Bradley's Whistle
Author: Kirsty Dallas
Date: 2015-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Humor; Contemporary Romance; Chick Lit; Contemporary; Erotica
Description: Release Date - August 14th - Can be read as standalone Was he a hitman? A Navy Seal? Gigolo? I had no idea what Bradley Emerson did for a living. I’d figure it out though, secrets didn’t sit well with me and I loved a challenge. ~ Wiska I wanted her. I didn’t want to want her. The brain in my head was no longer in control of this vessel. Wanting her went against my rules, but apparently my male member was a rule breaker. ~ Bradley This is NOT a dark romance. Nor is it smut...This is a slightly silly, LOL read, with a lighthearted look at the kinkier side of life. It comes served with a dash of

By Kirsty Dallas

Copyright © 2015 Kirsty Dallas

EBOOK EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. While writing this book I broke out in a sweat on the odd occasion. Not an ugly man sweat with saturated pits, but a delicate perspiration on my brow. One day I even kicked my toe on the corner of my desk and it bled, causing me to cry (just a little). I wrote this book and literally gave it my very own BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS, so don’t steal it . . . Quote it if you wish, tell your friends about it, create shit-hot trailers and teasers (I love those), just please, DON’T STEAL IT!!

My ‘because’ novel,

Because you asked for it.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Bradley

I stood before my full length mirror and gaped at my sorry reflection. I’d barely had more than twelve hours of sleep in the last three days; my eyes were bloodshot and weary, my jaw and chin held a healthy layer of stubble. I looked like shit . . . I felt like shit. My suit was immaculate, though it didn’t hide the worn-out, haggard man wearing it. I ran my fingers though my blond hair, pushing it back from my eyes. It needed to be cut, but over the last six months, I hadn’t had much time to do anything other than eat, shit, and work. Being the financial advisor to New York’s Mafia crime lord, Willie Bianco, was taking its toll. Stocks had taken a hit recently, which had required some major money shuffling on my part, but having my nuts threatened with dissecting was enough motivation to fix the fucking mess. I knew Willie wouldn’t actually dissect my willie . . . mostly.

I had started working for Willie when I was twenty-two-years-old, and over the last eleven years, I had earned him and his family millions. As his golden boy, I could pretty much ask him for anything I damn well wanted, which included a one way ticket to Europe. I now call London my home, though I was born and raised in America, specifically New York, and I spent my teenage years in Florida. My entire family still lived there, as well as most of my friends, but in an effort to keep them clueless about my career, I put as many miles as possible between them and my slightly felonious occupation. Mind you, everything I did was legal, even if the money I did it with had been acquired in a somewhat illegal manner. Willie had numerous legal business ventures that created income, one of which was Brutal Babes, one of the more successful pornographic production companies in the US. Even though the company was legit, the drugs they dealt were most definitely not.

At first, I had hated London.  The weather was shitty; most of the time it was cold and wet, but when it was hot, the temperature climbed to such sweltering levels I feared the heat would somehow damage my precious danglies contained in my boxer briefs.

The diversity of the people was interesting, and the history in the buildings and surrounding cities was a never ending source of architectural enjoyment. My best friend, Decker, would love the buildings. I could just picture him gaping in awe and rambling on about architraves and eaves from dusk ’til dawn. Probably one of the many reasons I hadn’t encouraged him to visit; that man could bore me to death with his passion for bricks and mortar. Not to mention the fact he was a well-known porn star and would have every woman in a five mile radius dropping to their knees. Even though he had officially retired, women still recognized him, and it pissed me off. Jealous much? Fuck yeah! I had always come second where Decker was concerned, and I mean that literally and figuratively. If we were prowling for women, Decker attracted them. Whoever he left behind would finally notice me, and trust me, being second choice gets old real fast. As a typical horny, young, adult male, I couldn’t have cared less, as long as I got laid, and the fact Decker was doing all the work luring the women . . . well, I was happy to pick up the leftovers. As time went by though, I wanted to be first, just once. I’d lost track of how many times I wished a woman would turn her sultry gaze on me and ignore the porn star extraordinaire at my side.

I pressed the blinking button on my answering machine and listened to Decker’s easygoing voice once more; it held an undercurrent of humor which just pissed me off. He had left the message yesterday, and since I’d worked all night, I’d only heard it a few scant hours ago. This was payback, a reminder of the favor he had done for me when I had caught him at a drunken low point several months ago and asked him to collect my cousin, Andi, from the airport. He had bitched and moaned about that for weeks, but the fucker should be kissing my ass now, not claiming an IO fucking U. Now he was happily shacked up with Andi and living the domesticated dream, while I was working myself into an early grave while licking the wounds of a broken heart.

I shook my head in disgust as I moved around my apartment, picking up dirty clothes and trying to make it guest-worthy. No, not a broken heart, but maybe a broken dick. My eyes automatically dropped to said dick, hidden behind my eight hundred pound Hugo Boss suit. It wasn’t physically broken, just disappointed. For a moment I thought I’d found my own domesticated dream in the form of a stunning American porn star—yes, porn star. Don’t judge me; porn stars are people, too—only to discover she didn’t share my feelings. Well, that had been . . . awkward. She’d even used the infamous words, “it’s not you, it’s me”—I hated those fucking words. The entire experience had been a knock to my pride that I tried hard to ignore. Leah hadn’t been in love with me; I hadn’t been her it. I snorted at her romantic notion of finding her it. It was the one she would drop her career for, and I wasn’t the one, and call me old-fashioned, but I couldn’t stand the thought of another man fucking my woman. I knew now that Leah had been right; we hadn’t been in love, but damn, it had been some pretty fine lust.

It wasn’t hard to fall in lust with Leah. She was a gorgeous brunette with a perfect rack, legs long enough to launch an aircraft off, and hells bells, she had perfected the art of fucking. She was every man’s dream come true. Not mine anymore, though. This man would no longer dream about porn stars; even the porn on my computer sat in an untouched folder that I practically hissed at it every time I booted the damn thing up.

This whistle was not whistling for porn stars ever again, nuh-uh, no way. Just the mention of porn pissed me off, and Decker Fucking Steele had the nerve not to ask but demand I pick up one of the female stars of Kink Harder Productions from Heathrow airport in a little under two hours, and then he wanted me to put her up in my spare room for a few weeks. According to Decker, she had shit going down in America, and she needed a time-out. She needed somewhere discreet and safe to hang, so a hotel wouldn’t do. Apparently, Decker trusted me with this girl.

I growled, actually fucking growled, as I grabbed the keys from the somewhat pointless ceramic dish by my front door. I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time before leaving my penthouse suite. The attendant had pressed for an elevator before I had even reached the thing. He was the best elevator attendant I had ever come across. He was also the oldest, and each day I left my suite, I prayed I wouldn’t find him lying in a deathly puddle of old age in front of the elaborate brass doors.

“Sir,” he murmured in a croaky voice that also attested to his longevity. Shit, he had to be nearing ninety!

“I told you, Floyd, just Emerson. No mister, no sir, just Emerson.” No one here called me Bradley; it was a name reserved for family and close friends. In the industry I worked in, I preferred to keep my real name a separate entity, and I wasn’t particularly fond of the name Bradley. It felt too uptight and stiff, which as I glanced at my uptight, stiff reflection in the elevator doors, I admitted the name was highly appropriate right now.

“My apologies, Emerson,” Floyd murmured in a noncommittal tone.

I stepped into the elevator and gave the old man an honest smile. I liked him, even though when I returned home he would go right back to calling me sir. Maybe it was his memory, I pondered as the doors slid shut. He was, after all, a gazillion-years-old.

The drive to the airport was chaotic, and I wished I had called my chauffeur. I forgot I had one most days. He had only been employed to my services a year ago, and I had used his services no more than five times. Being driven around made me feel like a spoiled dick. I preferred the independence of driving myself, even if it did push me to heights of rage I never knew I had. I wasn’t an angry man by nature; I thought of myself as more of a lover than a fighter.

Where Decker was the easy going, comical joker, only too happy to blow off steam with his fists, or dick, I was the more serious, passive aggressive one, freakishly good with numbers, and borderline geeky. Is it a crime to enjoy books and Sudoku?

I had never once been in a fight; punching Decker six months ago was the first time I had ever taken a swing at anything other than the occasional fly or mosquito. It had hurt like a bitch, and I’d decided right then and there I would pay someone else to swing their fists if I needed to rough someone up. I had never had any qualms about using the heavy handed tactics of the Bianco family. If one of my friends or family were threatened, I called the Bianco’s, and they fixed it. If I wanted pizza delivered in under fifteen minutes, I simply dropped the Bianco name. If I wanted the Spanish villa cleared for my own personal use . . . well, the Bianco family made it happen. While I looked after their money, they looked after me. It was a match made in heaven.

Once I reached the airport, I realized just how difficult collecting this porn star was going to be. All I had was a name, and a weird one at that. Wiska James. Surely she traveled under her real name rather than her film pseudonym? I had no idea what she looked like, and I had no idea if she knew what I looked like. I pushed my way through a number of disgruntled passengers standing in line before a car rental desk, and grabbed the attention of a woman who had a classic case of overworked and underpaid. She was young, and if it wasn’t for the dark circles under her eyes and the frustrated look on her face, she would have been cute in that prim and proper British way. I smiled my best panty-dropping smile, and a blush filled her cheeks.

“I don’t suppose you have a piece of paper and a pen I could borrow?” There was a slight twang of English pomp in my American accent, which I knew both confused and intrigued women.

“There is a line, you know,” demanded a woman from somewhere behind me.

I ignored her and kept my attention on the woman behind the desk. She reached for the printer beside her and pulled out a sheet of paper and handed me a pen.

“Do you have a Sharpie back there?” I asked, taking the obnoxious liberty to lean over the counter and check myself. Yeah, I could be an asshole when I wanted to. I spotted the thick black pen and grabbed it. “There we go. Thanks, sweetheart,” I said with a smile as I whipped off the lid. In thick text, I wrote the name Wiska James then shoved the lid back on the pen. “Thank you, honey.” I added a wink, which earned me another blush and a shy smile, then turned my attention back to the gates where people were beginning to pour through.

I joined the line of chauffeurs, once again wishing I had used my own. After twenty minutes, the people coming through the arrival gates had thinned, as had my temper. The last thing I wanted to do was stand around a fucking airport all day long; I was a busy man, and although I had worked until after midnight, I needed to go back into the office today.

When a tiny blonde bombshell strode through the gate, my heart stuttered and my cock jumped with undisguised interest. She was gorgeous: her hair so blonde it was almost white; her skin creamy; her face angelic and perfect; her nose tilted upwards slightly; her lips full. I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes from where I stood, but I’d bet on them being blue. She wore jeans that may have been sprayed on and a t-shirt that clung to her curves and accentuated her breasts, which were a damn good size for such a small woman. Her feet were slipped into a pair of leopard print heels that no doubt added a sway to her hips. A few men followed her out, their eyes glued to what I knew would be a perfect ass. When those color-undetermined eyes looked my way, they lit up, and her pace quickened as she strode towards me.

“Fuck no,” I murmured, and when she kept sauntering in my direction, I groaned. Decker Steele had gone too far.

“Bradley?” she asked, her voice as silky and smooth as her skin.

Blue, light blue with a darker blue ring around the edge, the most flawless eyes I had ever gazed into. Decker . . . was . . . dead.

“Emerson,” I corrected her.

A furrow found its way to her perfect face, right between her perfectly arched brows. “Oh, you’re the driver?” she asked, somewhat confused.

“I’ll be driving,” I answered as my eyes slowly ate up her petite body. She looked like a prima ballerina, not a goddamn porn star!

An oddly high pitched squeal from somewhere behind Wiska caught my attention, and I dragged my gaze from her body of perfect curves. What I saw had my jaw drop open and my head begin a slow shake. Disbelief had struck me silent and immobile. Fuck me, Decker was a dead man walking. I was putting a hit on him the moment I got home. The familiar person in front of me bounced with delirious excitement, his hands doing a ridiculous silent hand clap. When he eventually calmed down, his hand reached out and gripped my chin, forcing my mouth closed.

“While I don’t ordinarily object to a man standing in front of me with his mouth wide open,” Casey winked, “we are in a public place.”

Someone cleared their throat from behind us. Lionel stood there scowling, uncomfortably loaded down with two lavender suitcases and a matching carry-on.

“And you’re taken,” he growled.

“And I’m taken, you lucky devil you,” Casey purred in an attempt to pacify his unimpressed boyfriend.

Decker had not only sent a gorgeous porn star, but Andi’s loud and proud gay neighbors, Casey and Lionel, too. I knew them well enough to know that Decker was going down, and for once, not in a good way.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, my tone far too brisk. Casey, Lionel, nor Wiska seemed to notice, though, or if they did, they ignored my sharp tongue.

“What do you mean?” Casey asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“What are you two doing here?” I tried again.

“You didn’t expect Wiska to travel all that way by herself, did you, Bradley?” Casey scoffed.

“Emerson,” I said through gritted teeth.

Casey waved me off. “You’ll always be Bradley to me. Wiska had never been on a plane before; we couldn’t let her go through that alone. Decker and Andi said you had plenty of room and wouldn’t mind putting us up, too.”

I groaned; this nightmare was morphing into a real life fucking horror story. “For how long?” I somehow managed to force out between gritted teeth.

Casey shrugged. “Until Wiska is settled in.”

Lionel struggled with the suitcases, and I noticed Casey carried nothing.

“And you brought Lionel to carry your luggage?” I wondered out loud.

Casey grinned and winked before spinning around to divest Lionel of one of the suitcases. “Of course not. I brought Lionel to give me orgasms.”

I tried not to smile, but Casey’s crass humor and blunt personality made it difficult to stay serious.

In the meantime, Wiska seemed completely oblivious to the conversation that had transpired between Casey and me, her eyes wide and innocent as she took in her surroundings. She seemed so young, so vibrant, as if the ugliness in life had yet to reach out and touch her. My cock twitched in agreement, finding its own attraction to her obvious beauty. Back the fuck down, boy. I grimaced. She’s far from innocent; she’s a fucking porn star for god’s sake, and I’m not whistling that tune ever again.

I reached for her suitcase.

“So, you’re the famous Bradley?” she asked with a gorgeous smile.

“I prefer to be called Emerson,” I explained, though hearing Bradley roll off her tongue hadn’t been all that horrible.

“Emerson? Andi told me your name was Bradley.” She looked confused again.

Was it so hard for the woman to call me Emerson?

“My name is Bradley Emerson, but only close friends and family call me Bradley. Everyone here calls me Emerson, and I would prefer it if you called me Emerson,” I practically ordered.

“Of course she will, Bradley,” Casey purred, and for a split second, I wanted to slap the man.

Slap him? Like a fucking girl? I needed someone to slap me. I wanted to wake up from this ridiculous dream.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bradley Emerson. I’m Wiska.” Her hand was held out in front of me, and I had to switch her suitcase to my opposite hand to take her tiny digits in mine.

“What’s your real name?” I asked gruffly. There was no way I was calling her by her porn name.

“Her real name is Wiska James, Bradley,” Lionel said from my side in an unamused tone. “It’s Ukrainian,” he elaborated.

Oh, well, fuck me. With that knowledge, I found myself pleasantly warmed and intrigued by her name. Wiska, it sounded like the kind of name you would breathe while licking every inch of her body. Hell no! Not . . . gonna . . . happen!

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I grumbled as I began to walk away.

I didn’t check to see if the queersome threesome was following me; I just walked. I was being an asshole, but fuck it. Decker had some hard-core explaining to do, and I had to figure a way to fit three more people into my two bedroom suite. Maybe I could find Casey and Lionel a hotel; I’d pay for them to stay in a five-star, exclusive fucker if I had to. To hell with it, I’d put all three of them up in one, ’cause there was no way I was going to be able to keep my hands off the walking wet dream behind me.

CHAPTER 2

Wiska

Damn, this place was big! I had grown up in New York, so I was used to big cities, but London was something else. It was dark, almost harsh, and a little scary. For not the first time, I sent a little silent thank you to Andi and Decker for demanding Lionel and Casey escort me to London. I could never have done this on my own; traveling made me nervous. I usually preferred to keep my feet on the ground, in familiar territory. I was somewhat of a homebody, but I had to admit, being in another country was exhilarating. If it hadn’t been for Kasper Karish, my feet would still be planted firmly back in New York.

Kasper, the biggest mistake of my life—not my only mistake, ’cause damn, my life was filled with mistakes—but Kasper ate the cake. Or was it took the cake or baked the cake? I shrugged, it was probably none of those because, according to Kasper, I never got anything right. And with that thought came anger. The only person to ever claim I was stupid had been Kasper, and he had been an unfaithful, lying, belittling slut-nugget, and yet I embraced his words as if they were gospel. I had to purge his voice from my brain somehow, and I kind of wished I drank alcohol. Maybe the numbing sensation from drinking a case of beer would help me forget my problems for a while.

I wasn’t a stupid woman; in fact, I was quite bright. At one stage, I had been on my way to a degree in nursing, but like a gutless scaredy cat, I’d wigged out. If I hadn’t dropped out, I’d have graduated and had my license by now. Instead, my small case of ADD made studying difficult, and worried I’d fail to make it through school, I quit before I even had a chance to crash and burn.

Pornography blindsided me. I had no idea how it actually happened, but a weekend job modeling underwear had led to coffee with Ryder Harder, which had led to me becoming an adult film star. You try and connect the dots because I sure as hell couldn’t.

I was book smart, but I had a little case of street idiot. I found it easy to locate a spleen, but I couldn’t spot a crazy-ass douche-bag if he were standing right in front of me, screaming, “I’m a cock-muppet.”

Kasper had been sweet and funny.  He was deliciously handsome, rich, and ridiculously famous. He was a small time reality TV star who had become a big time celebrity, but nobody quite knew how or why. It hadn’t mattered to me, because I kept away from gossip magazines and rarely watched TV. My tinsel town knowledge was appallingly pathetic. I had no idea that Charlie Sheen had slept his way through a handful of my friends or that Bruce Jenner was in the process of becoming a woman. This kind of information wasn’t integral to my day-to-day life; therefore, I didn’t digest this kind of drivel . . . ever!

I had no idea Kasper had an entire second life in another country. When Kasper told me he wanted to keep our relationship a secret, I shrugged with nonchalance. I simply had blinders on and saw nothing but the handsome, sweet-talking man whose talented tongue and tricky fingers could whisk away the insecurities about our relationship into a dark corner in the back of my mind that was locked tight, never to be opened. Kasper turned out to be a controlling, manipulative bastard who wanted nothing more than a blonde piece of hot ass on tap at his convenience. I was so besotted with the handsome prick it was sickening. I sure as hell got the shock of a lifetime when I suddenly became the porn star whore who got off on destroying families. He was married, WITH CHILDREN! He was the picture perfect husband with the picture perfect Spanish wife, two beautiful girls, and a Maltese terrier. They lived in Spain, and Kasper commuted between there and New York. I had been his NY booty call.

The media had been harsh and quick to judge me as a woman scorned, poisoned with jealousy over Kasper’s marriage and quick to seduce the handsome celebrity. Even though Kasper had been the one to cheat, it had somehow ended up being all my fault.

The paparazzi followed me around endlessly, and finally, after a month of moping and feeling sorry for myself, I snapped. I punched one of those camera wielding assholes in the face and broke his nose, earning myself a trip out of the country. THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL! While the cameraman decided not to press charges, Ryder, owner of Kink Harder Productions, suggested I take a ‘vacation’ and wait for the dust to settle. I didn’t want to wait until the dust settled. I wanted to stir that damned dirt up until it was thick and muddy, and tell the story the way it actually happened. Ryder thought I might still come across as a jilted lover, and I needed to let it go . . . for now. I wasn’t real good at letting go. While I was an easygoing, drama free chick-a-dee, I sure as hell didn’t like my name being tarnished in such a way. I was NOT a home wrecker.

During the Kasper commotion, my parents had been shocked to the core when they found out that their only daughter, who had aspirations of becoming a nurse, was an adult film star. They’d taken a swift step away from the publicity and turmoil, needing time to ‘process’ my career choice. They were embarrassed. I shouldn’t have been hurt or disappointed, because it wasn’t the first time they’d shaken their heads at me in dismay. I seemed to have quite the talent for making my parents’ shoulders knot with tension; my life’s choices were always somewhat unexpected and sometimes controversial. Like the time I dropped out of school to become a mechanic, only to ditch it and return to school because I hated getting grease under my fingernails. Then there was the time I decided to become a practicing Buddhist, which horrified my devout Catholic mother. And let’s not forget the time my nineteen-year-old self dated a thirty-six-year-old man with a nine-year-old son. I’d watched The Sound of Music, so I was convinced I had the step-mom role in the bag. That relationship lasted eight weeks before Beau decided I was too ‘flighty’ to be a responsible role model for his boy. I sighed as I watched the buildings pass in a blur of greys and drab browns. I had kept my parents sitting on the edge of their seats, and I hated disappointing them. But this was who I was, Wiska slightly-eccentric-and-a-touch-unpredictable James. They could either take me as I was, or miss out on all the fun and exciting bad choices that were yet to come.

I drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control of my flailing temper. Thoughts of Kasper and my controversial life only encouraged thoughts of violence and blood. A few deep breaths later, my fists unclenched, and I found my peaceful Zen once more.

I was officially swearing myself off men for the rest of my life—like I hadn’t said those words before, but this time I was serious. No more cock for me. From now on, a nice, anatomically correct, eight inch, vibrating, silicone cock with a dollop of lube would be sufficient. His name was Thor, and he rocked my world. Besides, once I screamed out my satisfied orgasm, he went right back in the bedside drawer . . . or my suitcase, which was where he was at the moment.

Speaking of anatomically correct . . . My gaze discreetly slid to the man driving. Bradley Emerson. Andi had assured me he was a good person, trustworthy and honest. She had also warned me he was quite charming and handsome. Charming? Well, I had yet to find any charm under that scowl, but handsome? The man was king and lord of handsome. He was tall—the top of my head barely brushed his shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond, and it was long enough to drag my fingers through. His cheek bones were high, his jaw was masculine, and that body was long, lean, and delicious. I bet it was hard as rock under that suit. Hmmmm, yep, he would do; I had found my orgasm muse. That thought brought a naughty smile to my lips, but the hushed, slightly aggressive undertones of conversation from the front seat made my smile turn upside down. Casey and Bradley were arguing and doing a very poor job of being discreet about it.

“I vote we go shopping first thing in the morning,” Lionel said from beside me in an effort to ignore the bickering from the front seat.

I was happy to eavesdrop, though, so I just smiled and nodded.

“We can go on the London Eye.”

I had no idea what the London Eye was . . . a tourist attraction of an eye? That seemed a little weird and gross.

Lionel must have noticed my scrunched up nose and laughed. “It’s a giant Ferris wheel on the Thames River.”

Why the hell did they call it an eye then?

“I’m scared of heights,” I reminded him. I couldn’t even glance out the window of Lionel and Casey’s two story apartment without feeling sick.

Lionel waved off my phobia with nonchalance. “You can close your eyes.”

I tilted my head as I considered that. There was no reason I couldn’t shut my eyes, then at least I could say I had been on the eye thing. My dad had tried to bring me up as the kind of girl who would chase her fears down and knock the wind right out of them. Except for heights. Chasing that fear down hadn’t worked at all. I’d even had to take a sedative just to take my flight to the UK.

“Ohhhh, I want to go to the wax museum and have my photo taken with Harry!” I thought out loud.

My thoughts were like that, scattered and random. Ideas popped into my head without rhyme or reason, and I learned long ago to just roll with the new direction my mind chose to lead. I had been diagnosed with ADD as a child, and although I had it pretty much under control now, it sometimes had me a little scatterbrained.

“Andi told me that Bradley knows everyone who’s someone over here; maybe he can introduce you to the real Prince Harry. We could at least go see the palace,” Lionel mused.

“Not the prince,” I scoffed. “Harry Styles, from One Direction.”

Lionel sighed and would have appeared disappointed if a small smile hadn’t quirked the corners of his lips upward. “I must admit he has great hair,” he murmured.

“I am taking you to a fucking hotel, and that is final!” Bradley, Emerson, or whatever his name was said in a raised voice.

Casey just glared at him, and Lionel shook his head with dismay. My brow furrowed with confusion. I was under the impression we would be staying with Bradley, all of us, together. I really didn’t want to be alone with Bradley . . . I mean Emerson. He was far too delicious and had that seductive look about him. I was pretty sure he could talk a nun right out of her panties. Since I was now wearing a chastity belt, I didn’t want to risk any man, no matter how gorgeous he was, talking the belt right off my hips and exposing my who-ha.

“If you’re going to a hotel, I’m going with you,” I told Casey firmly.

“Great, it’s settled,” Bradley P. Diddy Emerson said with a smile.

The look Casey gave me wasn’t exactly a happy one. It was that grumpy glower he usually saved for Lionel when his lover denied him afternoon sex.

“It would only be a matter of time before the paparazzi caught wind of where you are,” Lionel explained carefully. “Paps are always prowling the hotels, especially the nice ones, and we are not staying in a horrible one. I’m sorry, Wiska. I love you, but I am a man with needs, and they come with a four-star plus rating.”

From the rearview mirror, I watched Brad . . . I mean Emerson’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Maybe a secluded villa on the Greek isle, something completely private,” Casey mused. “Imagine waking up to the ocean every day. Would you like that, poppet?”

Evidently, poppet was my brand spanking new nickname that Casey had gifted me with. I liked it; it was cute and fatherly coming from Casey. I nodded—what girl would object to staying on the Greek Isle?

“Can we at least go back to your place so I can make other arrangements?” His voice had become hard and pissed off again as he addressed Emerson—BINGO, GOT IT RIGHT—who had the decency to look a little abashed.

“Of course you can.”

We fell into an awkward silence.

“I just don’t have much room,” Emerson began to explain. “My place isn’t that big; penthouse suites in London are quite different to those in New York.”

“Hush, Bradley. This is an inconvenience to you, and considering the delicate circumstances of our visit, perhaps Andi and Decker should have made Wiska’s needs clearer to you,” said Lionel.

Lionel was like the old wise owl of our trio. While Casey and I liked to tease and play, it was Lionel who kept us in line. It was also Lionel who could speak words that had a habit of getting under your skin and burying themselves so deep you’d never forget them. His words obviously made their mark on Puff Daddy Emerson, as he squirmed uncomfortably in the seat.

“What exactly are Wiska’s needs? I haven’t been told much, other than to pick her up from the airport and offer her a room, and might I add, I was told I was picking up Wiska, not Moe and Curly as well.”

Casey’s grin was wide. “I’m totally Curly!”

“Of course you are,” Lionel addressed Casey in a pacifying tone. Turning back to Emerson, he replied, “Wiska attracted some unfortunate media attention in the States.”

My fists curled, and my chin rose. He darn well better not be about to spill my highly embarrassing story to this completely sexy stranger. I’d already proved I could pack one hell of a right hook.

Lionel continued, “The specifics are her business, and if you want to know more you will have to ask her. She needs somewhere she can stay that the media will find difficult to trace. It may only be for a few weeks, maybe a month, until the hype back home dies down and she can inconspicuously make her way home again.”

