday. I have news I must share with you…and the boys, of course.”

Her ex gripped her arm. “What’s wrong, March? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

She swallowed a sob and plunged. “I have stage three ovarian cancer.”

“Oh, my God.” Paul tried to pull her against him, but she resisted. He shook his head, his eyes tearing. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you, but we are
yesterday
. And, today, I have—”

“You have Christian.” He spat out his words.

“Yes, Paul, and he’ll be with me, see me through this.”

“Well, jolly good, you’ve got the Brit, March.” He swung around, stomped to the kitchen, and slid into oven mitts. “Must give the stew a stir.” He continued talking, “What about the hospital bills? Surgery’s expensive, I hear. And treatment? Is
he
going to pay for that, too?”

“I have insurance. I’ll be okay.” She shrugged, feeling as limp and wilted as the white roses at the center of the pine trestle table. “Those flowers have about had it.” She sought his gaze. “Should
I
tell the boys? It’s your call. You’re their father.”

“Care to stay for dinner? You always loved this beef stew.” He exhaled a long breath, shaking his head. “Dear God, March. I’m sorry. So sorry. You’ve got enough on your mind. I’ll tell the boys.”

She touched his arm. “Paul, I want to remain friends. Please don’t make this difficult.”

His face screwed into a painful grimace. “Of course, March, of course. You take care of yourself and let us know if we can do anything or if…you need money. You’re going to be fine.” He stroked her hair as he had when they were married. “Just fine.”

She smiled, feeling less confident than she sounded. “I will be fine. Surgery is Monday.”

“I’ll book the day off and take you.” He rested his hands on the countertop and sagged against his knuckles. “Never mind. I remember you have someone to be with you.”

Through it all, she guessed, he hadn’t stopped loving her…in his own way.

“I appreciate the offer, Paul. Yes, he will be with me.” She fiddled with the electric salt and pepper grinders on the counter. Paul had more kitchen equipment than Williams & Sonoma. “Thanks, but I won’t stay for dinner this time. If the boys need any reassurance…”

“Take care of yourself, March.” His gaze lifted to hers, hazel eyes misted. “I hope this young man doesn’t break your heart. That’s the last thing you need right now. If he does, I’ll…”

A shiver capered over March, her heart stumbling. “He won’t, Paul. But thanks for being concerned about me.”

Was it possible for Christian to break her heart? The power was in his hands.
Am I to be given no privacy?
There’d been nothing subservient in that question.
Most human
, Melissa had said. A tremor of doubt shook her faith. Her lover seemed capable of ignoring the traits ingrained into him. Could he
fall out of
love with her? Maybe nothing, after all, was forever.

March didn’t go straight to her apartment. She wandered the cobbled paths beneath the whispering oaks. The tears came and went.
Somehow, I must rid myself of this self-pity. I can’t live my life in tears.

“And fear.” In truth, she was as concerned about Christian’s fate as her own. As the sun sank below the horizon, March turned for home.

****

Staring morosely into the distance, Christian perched on the top step of the staircase. When she turned onto the path home, he shot to his feet. “How’d it go?”

She climbed slowly, letting his beauty and grace lift her sagging spirits. “Okay. He was very kind, in fact. He said he’d tell the boys, which is a weight off my mind.”

Blue eyes measured her progress up the stairs. He extended his hand. When she laid her hand in his, he brought her fingers to his lips. “I’m glad it went well. You have to admit your ex is volatile.”

She laughed, stroking his hair. “Only when it pertains to you.”

“Yes, quite. The feeling is mutual.”

“I’ll be glad when Monday has come and gone.” The fear she was trying to suppress lumped in her throat. Her gaze slid off his intense scrutiny. “Then the chemo begins.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “One day at a time, March. We’ll make it through this. Come in. I’m preparing dinner from what looks like your favorite recipe. The paper is dog-eared and faded.”

“You’re making me a fish pie? That’s a lot of kerfuffle.”

“Fish pie in the oven.” He swung her into a bridal embrace, lifting her feet over the railing, and carried her into the delicious scent of her favorite dish baking.

“My stomach is already growling. You’re an absolute darling.” She kissed his cheek. “And I love you.”

He smiled, let her slide down the front of him, his body hard, hers soft. “I’m finishing a salad. Is there anything else you’d like? I thought of kale or spinach, but we have neither.”

A sharp pain pierced her heart. He hadn’t answered that he loved her as he always did.
I won’t ruin what we have by pushing him.

He shifted behind her, massaging the tight muscles in her neck. “Let’s play this weekend. Go to Galveston’s Pleasure Pier and, like children, laugh and scream on the carnival rides.”

