Love For Sale (7 page)

Heedless of the people gawking at them, he danced two steps ahead, clamped his hand to his heart and sang. “I got you, babe.”

Every night and morning, they made love, each learning the other’s turn-ons. He was the gentle, intense lover she’d asked Mayfair to program. In their wanderings, they ventured farther from the city into the countryside. They rented a car and drove to Cornwall to visit the crumbled site of King Arthur’s Tintagel, the sea crashing into the cave below, Merlin’s Cave. She felt like Guinevere with her beloved Lancelot. A vision of Paul as Arthur flickered before her eyes. Would her ex try to separate the lovers?

One night, they dined at an elegant, pricey restaurant, he in his suit; she in the Oscar de la Renta. Waiters uniformed in formal white shirts and tuxedo pants served five courses beginning with lobster bisque and ending with chocolate Grand Marnier cake. March discreetly ate portions of Christian’s meal so his plate didn’t look untouched. Their first blissful week fled by, though they grasped at each moment trying to hold back time. Not one regret troubled March. Finally, with forty in the rearview mirror, she was happy.

****

At eleven on a rainy Sunday morning, Ben ferried them to the airport.

Homeward Bound!

Was it only nine days ago that I ripped the ad from the magazine, played hooky from work, and sang along with the Simon and Garfunkel CD, never dreaming in two days I’d be head over heels in love?

The clerk gawked at Christian as he loaded their luggage onto the airline scales. He smiled and said he hoped Houston weather was better. Everywhere, people noticed them, some with envy, perhaps; others with smiles. Christian was so striking, she was sure he drew the attention, but she felt radiant. In the mirrors and shop windows, she saw a handsome couple in love. March pictured them enveloped in a golden glow of happiness.

The week in London had been an idyll, a space out of time. On the flight home, reality visited March, and her heart sank. She couldn’t hide Christian in her apartment forever, didn’t want to, in fact, but she dreaded the day she’d have to confront her ex and the boys with her perfect new husband. What other people or even Paul thought was of no concern. The boys mattered a great deal.

From the airport home, they cuddled close in a shuttle. At one time, public shows of affection would have embarrassed March. In nine days, she’d changed, and her life would never again be the same.

“We’re almost home,” she said, actually glad.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your place.”

“Our place, but I think we’ll move.” She toyed with the ends of his soft hair. “The apartment is very small.”

The real reason was to escape judgment by Paul and the boys. March was starting a new life and needed to abandon the past.

As they walked down the shaded path to the apartment, he said, “I’ll find work. I know I was dreadfully expensive.”

March was tense as a drawn bow. Any minute, one of her ex-family might turn a corner. “Darling, you can’t work until you have the work permit.”

“Illegal aliens work without permits.” He smiled, and her heart hitched. “I doubt I could teach or work at NASA, but there are jobs to be had. You’ll be away during the day. I should do
something
useful.”

Linking arms, she guided him home.
You don’t know how much you’ve already done for me.
“We’ll see,” she said teasingly and nudged him in the side. “I’d hate for you to be arrested picking fruit.”

Christian laughed, shaking his head. “Climbing trees isn’t a problem.”

“Jail is.” March looked at the heavy luggage he towed and at the winding staircase. “Getting the cases up the stairs is going to be a chore.”

Maybe that was a silly thing to say. In movies, like
The Bionic Man
, androids lifted cars.

One in each hand, he hoisted the suitcases and climbed the narrow staircase as if he were carrying two empty grocery bags not one hundred pounds. She suspected Christian would amaze her often. At the front door, she tiptoed to brush her lips to his mouth. He cradled her head in his hands, deepening the kiss. Her eyes drifted closed, and her body melted against him. Such glorious pleasure was sinful. He released her, his eyes a magnetic darker blue. The intensity of his gaze thrilled and excited her. A hot fantasy of making love on the balcony stalled her breath. In self-defense, she inserted the key into the lock.

“Hi, March.”

She started at the sound of her name and spun toward the speaker. Her next-door neighbor stood at the foot of the stairs. How long had she been there? Had she watched them kissing?

“Hello, Liz,” she called. “How are you?”

Liz shaded her eyes, looking at Christian. “Good. You been on vacation?”