From the corner of my eye, I checked the rearview mirror again, only to find the man formerly known as Bradley staring at me. I could see the curiosity burning in his gaze, but there was no way I was telling him my story; the last thing I wanted to do was humiliate myself any further.

“She just needs a time-out, Bradley. Andi assumed you could offer her the privacy she needed, and according to her, you have unusual contacts.”

When we stopped at a light, Bradley—oh, lord, I give up. Bradley it is—glanced over his shoulder, his piercing green eyes watching me intently.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, a storm of anger rolling over his handsome features.

Damn, he was gorgeous, and anger only seemed to highlight his hotness factor. His handsome face morphed from sulking to ferocious in a heartbeat, and I tried hard not to stare. I was surprised he jumped to the conclusion that someone might have hurt me. Did I look like a damn damsel in distress? Okay, I was small . . . and pale, but I could take care of myself.

“Kasper needs to be neutered,” Casey murmured, and I sent him a shut-the-f-up look. In his usual nonchalant style, he ignored me. “Unfortunately, we run a grooming spa, not a veterinary clinic; otherwise, I’d give it a try myself.”

Bradley’s gaze leapt from me to Casey. The honk of a horn behind us thankfully had his attention back on the road ahead. We drove for what seemed hours—but according to Lionel, it was no more than twenty minutes—before Bradley drove his sleek car into the security gated parking garage beneath a ginormous building that put Oprah’s mansion to shame.

It was an older looking brick building with tall stained glass windows and quaint eaves. It really looked almost shabby from the outside, but its size told me it was something special. When the car pulled to a stop, Casey, Lionel, and I all popped our doors open. When Bradley didn’t move, we paused simultaneously.

“You can stay, all of you. I’m working most the damn time anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be around much.” He turned in his seat and pinned me with a hard stare. It was scowly, tough, and so darn sexy I thought I might cream my panties right there. “You and me, pussycat, we are going to talk about this situation of yours at a later date. Casey might not be able to neuter, but I sure as hell know someone who can.”

I was confused, thrilled, and pissed off all at the same time. He’d called me pussycat, and damn if that wasn’t humiliating. But the fact he had the confidence to dress me up with a pet name was also kind of hot, and when he suggested neutering someone for me . . . well, that was just way too cool! I smiled, and it seemed to catch Bradley by surprise. Yep, Bradley. It felt right. There was no way I was calling him Emerson.

“That’s really sexy. You’re like my own personal badass.” I leaned forward until our noses were almost touching. The car was deathly silent, neither Casey or Lionel even moved. “I think I’m going to keep you.” His confident smile fell. “And, Bradley, my name is Wiska, not pussycat.” Well, that just shocked everyone, including myself. Bradley’s eyes widened with my bold declaration, but a cool arrogant smirk found its way back in place before any of us had a chance to move.

“How about we make a deal? You call me Emerson, and I’ll call you Wiska?”

“Why? Do you have a multiple personality disorder or something? I’m not calling you by anything other than your name. That’s all I’m asking for in return.”

Bradley winked at me. “Well, that’s just too bad, pussycat. How about you climb that cute little behind of yours out of the car, and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying for the remainder of your visit?”

We were so close I could have licked his lips; I could feel his warm breath, and a childish place inside me that wasn’t buried very deep, wanted to poke my tongue out at him. Instead, I huffed indignantly and moved back, putting a little space between us.

“Oh, Wiska, like whiskers on a pussycat. I get it!” said Casey, snapping his fingers. “Pussycat. That’s very witty, Bradley.”

Bradley rolled his eyes as we all stood from the car.

“Alrighty, now that that’s settled, maybe you can show us your castle.” Casey gazed around the underground parking garage. “If this is a castle, then this must be the dungeon,” he murmured.

It was a dimly lit, dank, concrete place that totally creeped me out.

Casey turned his wicked gaze on Lionel. “I sure hope they have chains.”

Lionel blushed while I giggled. Those two couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. It was sweet and made me long for things I thought I had, but didn’t. I had chosen the toad amongst frogs. That was my problem; I always chose the wrong path, the wrong career, the wrong frog. I just wanted to make the right choice for a change and make my family proud. That meant keeping my private life out of the public eye, keeping my clothes on, and ignoring all the frogs.

I watched Bradley as he easily lifted my suitcase from the trunk. He looked so fine in that suit, and I just knew there would be a topography of well-developed dips and valleys under the expensive fabric. When he caught me staring, he actually smiled. Not a nasty smile, or a fake smile, an honest smile, with a dash of arrogance. Oh, hell. HANDS . . . OFF . . . FROGS, even the really sexy ones.

CHAPTER 3

Bradley

I couldn’t get up to my apartment fast enough. I quickly introduced Wiska, Lionel, and Casey to a very curious Floyd, and then ushered the trio into my home. While they stood and gaped at the luxury, I quickly excused myself and headed for my bedroom. Even though my apartment was opulent and large, I only had two bedrooms, so I hadn’t been lying when I told Casey I didn’t have room for them. Carefully closing the door, I grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket and called Decker. It went straight to his voicemail.

“Fuck, Decker, what have you gotten me into? I’m going to kick you in the balls next time I see you. Fuck that, I’m going to pay someone else to kick you in the balls. What the fuck is going on with Wiska? She has the media on her ass? And yes, it’s a very fine ass, but I need to know what’s going on with it, and I don’t mean lace or satin. Call me back.” I paused in my tirade and glanced around my darkened room. “And you’re a prick, and tell Andi she’s on my shit list, too.” Feeling happy with my little outburst, I hung up.

Running a hand through my hair, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket before joining my guests in the living room where I discovered Casey cupping the breasts of a marble bust that sat against one wall. It wasn’t exactly mine; it had come with the apartment, and it was too heavy to move. I’m man enough to admit I liked looking at the marble tits from time to time.

“I thought you were a dick man?” I mumbled.

He glanced over his shoulder looking amused rather than pissed off at my bad attitude. “Oh, I am. You’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble if you had a nude male sculpture in this place. I was just curious. I’ve never touched boobies before.”

“Boobies?” Wiska snorted.

“Knockers, jugs, muchachas.” Casey shrugged. “I’ve never touched a single one.”

“Well, trust me, the real deal doesn’t feel anything like that.” I smirked.

Casey raised a brow, clearly curious. “So, you’ve been feeling up the marble bust, too?”

“I am a man, aren’t I? If a gay man has his hands on them, you can bet your ass a straight man has touched them.”

Lionel was checking out the kitchen while Wiska kept a considerable distance from the windows. I had heard her car confession that she was afraid of heights. I wondered how she would adapt to an eight floor apartment.

“You can touch my muchachas, Casey,” Wiska offered as she leaned down to brush a hand over my 3D pinscreen.

“He’s not touching anyone’s muchachas,” ordered Lionel.

I grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and cracked it open. As I turned and took a mouthful I actually coughed it right back up. Wiska had the pinscreen off the table and pressed to her breast. The damn thing outlined every fucking curve of the mouthwatering mound, even the nipple.

She grinned at Casey. “You may not be allowed to touch, but you can look at my breasts in this pinscreen whenever you feel the need.”

“Bradley’s obviously been feeling the need to look since you walked out of the arrival gate at the airport,” Lionel murmured from beside me.

I was still coughing but noticed Wiska either ignored him or didn’t hear him.

Lionel winked before walking away. “Where should we put our bags?”

I wrangled back my composure and led him to the guest room. “I only have one spare room,” I admitted when they all followed behind me. It was a big room, but once Casey and Lionel dropped their luggage on the floor, there clearly wasn’t much room left for anything else. “The couch in front of the TV folds out into a bed; it’s surprisingly comfortable.” Wiska gave a nod then looked to her suitcase, obviously not sure what she was going to do with it. “My room is a fair size. You’re welcome to put your things in there if you’d like.”

Now why the fuck would I go and say that? I wanted to face palm myself so bad my fingers twitched. Was it too late to change my mind? I shook my head with frustration and turned, leading her to my bedroom. I pushed the door open and allowed her to enter first. I patted myself on the back for making the bed today; I normally didn’t.

“You call this a fair size!” Wiska exclaimed.

I glanced around the room trying to imagine it from her eyes. I guess it was kind of big; a king size bed sat between two long, stained glass windows. A bedside table stood on either side of the bed, a large antique wooden chest at the foot of it. A single, soft lounge chair sat in one corner and an enormous flat screen TV was mounted to the wall in front of the bed. The walk in closet was probably the size of an average kitchen, and it was just about full. The adjoining bathroom contained a large shower with dual shower heads and a Jacuzzi big enough for a four person party. Okay, perhaps ‘fair size’ was a slight understatement.

Wiska peeked through the bathroom doorway, her eyes wide as she spun around, taking in the enormous space. Her eyes settled on my bed. “It’s so big,” she murmured.

My dick twitched as my thoughts took her innocent statement to a whole other place. What could I say? I was well paid by the Bianco family. I liked nice stuff, and I loved a nice, big, comfortable bed. Wiska strolled straight across to that nice, big, comfortable bed and dramatically flung herself across the luxurious quilt, her huge breasts bouncing with the movement. I just about swallowed my tongue.

“Mmmmmm, it’s so soft. I’m used to laying on hard ones. This is a nice change.”

Tongue swallowed. I shuffled nervously, feeling a little like a pervert and a lot like a lust struck fool. When her arms rose over her head exposing a sliver of skin between the low cut of her jeans and her tight t-shirt, my eyes zeroed in on that small territory of flesh, and I found myself wondering how soft and warm she would feel. A small grin played at the corner of my mouth. Oh yeah, I’ve got something hard for you to lie on, pussycat. I tried to discreetly push my rapidly rising cock back down and grimaced. We are not singing this fucking tune, I reminded my ignorant dick.

Wiska suddenly sat up and stepped down from the bed. Yep, stepped down. She was so tiny her feet didn’t reach the floor, which had me take note of the fact that if I stood between her open thighs, it would line us up perfectly for . . . NOTHING, NOT A FUCKING THING! I shook my head and placed her suitcase on a chair beside the doorway.

“I’m not here all that much. I work long hours, so feel free to come in here and grab your stuff whenever you need it. You can use my shower if you’d like.” Wiska smiled, and I could see it was full of honest appreciation.

“Thank you, Bradley.”

“Not a problem, pussycat.” We stared at each other for what was probably a little longer than comfortable. I noticed she had a dark freckle at the corner of her upper lip; it appeared to be the only mark to blemish her otherwise flawless skin.

“This is pretty,” she murmured, walking toward the katana mounted to the wall.

It was the first time anyone had ever used the word ‘pretty’ when talking about my sword. Hot, cool, sexy, badass, they were the words girls usually used when gushing over the ancient weapon. The sword in my pants had a whole list of other adjectives.

“Is it real?” she asked. I nodded. “Do you know how to use it?”

I shook my head. “Not really much use for sword play in my life these days.”

“Then why do you have it?” Her tone held nothing but curiosity.

“It looked cool?” She glanced my way, and I grinned. “And girls like it?”

“There it is,” she said with a satisfied smile.

“There what is?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“I couldn’t see the matchup between you and Decker. He’s your best friend, and Decker is a dirty pervert . . . well, a sweet dirty pervert, and he’s only a dirty pervert with Andi now, but you seem so refined and swanky.” She waved a hand in my general direction.

I was leaning against the doorframe, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. There was no way I was walking into my bedroom with her standing in there, because there was no way I would be able to keep my hands to myself.

“Swanky?” I asked, my grin slipping a little. Swanky kinda sounded pompous.

“Swanky suit, swanky shoes. Not sure about the tie, though; you’d look better in green—it would match your eyes. But yeah, swanky. Decker is so not swanky.”

The fact she knew what color my eyes were caused an instinctive male reaction; my chest pushed forward, and I all but strutted like a peacock under her observation. “Pussycat, Decker can be swanky when he needs to, and trust me when I say I can be a dirty pervert when the situation calls for it.” Wiska rolled her eyes at me, which I found highly amusing.

“All men have it in them to be dirty perverts, but the fact you actually look me in the eye when you talk to me, rather than talk to the soul sisters on my chest, means you are a decent man.”

My smile quickly turned to a frown. “Decker talks to your boobs?” If Decker was checking Wiska out while he was not only dating but living with my cousin, I was totally putting a hit on him.

“No, he talks to Andi’s boobs, regularly, but plenty of men spend more time wondering what size cup I wear rather than what color my eyes are.”

“Well, if I were to be honest with you, I have been wondering what cup size you are.” Before she had a chance to look irritated, I continued, “But your eyes are blue, a pale blue that I would imagine rivals the Antarctic ice, and they have a darker blue ring around the edge which enhances the color inside.” Shit, where the fuck had my balls gone? I sounded like a damn romance novel or something.

Wiska blushed. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I think I’ll freshen up and then see if Lionel and Casey want to go for a walk. Are you sure you don’t mind if I use your bathroom?”

“It’s not a problem.” The thought of her all soapy and wet . . . Gah, dammit, if my dick wasn’t caged in boxer briefs, it would have bobbed eagerly with excitement. Be excited all you want, fucker. You are so not tasting that.

I stepped forward and led her into the white bathroom with black marble counters. I grabbed a fresh towel from one of the hidden cupboards. When I turned around, I just about walked into Wiska. She was holding a tiny blue G-string and matching bra in one hand, fresh clothes in the other. My eyes were glued to the blue lace, and I tried valiantly to look away. They were just clothes for god’s sake, ignore them. But, the fact they wrapped around my favorite parts of the female body kept drawing my gaze back to the fragile fabric. I silently cursed, knowing that every time I looked at Wiska now, I’d be thinking about those scraps she called underwear on her body.

“Ummm, I’ll leave you to it.” I suggested, careful to step around her and pull the door closed behind me.

Making sure I was suitably belt-tucked—as in my chubby was stuffed discreetly between my stomach and belt—I buttoned my jacket to further hide my stubborn dick’s demand, and quickly retreated to the safety of the living area. Lionel and Casey had put their things away and were admiring the view from my ceiling to floor windows, not far from the couch where Wiska would sleep.

“This might bother Wiska,” Casey said, pointing at the windows. I showed them the cords that pulled vertical blinds across the space, and the men nodded with satisfaction.

“You guys could always sleep out here and give the lady the room,” I suggested.

Casey, who had fallen into a comfortable lean against the back of my couch, turned and rubbed his hands over the white leather.

“We could. This couch is the perfect height,” he purred.

Even Lionel blushed at his wicked thoughts.

“Stick to the bedroom,” I mumbled, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Spare key is in the bowl by the front door. I have to get to work and won’t be home until late. The place is yours. Just, please,” I gave them my best puppy dog eyes, “please don’t fucking redecorate while I’m gone.”

I had seen Casey and Lionel’s apartment in the States. While modern and sleek, it was also full of obscure erotic art, which wasn’t so bad, but the feminine touches like the pink and lavender cushions, the fluffy white throw, and the scary stuffed animals Casey adored wasn’t exactly my kind of thing.

“Lionel and I promise not to redecorate,” Casey said with a smile.

I lingered, waiting for the catch, and when I realized none was coming, I gave a nod and left. I hesitated at the door a moment longer, reluctant to leave my unexpected house guests alone. One thought of Wiska bouncing across my bed, and I promptly stepped away from the door.

“Too damn tempting,” I muttered as I stalked away.

CHAPTER 4

Wiska

“The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.” I burst into dance as Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” reached the chorus. My iPod was up as high as it could go, leaving me in a world of musical bliss. I twisted and swung my hips in a move I learned at the pole dancing class I had taken with Andi and Leah last month. I moved around the fold out couch, folding my sheets as I went.

Bradley’s apartment was divine. A wide open space with polished wood floors and enormous rugs. The walls were white, and the furniture was mostly grey, but splashes of color had been used to bring life to the place. Like the turquoise cushions I currently rearranged on the enormous U shape, leather sofa that had stretched out to make my huge bed for the evening. A bright red leather chaise in the shape of a wave sat before the floor to ceiling windows, which were blissfully covered by blinds. Some sunlight would have been nice, but it wasn’t worth the nauseating eight story view.

“To the fella over there with the hella good hair . . . Ough!” My teeth snapped together as my butt hit the floor. I had tripped over a pillow and found myself in an ungraceful heap on my ass. “Damn,” I murmured, leaning over to rub my offended rump, glaring at the harmless pillow. As my gaze rose, I felt a curious flutter in my chest when I realized Bradley was standing in the room.

I pulled the buds from my ears as I took a leisurely perusal of his stunning body. Shorts sat low on his hips and the tank he wore showed off his nicely toned biceps, the left one decorated with a tribal looking tattoo. He was wearing a frown, no surprise there; he had worn it yesterday. When I noticed the running shoes on his feet, I smiled and scurried to stand.

“You run?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement. There was no missing the way his eyes roamed over my body, too. It didn’t really bother me; men had always found my body desirable. I was used to the stares, and who was I to criticize when I had been openly gawking at him moments before.

“I do. I’ll be back in an hour,” Bradley mumbled as he moved toward the front door.

“Oh, oh, oh, give me two minutes. I’ll join you. I love to run, but I didn’t want to go off on my own. I’d get lost. I’m not real good with directions,” I called out as I ran down the hall and into his bedroom.

His sheets were rumpled, the quilt shoved to the bottom of the bed. It looked comfy and lonely at the same time. No one should have such a deliciously big, soft bed with no one to share it with. Or maybe he did have someone to share it with. Just because Bradley didn’t live with someone didn’t mean he didn’t have a girlfriend. He had been dating my co-worker, Leah, back in the States, but that was six months ago. A handsome man like Bradley Emerson would surely have moved on.

I pulled on a pair of ankle socks; they didn’t match, but, meh. I slipped on my shoes and ran back into the living room where Bradley stood in the exact same place I had left him. “Ready!” I sang. He didn’t move, his gaze lingering on my body. Okay, his staring was starting to border on creepy now. I glanced down in an attempt to figure out what had him gaping. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s what you’re going to wear?” he asked a little gruffly.

I was wearing my favorite hot pink, lyrca running shorts paired with a navy lycra sports bra that crisscrossed in the back. Admittedly, I purchased it from Victoria’s Secret, but it was most definitely exercise wear; I had the one hundred and twenty-five dollar receipt at home to prove it. It was a cute outfit that I jogged in often.

“Ummm, yeah?” I replied.

Bradley ran a hand over his face and groaned. “You can’t wear that; people here don’t dress like that to run.”

“What the hell do they wear then?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Normal clothes, normal shorts that cover your ass.” His eyes landed on my breasts. “A shirt.” I rolled my eyes and started walking towards the doorway. “I’m serious, Wiska, every man within a five mile radius will be staring at your ass, and every woman will be looking at you like you are some sort of street walker.”

My entire body tensed at his words, not because he suggested people might stare, but the suggestion that I was a whore. The media had painted me as some sort of jezebel, and now Bradley was suggesting my clothing made me one, too.

“You know what, Bradley,” I snapped, “I don’t care what people think. I’m used to men staring, and as long as they keep their grubby, pervy hands to themselves, I could care less, and those people who assume I sell my body just because I wear an outfit that doesn’t conform to their idea of normal,” I huffed out a breath, “well, they can bite me.” I stormed out of the apartment, and surprisingly, Bradley followed. “Hello, Floyd,” I said as I approached the old man working the elevator. It kind of angered me that he was working like this. At his age, he should be happily retired and puttering around a cute little garden, not slaving over spoiled, uptight assholes.

“Miss,” Floyd said with a big smile. His eyes stayed on my face the entire time, and there was no judgement in his expression.

I gave Bradley a smug smile, and he shook his head with a smirk.

“Sir,” Floyd’s attention turned to Bradley.

“Sir?” I balked loudly.

“Hey.” Bradley held his hands up defensively. “Don’t judge. Every day, for nearly two years now, I’ve tried to get him to call me just plain old Emerson, but he refuses.”

“Probably because people don’t go around calling each other by their last names. It’s just weird,” I muttered. I didn’t miss the fact that Floyd’s smile grew wider. When the elevator arrived, we all stepped in. “Do you have a problem with what I am wearing today, Floyd? Bradley tells me this isn’t appropriate for jogging.”

Bradley coughed down a startled bark of laughter. Floyd’s eyes did a professional and nonjudgmental perusal of my body.

“Not at all Miss . . .”

“Please don’t call me that. I’m not a miss kind of girl. Just call me Wiska.”

Floyd nodded. “You have Ukrainian descendants?”

I smiled; not many people realized the heritage of my name. “I do. My mother is Ukrainian, but she has lived in America for twenty-five years now. She met my dad when she was touring, and it was love at first sight.”

“Ahhhh,” said Floyd knowingly. “That’s my favorite kind of love. Your mother sang?” he asked politely.

“No, she was a ballerina. She was a star; people in her home country would stop her on the street for her autograph. Not so much in America, but she didn’t care for the stardom all that much, anyway. When she met my dad . . . well, she threw it all away for him.”

The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. “There is nothing wrong with your outfit, Miss Wiska. If anyone has a problem with it, then perhaps they need to focus more on their own shortfalls rather than trying to point out others. Have a nice run.” Floyd gave Bradley a polite tilt of the head and murmured, “Sir.”

I laughed as Bradley gave a frustrated shake of his head at Floyd’s refusal to call him Emerson. When we hit the street, the cool morning air made my breath catch.

“I like Floyd,” I confessed with a shiver.

“Everyone likes Floyd. You probably shouldn’t have dressed like that because it is autumn; the mornings are a little chilly this time of year,” Bradley said with an arrogant smile.

“That’s okay,” I said, rubbing my arms. “As soon as we get moving, I’ll warm up.”

A woman walked by, a fluffy dog leading the way on an outstretched leash. She gave me an unimpressed glance, not even attempting to hide her distaste over my choice in clothing. Well, if this was hoity-toity-ville, and every stuck up snob in the UK lived on this street, I was going to give them a special show. “Just let me stretch before we start,” I murmured.

A couple, who had been a little less obvious with their disapproving stares, approached, and I bent over at the waist, touching my toes and pulling my head against my knees. I was flexible; my mother had been a prima ballerina, and apparently, flexibility came naturally to us. I heard Bradley groan and the muttering of the couple who walked by, but I didn’t stop; after all, stretching was very important before rigorous exercise. I continued to bend and stretch as the odd person ambled past. For the most part, very few gawked or made comment, but Bradley’s anxious shuffling from one foot to the other at my side was strangely enjoyable, so I dragged out my warm up routine. Obviously fed up with my little performance, he turned and jogged off. I did one last lunge before I followed him.

It was early, and the streets were quiet. Those pedestrians we did pass generally did a double take at my bright, skimpy outfit. Most people were dressed for the office, in suits and dresses with slightly differing and yet very boring shades of navy and grey, and those who were jogging, walking, or being tugged impatiently along behind their dogs were dressed in obvious work-out attire, but a little less risqué than my own. I smiled, nodded, and said hello as we jogged past them, and after a while I began to tune them out completely as I took in my surroundings. We turned a corner, and I could easily make out the lush green parkland at the end of the street. Within a few minutes, we entered a gated garden estate. Tall trees towered over the path and an enormous manicured lawn opened to our right. It reminded me of Central Park back home in New York, and a pang of sorrow stabbed at my heart.

I missed my home. My apartment was a tiny one bedroom, but it was mine and it housed all my stuff. It was like a comfy pair of granny panties that you couldn’t wait to pull on at the end of a long day. I missed my family, and I hated how disappointed my parents had been with me the last time I had seen them. My life in the adult film industry had been discreet, until Kasper came along. There had been no raised voices or harsh words spoken, but their silence and frowns spoke volumes. I had never been the perfect daughter; my independence and stubbornly strong will made sure I was the kind of daughter that kept them entertained rather than prideful. But this career choice had been too many steps in the wrong direction.

“This has surprised me.” Bradley’s voice dragged me from my pity party.

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Your silence. I assumed you were one of those girls who could talk a blue streak.”

“What’s a blue street?” I wondered out loud.

“Not street, streak. It’s a saying that means someone is a chatterbox.”

“Oh, well, I like to talk, but when I jog, I like to just lose myself. I usually listen to music.”

“What kind of music?”

“I’ll listen to just about anything, but mostly the clichéd pop that most women listen to. I’m adult enough to confess I love Taylor Swift.” Bradley just nodded, an uptight expression on his face that I really wanted to wipe off. “What about you?” I asked, suddenly wanting to know more about this brooding, sexy mystery. Bradley shrugged, and my eyes were drawn to his tattooed, muscled bicep. I wondered what those arms would feel like surrounding me, holding me. DANG IT! That was so not going to happen; I was celibate now.

“Hold up a sec,” Bradley panted, coming to a standstill.

When he bent over, I realized his shoelace had come untied, then I promptly noticed how damn fine his ass was. I barely managed to hide the appreciative moan that wanted to escape my lips. He was sculptured like one of those fancy marble statues they seem to like so much here in the United Kingdom.

“See, two can play at that game,” Bradley said with a wink when he stood.

I blushed—I could feel the heat in my cheeks and ears—and I never blushed! I was perfectly comfortable with my body, clothed or otherwise, and I was perfectly comfortable with other bodies, clothed or otherwise. I was used to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, I was accustomed to ridicule and jokes, and I DIDN’T BLUSH!

“Rock, some hip hop, but mostly rock.” He finally answered my question about his own taste in music.

“What’s your favorite breakfast?” I quizzed him.

“Huh?”

“Cereal, eggs, or coffee?”

“Lucky Charms,” he said with a confused frown.

“I love Lucky Charms.” I sighed, wondering if he had any back at the apartment. “Oh, my gosh, swans!” I exclaimed, coming to an abrupt stop.

“Nasty fuckers,” said Bradley, and he kept on jogging. When he realized I wasn’t making an attempt to join him, he stopped, his hands impatiently stationed on his hips.

I walked off the concrete path and over the thick green grass, making a beeline for the majestic birds. “No, seriously, Wiska, they are nasty fuckers. Stay back.”

I ignored Bradley as I approached the side of the murky lake in the middle of the park. I stepped out on a rock to get a little closer.

“What are doing? Wiska, get back here,” Bradley demanded.

“Stop being a baby. They’re just like ducks on steroids.” I stepped on another mossy covered rock, and my foot slipped, but I quickly regained my balance.

“Fuck it. If you fall in, it’s on you.”

“I’m not going to fall in.” Hopefully. I wasn’t the most elegant person which was one of the reasons I was never as good a dancer as my mother. I stepped on another rock, and the swans began to paddle away from me. “They are so pretty,” I whispered as I stood and watched. “Can you take a picture of me with the swans? I want to show Casey and Lionel.” I glanced back at Bradley who stared at me like I had grown another head. “Hurry up. The longer I’m out here the more chance I have at falling.”

He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and aimed it in my direction. I struck a pose, arms wide, big grin on my face, and when Bradley’s face morphed into one of panic, I followed his gaze over my shoulder. A huge black swan was approaching and his eyes almost glowed red with territorial anger.

“Oh, crap, nice swan.” I tried to scurry off the rock, and my foot slipped again, but I caught my footing. “Good swan. Swans are vegetarians, right?” I blabbed as I stepped to another rock, still too far to leap to safety. This rock was also slippery, and I easily lost my balance rushing. My foot went one way, my body the other. I was going down; I knew it, the swan knew it. I was bird meat. I landed heavily, my arm reaching out to try and catch my fall on a neighboring rock. I heard the snap more than felt it. It was only a few seconds later before the hurt filled my body with agonizing pain, though. While Bradley flapped his arms in an attempt to scare off the swan from hell, I staggered out of the freezing water, cradling my wrist.