In paradise, she’d forgotten her hobby. Maybe she could complete that seascape she’d begun months ago, in another lifetime. She could paint Christian into the final work.

She whirled, claiming his mouth in a kiss. “Absolutely! I can’t wait.”

“Remember that lottery ticket I asked you to buy?” He hugged her tight against his body. “You won. A hundred dollars will almost cover the trip.”

“You must be lucky. I’ve never won anything in my life. Let’s pack tonight and spend the day on the beach and at the Pier. Do you sunburn? I do.”

****

They claimed Saturday as their own personal holiday. March felt as if the world belonged to her. She locked the door on any thoughts or dread of Monday. Holding hands, they strolled along the beach, their bare feet making prints in the sand. The waves sang an aria for them alone. They wandered into the surf, laughing like children as the water splashed the hems of their jeans.

On the Pier, she ate pink cotton candy. He guided their wanderings with an arm around her shoulders. They stopped in the middle of the pier to listen to the noise and music, then ambled on as if everything was a brand new experience. For Christian, it was. In the bumper cars, they chased and crashed into each other. Side by side on painted horses, they rode the Carousel. March suffered from a mild fear of heights, but she allowed Christian to persuade her to try every ride, including the Ferris Wheel. At the very top, the ocean wind rocked their chair. She inhaled a cry, gripping the rail, white knuckled. Christian tightened his arm around her, whispering a kiss and
it’s all right
against her ear.

As they strolled through the crowd, March pointed her candy apple at Gump on the Run. “Let’s eat here. I feel like boiled shrimp.”

“You don’t look like a boiled shrimp.” Christian cringed at his own corny joke.

March laughed and, in a quick, covert gesture, pinched his ass. “You’re in trouble when we get home.”

Late in the afternoon, they found a quaint Mexican restaurant. With her own designated driver, March had two frozen margaritas, developing a case of the giggles as she munched on salsa and chips. At nine o’clock, with the moon silvering the ocean, they hopped into the car, Houston-bound. The lazy, happy day had temporarily freed them of worry and dread.

Sunday, tension crackled in the air. March went through the motions of life, but didn’t really feel alive. Christian was quiet, probably not wishing to intrude on her introversion. They went to bed early, setting the clock for an ungodly morning hour.

****

Monday dawned as gray as Christian’s mood. Sunday evening, nightmares had plagued him. Once, he disturbed March by crying out in sleep mode. He was trying to remain strong for her, but, damn, he was dying inside. Fear sizzled along every conduit. He felt raw, his emotions like naked wires. If he lost her on that operating table today, he’d learned how to deactivate himself. He’d drive to the beach, walk into the ocean and
drown
a sentient robot. If he opened his mouth, he could probably drink enough salt water to fry his circuits.

“Well. It’s six. Check-in is at seven.” March sighed, shouldering her handbag. “Shall we go?”

In her eyes, he saw the reflection of his fear and dread.
How am I going to endure those hours of waiting when I can’t go into sleep mode in a crowded waiting room?
Trying to lighten the mood, he said, “When the wind rocked our car at the top of the Ferris Wheel, I really thought you were going to scream.”

She grinned, nodding, measuring an inch with her fingers. “I was that close until you hugged me.”

Christian offered his arm as if they were attending a formal ball. She placed her hand on the crook of his elbow and followed his lead. Again, they drove in silence. Apprehension was a third passenger in the car crawling along U.S. Route 59 in the early morning traffic. Too soon, they arrived in the Medical Center. Hand-in-hand, they entered the hospital, air-conditioned cold, and found the correct elevator. Reluctance dragged at his feet as they approached the admissions desk. He filled his memory banks with her scent, sight, and the sound of her voice.

They sat in chairs facing a soothing aquarium. Neither the gurgling water nor the brightly colored fish calmed his
nerves.
Too soon, a nurse called her name. Christian and March exchanged a glance, and the process began. He bent, brushed a kiss to her cheek, refusing to kiss her lips. A real kiss was too much like goodbye. The nurse smiled, looking sympathetic, and told him how to find the waiting room. He’d seen the beige and white area where relatives waited and watched. In front of the hospital, he’d noticed a small garden. His footsteps took him there, and he sank down on a lush carpet of grass. Flowers perfumed the summer morning. He found no comfort in the beauty.

Alone, he could go into sleep mode and be unaware of the passage of time.

He’d been in the garden ten minutes when a woman wearing a pink ball cap invaded his haven. As she came nearer, it became evident that she had no eyelashes or eyebrows. Embroidered on her hat was a breast cancer ribbon. Her chest was flat where there should have been breasts. His
heart
ached for this stranger and for his March, even now in surgery. The woman turned her head, saw him sitting, knees drawn to his chin, his arms wrapped around his legs, in a huddle.