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Authors: Linda Nightingale

Tags: #Futuristic/Sci-Fi,Fantasy

Love For Sale (18 page)

BOOK: Love For Sale
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“March, you must seriously consider returning him for a full refund. Mayfair will send someone for him at no expense to you. We can’t afford for a faulty unit to expose our program. I’m sure we could reimburse you for your time and trouble as well.”

Why was Melissa
insisting
she return Christian? “That won’t be necessary.”

Fifteen minutes later, March stared in horror at the nightclub with its marquee advertising male dancers, featuring their new sensation Chris.

“Damn you, Liz.” A sob caught in March’s throat. “Damn you to hell and back. I was so confident he loved me—was programmed to love me—I didn’t see the real danger. You wily bitch, you finally seduced him. Maybe not into your bed
yet,
but into your den.”

Proud and dignified, her poor Christian was being stupidly noble. He was sacrificing himself for her. How humiliated he must have been begging Liz for a job. Even more so, to shed his clothes in front of a leering audience who’d devour his beauty and grace like hungry animals.

March rested her forehead on the steering wheel, sobbing.

Chapter 12

A minute later, she dried her eyes, swallowed her tears, and struck the steering wheel with her fist. “Liz, I’m going to pay you a little visit. The tracking system says Christian is here, but I want to know what you had to do with his leaving.”

In a fury, March drove home without remembering the route she took. She slammed the car door, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and glancing at her watch. Nine a.m. The slinky blonde would probably be in bed, but she was in for a rude awakening. She strode down the path, anger seething in her guts.

And met Liz coming from the front gate.

“You look pissed off.” Liz arched her brows, a smug, secretive look on her heart-shaped face.

“I am pissed off. At you. Just getting home?” Imagining the bitch with Christian heated anger to boiling. March had to concentrate not to fist her hands.

Liz cocked a hip, irritated now, narrowing her eyes. “If it is any of your business, Randy, that’s my boss, took me to breakfast.”

“Where is Christian?” She itched to wrap her hands around Liz’s long neck and strangle her. She’d never been in a fight in her life, never had the urge—until this moment.

“He came to my apartment and said you two had broken up.” Liz gave her satiny blonde hair an infuriating toss.

March took that shot in the stomach, the pain almost unbearable. “Well, we haven’t. Did you finally beg him into your bed?”

“Look, he came to me.” Liz straightened to her full height, several inches taller than March. “He didn’t go to bed with me. He was so hot for me we couldn’t make it to the bedroom. We did it on the living room rug. Now are you happy?”

Happy? March was in a blind fury—and cut to her very soul. The internal wound began to hemorrhage. She thought she was going to throw up on Liz’s six-inch heels. They said love is blind, but hate’s vision was twenty-twenty. “You lying whore. Where is he?”

“Lying, am I?” Liz sneered. “You poor bitch, he’s not coming back. He’s living at the club. He’s the best dancer Randy has. He likes it, and he’s making a ton of money.”

March almost blurted, “How do I get into this apartment?” but the blonde trollop would run straight to Christian and warn him. The battle for the handsome android would have to wait until tonight. March planned to be in the audience when Christian bounced his fine ass into that nightclub.

“He’s addicted to the stage, now. You should see him up there strutting his stuff.” Liz’s malicious smile strained March’s tenuous control. “Women can’t keep their hands off him.”

Liz aimed every word to hurt March, succeeding admirably. She focused on the anger sizzling beneath her skin. These women who couldn’t keep their hands off him, including the bitch glaring at her, were handling her
property
. She’d traveled across an ocean to buy him, signed the contract for an exorbitant amount. He belonged to her. If he had to be reprogrammed, she’d accompany him into the
makeover chamber
, watch them every minute, but regret losing the man he’d been until today.

Angry tears scalded her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d let Liz see her cry. Suddenly, without willing it, her hand was drawn back to strike.

Liz winced, her chin jutted belligerently. “You better not even try.”

“Don’t count your money while you’re sitting at the table, Liz. The dealing isn’t done.” March paraphrased the lyrics from Kenny Rogers’
The Gambler
.

“How incredibly hokey,” the other woman said, as March whirled and stalked away.

Tonight, March intended to repossess her man.

****

Christian danced sensuously close to the chair occupied by a blushing young woman. He braced his hands on her shoulders and undulated, his hips inches from her face. As if it had a will of its own, the future bride’s hand stroked his stomach. He straightened, lifting the chair until they were eye-to-eye. She squealed, grabbing the sides, but smiling and her eyes twinkling. He winked, returned her to the floor, and continued his erotic ballet.

“The girls paid for a lap dance. I want you,” his victim said.

The music switched from the thudding, sensual beat to the old song
Shout
. The women threw their hands into the air, jumping with the lyrics. He strode to the edge of the stage, prepared, but never eager, to strip for hundreds of pairs of hungry eyes.

Then he saw her, memories rushing over him on a wave of pleasure…and remorse.

