Love For Sale (4 page)

The doors swished open on a rainy night. She was actually in the U.K., had always been charmed by a British accent. Travelers dispersed to black English taxis and limousines lined along the curb. If worse came to worst, she had the name of the hotel in her bag. She’d take a cab. As she stepped off the curb, a man raced toward her, a placard in his hand. Embroidered in red on his stylish white jacket were Mayfair Electronics, Ltd. and a geometric logo.

She waved her arm frantically. “I’m March Morgan, the one you came to pick up.”

“Madam, I beg your pardon. I’m Ben from Mayfair Electronics. Please allow me to take your luggage. I apologize for being late. There was an accident and…” he studied her with a reserved smile. “Ms. Morgan, welcome to London.”

“Ben from Mayfair.” She grinned. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Well I can imagine! Again, my apologies.” He took the handle of her luggage, reached for the canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

“I can manage. It’s not heavy. Only a book and my jewelry.”

Ben’s round British face and twinkling blue eyes reminded her of an actor from the BBC channel. In tailored jacket and black pants, the man was as lean as a blade, his hair a thick gray, groomed stiff like a TV evangelist. “No, no, allow me.”

He settled the bag on top of her case, and faultlessly guided her through the melee of sounds, sights and foreign smells. Alone, she had to navigate her tangled feelings. Dread blended with anticipation and an ample dash of guilt. Ben ushered her to a white Rolls Royce. The expensive car looked offended to be parked between lesser neighbors. With an old-fashioned bow, he opened the door and handed her into the luxury of soft, tan leather seats.

“The bar is fully stocked,” he said. “I’ll pour if you like.”

A drink might settle her nerves. “Champagne?”

“Most certainly.” He walked around the hood, opened the door and flipped the latch on a polished wood compartment between the seats.

Smiling, Ben presented champagne in a cut-glass flute then returned to the driver’s seat. Two minutes after his ass hit the leather, classical piano drifted through the vehicle. March rested her head on the back of the seat, closed her eyes, and let the music and motion lull her into a daydream of what tomorrow would bring. Tonight, in a Rolls Royce, she imagined she could pay any price. At 10:00 in the morning, she was afraid any pretense would be shattered.

The Rolls joined the stream of traffic toward the city. March peered out the window, but the misty rain obscured the treasures of London. A sea of taillights and headlights swept them down the motorway. She was happy with her champagne…and her decision to visit Mayfair.
Almost too happy to wait or to sit still
. Tomorrow seemed like weeks away. She dared not think too much, but she dared to dream. Sipping bubbly, she watched the shapes of the old buildings scroll by. The chauffeur probably knew why she was here. A thousand questions burned her throat.

March swallowed hard. “Have you seen the Special Editions?”

“I have.” He glanced at her in the rearview. “They are called Special Editions for a reason. They are totally amazing. If my wife would allow it, I’d empty my savings account to buy Monica. She’s exquisite.”

“I’m sure any wife would be jealous of perfection. I know I would.”
Paul would dismantle the android limb by limb.
She laughed, enjoying the feel-good moment. “Monica? So, they are named?”

“Each of the model lines is named. The females are Monica, Dawn, Georgia, Marguerite and Samantha. It is anticipated that the purchaser will give his or her companion a personal name. They can be custom ordered as well.”

“That’s good to know.” March refilled her glass. “What are the male model names?”

“Trevor, Stuart, Marcus, Daniel and Christian.”

“Nice strong names. In fact, Christian is my favorite name.” The champagne warmed her stomach, flushed her cheeks, and loosened her tongue. “I might buy one.”

He captured her gaze in the rearview, smiled, and nodded. “I’m sure you will.”

The man sounded confident she’d return home with an android. Which model would catch her fancy? Long after Ben’s attention returned to the road, March studied her reflection in the window. She decided she didn’t look like a fool. Would Trevor, Stuart, Marcus, Daniel, or Christian notice her light brown tresses were due a highlighting? Were they programmed not to care?

Ben swung the Rolls to the curb in front of a Georgian building, opened the door and walked her to the check-in counter.

“Goodnight, Ms. Morgan.” He turned her luggage, except the canvas bag, over to a bellman. “I hope you enjoy your stay in London.”