March knew the other woman was bursting to find out who Christian was. At least in the beginning, she and her sweetheart were going to generate a lot of curiosity.

“Yes.” March finished opening the door, letting Liz squirm for an introduction.

“Hullo, Liz.” Christian waved down to the sexy blonde. “I’m Christian.”

“Nice to meet you, Christian.” She placed a foot on the bottom step, emphasizing her long legs and very short shorts. “I bought a watermelon today. Want to settle your luggage and come down?”

March suffered a sting of jealousy, but Christian seemed not to notice Liz’ butt cheek peeking from the tattered cuff of the painted-on denim shorts.

“Perhaps, another time. We’ve had a long flight. Pleasure to meet you.” He turned to the luggage, hauling both heavy pieces into the apartment.

Smooth, Christian.
He really handled the situation well.
Note to March: No more concerns about charm or social adeptness.

“Later.” March waved, hurried inside and closed the door on the outside world, sequestering her and her dream man in their private version of heaven. “I’ll start unpacking, if you’ll pour a couple of Mimosas. Champagne and orange juice in the fridge.”

Christian ran his long fingers along the back of the sofa. “March, sit down. I’ll make a Mimosa for you. Later, I can unpack, or we can unpack together.” He beckoned. “Come, we’ll cuddle on the sofa.”

“You know exactly the right thing to say. Cuddling sounds good.” She sank down onto the couch, and he massaged her shoulders, fingertips kneading sore muscles.

“Are you not happy to be home? You’re tense.”

“I’m happy but a little sad. We had such a great time in England.” She inhaled deeply, letting her head fall back. “You give a good massage. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Silence stretched the moment. March wriggled around to look at him. Motionless, he gazed into the distance, a tiny frown puckering his brow. He seemeded focused on something far way. Had she offended him? The entire week in London, they hadn’t disagreed on anything.

“You’re quiet suddenly.” She rose to her knees, faced him, stroking his hand.

“Sorry. You asked if there was anything I couldn’t do. I was silent while I scanned my memory banks. I can’t find any instance when I’d lack the knowledge or physical capability.”

He sounded like a robot.

March shuddered. “Shall I make the drinks?”

“Stay where you are, dear. Transatlantic flights are tiring. Eight hours in those cramped seats, you must be exhausted.” He sauntered into the small kitchen, opened the fridge, and produced the champagne with a flourish.

“You don’t get tired, do you?” She hated being reminded he wasn’t human.
Last Note to Self: Stop thinking he isn’t human.

He shook his head. “Where are the champagne glasses?”

God, he was beautiful standing there with an orange juice carton in his hand. Looking at him, her heart tripped over a beat. She’d never had much luck in the romance department…until nine days ago. Did it matter that he was programmed to love her? Melissa had said he seemed to love her before he was prepared. March had known she loved him the moment she saw him.

“March?” He gestured at the cabinets. “Champers glasses?”

“Oh, sorry. They’re in the antique cabinet. Mom gave me that piece. It belonged to her grandmother. The wood is American black walnut.”

He held two sparkling flutes aloft. “Lovely.”

The champagne glasses were the only Waterford she owned. After the divorce, with Paul keeping the china and crystal, she’d bought the four glasses on eBay. Tonight’s small celebration was the most important of her life. The lead crystal was definitely required. A man with a purpose, he strode from the kitchen and delivered a Mimosa.

Pulling the ottoman that served as her coffee table closer, he offered a black ceramic coaster. Their fingers brushed. A thrill as hot as lightning zipped through her. She never wanted that feeling to go away. He placed her drink on the decorative silver tray, his empty glass beside it.

She smiled, happy beyond words. “You don’t have to pretend to drink with me.”

“I want to.” He returned her smile, and the light in his eyes made her feel as effervescent as the champagne.

As she took her first sip, the telephone rang. March flinched at the interruption, the hair at her nape quivering. No need to be psychic to predict the caller. Dread gripped her by the scruff of the neck and shook her.

As the phone continued to jangle her nerves, Christian frowned. “Shall I?”

March slid down on the sofa, balancing her drink on her stomach. “Let it ring.”

“It could be one of the boys.”

She straightened. “How do you know about the boys?”