March stood at the lip of the stage, staring at him. She was a quiet, still figure in the chaos, and there were tears in her eyes. Her pain struck a chord in him. He coasted to a halt at the edge, feeling as if he might plunge to his death. God, she was pale.

The women jumped to touch his boots, crying, “Take it off, Chris. Take it all off.”

March winced, closed her eyes. When she opened them, determination blazed in their depths. She braced her hands on the corner and vaulted to the stage. Heedless of the bouncer shouting for her to get off the stage, she strode through the spotlights, the colors tinting her paleness, and gripped his arm.

“Put your clothes on, Christian. Your career is finished as of now.” Eyes blazing, she gave him an angry shake. “You’re coming with me. Don’t even think of refusing. I’ve spoken with Mayfair.”

“Hey, bitch, get off the stage,” the redhead called.

“Yeah, girl, whatcha’ doing with our man!”

More shouts and rude remarks rose from the crowd, but Christian scarcely heard. Trapped in March’s flaming gaze, he stood motionless.

As if I want to refuse when your face, and your face alone, has haunted my sleep mode and every thought since I left you.
He nodded, thanking all the mechanical gods that she’d come for him.

The bouncer climbed to the stage. “Lady, you have to get off the stage.”

Christian waved him away. “She’s with me.” He glanced at March’s stony expression. “Or I’m with her. We’re leaving, Dan.”

The big, burly man gaped at Christian as if he’d sprouted wings. With March, he felt like he could fly. How he’d missed her in the one day of separation. The DJ cranked the music louder, the crowd getting restless, wondering if the interruption was part of the act. David danced from behind the curtain, rescuing the show. Elated, Christian followed in March’s wake, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers. The jacket, shirt, and bow tie lay in a puddle on the floor beside the bride-to-be staring after him as if he’d been a mirage.

The next few hours promised to be brutal. It was obvious March thought he enjoyed his new career, when, in fact, the opposite was true. One night’s tips weren’t a fortune, but he had something to contribute to their relationship. He felt the heat of Liz’s gaze on his back. He hoped his actions wouldn’t reflect negatively on her. She meant well. What did she think of March’s appearance and his sudden departure? Actually, her opinions were of no consequence. Christian had been
repossessed
. He was going home.

Or was he? Indeed, March might rush him to the airport with a one-way ticket to London. At the end of the day, he hadn’t thought his plan to make some money through. He’d never expected her to find him, but to return to her with something to contribute. His heart skipped a beat of fear. Would she exchange the problematic unit for a new model without his independent streak? The car loomed ahead. Troubled about her welfare and his future, he stepped in front of March to open the driver’s door.

She shot him a killer look, then slid into the seat. “Just get into the passenger seat.”

Yes, the journey would be long and tense…best not think of the apartment as home anymore.

He sank into the car, crossing his arms. As the sedan sped along Richmond Avenue, faster than March normally drove, the silence gnawed at his nerves. “Aren’t you going to speak to me? Talk to me, March. I know you have lots to say.”

She shook her head, refused to speak.

“Please don’t be angry.” He unfolded his arms, wishing to appear approachable. “I can explain everything. Perhaps, it is better to wait until we reach ho…your apartment. I have something for you.”

The silence broke on a rush of accusations. “I can’t believe you ran away with that damned Liz. She told me you had sex with her. On the living room floor. Couldn’t wait to stick it to her?” Angry, heartbroken tears stained her voice. “Tell me the truth or I will return you to Mayfair in exchange for another android of the Christian line.”

So, it would be as he feared. March intended to rid herself of a thorn in her side. “I did not have sex with Liz. That is the absolute truth. I never even considered it. My programming—”

“Your programming is screwed way the hell up. You weren’t supposed to be capable of leaving me sick and alone. Oh, hell, just in leaving me period. You were supposed to love me. I should hate you…” Her mouth puckered in her battle against tears.

He held up a shaking hand. “Please, March, if you return me, order them to deactivate me and reuse the parts. I can’t bear—”

She gasped a breath. “But I don’t hate you. That’s the problem.”

“The problem seems to be that I love you, and you love me. Give me the opportunity to explain.” He ached to touch her—touching her might heal the wounds they’d dealt each other, but he dared not even brush a fingertip to her cheek.

She was an emotional time bomb that might explode in his hand. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Little tremors shook her body as she fought some inner war. “You hurt me more than I thought possible.”

“Oh, God, March, you are the last one I would want to hurt. Pull over, and I’ll tell you now all there is to tell. Why I did what I did, and what happened in the one night I was lost and as lonely as you were.”

She swung the car into a Walgreen’s parking lot. “Okay. Start talking while I’m still inclined to listen.”

“Since I arrived, you’ve had nothing but problems. From your family, financial worries, including your payment on me, and Liz’s attempts to seduce me. I had tried every avenue to obtain work to help you with the monetary burden and, perhaps, silence at least one of your ex’s accusations. I
needed
to help. So, that morning, I went to Liz’s door and asked about a position at the club. She did her usual seduction routine, but I think she finally realized it would never work.

“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.”

BOOK: Love For Sale
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