“Holy shit!” gasped Bradley. “I told you they were nasty fuckers.” Once the swan had moved back out into deeper water, he turned away from the lake and smiled, his grin quickly turning to laughter when he took in my sopping wet appearance. “Please, let me take another photo,” he spluttered.

I pinned him with a glare that should have made him shiver in his Nikes; instead, it just made him laugh harder. I grimaced as I tried to move my hand.

“Fuck, did you hurt yourself?” All laughter stopped as he took three determined strides towards me. He reached out to touch my arm, and I pulled away.

“Don’t touch it,” I snapped.

“Let me see,” he brushed off my snippy attitude.

“No, it hurts.”

Bradley raised a brow. “Is this a good time to say, ‘I told you so’?”

“Yeah, while I’m freezing cold and in pain. Go ahead, mock me.”

Bradley’s eyes softened, and he shook his head. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I grew up with Decker and his two brothers. I’m used to broken limbs and stitches.” After only a moment’s hesitation, I allowed him to pull my injured hand away from my body as he carefully examined it with warm, gentle fingers. “Can you move it?”

I tried and let out a small yelp when pain speared through my hand and arm.

“Pussycat, I think you might have broken something,” he whispered.

The thought of a broken bone made me woozy. I’d never broken anything before. I was clumsy, so bruises and cuts were normal. I had even endured a concussion once, but broken limbs . . . I felt ill. The world in front of me began to spin, little black dots floated in my vision, and suddenly, Bradley and the nasty ass swan were gone as I fell into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 5

Bradley

“You could have killed her,” Casey said matter-of-factly.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” I snapped back. “And I’m not at fault here. I told her the swans were shitheads, and she ignored me.”

The nurse smiled and Wiska started giggling hysterically . . . again. Well, she had warned them she’d had a previous adverse reaction to morphine, but they were determined to get some decent pain relief into her when they reset the broken bone.

“I can’t believe I was attacked by a swan. This must be new for you.” She giggled as the nurse diligently ignored my and Casey’s argument.

“Actually, it’s quite common; they are very territorial, especially if there are young around,” the nurse calmly replied. “Also, swans mate for life. If one dies, the other dies of a broken heart, so they are very territorial of their mates, too.”

“That is so romantic.” Wiska swayed as she swooned. “Wow, you have really pretty eyes,” she continued, staring at the male nurse who simply smiled.

I, on the other hand, scoffed, loudly. I hadn’t meant to. I didn’t even know what a fucking scoff was until that moment. When Casey and Lionel both gave me a ‘what the’ look, I might have even blushed.

“Hush, Bradley, yours are prettier,” Wiska chastised.

At least that removed Casey’s and Lionel’s gaze from me. They were now both staring at her—Lionel a little worried, Casey highly amused.

“What about me, poppet? Do I have pretty eyes?” Casey asked, batting his lashes.

“You know you do. You blink those gorgeous, not so innocent eyes at Lionel, and he literally bends over for you.” Wiska gave the nurse a pointed look. “I mean that. They’re gay.”

“Thank you, Wiska,” Lionel said, though there was no admonishment in his tone.

“She is properly stonkered,” I murmured.

“What the hell does stonkered mean?” Wiska demanded.

“Wasted, drunk, stoned,” I explained.

“I’m not drunk,” she said, waving her hand in the air. Obviously, she caught sight of something fascinating with her hand, because she waved it around in front of her face for a good minute after.

“Poppet, you are as baked as a pie.” Casey murmured with a click of his tongue.

“Hey, is it okay if I write a check for this? Funds in my bank are kinda low right now.” The nurse hesitated for a moment before resuming to wrap Wiska’s arm and wrist.

“You’ll have to speak to billing about that.”

“What do you mean funds are a bit light? Ryder asked if you needed an advance for this trip, and you said you had it covered.” Lionel stood from the bed and crossed his arms, standing over Wiska like an angry parent.

Wiska rolled her eyes, a habit I found slightly adorable. If I could have come up with a more manly word than adorable, I would have used it. As it was, adorable was all I had.

“I did have it covered, silly! I paid for my flight.”

“What about living expenses?” Casey asked, flustered.

“I’ve got that covered, too. I just didn’t have swan attack in my budget.”

“I’ll cover it.” I sighed, knowing very well I could more than afford it.

“You will not,” huffed Wiska, trying hard for indignation, but looking more like a drunken sailor.

“Yeah, I will.”

“No, you won’t,” she said, trying to mimic my tone and voice.

When the nurse finished wrapping her arm and moved aside, I leaned forward and placed one hand on either side of her legs, effectively trapping her.

“Yes, you will,” I said with a little more force.

She tried to focus on me, but I was obviously too close, and she ended up looking a little cross-eyed and a whole lot darn cute. Cute, that was as fucking bad as adorable.

“I’m going to pay for your medical expenses, Wiska, since I should have thrown you over my shoulder and walked you away from the tempting evil swans. You are obviously tempted by sparkles and pretty things, so I know for next time. For my error though, I will pay your hospital bill.”

Wiska’s head tilted, and she moved back a little so she could see me properly.

“If I say no, will you promise to spank me later?”

My mouth opened to come back with a witty retort; instead, I came up with nothing. The thought of Wiska’s naked backside in my lap turned my brain to mush and my cock to steel.

“Okaayyyyy, she’s really going to regret she said that later,” murmured Casey.

“Why? Bradley’s not going to spank her. She’s not ten!” Lionel snapped.

The mood in the room had chilled slightly, only Wiska seemed impervious to the three grumpy men standing around her.

“Firstly, you like to be spanked and you’re over thirty, and secondly, she’s high as a kite right now. She’ll be embarrassed later.”

“Well, I’m not a child, and I like to be spanked, too,” whispered Wiska. “So, tell me, Bradley . . . are you up for the job?”

She spoke with a seductive purr that drove me crazy, then she smiled. Her beautiful blue eyes were shining with warmth, her sexy lips begging for attention. When her gaze dropped to my rock hard dick, I seriously thought about pressing her to the hospital bed and kissing all the sass right from her mouth. Instead, I stood back, quickly.

“I’ll go talk to billing,” I said, backing away from the room.

Casey watched me with a raised brow, Lionel swung around to help Wiska, and I ran. Well, not physically, but metaphorically. I moved down the hall and into another that was currently empty. I stopped and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to get my raging hard-on under control.

“I told you we’re not going there. She’s a porn star for Christ’s sake.” I gently banged the back of my fucked-up head on the wall behind me.

Leah once told me that Decker had erectile issues; it had been a psychological problem brought on by years of meaningless sex. I found myself wondering if I had the opposite problem—maybe my cock was begging for attention because I had been ignoring it? Maybe I needed to get laid. Maybe I could take a pill to make the fucking thing soften. Maybe I just needed to screw Wiska and get her out of my system.

“Nope, she fucks other men for a living; she is trouble; she’s just like Leah . . .” I sighed, remembering her vibrant glow as she had tried to get closer to the swans—the playfulness in her eyes, the sweet laughter from her lips. “She’s nothing like Leah,” I confessed quietly. I drew a deep breath and gritted my teeth against the sweet smell of her perfume that clung to my shirt after carrying her when she fainted. “Come on, womb whistle. You really need to back the fuck off. I can’t walk around the goddamn hospital with you trying to break out of your package.” I took a few more deep breaths and tried to ignore Wiska’s scent. I tried to think of anything but Wiska, anything to tame the beast in my shorts. I thought of baseball, football, my mom . . . yeah, that did it, my mom, and nanna! “I swear to god, if you do that to me again I will . . .” I glanced down at my groin and laughed. “Who am I kidding? We’re good, buddy. Just try to control yourself next time.” I pushed off the wall and stepped around the corner only to come face to face with Casey, Lionel, and Wiska, all of them staring at me with curious looks on their faces.

“Who were you talking to?” asked Wiska, glancing around, clearly seeing an empty corridor behind me.

“I was on the phone,” I spluttered.

“Sure you were,” said Casey, grinning.

Wiska snorted and slapped him across the chest with the back of her uninjured hand, and then she gifted me another of her stunning smiles. My cock twitched again, and I panicked.

“Come on. I’m late for work,” I growled, moving around them.

I needed to get out of here; I needed space between me and Wiska, like nothing short of a football field. I could still smell her, and damn, she smelled good. Maybe a golf course between us would do the trick. I glanced over my shoulder when she giggled at something Casey said. She was so beautiful when she laughed. Fuck, maybe I’d need to leave the country for a while.

*

Two days later, I sat at my desk, drumming away to the beat of “Counting Stars” which played from my phone, straight into my earbuds. I was on the tenth floor of a thirty floor office building owned by the Willie Bianco estate. He had hundreds of other business interests in the UK, many of which ran out of this building. The other offices were leased by other companies, which made sure Willie got the return he needed on this prime piece of real estate in the middle of London. I was holding a sticky note in my fingers.

Her handwriting was loopy and soft, feminine, just like her. She had drawn a heart around it, and for some reason, probably courtesy of my incessantly ignorant dick, I had grabbed the note off the kitchen counter this morning and stuffed it in my pocket. Now I was mooning over it. Dammit! I scrunched it up and threw it in the trash can at my feet.

With the music flooding my ears, I obviously didn’t hear the knock at my door, so Davina let herself in. She was my sixth secretary in three years, and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t keep one. They were easy enough to catch, but I’d be damned if I could figure out how to keep them. The last one, Jackie . . . well, I had screwed that up spectacularly by screwing her. Willie didn’t give a fuck who I fucked or where, but working with a woman you accidentally slept with in a moment of weakness was total insanity, especially when the woman wanted something I couldn’t give her. I wasn’t looking for a commitment, and I felt like pond scum for not making that clearer to Jackie.

I didn’t normally behave that way with women. I was always up front when I was looking to scratch an itch. But, I’d been pissed off at the monumental failure my relationship with Leah had been, and I’d turned to a very willing secretary.

I liked women—hell, I fucking loved women—and I loved to show them just how much I love them. But I had rules:

1.              I treated them with respect, even if it was only a one-time tumble between the sheets.

2.              I didn’t do employees, friends, friend’s sisters or relatives, and just recently, I’d added porn stars to the list.

3.              I didn’t sleep over, and I sure as shit didn’t cuddle.

4.              I made sure women knew what they were getting into before I got into them. It was always casual, no strings attached, mind blowing sex.

Jackie had hoped for more, and for that I paid dearly; I lost a great secretary and was still sorting through some very angry hate mail with some very explicit plans for my genitals.

I glanced at another sticky note sitting on my desk. It was far from hate mail and was one I had saved from yesterday.

She had done my laundry! While I had been rudely ignoring her in an attempt to battle the raging lust burning under my skin, she had been nothing but completely sweet. SHE DID MY FUCKING LAUNDRY! Her tiny hands had been on my underwear. I groaned and glanced up as Davina paused in front of my desk, one hand on her hip, a wad of files in her other.

She was stunning, and I was appalled that I had hired someone so fucking stunning. I was not going to break my rules again, but as Davina stood there in a tight grey skirt, which hugged her ass in a way that made my fingers twitch, and a sleeveless white silk top, which gave an impressive view of her cleavage. I really wanted to slap myself for tempting fate on rule number two. I should have specified to the employment agency that my secretary needed to be over fifty. Over fifty, married, kids . . . fuck, even grandkids. That would be a safe secretary. Davina was not safe!

I scrunched up the second sticky note from Wiska and threw it in the bin as well, then pulled a bud from my ear and stared at Davina. Finally, she rolled her eyes and threw the files on my desk. Her eye roll wasn’t anywhere near as endearing as Wiska’s. ‘Endearing’, now that was a little less gay than cute and adorable.

“That’s the last of the Xavier merger you were curious about,” she purred in that British accent that got under my balls and tickled them.

“Cool, thanks,” I murmured, sticking the earbud back in place. I purposefully ignored Davina, and my gaze sought out the computer screen in front of me.

I had just started playing The Walking Dead, and I was already stuck. I hated gaming, but I was waiting for reports to be emailed from the US, which meant I didn’t have shit to do until they arrived. And I was hiding. At home, all that greeted me was an eccentric gay man, his way too serious lover, and a porn star. A gorgeous, blue eyed, blond haired porn star that could break down fucking walls and destroy my rules with nothing more than a smile.

A gentle warmth at my side caused me to jump, and when Davina lowered her fine ass to my desk, her silk covered thighs pressed against my arm. I pulled both buds from my ears and gave her my best ‘boss man’ stare. She smiled, her cherry red lips curving into a grin that would give the most hardened warriors goosebumps. Leaning to peer down at my computer screen, her blouse slipped forward and her spectacular lace covered tits were placed right in my face. I looked—I’m a dude, and that’s what we do. If I guy tells you he doesn’t sneak a peek at the abundant cleavage of a woman’s breasts when she leans forward, he must be gay.

“So, Emerson,” Davina purred. “What do you have planned for your Friday night?”

I raised a brow and just stared. I stared long enough that she began to shift nervously, and I almost smiled. “Just the usual, I’ll be heading out to the Lovely Lounge for a few drinks.”

The Lovely Lounge was one of London’s most renowned strip clubs. They were exclusive, their women were spectacular—the best money could buy—their clientele was refined, and the drinks were expensive. The Lovely Lounge was respectable and sophisticated, yet they still sported private booths at the back of the establishment for the superb blow jobs the angelic staff graced upon us mere mortals if we so wished, and we gladly paid the hefty price tag that went with those mind blowing BJs.

“Why don’t you take me out to dinner? I promise your night will be a thousand times better, and maybe a little bit cheaper than a night at the Lovely Lounge.”

I leaned back in my chair. “That’s a very bold claim,” I murmured. “You place yourself on a very high shelf, Davina.”

She smiled and picked up one long leg, sitting her heeled foot on the corner of my chair. I only had to lean to my right an inch and I’d get a great view of her juicebox. I almost snorted as I recalled the childish name Decker and I had given a woman’s vay-jay in our pre-teens. We were no longer pre-teens, though, and I could stand up and take her on my desk right now if I wished. I kinda wished—I did need to get laid—but I wouldn’t. Rules, damn, fucking, rules!

“And I can back that claim up. Take me to dinner, Emerson.”

She was so sure of herself she didn’t bother to ask, she simply thought to command me. There was no doubt if I took her out the night would be spectacular. She was stunning—with her long, dark hair, olive skin, and dark chocolate, almond shaped eyes, she was as lovely as the highly paid ladies at the Lovely Lounge—she was offering me everything, and it would definitely be cheaper than a night at the strip club. I found myself wishing her hair were lighter, her skin paler, her long, svelte body more petite, though.

“Davina, the last secretary I took to dinner is still sending me emails threatening to shove my cock in a hole I use as an exit only. While I have no doubt we would have a great time, I really need a secretary.”

I put the earbuds back in my ears and turned my chair, causing Davina’s foot to slip from the corner of it, which in turned forced her to suddenly stand from my desk. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she stood there, completely perplexed by the fact I had turned her down. Her cheeks were flushed, but I don’t think it was with embarrassment—she was pissed. The moment she stormed out of my office slamming the door in her wake, I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to get out of here, and I needed to get laid, pronto. A safe lay, with a safe woman who was exempt from the rules.

It had been too long and images of Wiska were constantly filling my mind, causing the never-ending erection from hell. I had beaten off so many times in the last two days I was beginning to feel like the dirty fucking pervert I was behaving like. Shutting down my computer, I grabbed my phone from the desk and left the building.

“Did you have a good day, Sir?” Floyd asked as I stepped into the elevator. I grunted noncommittally. “Your guests have been busy today. Miss Wiska was fitted with her new cast; it’s very bright,” he continued with a smile.

“If Casey and Lionel had anything to do with it, it will be bright pink.”

“Hmmm,” Floyd said with a small smile. “She seemed a little down in the dumps on her arrival back. I hope she is well.”

I turned to ask Floyd what he meant, but we had already reached my floor and the doors slid open. That wouldn’t have stopped me from continuing to talk, but the hands that suddenly dragged me out of the elevator certainly did.

“Have a good evening, Sir.”

The elevator doors closed, and the sight that stood in front of me brought my world to a sharp, grinding halt.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” I snapped, my eyes taking in Casey from head to toe and back again.

He shoved a bag into my arms. “No time to talk. Get dressed.”

I glanced down at my suit, to the bag in my arms, and then back to him. Bewilderment had turned me into a speechless mute. “Why are you dressed like that?” I finally asked.

He was in a costume, and if my memory served me correct, I believe he was dressed as He-Man. With a blond bob wig, skin colored muscle suit with a silver sash that crossed at the chest and met at a red cross like symbol in the middle. Around his hips, he wore a fir loin cloth, and I silently prayed he wore underwear beneath it. God, I hope his junk was tucked away. His feet were covered in matching fur boots, and a plastic sword was strapped to his back.

“Wiska isn’t doing so good, and it’s Fancy Dress Friday. I took the liberty of getting you a costume, so quick, put it on before we go inside.”

I shook my head as I tried to decipher the foreign language he was speaking. “What is Fancy Dress Friday, and what’s wrong with Wiska?”

“Dammit, Bradley! You ask too many questions. Wiska is having a pity party; she’s homesick, her wrist hurts, and after everything that’s happened over the last two months, her pride has taken a massive hit. Back in the US, Wiska and her friends, that would be us and a few of the Ryder Harder team . . . oh, and sometimes Andi and Decker, would get together for drinks on a Friday night, and we’d always dress up. It was a hoot, and Lionel and I thought it might help cheer her up, so . . .” he snapped his fingers in front of my face, “make like a dump truck and haul ass.”

“I’m going out. I have plans.”

Casey gave me an exasperated sigh. “Bradley, Wiska is really struggling. She is always the happiest person in the room, she is loving, kind, generous, everyone adores her, and the only reason she is in her current predicament is because she trusted her heart to a flea infested bunghole!” His use of the word bunghole made me want to smile.

“Everyone, at one time or another, has trusted their heart with someone who drove them crazy. That’s life, Casey. Maybe Wiska just needs a good night’s sleep and some Tylenol.” I tried to hand him back the bag of clothes, but I was ruthlessly forced against the wall, pinned there by the formidable homosexual mass that was Casey, dressed as He-Man.

“Listen here, Bradley. This crazy was the bad kind of crazy, the kind that takes a beautiful girl’s trust, spits on it, shits on it, passes it around for the entire world to shit on it, then sits back and watches with big, puppy dog eyes that echo Bart Simpson’s wise and unforgotten words: ‘I didn’t do it.’ Wiska’s kind of crazy should have his genitals deep fried; instead, he’s celebrating with his wife and children in the Maldives, while Wiska hides out here in your sorry-ass excuse of a home. She’s homesick, she misses her apartment, she misses her friends, and she misses her parents who haven’t spoken to her since it all happened. Now, put the damn costume on, or I will use my sword.”

I wasn’t used to violence; I may have worked for a violent man in a violent organization, but I was a pencil pusher. Casey’s sudden use of strength caught me by surprise, but his words made that show of dominance slip right from my mind.

“What the fuck did he do to her?” I growled.

“Ask Wiska. She’s embarrassed about it, but she would tell you if you asked . . . nicely. Now,” Casey backed away, “sorry about that. I went all He-Man on your ass.” He giggled. “Well, not on your ass, but, you know. Come on, Bradley, pretty please, with sexy, sparkly vampires on top, play Fancy Dress Friday with us . . . for Wiska?”

I sighed and glanced down at the bag. “Please tell me this isn’t a Battle Cat costume.”

Casey clapped his hands together with glee. “Not even close. Now hurry up before the ninety-year-old bat who lives across the hall pokes her head out the door to see what all the noise is about. With her Coke-bottle glasses, I doubt she’d see much, but I bet you a hand job she’d shuffle on out here and try to cop a feel.”

I scrunched my nose at Casey’s description of Lady Becket, who lived across the hall, but didn’t discount it. She was old as dirt, but I had already been on the receiving end of her wandering hands once. Twice was way too disturbing to even consider.

CHAPTER 6

Wiska

With my left hand, I unsteadily poured myself a glass of grape juice and watched Lionel set up cheese and crackers on the large, square coffee table in front of my sofa bed. My arm already itched beneath the rainbow cast I now wore. It was pretty, so, so pretty, but looking at it made me sad. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been at home; there were no swans in the vicinity of my apartment, and my stupid arm would be in one piece. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to date Kasper, I’d be home, my family would be talking to me, and my mom would be baking me brownies because I couldn’t get through a week without them. Much to my dismay, I had been through eight weeks without them, and I missed them so much. I forced away the tears that threatened to fall and took a sip of juice while I watched Lionel prepare the game we had purchased earlier in the day. Loaded Questions, surely there was little room for Lionel to go all board game Nazi on us with that one. Lionel loved board games and became a little overzealous whenever we played. I refused to play Scattegories with him ever again; the man was all-out brutal.

Casey had disappeared while I was dressing, and I could only assume he was adding the finishing touches to his He-Man costume. Lionel was wearing a grey flight suit, which sported badges on its shoulders, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. According to Lionel, he was Iceman from Top Gun. He refused to be Tom Cruise because, as far as Lionel was concerned, the man needed a good dose of Ritalin.

I stepped back and checked my reflection in the dark glass of the oven sitting in the wall before me. Dressed as Wonder Woman, I had on tight, blue lycra shorts with silver stars on them that stopped an inch below my Bermuda Triangle. They were short, but hey, I was freaking Wonder Woman. The top was a strapless number that dropped like an upside down triangle to my navel, the lower half gold, the fabric over my breasts red. I had red knee high boots, a pretty gold head band that pulled my blonde hair away from my face, and silver wrist cuffs, one still sitting on my bed because it didn’t fit over the cast. It was a fantastic costume, I looked good, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I wanted to climb back into my jammies and sulk.

The front door burst open, and Casey sauntered through with a smug look on his face. Where the hell had he gone dressed like that? When Bradley followed in after him with a sullen look on his face, my mood rocketed from miserable to ecstatic in a heartbeat. Holy Spartan hotness, Wonder Woman. My blue lace thong wanted to melt right off my body.

Bradley was dressed as a gladiator, a heavy leather pleated skirt sitting low on his hips and hanging to mid-thigh, and oh how delicious those strong, muscular thighs were. His feet were covered in leather boots to his calves, and that was it. The rest of his spectacular body was naked. I felt a deep-seated, quite perverted need to run my hands down that strong smooth chest and those beautiful abs that resembled the rippled swell on the ocean. I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth as I imagined following the happy-trail to paradise beneath his navel, which led a path to the gladiator skirt . . . and beyond. When my horny eye balls finally did their third lap of his perfect body, it was to find Bradley staring at me. The look on his face made my nipples pebble, and I fought the need to cross my arms over my chest. His expression was probably much like the shocked awe of a teenage boy’s first porn experience. He was blatantly checking me out, but it didn’t bother me. In fact, I felt a little thrill at his unabashed exploration. When his lusty gaze met mine, he licked his lips. LICKED HIS FREAKING LIPS! A little nervous, I shuffled and realized I had never been in this kind of situation before. I’d never been nervous under the scrutiny of a man before, but here and now, with Bradley looking at me like I was candy on a stick, I was anxious.

“Alright, enough eye fucking. Let’s make margaritas!” Casey sang loudly.

I felt the heat rush to my face and was grateful to see the darkening of Bradley’s cheeks, too. While Lionel and Casey made drinks—cocktails for them and a mocktail for me since I didn’t drink alcohol—Bradley and I sat across from one and other in the living area. I looked his way and quickly averted my gaze; he had failed to remember he was wearing a skirt. I fought a smile while trying to catch a discreet glance of his grey boxer briefs once more.

“Bradley, sit like a lady,” Casey snapped as he handed me my drink. I could have slapped the man, and the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew I wanted to.

Bradley shoved his skirt down to regain his modesty, and soon we were all sitting in the living room, in what was most likely the most awkward Fancy Dress Friday I had ever been to. Lionel finished setting up Loaded Questions, and Bradley’s brow rose.

“Board games,” he muttered.

Casey, Lionel, and I all pinned him with a stare.

“It’s fun. Relax, you might just enjoy yourself,” Lionel said with no heat in his tone.

Bradley pulled out his cell phone and began thumbing off a message to someone.

“No cell phones allowed during game time,” whispered Lionel.

“Settle down, Kernel Clink, the game hasn’t started yet,” said Casey with a chuckle.

“I was supposed to meet some friends. I just want to let them know I won’t be there.”

“Oh, maybe we can all go out later?” I said, perking up. A night out sounded fun.

Bradley glanced at me before sliding his cell phone across the coffee table. He took a long drink from his whiskey before shaking his head. “It’s not really . . . lady friendly . . . or gay friendly.”

I arched a brow his way, and I was pretty sure Lionel and Casey did, too.

“Bradley, did you join a Freemason’s Lodge?” Casey asked.

“What’s a Freemason’s Lodge? Do they have something against women and gays?” I demanded, getting ready to defend the rights of all women and homosexuals across the Lord’s fine Earth.

“It’s a boy’s club, and as far I’m concerned, they must have something against us because they don’t allow women or gays to become members.”

“That’s not true; most modern lodges are happy to accept homosexual members.”

“You joined a cult?” I asked, outraged.

“They are not a cult, and no, I haven’t joined a Freemason’s Lodge,” Bradley sighed. “I was supposed to meet some friends at The Lovely Lounge, which is a strip club.” He quickly busied himself by pouring another drink.

“It’s a strip club . . . where women strip . . . and women aren’t welcome?” I asked, puzzled.

“I just didn’t think any of you would be comfortable going to a strip club,” Bradley said with irritation.

“I like strip clubs. I’ve been to plenty. I have nothing against them or the women who strip there. Heck,” I said laughing, “I’m a porn star for goodness sake.” I didn’t miss the stiffening in Bradley’s posture, nor the scowl he wore as he returned to the couch.

“And I love strip clubs. They attract man candy, and I’m more than happy to do a little eyeball grazing.” Lionel slapped Casey on the back of the head. “Oh, come on, baby, you love to graze, too. We both look, and then touch each other . . . a lot!”

“Can we get started?” Lionel asked impatiently.

Casey gave him a regal wave of his hand. “By all means.”

“Thank you. Shortest player goes first.”

They all looked at me, and I rolled my eyes. I shook the dice, blew on them—for good luck—then threw them across the coffee table. My board piece was moved, then Lionel handed me a card, and I read it out loud.

“What do you do in private that others would find disgusting?”

“Just today?” Casey asked, a serious expression on his face.

“Any day,” I answered.

The boys were quick to begin scribbling down their answers on their note pads, then Lionel, because he was Lord Board-Game Almighty, read the three answers out loud. The object of the game was to guess which player wrote which answer.

“First answer, I pick my nose; second answer, I have my pie hole bleached—”

I burst out laughing, sending a spray of mocktail over the coffee table. Lionel was quick to wipe up the mess while I continued rolling all over the couch in hysterics. When I finally gained some resemblance of control, I sat up to see all the boys smiling at me, even Bradley.

Lionel continued, “Third answer, I try to pee gross stuff off public toilet bowls.”

I was giggling again, but I was pretty sure I had this.