“Thanks, Ben.” She slipped ten dollars into his hand.

He shook his head and returned the money. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan, but no.”

“I insist.” She extended her hand, folded bill in her fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to endanger my position with Mayfair.” When he smiled again, she noticed his front teeth were quite prominent.

It seemed that everything about Mayfair Electronics spelled classy.

The hotel was suitably old, smelled of history, and looked like a page plucked from a travel guide. Not exactly the Ritz, but the ambiance appealed to March more than a modern hotel. Her room was small, the bed antique. The community bathroom was down the hall. Tucked in an alcove were a round porcelain sink and a gold mirror. A radiator hissed along the wall beneath the window.

“I’ll skip dinner. I’m too excited to eat,” she told the woman smiling at her in the old-fashioned looking glass.

Chapter 3

“Ms. Morgan.” A pretty Asian girl in the Mayfair uniform of red and white gestured for her to rise. “My name is Melissa. If you’ll follow me, we’ll meet the boys.”

March’s stomach flipped. The expectation and anticipation would soon be satisfied. She stood, picking up the completed documents from the inlaid desk. On the numerous pages, March Morgan was set forth in intimate detail.

“Hello, Melissa. Call me March. Ms. Morgan sounds old.”

The application consisted of an initial interview, the ton of paperwork, and a final interview when she’d chosen a companion. Mayfair didn’t call the Special Editions
androids.
Her hand trembled as she handed the forms to the girl. The time had arrived. She could scarcely hear over the pounding of her heart and rush of blood in her ears.

Walking ahead, Melissa glanced over her shoulder. “Things like hair and eye color can be customized as can the features if you wish and have a photograph of what you want. Mayfair plans to sell only ten Special Editions initially. In the second production, none will be an exact replica of the first in that particular line.”

“Why only ten?” March learned what it meant for your heart to skip a beat. What if she hadn’t surrendered to impulse—fate—and hurried to England?

“Society isn’t advanced enough to accept androids as a different race, if you will.”

March studied her guide as she followed Melissa along a Jacobean paneled corridor decorated with Impressionist art. She envied the other woman’s haircut. The black straight hair swept into a nice angle at the collarbone. March’s style was much the same, but her baby fine hair had a mind of its own. Their footsteps on the polished oak floor echoed in the silence. Melissa paused at ornate brass double doors and flashed her badge at the card reader. She stood aside, waving March ahead.

Her heart leapt into her throat. A tremor passed through her as she stepped over the threshold into old world glamour. A round mahogany table with gargoyle feet claimed center stage in the expanse carpeted with exquisite Persian rugs. Walls of pale blue silk soared to a plastered ceiling. Two brocade sofas flanked the crackling fire. The opulence was overwhelming.

What the hell am I doing here? I’m way out of my depth.
She couldn’t even afford the gold-framed mirror capturing her terrified expression.

“Melissa, I think I’ve made a mistake in coming.” She turned, but the other woman clasped her hand.

“You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t take this chance.” She smiled encouragement. “I’m a Special Edition customized for our first client. Each one of us is different. The changes may be slight, but no two are alike, exactly as with humans. You wouldn’t want to show up at a formal party with the same dress as another woman.”

March’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s unbelievable.” She shook her head slowly. “You are a Special Edition?”

The pretty android nodded and snapped the doors closed behind them. Here too was a card reader on the wall. The only way out was with a badge. A strange thought blazed through March’s mind. Was this the moment the door closes, and you discover you’re imprisoned in some bizarre experiment? Ridiculous, but a shiver played over her. What if one of the units malfunctioned?

“Though you indicated your preference is for a man, we always introduce the girls as well to make the fellows feel less like they are on display.” Melissa strode across the room to an arched doorway. “Come, greet our visitor from America.”

At the sound of footsteps, March tensed. She didn’t know what she’d expected, maybe for the androids to enter one by one for her inspection. An auburn-haired couple wearing jeans and Mayfair t-shirts were the first to step into the lamplight. In a tuxedo, the singer Daniel, laughing with a gorgeous blonde, came next. A stunning man with the high cheekbones and long straight hair of a Native American smiled at her.