“Your profile,” he said as if the obvious were amusing. “Every aspect was fed into my memory. That’s why you are required to complete the form in such detail.”

“You know everything about me.” She blew out a long sigh. “I know so little of you.”

“Not everything. I’ve much to discover and explore. There’s little about me to know until you arrived at Mayfair.” He raised his glass in an imaginary toast. “We’ll have fun learning together.”

“Absolutely. To us.” She tapped her flute to his, crystal chiming.

Finally, the phone stopped the infernal ringing. If she knew Paul, he’d dial her cell. She knew Paul. His ringtone,
All My Ex’s Live in Texas
¸ played from the phone in her handbag. Damn, she didn’t want to deal with a Q&A from her ex. She had much more pleasant activities to pursue.

Christian frowned, looking as if he’d like to cover his ears. “Are you sure you won’t answer, March? Someone is desperately trying to get in touch with you.”

“That someone belongs to my past. I want him to stay in the past.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “Your ex?”

“Yep. I emailed him that I was going on vacation. I didn’t give him my return date. Why is he pestering the holy hell out of me?”

“Regarding the children, perhaps. They’re not yours, but you love them.”

She grabbed the cell. “That detail wasn’t in my profile.”

“I am learning the kind of person you are.” He stroked a finger down her arm, sending a yummy shiver over her. “You would love them.”

March blew him a kiss, wandered to the kitchen and took a deep breath. “Here goes. Hello, Paul. What’s so important?”

“Paul Jr. saw you return from your trip.” He paused. “With a man.”

Her ex tried to put everyone on the defensive. The truth was aggressive but damn difficult to force up her throat. “Yes, with a man. Paul, I’m…engaged.”

“Engaged?” His voice rose. “You went on vacation for a week and came home with a fiancé? Where did you go anyway? Did you meet him on the Internet?”

“A friend introduced us. My week was like a page from
The White Cliffs of Dover.
Something like, ‘I had no thought then of husband or lover, I was a traveler, the guest of a week, yet when they pointed the White Cliffs of Dover, startled I found there were tears on my cheek’.” She held the phone away from her ear, expecting a tirade.

“You and your romance novels. Get a grip, March. This is real life.”

A movement in the living room distracted her. She turned from staring into nowhere and watched Christian walking toward her. Quite simply, he took her breath away, and she lost the thread of her conversation with Paul. He came into the kitchen, halting close enough to embrace her. Her lover delivered the Mimosa with a smile, but his pupils were dilated, shading his eyes darker blue, his expression angry. Mayfair hadn’t even missed that small detail—that strong emotion darkened people’s eyes.

“Why do you take his bullying?” Christian whispered.

“For the boys,” she said aside.

“For the boys.” Anger darkened Paul’s voice. “Don’t bring that son of a bitch around my kids.”

Christian reached for the phone, but March dodged. “No. Let’s not make it worse.”

“What?” Too many beers affected Paul’s enunciation. “Does he want to talk to me? Put him on. I’ll tell him exactly where to get off.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She leaned against the counter, her back rigid. “Calm down, Paul. Why are you acting this way? We’ve been divorced for a year. Our only common denominator is the boys.”

“If he won’t allow you to see them, we’ll petition the court for visitation.” Christian added fuel to the fire.

March was thrilled he was willing to stick up for her, but at the moment, she wished he’d shut up. With his strength, her new husband could fold the old one into an envelope. Tears filled her eyes as she wished for the peace of their honeymoon in England.

“Petition the damn court.” Indignation ratcheted Paul’s voice louder. “They’re my kids by blood. Not yours.”

She lost control, her hand fisting at her side. “You’re being a raving asshole.”

Realizing what she’d said, she glanced at Christian. He stifled a laugh, his blue eyes sparkling. She was glad he was amused not shocked to the bottom of his British socks.

“Paul, I’ll visit the kids without…” She refused to give Paul his name. Christian was her beloved dream. Speaking his name to an ogre might break the spell. “My husband will not come with me.”

“Won’t come with you?” Her ex gave a dirty laugh. “That’s a problem, March. Sounds like you need a sex therapist.”

Shaking with anger, she tapped End on the screen. “Damn him. Sometimes, I’d like to strangle him.”