“Lionel, you pick your nose; Casey does the anal bleaching—and Casey, TMI!—Bradley uses his pee as an industrial cleaner.”

They each nodded, and I jumped up and did a little happy dance before it was Lionel’s turn to roll.

“When bad things happen in three’s, what good thing can erase all of them?”

We all took a little longer to write down our answers, and I ended up getting Casey to do mine as my writing hand was currently wrapped in its rainbow cast décor. Bradley read the answers back to Lionel. For a man who didn’t seem too enthusiastic about playing board games, he was pretty keen to participate.

“Answer number one . . .” I shivered at the deep masculine tone of his voice. “A day at the spa; answer number two, dancing; number three, a blow job.”

I’m pretty sure my sudden grin in Bradley’s direction gave away his answer.

“Shocking,” Casey murmured.

Lionel ticked them all off correctly, and then it was Bradley’s turn to roll the dice and ask a question.

“What player has the nicest feature, and what is that feature?”

Casey snickered beside me, and even Lionel managed a cheeky grin. Casey, once again, helped me write my answer, and then he read them back to Bradley.

“Answer number one, Casey’s bleached ass; answer number two, Lionel’s big hands; and answer number three, Bradley’s dimpled smile.”

Casey and Lionel sighed in unison. Bradley gave me a wicked wink that seemed to be connected to my lady bits because a pulse hit me right between the thighs.

“Lionel did the ass one, Casey did the hand one, and my pussycat likes my smile.” He smiled, and yeah, it was totally hot.

“Bum-Bummmm,” Casey sang in some ridiculous attempt at an incorrect sound. “Yes, Lionel adores my ass, that is a known fact, but my little poppet has a thing for my man’s hands, which I am okay with, because his hands are a gift from the gods. You should try a shoulder rub sometime, Bradley. Once you’ve gone Lionel, you’ll never go back, and I personally think your smile could raise cocks all around the world, if only you used it more.”

I giggled, Lionel snorted, and Bradley just stared at him.

“I always thought it was my ass women liked,” he whispered finally.

“Oh, you have one fine ass,” I said. When all three men looked at me, I realized I had actually said it out loud. I refused to be embarrassed by my slip. “What? He totally does.” Casey and Lionel just watched me with goofy grins, and when I braved up enough to glance at Bradley, he looked smug.

“What other features do you like?” he asked with his arms crossed over his chest, drawing my gaze to his well-defined biceps.

Hmmmm, would I start there? Or perhaps with those strong thighs, or maybe his calves, they were hot, too, or his feet. Hell, I was a foot person, and it was usually the first place I started. Mangy feet or toes were a deal breaker for me. I suddenly wondered what Bradley’s feet looked like. Did he have corns? Were they wide? Flat? Hairy? Oh, gosh! Did he have hammertoe? He seemed so aesthetically perfect he had to have a fault, and knowing my luck, it would be his feet.

Casey’s fingers snapped in front of my face. “Okay, creeper, if you are going to ogle, it’s best done discreetly.”

Fortunately, the guys resumed the game, and we fell into an easy cadence of laughter and gasps. I suddenly had a much better insight into all the men. Lionel was far more sensitive than he let on; Casey had no shame, which I was aware of already, and he was fiercely loyal to Lionel; their affection for each other had me more than a little jealous. And Bradley, well, I was beginning to see why he was Decker Steele’s best friend. Behind his scowly persona was a man who liked to have fun and was far more playful than he let on. He was confident, but not arrogant, which I’ll admit had been my first impression. He actually had a few sweet moments that were totally sigh-worthy.

The game had long since fallen to the wayside, and we were laughing at childhood stories when a loud knock at the door interrupted our Fancy Dress Friday fun. The way they were downing alcohol had them giggling like a gaggle of schoolgirls. If the boys weren’t careful, they’d be spending the next morning praying to the porcelain throne. Being the only sober one in the room, I answered the door.

“Oh, hello,” said a cultured, native voice coming from a woman who looked as equally cultured. She was taller than me with long dark hair and beautiful almond shaped eyes. She was wearing a dress that hugged her stunning body but still looked elegant and regal. Her eyes floated up and down my Wonder Woman costume, and her brow furrowed. “Is Emerson here?” Her demeanor quickly turned snotty, and I wondered if this was Bradley’s girlfriend. And who the hell was Emerson? I glanced over my shoulder and just about face palmed when I realized she was referring to Bradley.

“He is. Come on in, we’re just having a few drinks.” I stepped back, and she sauntered into the apartment like she owned the place.

“Davinda?” came Bradley’s startled voice from across the room.

Her eyes zeroed in on his half-dressed body, and I suddenly felt a resounding urge to scratch the woman’s eyes out.

“I didn’t realize you had company,” Davina said, glancing at me with a very Bradley-like scowl that bordered on condescending.

Okay, we obviously had issues because I didn’t like her, and I liked everyone—except Kasper—and she didn’t like me, and I was adorable, everyone liked me!—well, except Kasper.

“I have friends from the US staying with me for a while,” Bradley said, staring at Davina as though she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. “This is Lionel and his partner, Casey who anal bleaches,” Bradley added with a chuckle. “And this is Wiska. This is my secretary, Davina.”

Davina, the secretary, I thought with an eye roll. I knew exactly what sort of filing went down in Bradley’s office, and it sure as hell wasn’t the paper, hard copy kind.

She nodded politely to Casey and Lionel before turning her catty gaze on me. “You seem familiar,” she mused, once again taking in my costume.

I stuck a hand on one jutted out hip and smiled. “Do you watch porn?”

I’d always wanted to say that and found immense satisfaction in the righteous indignation Davina strived for while she blushed profusely, which told me straight away she did, in fact, watch porn. Lionel and Casey snorted with laughter; however, Bradley’s expression was anything but amused.

“I was at The Lovely Lounge and saw that you weren’t there. I thought I’d stop by to check on you and make sure everything was alright,” Davina purred, ignoring me completely.

“Wow, a secretary that goes above and beyond. That’s impressive, Bradley. You should give her a raise,” I said with as much sarcasm as possible.

I immediately realized how snotty I sounded, and for what reason? Because I thought her boss was a hottie? Because Lady Jealousy wanted to poke her head out and blow this prudish cow a raspberry? Didn’t matter because Bradley was nothing more than a friend, if that. Besides, my pussy was on pause, indefinitely.

“Can I get you a drink, Davina? We have margaritas, whiskey, wine, beer, orange juice, Coke, water . . . or mocktails.” I swung my attitude from shitty to sweet in a heartbeat. It took some serious acting skills, because I still erred on the side of dislike for this woman, but I still nailed the charming hostess like a pro.

“Davina, what are you doing here?” asked Bradley as he leaned against the kitchen counter, looking all kinds of jump-worthy in that damn leather skirt! Davina thought so as well; I could tell by the way she talked to his pecs.

“Like I said, I was at The Lovely . . .”

“And why were you there?”

“Wine,” Davina said, giving me a pointed look while ignoring Bradley’s question.

I poured her a drink and watched as she stepped into Bradley’s body. Invading one’s bubble much! Damn, jealousy was a bitch, and it had been too long since the emotion had turned my veins green. It made me feel sick.

“You said no to dinner, Emerson, but you didn’t say you would be adverse to my company . . .” Her long, red tipped claws ran along the exposed ridges of those stalker worthy abs, and I shoved the drink across the counter.

“Can I get you another, Bradley?” I asked in a sickly sweet voice.

“Bradley?” Davina asked with a perfectly arched brow.

“Ignore them. It’s a personal joke,” he muttered. “And, yes, more drink, lots and lots of drink.”

I poured him a whiskey and shoved it none too carefully in his direction. “Drink up, sunshine!” I sang with way too much enthusiasm, and hid a grin as Bradley stepped away from the bubble invading hussy.

Eventually, we ended up back in the living room, with Davina, much to my disdain, and the boys continued to irrigate their already inebriated bodies. After a few more drinks, Davina had wedged herself back into Bradley’s personal space, and the fact he didn’t push her away irked me. I snorted. What kind of a lame-ass word was irk? I could do better than irk. It vexed me, sent arrows of irritation and repugnant hate into the bowels of my gut. Maybe if she had been sweet with an obvious kindness, it wouldn’t have bothered me on such a level, but I knew women like Davina; there was one on every street corner. I laughed out loud, and everyone turned to look my way, like sharks scenting fresh blood in the room. Davina’s heavily lashed, brown eyes took me in, again. Dang it, now I was in her laser beams.

“So, Wiska, what kind of a name is that?” she sneered.

“Ukrainian,” Bradley answered, gifting me a sexy smile.

Awww, I felt all warm and tingly in my lady bits.

“And you live in the US?”

I took a deep breath and swallowed the sarcasm I usually relied on when I was uncomfortable. “Yes, I do. I live in New York.”

“Oh, how urban.”

My smile fell. What the hell did she mean by that?

“And did you come to the UK just to visit Emerson?”

“She’s attracted unwanted media attention,” Bradley said without thinking.

This time there was no warm and tingly. No, this time there was a surge of I-wanna-slap-you-silly anger. I sure as hell didn’t want this condescending butt-munch to know my embarrassing New York oopsie.

“Which is Wiska’s business, nobody else’s.” Lionel inserted himself into the conversation with ease, and I gave him a grateful smile in return.

“You’re an actress? Have you starred in anything I might have seen?” Davina asked, shocked.

“Like I said, do you watch porn?”

She grinned, but it disappeared when I didn’t reciprocate the gesture. After all, I was deadly freaking serious.

“You’re a porn star?” She practically spat the words out.

“Uh-huh, that I am, ma’am.” I gave her a courtly tip of the head and smiled.

Her lip curled, and I readied myself for the verbal vomit. It wasn’t the first time someone had this reaction to my profession. There were usually three groups that people fell into when they learned what I did: one, shocked but didn’t care enough to ask questions; two, shocked and eagerly asked lots of questions; or three, appalled. Davina was clearly a number three, and with the snarky attitude she had turned on for the night, I assumed I was now going to get an earful. So, she wanted to argue? Well, the bitch could bring it. I was ready—I even had my CAPS LOCK ON!

“So you fuck, for money? Like a prostitute?”

“I had hoped you might shock her enough to say something intelligent,” Casey whispered in my ear, his arm carefully draped around the couch at my back as if ready to protect me from her verbal sting.

I hadn’t been in the industry very long, but I could handle snot-nosed prudes like Davina. While her words might have stung deep down, I knew how to bury that pain and hold my chin high.

“I fuck, on camera, for money . . . a lot of money,” I calmly replied.

“So, you are a prostitute who allows people to film her. How morally charming.”

“Compared to a woman who bends over her boss’s desk and allows him to fuck her, I think you have virtue and morality about covered.”

“Wiska, that’s enough,” murmured Bradley.

My stunned gaze met his drunken one, and I watched with sick fascination as Davina settled back into his side with a smug smirk well in place. Oh, yeah, it hurt, and suddenly the gorgeous man, who had begrudgingly offered me temporary housing, didn’t seem so gorgeous any more.

“What’s the problem, Bradley? Truth hurt?”

“I’m not fucking Davina,” he growled.

I looked from Davina to him and back again, all cozy and warm together on the couch. Bradley must have realized how they looked because he instantly tried to inject a small amount of space between their bodies.

“Obviously . . .” I drawled. Hello, sarcasm, and welcome back. “So, do you have a problem with what I do for a living, too?” My head tilted to one side as I watched him glare daggers back at me. “Or maybe you just have a problem with women in porn, like a certain brunette for example.”

“My personal life is none of your business, Wiska. You are a guest in my house, so it would be best not to insult me.”

“That I am, but it’s okay for another one of your guests to insult me? Am I not allowed to defend myself? I won’t sit here and let someone to morally objectify me.” Davina slid back against Bradley’s side again, and the hatred bubbled right out of my glossy lips. “Maybe the problem is, Bradley, the last adult film star you fucked broke your heart, so now you carry a great big, ugly, porn-a-phobic chip on your shoulder!”

“You’ve gone too far, Wiska.” Bradley snapped, standing, which forced Davina to fall ungracefully back into the couch.

I would have laughed my ass off except I was standing, my hands on my hips, and steam was quite possibly funneling out of my ears as I glared at Bradley.

“No! She did when she called me a whore! What? So, it’s okay for Decker to be the almighty king of fuckery and get high-fived for his porn mastery, but I’m a whore for doing the exact same job?”

I felt Casey stand beside me. “You really wanna be careful how you reply to that, Bradley. I don’t care how drunk you are; I will lay you out on your cute, little tushie.”

CHAPTER 7

Bradley

Well, Fancy Dress Friday had gone to hell faster than a hooker in Skechers. All it took was one snobby secretary and a porn star with attitude. It had taken every ounce of cordial sociability I had not to make a scene when Davina walked through my door, and with copious amounts of the numbing agent I like to call whiskey under my belt, I had finally reached Give-a-fuck-ville, a pretty town with a whole lot of indifference and plenty of drunken shenanigans.

When Davina had begun to prod Wiska, I was ready to jump to her defense, but Wiska had proudly stood up for herself. All was okay with the world, right up until she dragged me into the verbal lashing.

Thing was, she was right—it pissed me off that she was an adult film star. I wish I were man enough to admit that out loud. I wanted her to have something more than a career in porn, but the truth was I really wanted it for me. I was attracted to Wiska, and her pornography career was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

Yeah, I was more than okay with Decker’s choice to be a porn star, I always had been, and yes, I high-fived him on more than one occasion for it. It was different, though, when the star in question was someone you wanted to sleep with, and no matter how much you told your whistle it wasn’t gonna happen, it didn’t make the wanting disappear. How the hell did my cousin Andi get past this with Decker? And here I stood—or more accurately, swayed—in front of Wiska who wore every damn emotion on her sleeve. She might try and convince everyone she was tough as nails, but I could see the hurt and humiliation in her pretty blue eyes. Any witty, sarcastic retort that might have sat on my tongue was immediately swallowed.

“You’re right. I have a problem with you being a porn star, but it’s my problem, not yours. You can choose to do whatever you want in this world, Wiska, and you shouldn’t have to put up with anyone looking down their noses at you because of their own moral indignation. It’s none of my business what you do with your life, and it is most definitely none of Davina’s business, either. She crossed a line.”

I turned to take in Davina who was huffing with outrage as she struggled to elegantly pull herself from the low sofa in her high heels and skin tight outfit that left little to the imagination. The haughty look that had quirked her lips in smug satisfaction was now gone. “Apologize to my guest please, Davina.” She opened her mouth, and I knew it would be a protest. “Or you’re fired.” That shut her up.

With stiff, jerky movements, she turned to face Wiska. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s your life. If you choose to be a whore, so be it.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Wiska remained silent, which surprised me. I was almost hoping she would allow her witty sarcasm to slap Davina’s callous attitude.

“I’d appreciate it if you would leave, Davina.” She huffed out a complaint but picked up her purse and made her way towards the front door. “And for the record,” I said, loud enough that she could still hear. “I have never fucked Davina, nor will I ever fuck her. She is an attractive woman but not my type.” A moment later the door slammed, hard. “And fucking secretaries is bad,” I mumbled.

“Well, Fancy Dress Fridays have never played out that way before,” Casey chuckled, giving Wiska a hug.

The disappointment in her gaze made me feel ill. In that moment, I wanted to hug her, too. Not because her body was way too enticing in that hot-as-hell Wonder Woman costume, not because I wanted to feel her breasts crushed against my chest . . . well, maybe that one a little bit, but because I wanted to take away the sadness that lingered in her gaze.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled as Lionel began cleaning up our mess.

Wiska disappeared, and I helped clean her bedroom space. As soon as the coffee table was shoved aside, I pulled out the sofa bed and tucked in fresh sheets.

“I don’t care if Lionel says I can’t go nuclear on your ass, because you hit like a girl, and NO, that is not some kinky new term for gay sex. I will pound you into the pavement if you ever disrespect Wiska again. This is her life, she gets to make her own choices, and right now she’s paying for those choices, but she doesn’t need your two cents worth of condemnation. Are you hearing me, Bradley?” Casey stood at my back as I tossed the cushions on the floor beside the sofa bed.

“She stood up for herself just fine,” I muttered.

“Or course she did, she always does.”

“Are you talking about me?” Wiska said in a tired voice.

“No,” I said at the same time Casey said, “Yes.”

“I hope you were talking about my great ass and perky boobs, then,” she muttered as she fell into the bed.

Immediately, Lionel and Casey climbed in with her, and I felt a pang of jealousy as they cuddled. Not because I wanted to cuddle with Lionel or Casey, but the spectacular woman with the great ass and perky boobs that lay between them.

“There were three in the bed, and the sexy one said, ‘Roll over, roll over’ . . .” Casey sang.

Wiska giggled, and the sound sent a shock straight to my traitorous dick. I quickly flicked off the lights and headed for the hallway that led to my room.

“Bradley?” Casey sung out.

“Uh-huh?”

“Good night, sleep tight, and lock your door in case Wiska decides to bite.” I heard a thump, which I could only assume was Wiska hitting Casey.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Good night.”

They all called out good night in unison, and I fled to my room, locking the door behind me. Not because I was scared of Wiska biting, but because I was scared I might actually enjoy it. My cock was hard, so fucking hard it’s a wonder I was still standing because all the blood from my body was currently pumping through my dick. Stripping off the ridiculous leather skirt, which had surprisingly caught Wiska’s undeniable attention, I stepped into the ensuite, turned on the shower, and stood under the hot spray of water. I drew in a deep breath as I leaned against the tile wall and let the water flow down my neck and back.

I was finding it difficult to fight my attraction to Wiska. She was funny, smart, a little crazy, spontaneous, and beautiful. God, she was achingly beautiful. Her eyes were full of innocence, but innocent she was not. She was a fucking porn star! She fucked men for money, just like Davina had claimed. And yet, I never had a problem with Decker doing it. Double standards much! But the thought of her fucking someone other than me turned my frustration and lust to murderous rage in a heartbeat. Not only did she fuck other men for money, but she was filmed doing it; it was out there for the world to see. Like Decker. I lightly banged my head against the wall.

Images of Wiska dressed in those barely there, tiny lycra pants and the tight little scrap of material over her breasts made my cock throb with impatience. “No,” I growled out. My dick twitched again, almost as if it were flipping me off, and I groaned as my hand finally gave in to my whistle’s demand. I gripped it hard and slid my hand to the head, then down the shaft to the base. “Fuck.” I slid my hand faster and squeezed a little harder before my other hand joined in on the action and cupped my balls. I imagined the hot wet heat of Wiska’s mouth around me, sliding up and down my painfully hard erection. I imagined grabbing her hair and fucking her mouth. I wondered what sounds she would make. Would her fingers slip between her thighs as she pleasured me? I didn’t last long, seven strokes at most, before I was spurting hot jets of cum all over the shower wall.

“Fuck,” I spat again. I had just jerked off to thoughts of Wiska’s mouth wrapped around my dick. I shook my head as I stood back and cleaned off the wall before giving my body a quick but thorough scrub.

Okay, fantasies were safe, I finally rationalized. They were secure in the privacy of my own mind. My cock wanted Wiska. Fine, it would have her from the safety of my thoughts and fantasies. Climbing into my bed, I sighed into the silence. Truth was, I didn’t want safe. I wanted Wiska. I wanted her in every conceivable position, repeatedly. Maybe once I’d had her, I’d be able to finally get her out of my mind. Maybe I should give in and take her, fuck her out of my system. “That’s drunken Bradley talking,” I muttered before my eyes closed, and I succumbed to the copious amounts of whiskey running through my veins.

*

Three weeks had passed since Fancy Dress Friday, three full weeks of me hiding at work. Thankfully, Davina had called in sick for the first week, and then began a routine of careful avoidance, which had been fine except I needed her help right now. Shit, I hadn’t even screwed her, and I still landed myself in the same place—fucked.

I picked up the phone and dialed the extension to the phone on Davina’s desk, which was pretty much right outside my fucking door.

“Yes?” Her brisk answer caught me by surprise. She hadn’t answered the last four times I had tried her. I could have gotten up and gone looking for her, but truth was I was glad she hadn’t answered, but I needed her help now.

“Hey, I can’t access those files on the sale of the Regent stocks.” I could hear Davina’s fingers clicking away on the keys of her computer.

“The login details have been changed. I’ll contact New York and get the new ones.”

She hung up on me. That was usually how I ended my conversations. I placed the phone back in its cradle and stared at my computer screen for about the thousandth time. Google had been pulled up, and I’d gotten as far as entering Wiska James into the search engine. There, I had hesitated. Did I really want to know? Did I really want to see? I angrily shoved the earbuds in my ears and flicked the screen on my phone, finding a playlist to suit my mood. Work-Out Playlist, first song up, Nine Inch Nails’ “The Line Begins To Blur”. How apt: angry, pissed off, and the perfect explanation of my world right now. While I listened to the song, I thumbed the sticky note in my fingers.

My lips twitched with the need to smile, and rather than throwing the note away, I stuck it to the bottom of my computer screen. We had been leaving notes for each other, which had moved from every day needs and wants to something more flirtatious. It had started two weeks ago with Wiska’s note telling me she missed my brooding face after I had spent my first week in hiding. I couldn’t believe she missed me; I assumed she would more than likely still be pissed at me from Fancy Dress Friday. Most women I knew could hold a grudge for months, and it had only been a week before Wiska reached out an olive branch.

In turn, I left a sticky note stuck to a pillow beside her sleeping form before quietly escaping the apartment. It said: I miss checking out your D-cups when we jog. It wasn’t hard to have worked out her cup size, her underwear could be found laying on the floor in my room and hanging to dry in the guest bathroom. I liked having her underwear laying around my space. Probably had something to do with me being a pervert, and the fact that my feelings toward Wiska had shifted. I liked having her around. I liked having her stuff in my home. Imagining her belongings on someone else’s floor pissed me off. I may as well just save everyone the time and trouble and just piss on her like a possessive dog. And so, back and forth it went, compliments wrapped in sarcasm and sexual innuendo. It wasn’t helping my desire to be with her; if anything, it was accentuating the problem.

A tap on my shoulder caught my attention, and I turned to find Davina standing right beside me. I clicked the little red X to make my Google browser disappear and pulled out my earbuds.

“Login details. I tried to buzz you, but evidently, you are preoccupied,” she said, glancing at my computer. She handed me a piece of paper with her familiar harsh, rushed writing on it. It was unlike Wiska’s, which was feminine and loopy in a playful way.

“Thank you,” I murmured, turning away.

“She should be checked by a doctor. I hear the adult film industry is full of sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Not Ryder Harder Productions,” I found myself saying a little defensively.

“And you know this personally?”

Thankfully, Davina had moved to the other side of my desk. I found my skin crawled when she got too close to me.

“I do. My best friend worked for them, and I know the owner personally. He runs a tight ship; the actors are tested regularly, and the films are artistic and classy, not smutty. He prides himself in producing a top quality product.”

Davina snorted which was so contradictory to the smooth, feminine persona she usually aimed for. “She’s a whore, Emerson. She’s a woman who is paid to have sex, then shares the experience with complete strangers. She is also a home wrecker. Did you know she had an affair with a married man? I dare you to google her. You’ll find she’s a long way from classy.”

With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming my door closed behind her. My gaze moved from the door to my computer screen, where I sat and stared for fuck knows how long. She had an affair? I couldn’t imagine Wiska having an affair with a married man. I couldn’t picture her as a vindictive home wrecker. Davina, maybe. Wiska, definitely not. I shut the computer down, wishing I could do it like one might slam a door shut with annoyance and attitude. Instead, I clicked the shut-down icon and pressed the sensor button on the screen. I shoved the piece of paper Davina had given me into my pocket and stormed out of my office, finally getting the opportunity for an enraged door slam. It was as satisfying as I knew it would be.

Davina was absent from her desk, which suited me just fine, I wasn’t in the mood to pretend her company didn’t piss me off.

I rode the elevator down to the basement and came to an abrupt, grinding halt when I realized my car was not in its usual parking spot. I shook my head and chuckled, making my way back to the elevator. I reached for my phone, dialed, and held it to my ear.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” I laughed. “Meet you out front.”

“I’m already there.”

Aedan worked for the chauffeur service that Willie owned here in London. He was always my driver on the odd occasion I used them. He was a good man, the kind I could easily have been friends with outside a driver/drivee relationship. Irish, with a classical Irish humor to boot, he didn’t mince words, but he was respectful. As I stepped out of the building and into the grey street full of depressing, gentle rain, I spotted the car parked against the curb on the opposite side of the street. I also spotted Davina as she slammed the back passenger door and sauntered away. That woman had perfected the art of slamming doors. And what the fuck had she been doing in my car? I dodged the traffic and dived into the back of the dark grey Lexus.

“Mr. Emerson,” Aedan greeted me with a smile.

“What was that about?” I asked, flicking my head at Davina’s retreating back.

“That young lady,” Aedan said as he pulled into the traffic, “thought she could buy me off.”

“How so?”

“She tried to bribe me into letting her wait for you, right there.” He indicated to the empty passenger seat beside me.

“You’re shitting me?” I scoffed.

“I am not. Had she offered to nibble on me nob instead of cash, I might have been tempted.”

I laughed loudly as we made our way through the city.

As we approached my building, the rain had eased and the traffic thinned. I was trying to relax, but the thought of arriving home to my house guests was making that difficult. I missed having my apartment to myself, yet at the same time, I was eager to see Wiska. It was a conflict I battled daily on the drive home.

A small scuffle on the sidewalk caught my eye. When I recognized Wiska’s tiny body standing amongst a throng of men, I grabbed the door handle.

“Aedan, stop,” I commanded. He immediately pressed on the brake, and I jumped from the car.

“Come on, Wiska, surely you have a few words. Flip me off, do something, anything!” a taunting voice called out.

The four men that had surrounded her all held cameras. They stood far enough back that it couldn’t be called assault, but they were definitely harassing her.

“How long did you and Kasper sleep with each other?”

“Did you know he had children?”

I watched as Wiska’s broken, rainbow casted hand drew back to punch the asshole who’s camera began clicking away in front of her. I grabbed one of the men by the scruff of his neck and pulled him aside. The way he fell to his knees made me feel about ten fucking feet tall. I had never once been in a fight, so I didn’t have a clue what to do, but putting one of the men on his ass was definitely satisfying to my ego. I grabbed Wiska’s arm just as she swung it, and when the sharp sting of her hand slapped my face, I paused.

“Oh shit, Bradley, I’m so sorry,” she began, her eyes full of unshed tears.

“Don’t worry about it, pussycat. Let’s go inside.” Suddenly, Aedan was there clearing the way, pulling the photographers back as I escorted Wiska into the building. “Thank you, Aedan.”

“Not a problem, boss,” he replied with a cheery smile. Turning back to the reporters, he growled, “Now, back the fuck up before I shove the damn camera someplace dark and warm.”

“Sir,” said Floyd from the elevators.

We stepped in and Wiska remained quiet and stiff at my side.

“Everything alright, Miss Wiska?” Floyd asked in a concerned tone.

“Not really, but thank you for asking,” she whispered.

I ushered her into the apartment, and Casey and Lionel looked our way from the couch. When they noticed the look on Wiska’s face, they both jumped up, but I raised a hand for them to stay back.

“Wiska and I are going to have a little talk.”