Motionless, she watched the parade of beauty, but none of them struck the special chord that would make her heart sing. They can be customized, she reminded herself. Still, it took more than looks to make her fall in love.

Then
he
strode through the door, and her heart did a double backflip. She inhaled a soft gasp.
He
was perfect, no customization needed. The only programming required was a sense of humor and an intense libido. Lord, she wanted to touch him, run her fingers through his hair and kiss that luscious mouth.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” His voice defined musical and played that special chord she’d dreamed of. “I was on the phone.”

The Special Editions had gathered around her. The auburn-haired woman whispered a laugh. “Is there any need for more than one introduction, Ms. Morgan?”

That someone was speaking barely registered. March didn’t respond. She was speechless and couldn’t peel her gaze off the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His eyes were crystalline blue, his hair wheat colored. She’d wanted sparks. She’d gotten fireworks! No way in hell was she leaving London without him.

Spellbound, March was drawn one step toward perfection, her willful eyes traveling over his body, pausing at his zipper, sliding down his long legs. The wasted years looped through her memory, regret stinging her eyes.

Melissa squeezed her hand. “Ah, you like our blond.” She beckoned. “Come, Christian.”

In tight jeans and a tux jacket with plaid cummerbund and bow tie, her dream man paused in the light of a crystal and gold chandelier. His shoulder-length hair shone like silk. Mischief sparkled in his eyes. Full lips parted on a smile, his teeth white and even. March loved a beautiful smile, and everything inside her melted.

Their eyes met and held. He strode toward her as if they were alone in the opulent room. Each step he took nearer, her body heated hotter. How could she so desire a man she was meeting for the first time?
For forty years, I’ve carried his picture in my heart.

He halted an inch outside her comfort zone, close enough to touch. March forgot to breathe. Mesmerized, she raised her hand to caress his cheek but let it fall.

“Don’t be afraid.” His voice was as sensual as a lover’s whisper. “I won’t hurt you. Not now, not ever.”

“My name is March,” she heard herself say.

He grinned and winked, stroking her hair back from her cheek. “The wild, windy month of March.”

Shocked that he was the living image of her dreams, she said breathlessly, “And you’re Christian.”

“Christian is my model name. A name of your choice would be your gift to me.” He lifted his chin slightly and held out a strong hand with long, perfectly formed fingers.

“My gift to you, if you were…”
Mine.

He leaned close, silken hair brushing her face. His breath was warm on her cheek, and a delicious shiver rippled over her. The moment, the wonder at it all, held her heart in check. She felt numb yet vibrantly alive, as if she’d been given sight after years of blindness.
I’m staring, but I simply can’t surrender the vision of him at last.

In that incredibly beautiful voice, he whispered, “I have always been yours.”

He stood back, his soft smile and the light in his eyes warming her. They gazed into each other’s eyes, the silence between them filled with hopes and promises. In the faceted depths of his blue eyes, she saw confirmation of his feelings. She had no doubts about hers. Finally, March Morgan was head-over-heels in love…with a virtual stranger.

“Choice made.” Melissa folded her hands in front of her.

March couldn’t tear her gaze from his sparkling blue eyes. “You are so beautiful. I am so lucky.”

He touched her arm—the lightest caress of a long, elegant…human finger. “I am the lucky one. You are more than beautiful, March. It’s easy to see that you are a good, kind, and caring woman as well.”

March breathed a laugh. Christian, yes, that’s what she would name perfection. He cradled her face between his hands. Spellbound, she watched him lower his mouth to hers. He wisped the barest of kisses to her lips. Trembling, she threaded her fingers in his glorious hair and deepened the kiss, her tongue plunging into his satin mouth. She kissed him with all the thwarted passion of the long lonely years. He hugged her close to his denim-sheathed body. Melissa and nine exquisite creations watched, but March didn’t care. She melted into his embrace, loving the feel of lean muscle against her softness.

A chill settled on her as she imagined Michael asking, “Mom, who is this guy?”

She’d think about that tomorrow—or next week or the next—when they came to claim her from paradise.

“Shall we leave you two alone?” Melissa’s soft chuckle whiplashed March out of Christian’s arms.