I gently took her arm and led her down the hallway.

CHAPTER 8

Wiska

What a clusterfuck. The rain had finally cleared, and I thought I would jog off my cabin fever, but the curse of my own damn bad luck followed me. The moment I rounded the corner onto the street Bradley’s apartment was on, four paparazzi had jumped in front of me. I had already narrowly escaped an assault charge on a pap in New York, and thanks to my renegade temper, I nearly found myself back in the same predicament. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Bradley had shown up in the nick of time. The way he had shoved the men aside and tried to shelter my entrance into the building made me a little warm and fuzzy. The scowl he currently wore as he dragged me through his apartment, not so much.

I thought of the sticky note stuffed in my bra top and hoped it wasn’t peeking out the top. We had been leaving notes for each other for the last few weeks. Frivolous things like, TXT me if you need anything, the keys are in the dish, and I’ll be home late, don’t wait up had morphed into more sexual content, like Your ass looks lonely without my hands on it, and The only reason I’d kick you out of bed would be to fuck you on the floor. Oh, yeah, that one had helped Thor rock my world a few days ago.

I’d barely seen Bradley over the past few weeks; he was constantly working, gone before we got up and home long after we were in bed. The notes felt safe because they didn’t come with a face, but now that I had a face in front of me, I felt more than a little awkward. The latest note was currently tucked in my sports bra and read:

It wasn’t romantic—it was erotic and hot—and my heart had flipped like a lovesick schoolgirl. I wished I had the tact and grace to be unaffected by his words, to make him grovel and beg until I finally gave him a reprieve. The truth was my vay-jay had a bad crush on this man, and I was beginning to think that, just maybe, a little more than my vay-jay was in lust for this man. And, to top it off, I wore the damn black lacy thong. I also kept the note. It was the first one he had left me signed Bradley, rather than Emerson, and for some reason that meant something to me. Now, it was soggy and causing my skin to itch. Bradley turned into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind us.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the bed.

“Woof,” I muttered as I grudgingly obeyed.

I had to climb onto the bed since it was huge, like a massive ship on the ocean huge. Bradley paced across the room a few times before coming to a standstill in front of me. His hands were on his hips, his suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened. His hair was ruffled into a delicious mess from the wind. He looked entirely too edible. I sighed and crossed my legs, a gentle reminder that sex was currently off the menu.

“I take you in, offer you some place to stay, I don’t ask questions, and I don’t pry; I just give you what you need. But right now, Wiska, I want some answers. I deserve to know what the fuck is going on with you.”

I had every intention of using some of that sarcasm I enjoyed so much, along with a good ol’-fashioned flip-off to boot, but before the words could escape my mouth and my finger could poise to flip, I realized he was right. He may not have been a willing host, but he had allowed us to take over his home for almost a month now, and he hadn’t asked questions. Plus, he had paid for my medical expenses. I owed him the truth, at the very least.

“There’s not a lot to it. I dated a married man. The world found out. I’m a home-wrecker.” The words were a lie and tasted bitter on my tongue, but that was pretty much the short and sweet version of what had happened.

“Explain,” he demanded, watching me with an expression that clearly said he didn’t believe me.

“Fine,” I breathed out in annoyance. “I had no idea who Kasper Karish was, I just knew he was famous—I still don’t really know what for. He was handsome, and he liked to flirt with me which was sweet. The attention he gave me wasn’t because I was a porn star, and I liked that. He seemed to like me for who I was. He liked to talk to me about life, he was great in bed, and he liked to buy me pretty things, which was nice, but not necessary. I didn’t realize it was payment for performing on my back, though.”

“What does that mean?” Bradley spat out.

“He was married, and I had no idea. His wife and family live in Spain. He travels back and forth between America and his family. I was his drink of choice, on tap whenever he visited New York.” I gazed up with pleading eyes. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have been with him if I knew. I’m not into being anyone’s mistress.” Bradley gave a slow nod. “Anyway, our relationship,” I snorted, “if you could call it that, was leaked to the media. Everything went crazy, my face was everywhere, and I was portrayed as the wicked witch of New York who was only after Kasper because I wanted dibs on his fortune.” My imploring eyes found his again. “I don’t need a sugar daddy. I pay my own way. His money meant nothing to me.” I glanced down at my fingers that were linked together in a tight grip in my lap. “I liked him, and I thought he liked me.”

“What did he say to you? Did he explain himself?”

A tear slipped free, dang it! I’d spilled enough tears for that dick-wad. I angrily brushed it away. “I haven’t heard from him since the morning I left his hotel room three months ago, after our regular midweek fling. He did an interview with his family for a magazine about a month back, a full two page spread. He played the misled and deceived husband to perfection; he claimed that I had relentlessly perused him. He went as far as to say I knew he was married and that I didn’t care, that nothing would have stopped me from having him. That’s the word according to Kasper.” My tears quickly dried, and in place was the anger that had been left burning inside me. “I’ve made it to the front cover of every cheesy magazine America has to offer. Kasper was made to look like a wronged hero, and I was made to look like a two-bit hooker. My parents haven’t spoken to me since it happened, I had to take a leave of absence from my job, and I had to leave my own damn country, all because Kasper Karish wanted a bit on the side.” I was standing now, my fists clenched in a fit of rage.

Bradley stood eerily still; he could have been misconstrued for calm, but the anger burning in his beautiful eyes gave his fury away.

“I have people who can fix this for you, Wiska. Just give me the word and I’ll make it go away.” Huh? “Just tell me you want it fixed, and I’ll make sure it’s done.”

“How?” I balked.

“I know people.”

I rolled my eyes. Vague much? “So Andi said, but that’s not good enough for me. What kind of people?”

“The dangerous kind.”

“What, are you some kind of undercover Navy SEAL or something?” That drew a smile from him.

“Not even close. The only person I’ve ever hit is Decker, and it hurt so I obviously did it wrong. I’m also not fond of swimming.”

I leaned against the bed behind me, my anger syphoning away as I wondered what kind of people Bradley knew. Who was this man who made me want to drop my panties like a shameless hussy?

“No, I need more than that. I hate Kasper, but I’m not about to have him offed or something. He has children!”

“Offed?” Bradley burst out laughing.

“Well, that’s what you’re insinuating, right?”

“Not exactly,” he said uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What do you do?” I hated secrets, since Kasper even more so.

Bradley cast me a nervous glance. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“How very mysterious, and totally hot.”

Bradley’s anxious frown turned into a smug smile, which had me clenching my thighs together like a horny woman ready to climb the nearest available man, or silicone vibrator. “You should probably go say hi to Casey and Lionel. Let them know I’m not screwing that spectacular little body of yours into my mattress.”

My mouth fell open, and I found all the sound that had been spilling from my lips moments ago simply gone.

“Wow, every girl has a limit, push her just right and her voice will disappear. Who would have thought your limit would be threatening you with sex.”

“It’s not exactly a threat,” I whispered, my breathy voice barely recognizable.

Holy hell, I wasn’t that girl, the girl who was forward when it came to men and sex, unless it was in front of a camera with a director to call action . . . AND MY VAGINA WAS ON SABBATICAL!

Bradley took the few steps between us until he was standing so close I could feel the heat from his body. “Dammit, pussycat, I can’t get you out of my head. I’m like a walking fucking hard-on,” he murmured. Oh, damn that was hot. Whisker biscuit, behave! “It would be so easy to turn you around, press you into this bed, and fuck you until my name is the only one you remember. Kasper would be nothing more than a speck of dust in the wind, and the only man you’d remember between these thighs would be me.” Hmmmm, maybe my vagina vacation could wait. “Are you wearing the black thong?”

I nodded and parted. There was no sign of intelligent life left in this vessel.

Bradley grinned and leaned forward, his nose feathering across my cheek. “I want to strip you down to those pretty lace panties, pull them aside, and fuck you out of my system.”

And my throbbing lady bits paused. His frank admission kinda pissed me off. I gave his chest a subtle shove, and he stepped away. I walked towards the door, my head held high, with a sexy swing in my hips.

“What makes you think it would be so easy to get me out of your system?” I asked, the ire in my tone clear. “You’ve got Davina to help with your itch. If you think just because I work in the adult film industry that I’m going to drop to my knees for you, you’re wrong. I’m not that kind of girl.”

I left his room before I ruined my cast by smacking it over his head. I couldn’t remember a man ever getting under my skin the way Bradley did. He infuriated me one moment then stole my breath and sanity the next. If he hadn’t opened his mouth to let those asshole words out moments ago, he could have very well ruined me for all other men. Back to lady abstinence for me. As for the itchy, soggy note in my bra . . . well, I’d keep it, because I was sentimental like that.

*

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

I sat up from the couch and peered over the back. Moments ago, Bradley had stormed in from work and stomped right by me and into his bedroom. It was his usual MO, and it made living out of a suitcase, which was tucked away in the corner of said room, awkward.

“Pardon?” I asked, putting my cell phone to one side.

Bradley shifted from one foot to the other. He looked nervous. But that couldn’t be right because he was never nervous. Arrogant, check; confident, check; sarcastic, check. Bradley didn’t do timid and skittish.

“It’s a casual place. You can wear jeans, but bring a jacket since it’s cool out tonight.”

I just stared at him and wondered where the Moody Bradley Emerson had gone and who this anxious imposter was. His brow suddenly furrowed, and he scowled. Oh, there he was, just waiting to lure me into a state of confusion before pouncing with his usual, far too sexy grimace.

“Casey and Lionel are having a date night or something, and I’m taking you out for dinner, so hurry up!” And with that he turned and stalked off to his bedroom, slamming the door in his wake.

How very romantic . . . NOT. And the closed door to his bedroom was going to make getting dressed difficult. Luckily, I had stashed a few clothes in Lionel and Casey’s room weeks ago, when I realized we had reached an awkward and uncomfortable stalemate.

I found a clean pair of skinny jeans and a black off the shoulder top with a zombie burlesque dancer on the front. I slipped on a pair of black heels with little skulls down the heel seam, gave my face a puff of powder, my blonde lashes a coat of dark brown mascara, and applied my favorite MAC lipstick shade, Girl About Town. I was able to use the fingers on my right hand that peeked out the end of my cast rather efficiently; otherwise, things would have looked a little more Heath Ledger as the Joker, rather than the clean, bright look I was aiming for. Smacking my bright pink lips together, I stuffed the lipstick and my cell phone into a small shoulder bag and strolled into the kitchen.

Bradley’s door was still closed, so I poured myself a glass of water and waited . . . and waited and waited. Finally, when the door to his room swung open and a devilishly handsome Bradley stepped out, I decided the waiting was worth it. Wearing a pair of soft denim jeans and a button-down navy shirt rolled to his elbows, he was beyond gorgeous. His dirty blond hair was still wet from the shower, and he had shaved away the stubble, which I had fantasied about leaving beard burn between my thighs more than once.

I sighed. I was the worst born again virgin in history.

“Ummm, sorry,” he said rather sheepishly as he finger combed his hair. “I forgot your clothes are in my room. Do you need anything out of there? You should have just come in.”

“And risk seeing you in all your naked glory . . .” I tapped my finger against my lower lip as my eyes ran up and down his body. “I’m totally just coming in next time.”

Bradley grinned. “You look good, too, pussycat. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

I followed him out of the apartment, down the elevator, and into the basement parking garage. He drove with a quiet confidence that I found strangely erotic. Was there anything this man could do that didn’t turn me into a quivering mess of hormones? The memory of his not so sweet words, assuming that he could “fuck” his need for me away, yeah, there was that, and my lust dimmed under that memory.

We drove in silence—I took in the grey brick landscape, and Bradley drove like a Formula One pro. He soon pulled into a vacant parking space in front of a quaint restaurant on a narrow street. I peered through the windows of the establishment but couldn’t see much. I startled when my door suddenly popped open, Bradley standing before me. He held out a hand, and I chuckled.

“What did you do?” He gave me a quizzical look as he shut the car door. “Men only behave like this when they’ve done something wrong. So, what did you do? Did you accidentally wash my colors with my whites?”

Bradley had surprised the hell out of me when I came home the day before to discover my laundry done and neatly folded on top of my suitcase. The thought of him sorting through my bras and panties made me blush for half a second before an illicit grin worked its way to my face. I hoped he had a severe case of blue-balls after the sight of my Victoria’s Secret matching sets. This man who thought he could work me out of his system with just one night between the sheets. Not possible. I got under people’s skin like a lovable parasite. Besides, if he tasted me, he’d be hooked, and I didn’t need that complication. I could certainly fantasize about it, though, repeatedly.

“What do you mean colors with whites?”

I gasped. “Bradley, you can’t wash colors with whites. It will ruin the whites.”

“Oh,” he looked guilty as hell, “then I guess I’m buying you dinner because I might have ruined your whites.”

We stared at each other, Bradley almost expecting me to smack him over the head. Instead, I burst out laughing, and soon enough, he was smiling right along with me.

“You’re not angry?”

“Lord no, the fact you washed my clothes gives you free reign to ruin everything I own for a few months, at the very least.”

Bradley’s smile fell. “Well, you won’t be here that long, so you have nothing to fear.”

Now my smile dimmed, too. The thought of going home was clouded with mixed emotions. I missed my apartment, my friends, and my family, even though they weren’t speaking to me, but strangely enough, I enjoyed being around Bradley, even if he was sullen and brooding most the time.

Dating the painfully secretive Kasper Karish proved I was a glutton for punishment. Bradley Emerson was no exception. I was also enjoying the small amount of privacy the UK had offered that the US had been unable to. I hadn’t had another run-in with the paparazzi since the day Bradley had stepped in to rescue me. Oh, I had seen them and they had snapped a few photos from afar, but I didn’t leave the apartment without Lionel or Casey, so the cameras stayed back, and they were quickly becoming bored with my infrequent comings and goings. Facing the whiplash of gossip that surely awaited me back home made me feel anxious.

Bradley pushed open the door to the restaurant. “I didn’t screw up your clothes . . . I think. I just like to treat women as they should be treated. My woman is always well fed and treated like a lady. A woman is the reflection of the man who stands behind her,” Bradley murmured, and I raised a brow.

“Really? Did you read that in a Hallmark card or something?”

He chuckled. “No, but if I treat my woman like a lady, she’ll feel like a lady. Now, in the bedroom is a whole other matter; sometimes I prefer to treat her a little dirty when we’re in there.” He winked at me, and my pulse throbbed, and not the pulse in my wrist or neck. I didn’t actually realize I had a pulse in my vagina until meeting Bradley.

I moved in a thick haze of horn-bag lust as I entered the restaurant, and thankfully, someone led us to a booth near the front. My brain couldn’t function on anything but the basics right now. I glanced around the humble restaurant and found a certain amount of relief in the fact it wasn’t fancy or ostentatious, like Kasper preferred; not that we went out to dinner more than twice in our entire relationship. This place was quiet, dimly lit with a warm ambiance that screamed comfort rather than pretentious snobbery. Bradley ordered himself a stout and me a Pepsi. The stout had my eyeballs pop because it looked nothing like the amber beers from home. It was dark and heavy looking with a cappuccino style froth.

“You want to try it?” Bradley asked.

“Hell no,” I mumbled.

“Why don’t you drink alcohol?”

I was asked this question constantly, because apparently, being a twenty something pretty blonde living in New York, who liked to party but didn’t actually partake in the part that most people viewed as ‘the party’, was odd.

“I was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder when I was seven. I was medicated, but the meds didn’t agree with me, and eventually, after a number of years of experimenting, my doctor and family discovered a low dosage medication I could tolerate, and combined with a healthy diet I’m able to control the problem. I avoid alcohol. It just doesn’t seem to agree with me, and it makes me go a little fruity. I decided when I got to college that maybe I had outgrown it and could possibly tolerate a drop. I mean, I was in college, and it seemed sacrilegious not to drink or get stoned.” I snorted at that memory. “I still couldn’t handle liquor.”

“What happened?” Bradley asked with a frown when I didn’t elaborate.

“I didn’t drink much, I swear.” I pinned him with a pointed look. “But I ended up disappearing from the bar my friends and I had gone to, and when they couldn’t find me, they sent out a search party. I had somehow managed to bypass campus security and made my way to one of the dorm’s rooftops with Mal and Cora. We were performing a star dance . . . and when I say we, I mean me . . . and I might have been a little naked.”

It seemed to take Bradley a moment to put his thoughts together. “Okay, backtrack with me here. How much did you drink?”

“One beer and a shot of tequila.” Bradley waited for me to continue.

“That was it?” He scoffed.

“That’s all it took,” I huffed indignantly.

“Fair enough. How did you bypass campus security?”

“I set a trash can on fire, and when they abandoned their post, it was enough time for me to get past them. Then a sweet young man let me, Mal, and Cora into the dorms, and we used the fire escape to get up to the roof.”

“Who are Mal and Cora?”

I sighed at the fond memories of the lovely couple who had quickly become my college besties. “Mal and Cora were a homeless couple who lived behind the Krispy Kreme a few blocks from campus.”

“And they joined you on the roof . . . to dance . . . naked?”

“They were really just going with the flow to keep an eye on me; they were worried I’d get into some sort of trouble. And it was a star dance, it was very important to me, so Mal and Cora were happy to let me indulge myself.”

“And you were naked?”

“I felt closer to Mother Nature without my clothes on.”

“Were Mal and Cora naked, too?”

“Good Lord, no, that’s just gross, Bradley. They were like second parents to me.”

“Totally gross but not illegal, even if they were your parents. So, what the hell is a star dance?”

“It was a contemporary personal interpretation of the stars, a dedication to their beauty.” Annnndddd he was staring at me again. I shrugged. “I was feeling the creative beauty that night. I might not be a prima ballerina like my mom, but I like to dance and I have some skills.” My eyes dropped to Bradley’s beer, and I wondered if I were to have just a sip if I would become Queen of Cray Cray.

Bradley pulled his glass away from me. “Uh-huh, just keep your hyperactive, lightweight fingers off my drink, woman, unless you are feeling the music and want to become one with Mother Nature, which, of course, requires nudity, then we can talk.” He said it with a waggle of his eyebrows that had me erupt into a fit of laughter. When I finally settled, it was to find him staring at me, AGAIN!

“What now? Do I have MAC on my teeth?”

“Mac and cheese?”

“No, MAC lipstick,” I explained.

“No, your teeth are just fine. I just like the sound of your laughter. I don’t hear it very often, though.”

“How on earth would you hear it when you’re too busy hiding in your office? I could always leave you a sticky note with the words ‘ha, ha, ha’ written on it, but I don’t think it would be the same.”

“Touché,” he murmured.

“So, are you going to tell me this big secret job of yours?” I asked as I sipped on my Pepsi. Bradley shook his head slowly from side to side. “Really, I’m a porn star for Pete’s sake. Surely it can’t be more convoluted than that!”

He raised a brow and took a long drink from the muddy liquid he called beer.

“Are you a hitman?”

He grinned and shook his head.

“Gigolo?”

He chuckled, followed by another shake.

“I’ve got it!” I said, snapping my fingers and pointing at him. “You are a thief, but you only do high end stuff. Art, jewelry, missiles, stuff like that.”

He laughed, a loud, bold sound that had that pulse in my groin throbbing again. It was the first time I had heard him laugh so open and freely. It was a sound I wanted to bottle and keep.

“Not even close.”

“I will figure you out, Mr. Emerson,” I whispered defiantly.

“And I’ll enjoy you trying, Miss James,” he replied.

CHAPTER 9

Bradley

I wanted to be immune to the charming porn star. I wanted to look at her and feel nothing. Truth was she had me wrapped around her damn cute pinky, and she didn’t even know it. If she said jump, I would ask how high . . . if she said roll over, I would have done so and hoped she rubbed my fucking belly, and something else in the southern region. I wanted her, and a small part of me realized I wanted more than just her body. I wanted her goddamn beautiful heart. I didn’t want to want it, but I was quickly coming to realize it was completely out of my control. Each time she smiled, I swooned. FUCKING SWOONED! Like a lovesick, pimple faced virgin. Shit, someone just dress me in a pink knit sweater and a pair of white leather loafers. I was doomed.

“Why do you live in the UK?” she asked as she played with the straw in her soda.

“I needed to for my work.”

“Your mysterious job,” she mused with a smile.

My lips began to curve into their own dreamy smile. SEE, SWOONING!

“What about your job? What are you going to do when you get back home? You going back to work for Kink Harder?” I feigned a smile, the idea of her returning to her job making my good mood plummet.

Wiska shrugged. “I’m not sure. I really want to finish my degree in nursing, but I have a lot of trouble with studying for long periods of time. I could probably pick up work in a bar or waitressing; I’ve done that before. Ryder said I’m welcome to come back to Kink Harder any time. I’ve also had interest from Brutal Babes; they are offering to pay a lot more money, but I’ve heard a few bad things about them.”

I cringed. I hadn’t told her the name Kasper Karish meant a hell of a lot more to me than a cheesy celebrity story. I knew he was Willie Bianco’s nephew from his brother’s wife’s previous marriage. Ever since Wiska had told me what happened with Kasper, I had begun to plot revenge on her behalf. I knew Willie would be happy to take care of the mess. He wasn’t Kasper’s biggest fan and a little public humiliation wouldn’t bother the man in the least. The connection between Willie and Kasper suddenly had me wondering, though. Was Kasper working to get Wiska over to Brutal Babes? I shook off the idea. It was far too crazy a plot for real life, so I racked it up to coincidence.

I was glad Wiska hadn’t caved to the pressure to work for Brutal Babes. Where Ryder demanded regular medical tests of his stars and ran a tight ship that left no room for abuse or drugs, Willie’s company thrived on producing more violent scenes and encouraged drug use to enhance his stars’ performance. The thought of sweet, innocent Wiska being lured into that environment almost made me fly into a panic.

“What do you recommend?” Her voice broke through my minor freak out.

“What?”

“Food. I’m starving.” She pointed to the menu.

My eyes lifted from the menu and settled, seemingly, as if with a mind of their own, on her breasts. When she lifted the menu to cover them, I grinned, and thankfully, she did, too.

“Eye’s up here, pervert. I need food, so feed me.”

“Personally, I’m a big fan of the Sunday roast.”

Her brow crinkled and her nose twitched. It was . . . cute. “But it isn’t Sunday.”

“That’s cool. They’ll still serve it.”

“But . . . it isn’t Sunday. Why is it called a Sunday roast if they serve it any day?”

At that moment, I was saved by a waitress who sidled up to our table.

“What about fish and chips?” I suggested, and her brow furrowed and her nose twitched again.

“That doesn’t seem like an appealing combination to me.”

“You’ve been in the UK almost a month, and you haven’t figured out what chips are yet?”

“I know what chips are. They are crispy, you buy them in bags at the corner store, and I don’t think I want them served with fish.”

I glanced at the waitress who was trying hard to repress a smile. “I’ll have a Sunday roast, even though it’s Friday, and she’ll have fish and chips with a salad, even though she doesn’t think she wants chips.”

Wiska huffed, but before she had a chance to argue, the waitress disappeared. We fell into an awkward silence; I fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers while Wiska’s eyes flitted around the restaurant, coming to rest on a family sitting in a booth. The father was tickling the little girl whose contagious giggle had Wiska smiling before she turned to face me, a more serious look in place.

“Why can’t you tickle yourself?”

I didn’t answer. How could I? Her question completely and utterly floored me.

Her hands rose to her waist, and she began to tickle herself, a thoughtful look on her face. “See, nothing. If you were to do it, I’d be a laughing, crying mess.”

I looked at my hands and imagined them on her body, and before I could stop it, a wicked grin slipped into place. Oh, yeah, I could imagine these hands on that body.

“And why do we wash towels? I mean, when we step out of the shower, we’re clean. We’re really just wiping away clean water, so why do we need to wash the towels?” I opened my mouth to speak, but she just kept right on with the oddball questions. “And why the heck does Wile E. Coyote put all that effort into catching the Road Runner? He had all that money to buy all that crap to try and catch him, so why didn’t he just get takeout?”

I laughed, there was really no other option. It was either that, or stare at her like she had just lost her goddamn mind.

She leaned forward, her serious expression still in place. “I’ve always wondered about people with nose rings. If they take the piercing out and blow their nose, do boogers come out the hole?”

“Pussycat, I really think you spend far too much time thinking.”

Her tirade of questions were brought to a halt when our meals came only ten minutes later. I could almost feel the tension in her body as the meal was placed before her. Seeing the sagging relief in her shoulders when she realized chips were, in fact, fries was priceless.

She raised a brow in my direction. “You could have told me they were fries.”

“They’re not, they’re chips.”

She snorted. “Uh-huh, I thought I was going to have a plate of yummy fish with a side of Doritos.”

I grinned at her. “I know. I wish I had photographed the look on your face; it was priceless.”

We ate. She sampled my Sunday roast and agreed that, even though it wasn’t Sunday, it was good. I pinched chips from her plate and decided it had been too long since I had simply enjoyed the company of a woman. Even with Leah, we had never really enjoyed a simple date. We had eaten together, but it was usually in her apartment and usually interrupted by bouts of sex. When I glanced up, I caught Wiska licking a finger, and suddenly a bout of sex seemed like a great idea. I sighed. If my fucking dick wanted this woman, who was I to stand in his way?

We paid the bill and wandered out onto the street. The sun had set, and the night was coming to life. Music spilled into the street from a pub a few doors down, and I didn’t miss Wiska’s eyes light up as her gaze turned in that direction.

“You want to take a look?”

She nodded, and I automatically took her hand and pulled her in that direction. For a moment, I felt awkward about the hand holding; I’d never held the hand of someone who wasn’t anything more than a friend. Was she a friend? It was kind of presumptuous of me to assume we were; it’s not like I had been friendly to her since her arrival. Hell, I had ignored her like a consummate professional asshole. Other than the occasional dirty sticky note, which had been a vague attempt at literary flirting, I hadn’t really talked to her. I knew little about her other than she was a porn star from the States with a spontaneous nature and a penchant for overthinking trivial matters. A tug on my hand caught my attention, and for a split moment, I thought she was trying to let go of my ridiculously tight grip. I wouldn’t blame her. My palm was disgustingly sweaty.

“What’s that?”

I followed her pointed finger to the bridge arching over the River Thames. Her eyes had caught the padlocks attached to the fencing. We made our way across the road, and she finally let go of my hand and admired the large array of padlocks secured to the bridge.

“Love locks. Couples buy their own lock and attach it to the bridge as a symbol of their love for each other.”

She peered closer to make out the names and initials inscribed into each lock. “That’s so sweet,” she whispered. Her excited mood turned somber, and I found myself frowning. I didn’t like pensive Wiska; it didn’t suit her. She was far too vibrant to feel sad.

“How ’bout you show me some of those dance skills you claim to have.”

When her gaze finally left the padlocks, she smiled. She made a move to head towards the bar whose music spilled into the night, but I pulled on her hand to stop her from walking away.

“Aren’t we going to dance?”

“Sure are,” I said with a wink, pulling her into my body.

I could hear Nelly Furtado’s “Promiscuous” pumping from the pub down the road. I didn’t mean for the song to be so apt; it’s not like I looked at Wiska and thought of her as a promiscuous girl, even though she was a porn star, but it just fit. The lyrics were hot. It was the kind of song that strangers lost themselves in while in the dark privacy of bars and clubs, and right now, I wanted to get lost with Wiska.

I began to sway and move around the footpath at the end of the bridge. Wiska only hesitated a moment before her body began to move with mine. She moved like silk, lithe and smooth. Her hands glided over my body, I pulled her hips in close to mine, and we danced like nobody was watching. Hell, nobody was watching. An impromptu dance on the end of the Millennium Bridge was new to me, but I wasn’t passing up the opportunity to dance with Wiska. She might not have been a prima ballerina like her mother, but damn, she could move.

“We’re dancing on a bridge.”

“To be fair, we are dancing at the end of the bridge, more on the footpath.”

She giggled, and I wanted to rub my cheek against hers like some sort of cat marking its mate. I really needed to stop watching the National Geographic channel.

“So, what does Bradley Emerson do when he’s not working himself into an early grave at some top secret job?”

I spun her around and enjoyed her arms tightening around me. “Well, I run,” I gave her a pointed stare, “and avoid swans.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m really not that much of a party animal. I like to work out, I read, I like Sudoku, and I play poker with the lads once a month.”

“Lads?” she blurted out, followed by an adorable giggle.

“Boys, men?”

“I love your weird accent and wacky words,” she sighed.

“I love your free spirit. You’re not like other girls I know.” Wiska gave me a shy glance, and I suddenly felt awkward. All this throwing the ‘L’ word around was making me feel nervous. “What about Wiska James? What does she do when she’s not . . . on camera.”

On camera sounded so much better than on her back, or knees. Dammit, now I was thinking of Wiska on her knees in that sexy lingerie that spilled from her suitcase. I tried to move my hips back a fraction to avoid my hardening whistle from reaching its target.

“Well, I like to run, too, and I’ve recently been educated on the danger of swans, so I avoid them like the plague. I don’t mind working out, but I prefer yoga.”

“You’re flexible,” I said with a grin, moving my agreeable cock further away from her body.

“I guess . . . it’s a dancer thing.”

“Maybe it’s a Wiska thing.”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin. “I like Fancy Dress Fridays and movie marathons. I also like poker, but I’m not very good at it. I like dancing, drawing—”

“You draw?”

“Not very well, but yeah, I like to draw. I love shopping,” she said with a grin.

“What woman doesn’t?”

She slapped my chest. “Casey loves shopping.”

“Casey is more of a woman than some women I know.”

She slapped my chest again, and this time I caught her hand beneath mine. Then the brain in my head obviously shut down, and the one in my pants lurched into action. I kissed her . . . hard. My tongue entered her mouth caressing hers, demanding more, and for some reason, she responded in kind. Her tongue didn’t press deep, it simply dipped and tasted, almost shyly. Her lips were soft and warm, and when our mouths finally slipped apart, we were both breathing hard. I’d kissed plenty of women; in-the-moment kisses, shut-her-up kisses, forced kisses, sloppy and unpracticed kisses, but I had never experienced a kiss like this. This was a kiss that meant something, but I had no idea what that something was.

“Get a room!” A drunken shout from the direction of the pub forced a little more room between us.

“Get a room indeed,” I whispered in an accent with far too much British lilt to it.

“I like that,” Wiska murmured.

“Which part? The kiss, the drunken idiot in the background, or the get a room part? Because I’m partial to the get a room part.”

“I was actually referring to the twisted American British accent you rock, but the kiss wasn’t half bad.”

She took a few steps away, and I followed her back across the road. She was headed towards the car, and my cock was rock hard and pressing almost painfully against the zipper of my jeans. She wanted to get a room, and I wanted to fist pump the fucking air. I glanced around and realized how far from a room we actually were. I wasn’t sure if I could wait; perhaps she would be content with the backseat of my car? No, I really needed a room for what I wanted to do to this woman.

“Wasn’t half bad? Were you even there for that kiss? That kiss was fucking epic!”

She shrugged, the twinkle in her eye when she peered over her shoulder told me she was clearly enjoying this game. “It was alright.”

I snorted. “Clearly you need reminding.” I reached for her, but she stepped away and tsked me with a raised finger.

“Uh-uh, Bradley, I’m not the kind of girl to play this game, even if the bridge dancing was incredibly romantic.”

I wanted to pat my own damn back for that nugget of romantic genius. I had a few tricks up my sleeve, and I was more than happy to show her what else I had to offer.

“I’m not that girl you can one-night-stand out of your life.”

I stopped in my tracks, and it took her a few more paces to realize she was walking on her own. When she turned and took a few tentative steps toward me, I found myself wondering where the hell I went wrong with this girl. I’d been an ass, a pissed off, grumpy, rude, arrogant ass, and she’d been nothing but sweet.

She assumed I was that guy, a man who indulged in one-night stands, a man who ate the candy and carelessly threw away the sparkly wrapper. She wasn’t far off in her assumptions, even though I wanted to think of myself as a man who did the right thing by women, recent erotic misadventures proved otherwise.

“You told me you wanted to fuck me out of your system.” Her voice was low as she stopped a few feet from me. “That’s not me, Bradley. Call me old-fashioned, but I dream of romance. Just because I work in the porn industry doesn’t mean I’m not immune to the idea of love. I don’t sleep around.” She shook her head in frustration. “Even on the job, I asked Ryder to keep me with the same couple of partners so I would feel more comfortable. Outside of the job, I date, but I only sleep with men I am serious about.” The mischievous twinkle was back in her eye. “And I never kiss on a first date; you made me break my rule.”

I smiled, too, but the guilt I was suddenly consumed with made the smile feel forced. I told her I wanted to fuck her out of my system, and what’s worse, I truly believed I could. That wasn’t me . . . well, it never used to be me, and I didn’t want it to be me. Perhaps my self-imposed exile from my home and friends, and the recent reminder that breaking up sucks, had turned me into a bitter old bastard. I had come to the realization that there was no way I could screw this girl out of my system. I had a feeling she was more like a drug that I was quickly becoming addicted to.

“I’m sorry. I never should have said that to you. I think I was a little resentful that I wanted you, and I’m not the kind of guy to share, so the whole porn thing would put the kibosh on anything I wanted to start with you.”

Her cheeks gained a little color, but she didn’t shy away when she looked me right in the eye. “You wanted to start something with me? Something more than just a fling or one night stand?”

I nodded.

“And you didn’t because of my career.”

I nodded again.

“Because you’re a monogamous kind of guy.”

“Of course I am. Don’t let my terrible behavior of late fool you. I’m not into sharing what’s mine. I was the same as a child, never liked sharing my toys. I even stopped talking to Decker for a few weeks when we were teenagers because he took my NSYNC CD without asking.”

She held her hands in front of her body and shook her head with a horrified look on her face. “Okay, I think we may have a deal breaker on our hands. You like NSYNC?”

I tried to fight the grin that crept up, but it was impossible. “What’s not to like? Their second album sold over one million copies in a day, the proof of their awesomeness is in the billions of dollars they made.”

“Nu-uh, no deal . . . NSYNC?” She shook her head, disgusted.

“Would it help if I said it was just a phase? I dropped them as soon as Decker introduced me to The Smashing Pumpkins. He wasn’t impressed with my pre-pubescent music taste, either.”

Wiska chewed on her bottom lip as she considered this, and all the while I wanted to chew on it for her. “I guess I should let this one go. I was a Take That fan myself.”

“Oh, hell no! That is a definite deal breaker,” I huffed, walking right past her.

“Hey now, they were way cooler than NSYNC. They had Robbie.”

I glanced over my shoulder with a raised brow as we approached the car. “Yeah, and NSYNC had Justin.” She screwed up her nose at that; it was a cute, just like that righteous eye roll she had perfected.

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

When she would have stepped into the passenger seat of my car, I stopped her with a hand on her elbow and leaned in close. Her gaze dropped to my lips, and her little pink tongue swiped across her bottom lip, but I wasn’t about to kiss her. I didn’t want to break her rules. Instead, I had plans to become as much her obsession as she was mine. I was going to woo the sexy fucking lingerie right off her sexy fucking ass.

“You sure you don’t want to go dancing,” I whispered in her ear.

“We already danced.” I took a moment to enjoy the breathless whisper of her voice.

“I’d be more than happy to dance with you a little longer, pussycat. I could dance with you all fucking night and not get tired.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?” she murmured.

I took a moment to admire those soft lips that I most definitely wanted to kiss again. “Nope,” I finally said with more conviction than I felt.

“Why not?” she asked with a confused look on her face.

“I’m not breaking your rules.”

“I never took you for a gentleman, Bradley.”

“Trust me, I’m no gentleman, pussycat.” I pushed away from the car and gave her room to get in. “But I’ve been known to behave myself when the reward is worth it.”

“And what’s the reward?” Wiska chuckled.

“I guess you’ll have to tell me which date gets a kiss, ’cause that’s my first reward.”

“Your first reward?”

“Second base will be my next reward.”

She laughed. “And I guess third base will be your final reward?”

“Nope, I’m betting you’ll be so amazed by second base you will jump my bones on the spot.”

“Is that right?” she asked, clearly fighting a grin.

“Pussycat, if second base doesn’t sweep you off your feet, I’ll not only be your personal slave for a day, but I’ll be Casey’s, too.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“So confident,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “You are a temptation, Bradley Emerson, that’s for sure,” she finally murmured, and I hid my smile.

She had no fucking idea how much of a temptation I could be when I put in the effort.

CHAPTER 10

Wiska

I lay with my head hanging over the side of the mattress. I’d had a bad night’s sleep; my thoughts lingered over Bradley and his mind blowing kiss all night. I had never been kissed like that before, as though the man wanted to consume and own me. My fingers touched my lips that still seemed to feel the pressure of his mouth against mine. Hell, I was horny and had been tempted to knock down Bradley’s door and climb into that mountain of a bed and take him in ways that almost made me blush! His kisses were lethal and had turned me into a walking bag of lust. I needed a few moments alone with my ever faithful orgasm connoisseur, Thor. Since Bradley had snuck out the front door almost an hour ago, I could easily slip into his room and take a moment to release some built up tension. The way he had unashamedly taken me into his arms and danced with me in the middle of a footpath was movie moment worthy. Hi, my name is Wiska James, and my sexual sobriety has lasted four months. I’m willing to give it all away because a man DANCED WITH ME . . . ON A BRIDGE!

“Morning, sunshine!” Casey sang as he wandered down the long hallway.

I groaned, any thoughts of a quick fling between the sheets with Thor were now gone.

“I know, I know, my sheer presence alone is enough to bring entire nations into a groaning mess of need. Enjoy it while it lasts. My man wants to snuggle, so I’m only stopping by for a drink then I’m off to bring him to his knees . . . literally,” he said with a wink. “FYI, you have mail.” Casey pointed to the coffee table I had pushed to one side to accommodate for the sofa bed. A glass of juice sat there with a sticky note stuck to the side of it.

“Oh,” I said with surprise.

I had heard Bradley quietly moving around the room earlier, but I had feigned sleep in an attempt to not jump his deliciously handsome, if somewhat confusing, bones. I leaned across and grabbed the post-it note.

My who-ha did a little summersault at the thought.

“What does it say? Because we need milk. Does it say he’s bringing home milk?” Casey asked.

“No milk,” I murmured a little breathlessly.

“Well, we need it,” he huffed. “I’m leaving Lord of Sticky Notes his own damn note.” He grabbed a pen and a sticky note from the kitchen counter. “WE . . . NEED . . . COW . . . JUICE,” he said as he wrote, before tacking it under a magnet on the front of the fridge. “And it better not be any of that skim stuff. If I wanted cloudy water, I’d get it out of the faucet.”

Casey wandered over to my sofa bed, while my thoughts were once again tangled with Bradley and his deadly kisses, except now I was imagining those kisses on another part of my anatomy.

“WTF, HE KISSED YOU?” Casey shouted.

I pulled the sticky note to my chest, too late.

“WHEN? WHY? WHAT?”

“Enough with all the W’s,” I sighed.

“But you don’t kiss on the first date. You haven’t even been on a date with Bradley. Holy shit, I need to call Andi.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” I yelled, jumping from the bed.

Casey admired my Sponge Bob pajamas before his frustrated gaze landed on mine. “Well, start talking. I need deets to figure out if we need an intervention.”

I collapsed back into the sofa bed and pulled a pillow over my head. This would have been so much easier if I didn’t have to explain it to the man who seemed to have the attention span and attitude of a five-year-old.

“Bradley took me to dinner, and he made me eat chips. Did you know chips are the same as fries? The British don’t call them fries, though, they call them chips, but don’t ask me why.”

Casey sat on the edge of the mattress, a stern get-on-with-it look on his face.

“He was going to take me dancing at a bar down the road from the restaurant, but then I got distracted by this bridge with padlocks all over it, and Bradley walked me over and explained that they were love locks and couples added their own lock to the bridge as a sign of their love for each other. It was romantic . . .” Casey raised a brow, and I rolled my eyes. “Then he started dancing with me, we talked, then he kissed me. It was nice.”

Casey’s face softened, and his eyes got that dreamy look he got when he was thinking of Lionel. “Just nice?”

“Ummm . . . amazing?”

He flopped down beside me. “Only amazing?”

“Out of this world, the best kiss I’ve ever had?”

Casey sighed. “Okay, okay, this kiss was panty melting, and you’re in lust. So, what I really need to do here is threaten to unman Bradley with the removal of his scruffies if he does wrong by you.”

“His whaties?”

“Jiblets.”

“What’s a jiblet?”

Casey huffed. “A man’s coin purse?” I shook my head wondering if Casey had taken some sort of medication with his water. “Ball bag? Nut sac?”

“Ohhhhhhh,” I exclaimed with wide eyes. “Why the heck didn’t you just say balls?”

“Balls is so childish. Seriously, what are we, five?”

I spluttered out a laugh thinking exactly the same thing but for much different reasons.

“You don’t think he would treat me right?” I asked a little surprised.

Casey leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Of course he would, you are a treasure, but it’s my job to make sure he realizes just how special a treasure you are. Don’t worry, my Cupid mojo worked just fine on Decker and Andi.”

“You really don’t have to play Cupid. I mean, he lives here in the UK, and I live in the US. And he doesn’t like my job.”

“Semantics.” Casey waved my concerns off. “And if things got serious, Bradley would move back to the States, and I know you’d stop the porn like Brittany Spears stopped her sanity.”

“Firstly, I don’t think he’d move back to America so easily. He seems content here; he has his job. And I happen to like my job. What makes you think I’d give it up so easily?”

Casey huffed loudly and indignantly. “He’s a spy; he can work from anywhere. And you don’t love porn; it’s just a job. I know you really want a knight in shining armor to come in and sweep you off your back.”

“HE’S A SPY?” I squealed, ignoring the knight sweeping me off my back jab. “How did you find that out?”

“I’m merely guessing, but he’d make a great James Bond, don’t you think.” Casey grinned, and I shook my head.

“He’s not ‘good guy’ enough for Bond. I thought he might be a thief.”

“Ohhhh, good one,” Casey said with animated excitement as he pointed at me. “He’s got that whole Stephen Amell, Green Arrow thing going on. I wonder if he’s into archery,” Casey pondered.

“Okay, I thought you were bringing me coffee?” Lionel said from the hallway, and both Casey and I glanced over the back of the couch. Lionel stood with his hair suitably mussed and a glow to his cheeks. He was wearing plaid pajamas with soft looking slippers as he stared at Casey with his hands on his hips.

“Bradley and Wiska kissed,” Casey blurted out.

Lionel’s eyes just about bugged out, and he took what appeared to be an excited step forward before stilling, his face twisting into one of concern. “Did you want him to kiss you? Did he take advantage of you?”

I sighed. I wasn’t used to the protective blanket Lionel and Casey liked to cloak me with, but I could easily admit to liking it. “No, I pretty much shoved my tongue down his throat.”

Lionel grinned before leaning against the back of the couch and giving Casey a look that was something akin to happiness and disappointment.

“I guess this means you’re staying.”

I glanced between the two of them with a raised brow.

“What do you mean? Where were you going?” I asked confused.

Lionel’s attention crossed back to me, and the disappointment was gone. “We talked last night about going home. We’re confident you would be okay on your own for a while longer.”

“You’re leaving?” I squeaked.

It was ridiculous. I mean, I knew Lionel and Casey couldn’t hold my hand forever, but they had become the sturdy shoulders I needed to lean on since the day they had stumbled across me balling my eyes out in Andi’s bookstore. They had swept in like a tornado of dazzling color, and somehow, in all that neon and glitter, I had found my own resolve and strength. Their life in the US had been put on hold while they gathered my sorry excuse for a life up and whisked me off to the UK.

“Lionel’s brother and wife have been looking after LC’s, but they can’t stay any longer than a few more days.”

Guilt reached out and slapped me like the selfish cow I was. LC’s was Lionel and Casey’s pet grooming and day spa, and while their family was doing their best to keep things running for them, I was bouncing around in my own self-absorbed bubble of pity without so much as a thought to what they had both given up over the last month to make sure I was alright.

“You know, you should both go back. I’m fine here. I can totally handle Bradley.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, and the next thing we know you’ll be bouncing on sexy-scowly’s womb-broom and walking away with fresh tears on your face because he does something typically guy-like and breaks your pretty heart. No way, José. I’m staying.” Casey crossed his arms, stubborn resolve set in his features.

“I can take care of myself. It might surprise you, but I’m not a child anymore.”

“Yes, but if you and Bradley are going to court, we would both feel better if one of us stayed for moral support,” Lionel said calmly.

“Court?” I scoffed. “Did I just bump my head and wake up in the eighteenth century?”

“It’s okay, Wiska. It was my suggestion Casey stay a couple more weeks until you were ready to go. And you know the saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Lionel gave me a cheeky wink before his gaze drifted lazily to Casey. “I expect my man to return missing me A LOT.”

Casey suddenly sprang out of my bed and grabbed Lionel’s hand, practically dragging him down the hallway to their room. “I’m going to help my man pack,” he called out. “But don’t come in for at least twenty-five minutes; you might see the kind of packing that will scar you for life.”

I snickered as I rolled to my back. The sound of their door slamming shut left me feeling a little lonely, but there was no way I was peeking in their room for at least half an hour, maybe forty minutes just to be safe.

*

“Which one is your favorite?” I whispered, feeling a little awestruck.

I was rubbing my wrist, and I couldn’t stop. The cast, which had been there for the last month, was gone, and good riddance to it! My wrist felt weird, though, almost foreign, hence the reason I couldn’t keep my fingers off it.

Casey snorted. “Not one of them has pubes. Just the thought of getting it on with any one of them makes me feel like a dirty, old perv.”

I sighed for what was likely the tenth time and took what had to be my fifteenth selfie in front of One Direction. It wasn’t the real One Direction; it was the wax version housed in Madam Tussauds Wax Museum. I didn’t care, though. The wax looked pretty darn real to me.

“Can we go look at something else now?” Casey begged. He tugged me in the direction of Marilyn Monroe and proceeded to have me take pictures of him in several different poses with what was clearly one of his idols. “A wise girl knows her limits, but a smart girl knows that she has none.”

“Oh, I like that,” I confessed, and Casey grinned.

“Sometimes, good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”

I turned and stared at the wax statue with a little more respect. “She said that?”

“That, and my personal favorite: ‘Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.’”

“I think I’m a little in love with her.”

Casey sighed. “Me too. I’d almost dabble in vag for Miss M.”

I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at Casey’s confession. “Sweetie, there is no way you could do straight; you’re as gay as a box of birds.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” he murmured as we approached a wax figure of Elton John. Casey sighed again. “Okay, Lionel’s panties will be in a serious twist when he realizes he missed this.”

Casey jumped in beside Elton and posed while I took a picture, but as he moved away, a sedate calmness seemed to wash over him, his mood suddenly somber.

“You miss him already.” I realized, and Casey nodded. Then my mood plummeted, too, because Casey was only missing his other half because of me. “Have you ever been apart like this before?” I asked quietly.

“Oh, lots of times. Lionel has a Florida fetish and goes once a year; meanwhile, I refuse to do Florida.”

I gasped. “It’s the home of Disney World. I’m shocked!”

“I know, and while I adore everything Mickey Mouse, my mother lives in Florida, and trust me when I say she is not worth Disney World.” Casey halted in his tracks and glanced towards an exit sign. “Let’s get out of here. All this wax is making my skin crawl. We need sunshine and fresh air.”

With a renewed vigor, Casey grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the museum. As we rushed out onto the busy sidewalk, a double decker bus pulled to a stop, its doors opening wide. Casey spared me a quick glance over his shoulder, and I didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye. We boarded, and he paid because, let’s face it, I was pretty much broke. The only thing to my name was a return flight ticket home. I was grateful my rent had been paid in advance, and I had another month up my sleeve before things got really scary. Maybe I could ask my boss, Ryder, for an advance. I mused the thought as Casey tugged on my hand until we were finally on the top floor. We sat at the front of the bus, overlooking what seemed everything.

“Selfie!” Casey sang, and we took a quick photo with the giant front windows of the bus as our background.

We settled back into our seats and watched the passing scenery.

“So, where are we going?”

“On an adventure,” Casey murmured.

“An adventure to where? London is a big place. What if we end up on the other side, and this bus doesn’t have a trip back.”

“Then we find another bus,” Casey said easily.

“What if there are no other buses?”

“Then we find a taxi.”

“What if there are no taxis?”

Casey cast me a curious glance. “Since when did you become a cup-half-empty kinda girl? You are Wiska James, hear-her-roar, soul sista—she can do anything.” He snapped his fingers and wiggled his head with attitude.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, appalled by my abrupt negativity. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Spill, poppet, tell your glitter daddy what’s wrong.”

I thought about it for a moment. What was wrong indeed. I felt . . . flat.

“I guess . . .” I began, compiling my thoughts into some sort of order. “I guess I feel a little lost. I miss my home, I miss my mom and dad, I miss my friends, and yet I’m too scared to go home. I’m practically broke, and I think I need to ask Ryder for an advance. My reputation is dirt, and I’ve got a sexy hunk of brooding male who wants to screw me out of his system, so I guess this is what you call rock bottom.” I blurted it all out with tears in my eyes.

Casey tsked me as he wrapped an arm around my neck. “Okay, let’s fix one problem at a time. What scares you about returning home? The rumors, the gossip?”

I nodded at the mention of both of them.

“Fuck it,” Casey spat. “Fuck. It! Don’t you dare give a thought to the drama-hoes that talk behind your back. They are behind you for a reason, poppet. And anyway, Andi said chatter had already started to die down where you and Kasper the Unfriendly Dick are concerned. You’re broke? No problem, I have money. Actually, Lionel controls our finances, but we have a lot, and do not, I repeat DO NOT, ask Ryder for an advance. You don’t want to be in debt to business. If you need a loan, ask me. I won’t make you pay me back with blow jobs and bumping nasties with your camel cookie.”

A bubble of laughter burst from my lips.

“And your reputation? A reputation is just a word, poppet. Who you are in here is what really counts.” He tapped a finger over my heart. “Who cares what other’s think of you? What you think of you matters more.” Casey took a deep breath. “And Bradley wants to what?” he practically shouted.

I glanced around the almost empty upper floor of the bus, noting a nearby couple shift nervously and cast us a worried glance.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a terrorist. I’m an American, and I love your weird and wacky English folk,” Casey said, waving them off. He then turned his attention back to me. “Bradley wants to what?” he seethed.

“Settle down, you folk loving fairy. He took it back, said he was frustrated that he wanted me, but he wouldn’t date me while I was working as a porn star. He said he wouldn’t share me; he wants to date or something.”

Casey thought about that for a moment. “I guess Mr. Secretive Sexy Pants and I will be having a talk after all.”

“What do you mean? A talk about what?”

“There is no one else here to protect your virtue but me, poppet. I’m all that is standing between you and that bag of horny male lust, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let him have his wicked way with you.” Casey laughed. “Once I’ve waved my magical sexy-time wand, it will be you having your wicked way with him, and he’ll be begging you for it.”

“Why does that sound so ominous?”

Casey grinned and chucked me softly on the chin with his fist. “Because, poppet, there is nothing sexier than a woman who knows which man she wants and is prepared to torture him a little and make him beg for it.”

“You can be so weird sometimes,” I mumbled.

“Weird? Poppet, I am a damned limited edition!”

Casey settled back and began taking in the sights again, our conversation obviously finished. I had no idea what Casey meant by torturing Bradley, but oddly enough, I found the concept strangely exhilarating.

CHAPTER 11

Bradley

I paced. Every time I stopped and forced my feet still, I’d end up lost in thoughts, and then, low and behold, I’d go back to pacing again. It was after nine, and Wiska and Casey were nowhere to be seen. I had plans to take Wiska on an evening sightseeing tour. I even had Aedan teed up to drive, but when Wiska and Casey still hadn’t shown up an hour ago, I’d sent him home. Glancing at my phone for the hundredth time, I knew I had no missed calls or messages, but I still checked the screen just in case. Wiska had not been answering her phone, and the sticky note stuck to the computer desk at the other end of the living room should have had Casey’s phone number on it. Except beside his name he had written ‘I only take booty calls’. Frustrating man!

When the door to my apartment suddenly flew open, and a laughing Wiska and Casey stumbled through, I finally stilled . . . and stared. Their arms were laden down with shopping bags. Wiska wore a shirt that read: Good Girls Go to Heaven, Bad Girls Go to London, while Casey wore one that read: If I had a British Accent, I’d Never Shut Up. He also had on a fur top hat with the British flag on it.

“Bradley, today we had an adventure,” Wiska declared when her eyes landed on me.

“We got lost,” Casey said with a grin. “And, in getting lost, we stumbled across the best shop ever.” He held up one of the tote bags they carried; ‘Souvenirs Suck, Said No One Ever’.

“There is a store called Souvenirs Suck, Said No One Ever?” I wondered out loud.

“Yes, isn’t it the most awesome business name ever?” Wiska said, throwing her shopping bags down.

“You could have called,” I said with a little more irritation than I intended. While I had been worried, I knew I had no reason to be; she was a grown woman, after all, and Casey was with her.

“I’m sorry?” Wiska replied with a raised brow, obviously noticing the underlying tension in my words.

“You know, Bradley, when a woman says sorry, she’s really just giving you a chance to change what you just said.”

“Thank you, Casey,” I murmured.

“Pleasure,” he replied, obviously missing my sarcasm.

“I was worried. You’re not from around here; I thought you might have gotten lost or something. And I brought dinner home.”

“You’ve got food?” Wiska asked, ignoring the fact I had been worried.

“There is leftover pizza in the fridge.”

Wiska just about mowed me down as she lunged towards the kitchen, and I remained standing in front of Casey who stared at me with a knowing look on his face.

I shifted nervously under his intense glare. “After dinner I had made plans to take Wiska . . . out.”

“Really? Out where?” He crossed his arms over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face.

I suddenly felt like I was facing down a staunch parent on a first date. “I am so hungry I could eat the south bound end of a north bound cow!” Wiska exclaimed, and both Casey and I paused as we watched her attack the pizza with gusto.

“Just for a drive,” I muttered as Casey’s gaze moved back to me.

“A drive where?” he persisted.

“Just out, sightseeing.” I turned my back on him and ducked under Wiska’s arm at the fridge to grab a beer before sliding onto a stool. I was pouting, pissed off that my night of wooing had been plundered.

“I’m going to take a shower,” said Wiska through a mouthful of lukewarm pizza.

“You’re taking your food into the shower with you?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, but don’t worry, it will be gone before I get wet.”

I coughed up a mouthful of beer at the mention of her being wet, and Casey sat down beside me, patting my back a little too hard.

When she disappeared into my room, I tried hard not to think of her stripping and getting wet. I tried thinking of my mom, but it only took a few errant thoughts before my imagination conjured up naked images of Wiska. I tried thinking about work, but it was thwarted by a fantasy of fucking Wiska on my desk. I tried thinking about baseball, which promptly turned into a fantasy of Wiska dressed as a cheerleader. My cock twitched and began to rise, almost a ‘fuck you’ to the intelligent portion of my brain that struggled to find composure.

“Bradley, I think we need to have a little talk about the birds and the bees,” Casey murmured.

I took a drink from my beer and cast him a sideways glance. “Bit late for that. I’ve been poking birds with my stinger for a long time now. I think I have the basics down.”

“Ohhh, that was clever. I must write that down, but in the meantime, I want to ask you what your intentions towards Wiska are.”

I laughed and took another drink. When he continued to stare at me, a thoughtful expression on his face, I blanched.

“Fuck, you’re serious?”

“As serious as a midget in a nudist colony, Bradley.”

I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. “I’m not sure.” I admitted.

“Not good enough. We’ll be checking into a hotel first thing tomorrow, and you and your wandering eyes can take a hike. Wiska doesn’t need a man who just wants to play feed the kitten with her. She needs something real, Bradley.”

“What I feel is real, Casey. I like her and have no intention of doing wrong by her . . . and I need to write down feed the kitten. That was a good one.”

“Thank you, but I don’t care about what you feel. Actions speak louder than words, and I want to know what course of action you plan to take.”

“Fine, I plan on wining and dining her, spoiling her, giving her the romance she deserves, and when she’s ready, I think I’ll start with just kissing, but I’ll let my hands roam a little. I bet she has sensitive nipples. I think I’d like to tug on them a . . .”

“STOP!” Casey shouted, his hands over his ears. “Desecration of thy ears, please stop!” He cast me a frustrated glance. “What on earth made you think I would want to hear about your crazy, kinky straight loving ways?”

I grinned. “You said actions speak louder than words. You wanted to know what actions I planned to take.”

“I want to know if you are planning on keeping her and treating her the way she deserves to be treated, or are you simply going for a stroll down Wiska Lane before detouring on a prettier, younger street.”

I chuckled. “You certainly have a way with words, Casey.” With a long sigh I put my beer down. “She intrigued me from the first moment I saw her, and yes, she’s hot, so of course I noticed the obvious things, but she’s different from other girls. She’s spontaneous, fearless, funny, and quirky. I just want to sit and talk with her because it seems every time we talk she surprises me, and I get the feeling that will never end between us, she’ll always surprise me. I wonder about more with her, kind of the same way I wondered about more with Leah, but the feeling is more intense. The thought of her going home makes me feel a little sick, and I’m selfish enough to admit I hope her problems back home don’t go away too soon, and in the same breath, I want to fix her problems, I want to make that fucker Kasper pay, I want to see him ridiculed and humiliated in the most appalling of ways.”

Casey’s serious face softened. “You L-O-V-E her.”

“I think it’s a bit soon for that word,” I mumbled.

“Of course it is. That’s why I spelled it out rather than actually say it. You are still on the letter L, but with a little work, you can make it through the rest of the letters. People fall in love one letter at a time, Bradley. L comes first and it ends at E, but it’s the journey in the middle that gives the word real meaning.” It was Casey’s turn to sigh. “Okay, you have my blessing, but, Bradley, fuck with her in the wrong way, and I don’t mean slipping the sausage in hole A instead of hole B—how someone could fuck that up, I have no idea—” Casey said with a shake of his head, “but you make her cry for all the wrong reasons, and I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

“Fair enough,” I said as Casey leaned in for . . . a hug? I pulled away until my back hit the kitchen counter and there was no way of escaping. Then he hugged me.

“Just let go,” he said in a soothing tone, his hand rubbing my back. “That’s it . . . relax. It’s just a hug, and our waists aren’t even aligned.”

“Ohhhhh, hug on,” Wiska exclaimed as she entered the living area.

Suddenly, her arms were around me, too, and the smell of soap and shampoo filled the space. My dick immediately stood up to sniff, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Okay, that was a beautiful moment. I need to call Lionel and tell him about it. Goodnight.” Casey kissed Wiska on the forehead before disappearing down the hallway.

“Where is Lionel?”

“He went home. Lionel’s brother was taking care of their business, but he has to leave in a few days.” Wiska moved to the couch and began setting up her bed. “Casey and I booked our return flights home,” she said, not looking my way.

“You did?” I asked, that sick feeling I had mentioned to Casey settling into my stomach. “When do you leave?”

“Two weeks tomorrow. I need to stop hiding, and I need to go home and work so I can pay next month’s rent.” She collapsed onto the bed and finally looked at me.

“I can help you, if you’re struggling for money,” I suggested quickly, the thought of her going back to porn bothering me way more than what could be considered normal. I rubbed my chest in an unconscious effort to slow my racing heart.

She waved away my offer. “So can Casey and Lionel. The thing is, I’ve always paid my own way; there’s no reason for me to start taking handouts now.”

“So, you’re going back to Ryder and Kink Harder?” I said through gritted teeth, afraid of what her answer might be.

“It depends.” Her voice was so low I almost missed it.

“On what?” I found myself asking, my feet gravitating towards her.

“You’ve got two weeks, Bradley . . . two weeks to convince me you’re worth it.”

I leaned over the back of the couch and took her in. She was so beautiful, her face free of makeup, her hair a fall of white gold around her angelic face. She was wearing unassuming flannel pajamas, but she may of well have been wearing a silk negligee. My fingers itched to run under her top and feel the softness of the skin under there. She didn’t even have to try; she just had to lie there in her ordinary sleepwear and I’d want her. No other woman had managed to capture me in such a way, not even Leah. I got it now. I wasn’t Leah’s it, and I finally understood what that meant, because this smokin’ hot beauty before me was my ‘it’.

“Pussycat, you’re gonna need to get another job,” I whispered.

“Bradley, there is one more thing.”

I nodded, knowing there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

“I need to know what you do. I need your secrets.”

Okay, that gave me reason to pause. Nobody but the people I worked for knew exactly what I did. I didn’t keep this secret for shits and giggles. Hell, it wasn’t like I worked for fucking Ronald McDonald; I worked for the goddamn mob! I kept it from people to keep them safe. Could I share the secret I had kept to myself so long? When I glanced down and saw the disappointment on Wiska’s face, I decided right then and there I just might.

“Kasper kept secrets, big, colossal secrets, like bigger than J-Lo’s behind size secrets. Secrets are a deal breaker for me.”

My hand drifted to a strand of hair that fell across her forehead, and I gently moved it aside. “Get some sleep, pussycat. I’ve taken some time off work, and tomorrow, I’m going to start working on sweeping you off your feet.”

It was hard walking away from her—I was hard, dammit! I was pitching a permanent tent in my pants, my need for her eclipsing all modesty and reason. I pulled my door closed, but didn’t shut it. Part of me wanted Wiska to be able to get to her clothes and belongings if she needed; another part of me hoped she would be the first one to weaken and climb into my bed. Keeping my hands off my dick, I pulled the sheets up and somehow managed to send myself off to the land of wet dreams and fantasies.

*

“Where are we going?” Wiska asked as I drove through the streets of London.

In her lap was a brown paper bag, but she had no idea what was in it. I could tell she was just dying to open it and take a peek, but she didn’t.

“It’s a surprise,” I murmured.

“I hate surprises.” She pouted, but before I had a chance to panic, she grinned. “No, I don’t. I totally love surprises.”

When we reached our destination, I pulled into a parking space. I could tell Wiska didn’t recognize the place, even though she had been here before. I had come in from another direction, so the confused look on her face guaranteed that she didn’t really know where we were.

Opening her door, I reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. She came willingly and kept her fingers linked with mine. When the bridge came into sight, Wiska stopped.

“The love locks,” she whispered, and I tugged on her hand to get her moving again.

I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. I was too fucking nervous. I took the brown bag from her hands and took out the big, silver padlock. Using the ridiculously small key, I opened it.

“You want to do the honors?” I asked, nodding toward the bridge.

“What does it say?”

I handed her the lock, and she read it out loud:

No Secrets

Bradley and Wiska

“You’re going to tell me what you do?”

“Soon,” I promised, my heart beating way too fast and way too loud. I hoped I wasn’t having a heart attack. Wouldn’t that put the kibosh on the moment? “Just let me figure out how; it’s not something I’ve discussed with anyone . . . ever. But I know you need honesty from me, and I’m going to give you that.”

She handed the padlock back to me. “Can you do it?”

I clicked the lock into place, the resounding snap nothing more than an inconsequential noise, yet said so much. No secrets, and we were sweethearts, even though that sounded suspiciously lame and old-fashioned.

Taking her hand in mine, we walked away from the bridge, but a small piece of my heart stayed there. This was the official beginning of something big in my life. Slowly, one little piece at a time, Wiska was stealing bits of my heart, and I was scared to fucking death she might decide I wasn’t her it. If she left, she’d take all those pieces with her.

*

“We’re going for a bike ride?” Wiska exclaimed as I paid for our bikes.

We had left the love locks and both our moods seemed awkward and melancholic. The gesture wasn’t supposed to leave tension between us. Fuck, it had almost been a religious moment for me. It was meant to be positive and romantic and fucking awesome. We seriously needed to lighten the mood.

“We are. Think you can do this without breaking something?”

She glanced at her wrist where the cast had been for the last month. She had spent a few days with her fingers glued to her freshly revealed wrist, and I had found myself jealous of that wrist on many occasions. The thought of her fingers glued to me was not an unpleasant one.

“As long as we stay clear of the demon swans, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Grab your bike,“ I said, nodding toward the bike that had been unlocked from its confines.

“They aren’t very gender friendly. I want a pink one,” she mumbled, pulling her bike out.

“Sorry, pussycat. You can have blue, or blue. Personally, I like blue. It’s manly.” I gave her a wink. “You like riding manly things? Right?”

“Wow, I can’t believe I ever thought you were a gentleman.” She laughed as she peddled off into the park, her long blonde hair trailing behind her. “You surprise me, Bradley.”

I gave her a curious look as I caught up.

“Every now and again, I get a glimpse of the real you. He’s not cranky, and I even get the impression he doesn’t want to work himself into an early grave.”

“Oh, you think you’ve got me figured out?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, the real Bradley Emerson is fun, perhaps even a little spontaneous, and as of recently I’ve decided he is inclined to be somewhat romantic. I can easily see how the real Bradley was best friends with a bozo like Decker Steele.”

I laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call Decker a bozo.”

“Well, if the shoe fits. Decker is always joking around and misbehaving. I can see the two of you together; you would be quite the team.”

I nodded in agreement. Being best friends with Decker was an endless adventure. Even though we didn’t see much of each other these days, we still kept in touch, and he still made me laugh. If it wasn’t for Decker’s warped sense of humor, I would never have met Wiska. Maybe I wouldn’t put a hit on him, after all.

“So, how long have you two been friends?”

“Since we were four,” I answered, fondly remembering our instantaneous, and a little crazy, friendship.

“You and Decker as pre-pubescent teens? That’s scary.”

“Oh yeah,” I said with a grin. “Terrifying. As soon as puberty kicked in, we became a pair of horny teenage boys with eyes that zeroed in on every pair of breasts in sight. I caught Decker checking out my forty-year-old aunt’s breasts once. It was weird.”

“At least he wasn’t checking out his own aunt’s boobs,” Wiska snickered. I guess I wore my guilt plain to see, because Wiska gasped and shook her head in denial. “No you didn’t?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said with a chuckle. “But in my defense, I was fourteen and my aunt was wearing this string bikini that hid nothing! I was surrounded by teenage girls who had barely a bump on their chests, and then there was Aunt Livy with her magical double D’s.”

“Mildly disturbing, yet understandable.”

“What about you? What was Wiska James like as a teenager?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t checking out my aunt’s boobs,” she said with a giggle. “My A.D.D. meant I had to work hard to maintain my very C average grades. My parents were strict, so I didn’t have boyfriends and I didn’t go to parties. It was hard because I developed early, and you would have been one of those drooling, horny teenage boys who couldn’t take his eyes off my developing D cups. I was asked out a lot, and while curious, I didn’t date. I was a cheerleader, so that complicated things further, because I was expected to date.” She gave me a stunning grin that had me momentarily lose my concentration. The wheels of my bike lost the smooth path and dug into thick grass. I quickly recovered, though, and Wiska seemed oblivious to my lapse in focus. “I am proud to say I held out, though. I didn’t date until I left high school, and I was twenty-one when I gave up the sacred V card.”

“Twenty-one?” I practically shouted.

“I know, and here I am a porn star at twenty-four.”

Three years! She’d been introduced to sex only three years ago! It kind of made me feel like a dirty old perv.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

It took me a moment to put my brain back into working order. “I was sixteen,” I quietly confessed.

“Holy shit, you were a baby!” Wiska squealed.

“Hardly,” I snorted.

“I guess, with a friend like Decker, it isn’t surprising. Andi told me he was a teenage boy-whore.” She didn’t say it with a bitter inflection; it was simply an acknowledgement.

“I actually lost my virginity before Decker.”

“Oh, my god, you were a pair of teenage boy-whores!” She gasped.

“Now, now, be nice. You don’t even know the circumstances. I was sixteen, and she was nineteen. We shared a bottle of cheap champagne which tore down all inhibitions. I only meant to kiss her, but she had other plans. She more or less did all the work; I just lay there in drunken teenage bliss, completely stunned that I was losing my virginity. I bragged for months, but I didn’t repeat the experience until I was eighteen, by which time Decker had caught up and surpassed me in a spectacular fashion that only a four time winning adult film entertainer can.”

“Wow,” Wiska murmured. “It couldn’t have been that good if it took you two years to do it again.”

“Honestly, it didn’t last very long, and the effort I had to put in to beat Decker to a woman wasn’t worth it. Mind you, after that second time, I learned that the effort was absolutely and utterly worth it.”

We rode along the cement path, through the grass and trees in comfortable silence. The sun shone off Wiska’s white-blonde hair, and I found myself drawn to the happy, blissful image she painted in the warm autumn day, sitting atop that damn bike like a carefree angel. Her distracting beauty had me almost miss the elderly couple shuffling ahead of us. I swerved around them easily, and it was far from what one might call a close call, but I didn’t miss the grumbled, “kids these days,” curse from the old man.

“Sorry,” Wiska called over her shoulder on my behalf. “Do you know what I’ve always wondered?”

When she didn’t enlighten me, I glanced her way. “I’m almost scared to ask . . . what have you always wondered?”

“Do your pubes go grey when you get older?”

I have no doubt the shock inside me was mirrored on my face.

“Well, your hair goes grey, your facial hair goes grey, so what about your pubes?”

“Ummm . . .”

“I guess I’ll find out eventually. I just want to be prepared for the changes that will happen to my body as I get older.”

“Luckily for you, you’ve got many years between now and old age to find out how your pubes will fair,” I said with a chuckle.

The spontaneity of her conversation was sometimes mind-boggling, and all I could do was laugh or bang my head against a brick wall. Laughing was much less violent, and Wiska’s face would always light up at the sound. Just like now, as she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a wink. Yeah, I could laugh all day long to see that smug, satisfied expression on her face.

“What’s going on over there?” Wiska pointed to an area of the park I was more than familiar with—Speakers’ Corner. It was a place renowned for gatherings of debates and discussions. Sometimes controversial in nature, and more often than not, boring. People would take every opportunity to debate and argue their ideals and beliefs. I wouldn’t have bothered to visit if it weren’t for the seasoned regulars who took great pleasure in heckling the speakers. A large crowd was gathered today, and I wasn’t surprised—it was a beautiful, sunny day.

Wiska brought her bike to a stop and climbed off. “Oh, my gosh, that is so adorable.”

I glanced at the crowd with a raised brow, trying to figure out how on earth it equated to adorable. Looking back at Wiska, I noticed she had knelt down beside a family with a tiny little chihuahua nuzzling into its owner’s arms.

“What’s his name?” she asked the portly woman who smiled politely at her.

“Duke,” the woman answered.

The woman happily passed the excited puppy into Wiska’s arms as Wiska told them about her friends and their doggy day spa back in America. While I admired her ability to slip so effortlessly into conversation with complete strangers, I sighed, disappointed we needed to pause our afternoon to pet the rat, and looked back towards the crowd at Speakers’ Corner. It would be a hell of a lot more interesting than playing with the puppy. Before I had a chance to take a step in that direction, a high pitched squeal brought my attention back to the family with the dog. Wiska was standing, holding the little rat out in front of her while doing what could only constitute a clumsy, freaked out dance.

“He peed on me. Ewww, get it off, get it off!”

The woman took the dog from Wiska, and my smile turned into a chuckle, which led to a full bellied laugh. Wiska glared at me as she flicked pee from her hand. The front of her blouse was wet, and she leaned forward to try and prevent the fabric from touching her.

“Bradley!” she demanded, and I dropped my bike to the ground and approached her. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m so sorry. He gets a little over-excited from time to time,” the woman rambled.

“What is it with you and animals? If they’re not attacking you, they’re leaking on you.”

“If you must know, animals and I have never really gotten along.” The woman handed her a tissue, and I watched Wiska scowl as she tried to wipe the dampness off her skin.

“Perhaps you should accept this as a lesson learned and stay away from animals of the feathered and canine variety from now on.”

“And cats,” she quietly confessed. “A stray tabby once shredded my arms to pieces. Oh, and horses. I got bit by a horse once.”

I looked to the owner of the dog who was trying hard not to laugh along with me.

“Don’t worry about this, it happens all the time.” I chuckled.

I took another tissue from the woman and helped Wiska wipe her arm and hand clean. She raised her fingers to her nose and grimaced, which just made me laugh harder. “Come on,” I said, dragging her away from the family and the excitable rat. She was trying to walk stooped, obviously horrified with the idea of getting the wet shirt too close to her skin.

“Here.” Pulling my shirt over my head, I handed it to her. I’m sure her relieved gaze would meet mine, just as soon as she dragged her eyes away from my chest.

“Thank you,” she said with a genuine smile, right before she pulled her wet top over her head.

“Wiska!” I hissed, my own eyes lingering on her chest now. She was wearing a pale blue satin bra, which cupped her breasts lovingly. I glanced nervously around, ready to defend her from fellow perverts like myself, or the police who would no doubt arrest her for public indecency.

“That’s so much better,” she sighed, handing the peed on garment my way.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Please take it. I’m ready to puke from just the sight of it.”

“It’s just dog pee,” I laughed.

“Uh-huh. Bet you wouldn’t be saying that if you were the one peed on.”

I took the shirt and tucked it into the back of my shorts before we climbed on our bikes and road away from Speakers’ Corner and the dog that passed as a water fountain. I found a mild sense of pleasure in seeing Wiska dressed in my clothing. Pfft, just beat your chest like the Neanderthal you are, Emerson.

“This is the second time you’ve brought me to this park and I’ve had an incident with an animal. I don’t think I want to come back here again.”

Wiska pouted, and the look had me burst out laughing again.

“You’re mocking me?” she asked.

“I’m laughing with you, not at you.”

“As you can clearly see, I’m not laughing at all,” she said with a slightly exasperated tone.

I brought my bike to a stop again. “Okay, okay, come here.”

“What?” she said, bringing her bike to a stop beside mine. “You want to immortalize this moment with a picture or something?”

I reached for the wrist that had been broken. “No, pussycat, I want to kiss your boo-boos.”

I was pretty sure it was the other hand that had been peed on as I raised her wrist to my lips and kissed it. Taking a discreet sniff, I was thankful to notice it was clearly absent of the smell of urine.

“I can’t really kiss away the pee, but the fact you are now wearing my shirt should make you feel a little better.”

“Thank you,” Wiska murmured a little breathlessly. “It might also be worth mentioning that my butt hurts from riding.”

I grinned and backed away until I was able to push off on my bike. The image of me kissing her ass way too interesting for a casual ride through the park.

“Sweetheart, don’t tempt me.”

CHAPTER 12

Wiska

I stared at the sticky note sitting on the pillow beside me. I had stayed up well past midnight the previous night watching a highly addictive show about renovations—Who would have thought a show about cow paddocks and barns could bring so much drama and enjoyment?—and this morning, I found myself reluctant to leave the inviting warmth of my bed. My eyes had peeled apart long enough to see Bradley lean over the couch and suggest we go for a jog. I had mumbled, “Nottodaythankyou,” all jumbled into one possibly unidentifiable word, and promptly clamped my eyes shut tight.

Now, sometime later, I levered myself onto my arms, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and read the note again.

“I don’t snore,” I grumbled.

Climbing from bed, I dragged myself to Bradley’s room and peered in the open door. It appeared empty and quiet. Perhaps he was still out running, or in my comatose-post-renovation-marathon state, I could have missed him come home and leave again. I moved into the dark room and pulled my suitcase onto the bed. Today, I intended to move my stuff to Casey’s room. With Lionel gone, he had plenty of space, and having my stuff in Bradley’s room had been beyond awkward. Glancing around, I realized I had created a mess the size of a small city. Clothes were tossed carelessly in the direction of my suitcase, mostly hitting the floor in front of it. I lowered to my knees and found two mismatched shoes under Bradley’s bed, a sports bra, and pair of lacy boy shorts. Grabbing the litter of clothing, I threw it in the suitcase, and then climbed to my feet. With a giant heave, I tossed the suitcase on his mammoth bed, and most of the contents went sprawling again. I shrugged and decided to wash my face in an attempt to erase the lingering sleep that clung to me before attacking the mountain of mess.

Stumbling into Bradley’s bathroom, I washed my face at the vanity, then twisted my hair into a messy bun. I was wearing long silk pajama bottoms and a simple tank top, my nipples valiantly trying to peek through the fabric.

“Stand down,” I mumbled with a small smile.

Turning, I stepped out of the bathroom, one hand scratching at an itch trapped under my pony tail, the other tugging at my incessant wedgie. This was why I usually wore boy shorts or G-strings. When my gaze rose from the lush carpet, I froze. Panic set in and my neck and cheeks heated with mortification. For a woman who didn’t embarrass easily, I was on the verge of being brought to my knees with shame. Should I run? Should I turn around and walk back into the bathroom and lock the door? No, because then I’d be trapped, and Wiska James was tired of freaking running.

He was sweaty, his skin gleamed with post-run perfection, and his cheeks were flushed. I wondered if they would flush that way after sex. Heck, there was no way I was walking away from him. I pressed my shoulders back and stood my ground, my eyes dropping to the object of his fascination currently resting in his hand.

Bradley slowly turned in my direction, a look on his face caught somewhere between amusement and shock. In his hand, he held Thor, my vibrator. Crap, it must have fallen out of the suitcase when I lugged the damn thing up Mount Bed Ridiculous.

“Jesus fucking Christ, pussycat, I think this is yours,” Bradley finally said. “No, I know this is yours, ’cause there is no way it’s mine.” Terror filled eyes looked my way. “Shit, it’s not Casey’s, is it?”

“No, it’s not Casey’s,” I whispered. “And you shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain. And you probably shouldn’t reference Him while holding onto that,” was all I managed to say as I concentrated on forcing away my embarrassment.

“It’s heavy,” Bradley noted, giving the device a little shake. “And it feels so real,” he added. Any signs of shock had melted away to blatant curiosity.

“I paid top dollar for it.  It’s anatomically correct in every way.”

“Not every way,” Bradley added with a grin. “It’s missing the most important part.”

“And what would that be?”

“The brains that make it move and consequently make you scream with pleasure.”

“Most penises have a brain of their own that consequently don’t make me scream with pleasure. Thor gets the job done every time, thank you very much.”

“Thor?” Bradley coughed out, trying to hide his laughter.

“Yes, it seemed appropriate considering the size and the way it rocks my world.”

“Pussycat,” Bradley murmured, pinning me with a smoky, lust filled stare, “one day soon I’m going to introduce you to Vlad, and you are going to forget Thor ever existed.”

“Vlad?”

Bradley’s grin grew wider. “The Impaler.”

“That’s so bad,” I whispered, though couldn’t stop my own smile.

“He’s bad,” Bradley confirmed. He glanced back at Thor and scrunched up his nose. “Is it weird that I’m feeling a little unmanned right now? This thing is huge.”

“It is exceptional. It’s an actual replica of James Deen’s pecker.”

Bradley’s surprised gaze lifted from the vibrator to me. “James Dean? The actor? Seriously?”

“James Deen the porn star, so yeah, I guess you could say he’s an actor, just not the James Dean.”

“Of course,” he murmured. He stared at the device a little longer before giving me a mischievous look. “You know, I think we should play with this one day.”

My eyes just about popped out of my head at the suggestion. I would have assumed most men would find a certain amount of inadequacy and repulsion over a vibrator, particularly this vibrator, definitely not the sexual intrigue Bradley had just suggested.

“Before you go entertaining any fantasies, Mr. Emerson, let me make it perfectly clear that any double penetration thoughts you might be entertaining are not welcome. I have a NO ANAL clause both at work and in my private life.”

“Really?” he asked, somewhat surprised.

“That hole is an exit, not an entrance, so yeah, really. The day you let Thor ride your Hershey highway is the day I will allow you to reciprocate.”

Bradley snickered and placed Thor back into my suitcase. “Sorry, pussycat, there will be no pucker poking in our relationship. What were you doing here?” He glanced at my clothes and the suitcase.

“Well, since Lionel is gone, I figured there was no reason why I couldn’t put my stuff in the guest room. I feel a little guilty about the way I’ve taken over your space.” I scanned the room around me and took in the mess. It extended to the bathroom, the vanity having become my own personal beauty salon.

“I like having your stuff in here. Leave it.” He lifted the suitcase off his bed and placed it back on the recliner in the corner. Then he began folding my clothes and putting them away.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the vessel was empty. He wanted my crap in his space? Would I want his crap in my space? Strangely enough, I think I would.

“I’m not usually this messy,” I confessed, throwing a bra in the direction of the suitcase. It missed, and Bradley picked it up with a grin before folding it and carefully putting it away.

“I don’t mind messy.”

“My home in New York is tidy, I promise. I guess I’ve just been thrown off balance since arriving in the UK.” Yikes, I was rambling, and I couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m actually kind of anal about mess, obsessively so, and I talk in my sleep. I also hate the sound of other people eating food. Did you know that’s an actual brain disorder? Misophonia. I have that . . . it’s not acute, though. I also can’t stand the toilet paper roll being put on the wrong way.”

“There’s a wrong way?” Bradley asked.

“Oh, yeah. The paper is meant to feed from the top, not from under. OH!” I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “I also can’t stand the feeling of carpet under my feet after I’ve showered; that’s why I wear socks to bed.”

Bradley paused for a moment, then took the few short steps between us until he was standing so close I could feel the heat off his body. Sweat still beaded his brow, and his shirt was thoroughly drenched. It should have been a little gross, but my thoughts immediately landed in the gutter as I imagined sweat dripping from his skin to mine as we dirty danced between his sheets.

The backs of his fingers touched my belly and ran a whisper of a trail up my rib cage and around the generous swell of my breast. My nipples that had been spearing their way through the cotton of my tank top only moments before were suddenly so hard I imagined they might finally cut their way free. His hand stilled at my collarbone and started a return trip south, instead of going around my breast, this time he went right over the top, brushing the tight buds with a teasing touch that made my breath catch. He leaned in closer, our foreheads almost touching.

“I rarely make my bed; I like it messy. I always leave the toilet seat up. I hate koozies—I think using one is like dressing down a fine beer. Raisins make me gag, probably because Decker’s eldest brother Daniel tricked me into eating rabbit shit once, saying it was a raisin. Because of that raisin hate, I now have trust issues because bloody oatmeal raisin cookies look so much like chocolate chip cookies. So, pussycat, if we are trying to scare each other off, how did I do?”

I began to laugh, and when I finally settled down, I had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. Bradley was watching me with a mixture of amusement and hunger; he didn’t move closer, though, just kept still and quiet, watching me, allowing me to make the next move. Angling my head, I decided I would do just that. My eyes dipped to his lips, a perfect combination of not too full and not too thin. Just as I began to lean forward, Casey’s voice coming from the kitchen made me pause.

“Honey, I’m home, and I have donuts.”

“Saved by the fairy,” Bradley whispered. “We wouldn’t want to break your rules, so I’m going to take a nice, long, cold shower.” Bradley’s hands left my body, and he stepped around me, the quiet click of the bathroom door releasing me from the spell he had cast over me.

“Where is everyone?” Casey called out again.

I pressed my hands to my nipples in an effort to make them soften. When that didn’t work, I quickly pulled on a bra, which at least made them a little less evident. I joined Casey in the kitchen. He was seated at the kitchen counter, and he did indeed have donuts.

“Donuts for breakfast?”

“Sugar is a necessary part of a healthy diet,” Casey explained.

I glanced at the extensive selection of donuts he was laying out on a plate. “Everything in moderation, huh?” I reached for one that had a healthy dose of frosted icing and took a bite of the decadent sweet.

“This is moderate. I left plenty back at the store.”

“Oh, my god,” I managed through a mouthful of food.

“I know, right,” Casey said through his own stuffed mouth. “Oh, your phone was going a little crazy before I went out.”

I grabbed my cell phone from the coffee table and stilled when I saw that I had missed two calls from my dad. I didn’t hesitate to call him right back.

“Wiska?”

“DAD! Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is Mom okay?” He chuckled, the rough-hewn sound I was so familiar with and missed. It almost brought me to tears.

“Your mom and I are fine. I’m calling to check on you.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “I’m fine.” Putting a little space and privacy between Casey and me, I wandered over to the marble bust perched on a pedestal by the front door.

“Is that a real fine or a girl fine?” Dad always joked about how men’s and women’s versions of ‘fine’ differed dramatically.

“Maybe a little bit girl fine,” I admitted. “I thought you were mad at me.”

I could hear his deep sigh; it sounded regretful. “No, Wiska, I’m not mad at you, not really. Disappointed, maybe; mad at the situation you found yourself in, definitely; but not mad at you.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“I’m sorry, honey. Your mom and I shouldn’t have ignored you the way we did. We were confused, and I will admit a little ashamed by your new profession, but it was no excuse to leave you when you needed us the most.”

“That’s okay,” I managed to say through a throat threatening to squeeze shut with emotion.

“It’s not okay, Wiska, but we’ll do everything we can to make it up to you. I promise. I thought you had dreams of becoming a nurse when you finished high school. Is it the money? Is that why you dropped out of college? Because I have money. I can help.”

“No, Dad, it wasn’t the money. I was just worried. I barely made it through high school. The study load at college was ten times more, and I was struggling . . . I didn’t want to fail.”

My dad huffed out a frustrated breath. “Wiska, what have I been telling you since you were old enough to talk?”

“Always brush my teeth before bed and beware of boys who want to give me candy?”

“And?”

I sighed. “Never let my fear allow a something to become a nothing.”

I found my fingers touching the breasts on the marble bust, and I abruptly pulled my hands away and cast a guilty look over my shoulder. Bradley was in the kitchen area chatting with Casey, and both of them seemed oblivious to my phone call and wandering hands.

“You are too smart to be a nothing, and you are too brave and stubborn to let your fears stand in your way.”

“Maybe I could try again?” I said softly.

My dad should have been a motivational speaker rather than a bulldozer operator. He had a way with words that lifted me up and made me want to fly.

“If you don’t try, you fail anyway.”

“You’re too smart for your own good, old man,” I grumbled, and Dad laughed. “How’s Mom? Is she still angry?”

“Not angry, honey. Just worried. And you know how she is; she was brought up in a different place with different beliefs. She doesn’t understand why you did what you did.”

“I’m not a home wrecker. I didn’t know he was married,” I hissed defensively.

“She knows that. We both know that. You’re our daughter, after all. It’s the film work you’ve been doing that she doesn’t understand.”

My mom had definitely been the stricter parent; her beliefs on dating and boys kept me home every weekend, right through high school. It didn’t surprise me that she was having so much trouble coming to terms with my secret life as a porn star.

“Maybe if you tell her I’m thinking of quitting, she’ll come around.”

Dad was quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean, thinking of quitting? Do you have another job?”

“I just think it’s time to do something different. And maybe my old man has some kind of magic; every time I speak to him he makes me want to be a better person.”

“Wiska, while I’m not afraid to say the change in career makes me happy, what’s important here is that you are happy. You need to do what makes you happy, and you don’t need to try and be a better person, honey. You are already the best person I know, and I am very proud of you.”

“Not so much of the porn, though,” I whispered.

“Not so much that,” he agreed grudgingly. “But, as long as I don’t see or hear about it, I can live with it, if it makes you happy.”

“I love you, Daddy,” I said with a soft sigh.

“I love you, too, honey.”

“I’ll call you when I get home. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay, princess. You take care, and if you need anything, you call me. I’ll talk to your mom, too.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Bye.”

“Bye, princess.”

The line went dead, and I turned right into the chest and arms of Casey. How he knew I would need a hug, I had no idea, but I appreciated the fact he was there for me. I didn’t cry, though. I missed my parents and I missed my home, but healing the rift between my parents and me was good enough to keep the tears at bay.

“I think we need a night out. How about we go on a date, you, me, and Bradley?”

“A threesome?” I asked.

“Yes, a threesome. We can get dressed up. We can all wear glitter, because we all know if you hand me glitter, feathers, and a hot glue gun, I can make the world a better place.”

Bradley coughed on a donut.

“There is no way I’m wearing glitter.”

“I want glitter!” I exclaimed.

“There shall be glitter,” Casey said with a smile.

“I’m not wearing glitter,” was Bradley’s staunch reply.

Casey gave me a wink. “Of course you are.”

CHAPTER 13

Bradley

I couldn’t believe I was wearing glitter, the fucking herpes of arts and crafts! I had showered, and I still had the sparkly shit on me. I cast Casey another irritated glare, and he simply smiled.

“You know, being gay is like wearing glitter; it never goes away either.”

Wiska laughed. I didn’t.

“Oh, come on, Bradley, there isn’t that much on you anymore, and you can only see it under the lights. It’s going to be dark in the strip club, right?”

I grunted—it was the most I could manage right now. I was too pissed off at Casey for his surprise glitter attack to warrant his attempt to pacify me with anything more. I had effortlessly slipped back into cranky, Broody Bradley again.

I gave one of the bouncers a nod, and he quickly pulled the doors open, allowing us entry to The Lovely Lounge. He spared Casey a long look, and I didn’t blame him. When he told me he was going to join me in wearing a suit, I had been pleasantly surprised. I sure as hell didn’t expect it to be a pale blue plaid suit. I gave Casey another stink eye, and he simply smiled.

“Don’t worry. I have cards in my pocket. People are always asking me where I bought this amazing ensemble, so I came prepared.”

I shook my head as my eyes drifted to Wiska and lingered . . . and lingered. She was wearing long black, lycra pants with a shimmering, red, metallic top that clung tightly to her body, thin straps crisscrossing in the back held it in place and showed an abundance of skin. Her shoes had kept me fascinated from the moment she had sauntered out of my bedroom. They were black leather ankle boots with enough zippers and buckles to give an urban vibe, but the spiked, red, eight inch heel was all sex. They boosted her height and made her lips easily accessible. I loved those fucking shoes. And just like that, Broody Bradley was gone, and I was smiling.

“Mr. Emerson, your table is ready.”

Angelina, the tall, dark haired seductress appeared in front of me, a tray in one hand holding a glass of whiskey. Wiska and Casey both turned and raised a brow; I simply stared right back. So sue me. I came here often enough to be considered a regular.

My table was at the back of the bar. All the tables in this section each had their own small stage and brass pole directly in front of it. I watched as Wiska ran her hand across the platform with a small smile. We all sat; Casey and Wiska on one side, looking far too chummy, cheerful, and foreign—there was no way to miss the fact they were tourists. I sat opposite of them, a local sitting alone, brooding again.

My fucking mood swings were giving me whiplash these days, but I knew they were connected to Wiska. One moment, I was all lusty and hot for her; the next, I was pissed off about my completely overwhelming need for her. It almost felt like a weakness. Maybe it was hormones. Was it possible my mid-life crisis had arrived early? The thought of buying a convertible sports car wasn’t unappealing. I was constantly questioning my life and happiness, and had recently had the urge to change my hair style. Holy fuck! Was I going through male menopause? Was I having the dude version of a cougar crisis? My thoughts made me want to hyperventilate.

Angelina placed the whiskey before me, and I quickly threw it back, squeezing my eyes closed against the sudden burn. No, there was no way I was having a mid-life crisis; after-all, I’d been this way most of my damn life. I’d always wanted a sports car, I was always slightly altering my hair styles, and I was a health conscientious man who liked to keep fit. As for my happiness, it had been on a roller coaster for a long time now. Nothing had changed; apparently, my life was trapped in a constant state of menopausal confusion. Just as long as my virility didn’t abandon me, I’d be fine. My heart beat began to slow, and I opened my eyes to a vision of Angelina, a patient, somewhat amused look on her face.

“Another?” she asked.

I nodded, unable to speak as I shook off my panic attack. Turning, she kept her face neutral as her eyes carefully took in Casey. I realized I would need to tip her well tonight. She didn’t so much as blanch at Casey’s ridiculous outfit.

“I’ll have a pomegranate martini, and the lady will have a virgin Shirley Temple.”

Angelina swiftly disappeared to get their drinks while I watched Wiska and Casey rubberneck the room with big, wide eyes, fascination clearly etched into their faces. While I had become immune to the club’s sophistication and charm, I could understand their wonder as they took everything in.

Dazzling chandeliers hung above the exclusive, private tables at the rear of the club. The crystal lights were dimmed, but still gave off enough illumination to send shards of reflective light over the tables. Separating each private table was a heavy, dark curtain, which carefully hid the private doors to more private booths. They were the rooms where the hellishly expensive and brain melting blow jobs could be discreetly exchanged for an astronomical, yet worthy, price. I knew that more than a blow job was attainable, but not allowed in the club. Agreements to meet on neutral ground could be made in those rooms, though I had never indulged in more than the fabulous bob nob.

The fully stocked bar sat in the center of the room, and it was definitely the centerpiece of the establishment. The bar itself was made of glass, which was filled with water, and big, slow, fat, bubbles rose from the water at evenly spaced intervals.  The water feature was lit up with yellow-gold lighting, sending a golden hue around the bar. Sitting in front of the bar was a large stage with three brass poles staggered at different intervals. A small catwalk of sorts led the stage out into the depths of the club with its own pole at the end. Tables and chairs were set up close enough for patrons to easily lean forward and tip their favorite dancers. Behind the poles was a mass of gauzy red fabric. I had seen a few dancers twist and roll through pieces of that fabric in a display of aerial seduction that blew my mind, and on one occasion, almost something else that would have left me in a damn embarrassing situation.

The club was nowhere near full. It was still early in the evening, but the men who had already arrived were mostly dressed in expensive suits, or at the very least, designer pants and button-down shirts. The women, and there were less than a handful, were mostly dressed in skin tight dresses that barely hung past their asses, breasts only one wrong movement away from falling out.

As Angelina strolled back to our table, she carefully placed Wiska’s and Casey’s drinks before them and gave me a quick glance.

“Put it on my tab,” I murmured.

“You have a tab?” Wiska gasped with a cough.

“Some of the bars around London can be a bit rough and garish. This place has one of the best reputations in the city; the astronomical prices keep the deadbeats away, it’s discreet, classy, and I can have a quiet drink without being hassled.” My tone bordered on defensive.

“You’re preaching to the choir, Bradley,” Casey said with raised hands. “I’m completely in club-love with this place. It’s just a shame about all the heterosexuals.”

A young woman I knew well approached the table. Luna, at least that’s what she claimed her name to be, was one of the best dancers the club had to offer. She was tall, standing easily even with my six-foot frame. Her jet black hair was cropped pixie style short, and her dark brown eyes were so dark they could easily be mistaken for black. Her cheekbones were high and accentuated with a deep rouge, her full lips a deep shade of purple. Her features were almost harsh and angular, in an exotically beautiful way. She was wearing a tiny black G-string that barely covered the necessities, a matching, shimmering black bra, and her shoes were fuck-me high, black stilettos. She looked like a sex goddess. I liked to watch her dance, and I had enjoyed her mouth on numerous occasions. Luna had propositioned me for a night away from the club more than once, but she was the kind of girl who loved to play the game, and I’d never really considered myself a player.

“Emerson,” she purred as she approached us, “would you like some entertainment?”

Casey and Wiska had stopped drinking and just stared—Wiska with something akin to awe; Casey with something akin to fear. Casey and I both said, “No” at the same time Wiska said, “Yes.” I kind of hoped Casey was glaring at her just as I was now.

Wiska offered an innocent shrug. “What? She looks fantastic. Give the girl a chance to work.”

Luna’s face morphed into a bright smile, and she stepped up onto the small stage, her hand reaching for the pole. As if by magic, the music changed and “Hell Is Around The Corner” by Tricky filled the room, the sound loud, crisp, and clear. Luna moved her body with the three S’s . . . slow, smooth, and seductive. She was spectacular, graceful, the perfect pole dancer. But tonight, she didn’t hold my attention like she would have a few short weeks ago. Tonight, my gaze drifted to Wiska, her wide eyes watching Luna with intrigue, her smile bright and beautiful. Casey, on the other hand, looked mildly ill. When the music died down, Wiska’s applause filled our private table, and Luna actually blushed as she stepped from the stage. When Wiska reached for her purse, I quickly pulled out one hundred pounds and handed it to Luna. I knew the two twenty pound notes Wiska had quickly stuffed in there wouldn’t come close to a reasonable tip in this establishment.

Luna nodded with a small tilt of her head, and I knew she was offering me what was hidden behind the heavy, black curtains. I shook my head, and with only a moment’s hesitation, she strolled away.

“Oh. My. Gosh! That was freaking incredible!” Wiska exclaimed.

“No offense, honey, but I’d prefer it with a little more meat and veg and a lot less pink taco,” Casey murmured.

“Pfft.” Wiska waved Casey’s words away. “You have to admit she was an amazing dancer, and she was gorgeous.”

“Much like yourself,” came a familiar voice with a heavy Irish lilt.

“Aedan,” I sighed.

“What a surprise to see you here, Mr. Emerson.” He did his best to try and appear honestly stunned, and Casey laughed.

“Drop with the charades,” Casey scoffed. “We know party boy over here has frequent flyer points at this establishment.” Casey raised his hand and Aedan clumsily took it in what appeared to be a weak and awkward handshake. “Casey of LC’s day spa, which is, FYI, a day spa for your much loved furbaby.”

“Nice to meet you. Aedan Blake, driver extraordinaire,” Aedan said with a smile, his gaze quickly settling on Wiska. I found myself bristling at his obvious interest in her. “And who might this precious angel be?”

Wiska snorted. “Far from an angel, but pleased to meet you. I’m Wiska James.” She politely shook his hand.

“So, if not an angel, perhaps something a little more wicked?”

“Cut it out, Aedan,” I grumbled, and Aedan’s grin grew wide and knowing.

“Apologies, Mr. Emerson.”

He folded himself into the chair beside me, and I was grateful for Wiska’s nonchalance to his presence, her eyes flittering around the bar as she watched everyone and everything with undisguised interest. She seemed a little hyper tonight, bouncing in her seat, her grin permanently in place, her eyes unable to settle on anything for too long.

“So, you’re from America?” Aedan asked, watching Wiska intently.

Wiska either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and knowing Wiska, she more than likely missed his question; she was far too polite and friendly to brush someone off so callously.

“That we are,” Casey answered.

“Pleasure or business?”

Wiska’s attention finally settled back on our table, but Aedan’s question caught her unawares. Thankfully, Casey continued to hold the conversation.

“It’s been absolutely Bradley’s pleasure,” he said with a mocking grin. “He’s been the perfect host. He’s even attempting to whisk Wiska off her feet, pun intended.”

Everyone at the table froze for a moment, silence reigned, and then Aedan laughed, loudly.

“Is that so?” Wiska discreetly elbowed Casey in the ribs which he ignored. “Well, I would imagine Emerson has his work cut out for him.”

Casey beamed at that. I pouted, at least I think that’s what I was doing. My bottom lip felt heavy, my face in a permanent scowl.

“So, what does the wicked Wiska do back in America?”

“I work as an adult film star,” she replied without shame or hesitation.

I didn’t miss Aedan’s jaw, which practically hit the table with shock.

“Go way outta that!” he exclaimed.

Both Wiska’s and Casey’s brows headed south with confusion. Luckily, I knew Aedan well enough to have picked up some of his typical Irish slang.

“He’s basically asking if you’re shitting him,” I explained.

“Oh, no,” Wiska said with big, bright innocent eyes. “I’m not shitting you. I am on a sabbatical of sorts, though.” She glanced my way. “Possibly a permanent break. I’m actually thinking of a career change. I might even go back to school and finish my degree.”

“A porn star,” Aedan whispered with a little awe in his voice, completely ignoring the part about her degree.

Typical male, I thought, almost snorting. Fuck, who was I kidding? The porn part would ordinarily have caught my undivided attention, too. That was before Leah, though, and most definitely before Wiska.

“You do scenes with other ladies?” Aedan eagerly asked, and I groaned.

“I have done a threesome in which another woman was present. It was . . . nice.” She said it with a shrug, as if trying to find the words to explain it and came up short. “She did most of the work because I didn’t really have a clue what to do. I guess you could say she was the giver and I was the receiver.” It was Aedan’s turn to groan. “I prefer men, though. I’m definitely not gay or bisexual. In the words of oh wise one here beside me,” she nodded in Casey’s direction, “I prefer the meat and veg.”

Now we all groaned, Casey included, though I assumed his groan was born of horror rather than the sharp desire I was feeling, which no doubt had Aedan’s pants tightening, too.

“I hear working in front of the camera isn’t as enjoyable as one might think.”

I shook my head at Aedan and frowned. “Where the fuck would you have heard that?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man. I have Google,” he said with a grin. “What man hasn’t thoroughly researched porn?” At that moment Angelina approached the table. “Ahhh, love, I’ll have a pint of gat.”

Wiska and Casey both looked confused again, but Angelina understood he was asking for a simple Guinness. Her eyes then settled on their empty glasses, and Casey quickly ordered more of the same, and a whiskey for me.

“Put it on Bradley’s tab,” he added with a wink.

Angelina looked confused for a moment.

“Just put it on my tab, Angelina.”

“So, is it true? Do you fake most everything?” Aedan persisted, excitement easily identifiable in his tone.

“Aedan,” I growled. “Wiska didn’t come out to talk shop.”

“No, it’s okay,” Wiska interceded. “The company I work for does everything they can to make scenes comfortable for their actors. The cameramen try to be inconspicuous, but when you have someone sticking a camera lens down around the business end, it’s awfully mood destroying. I faked most my orgasms, but there was one that snuck up on me in the last scene I did.” Wiska smiled at the memory.

I gripped my whiskey glass so tight I thought it might break. I wanted to be the one to give her orgasms, dammit!

“I guess I was beginning to feel a little more comfortable with the people around me by that point, but yeah, it’s not really all that pretty on a porn set. Sometimes you need to use lube to make things more comfortable, and that gets all sorts of messy. Once we had to cut in the middle of a scene so someone could work around our joined bodies with Kleenex to clean away the extra lube that had dripped down my thigh. Once I was cleaned up, it was straight back into the action like we had never stopped.”

The table went silent. I was thinking thoughts of murder, images of Wiska in that position fueling my anger. I hated her talking about this shit. Aedan looked a little shocked, and Casey looked far too curious.

“Really?” Casey asked. “You just lay there, with him in you while someone mopped you up?”

Wiska shrugged. “Well, yeah, it’s part of the job. No doubt you’ve had to stop in the middle of a furbaby bath to trim away dingleberries, right?”

“He had dingleberries?” Casey exploded loudly.

Wiska giggled. “Hell, no. I’m just trying to find a comparison.”

“There is no comparison,” Casey huffed.

“My first scene was probably the single most awkward moment of my life. I had no idea what to do when the director called a wrap. It was almost like doing the walk of shame, and I felt so clumsy and out of my element that as soon as my dressing gown was on, I began high-fiving everyone in the room and shouting, ‘Great job!’.” She rolled her eyes and stared at Casey. “Apparently, that is not exactly how a scene is wrapped up, and it became a big joke. From that day on, every time I passed by someone from Kink Harder, they would raise their hand for a high-five.”

Casey grinned and raised his hand high in the air. “Lay one on me, poppet.”

Wiska elbowed him in the ribs. “I need a bathroom break.”

She suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and even vulnerable with the direction the conversation had gone, and I appreciated the break. I needed a moment’s reprieve from her horrific pornography tales. I pointed to the door where she would find the bathrooms, and she quickly disappeared.

“You really have your work cut out for you,” Aedan murmured at my side.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I fucking do.”

Wiska took her time in returning. I began to get anxious when she finally stepped towards our table. Rather than sitting beside Casey though, her gaze fell to the small stage and pole before us. She cast me a naughty smile before climbing on top of it. I sat up a little straighter, worried security might drag her down any moment. When she gave Niles, the DJ, a little wave, I realized she had already set this up.

Casey and Aedan, who had been deep in conversation about Casey’s suit, became silent. Then, the entire bar fell fucking silent. The music stopped, and voices dropped to a murmur before loud, pumping music began to thump out of the hidden speakers once more. It was LMFAO’s “Sexy And I Know It”. The music was fast and edgy, but Wiska moved slowly. She rolled her hips, and her thighs caressed the pole as her body moved like a water. Turning, she bent over and allowed her ass to skim the pole, her hands stroking her ankles before she unhurriedly stood up with a swing to her hips. One arm reached above and grabbed the pole, and then she swung around it. She didn’t move fast; it was a slow seduction as she twisted around the pole until her thighs gripped the brass length, her feet hooked to hold her in place, and her body draped backwards so her perky breasts were thrust firmly forward, her head hanging down, her eyes closed. With an agile grace, she did a handstand that brought her feet back to the floor, and I’m pretty sure my tongue spilled from my mouth. I wiped my chin just to be sure I wasn’t drooling. She was so fucking beautiful. Facing the pole, she squatted down, her thighs spread, her hips still swinging, and then she rose to stand again. She pulled herself back up the pole, her body inverting and her legs falling into a perfect mid-air split before she swung her body upright. She proceeded to swing around the pole, her legs stretched out straight. When the fast swing slowed, and eventually stopped, she stepped away from the pole, her body still swaying and moving like silk. As the music came to a stop, so did her dance, but my heart hammered like a stallion at a fast run. My cock no longer whistled for Wiska—hell no—now it roared like an impatient beast demanding to sink into the stunning blonde who stole my heart, and quite possibly my sanity with it.

CHAPTER 14

Wiska

All the dancing around me had me shifting with pent up energy. My need to join in was a demanding force, so in typical Wiska fashion, I found the manager and flirted shamelessly until he finally relented. Actually, the flirting hadn’t even come close to breaking him, but dropping the name Bradley Emerson had him snapping to attention. The slightly wacky looking DJ, Nile, had promised to hook me up with some music I could strut to, and one LMFAO club song later, BAZINGA, I was pole dancing. While I tried to convince myself I was dancing for me, I was totally throwing the hips around for Bradley. I didn’t dare look at his face, though. If I had seen the brooding, cranky pout he’d been sporting most the night, I might have fallen on my head in despair. I wanted to see him smile again; I wanted to draw out the youthful, spontaneous Bradley that hid under the acidic layers of moody male.

Once the music had finished, I carefully lowered myself from the small, round stage and sat in my chair. The small crowd that had gathered at a respectable distance to watch quickly disappeared, and when I could no longer stand the silence at our table, I took a long drink from my alcohol free Shirley Temple and looked up, straight into Bradley’s stunned eyes. He wasn’t exactly brooding anymore, but he wasn’t smiling either. He was clearly shocked.

“You so have your job cut for you,” Aedan murmured from his side.

I’m not sure what that meant, but Bradley gave a nod, his intense green eyes set on me, trapping me. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. How could one man hold me captivated with just a look?

“Well,” Casey said, shifting uncomfortably beside me, “all she needs is a penis, and I might try to whisk her off her feet.”

Nobody laughed, and a cloud of awkward silence continued to hang over us.

“So,” I finally said, sucking on the straw of my Shirley Temple.

“So,” murmured Bradley, finally breaking his silence.

“Yeah,” Aedan said with a smile, “so.”

Casey snorted. “Well, the men have been reduced to a monosyllable word. Congratulations, poppet. Now I know how to cut down male testosterone in the span of three minutes.”

“You’re a stripper and a porn star?” Aedan asked, surprised.

“No, I’m not a stripper. I just like to dance.”

“You moved on that pole like a seasoned professional,” Bradley said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a challenging manner. He could look as challenging and cocky as he pleased. He didn’t intimidate me.

“I took lessons with Andi and Leah.”

“Andi and Leah took pole dancing lessons?” He gaped.

“Yeah, Andi’s a good dancer. Leah . . .” I grinned at the memory of her awkward attempt to dance, “not so much.”

“My little cousin’s taking pole dancing classes,” Bradley said with horror.

“She can move, Bradley. You should have seen the lap dance she gave Decker. Oh my, it was scorching, and Decker kicked us all out of the apartment. All Lionel and I heard from our adjoining bedroom wall was OH, MY GOD, OH, MY GOD, OH, MY GOD all night long.” Casey sung, ‘oh, my god’ in a high pitched tone.

Bradley looked pale. “I really didn’t need to hear that,” he confessed.

“Trust me,” huffed Casey, “I really didn’t need to hear it, either.”

“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Aedan asked, standing with an outstretched hand.

For some reason, my gaze sought out Bradley’s, almost as if asking his permission. He looked pissed again. To hell with it, if he was going to sulk all night, I was going to have a good time. I grabbed Aedan’s hand and let him pull me to my feet.

“Ummmm . . .” I glanced around the decadent club in search of a dance floor.

“Over here,” Aedan murmured, pulling me to a small section of the club that had been made private with soft, black, chiffon curtains falling from the roof in a large square around the dance space. I could see a few couples dancing through the sheer fabric as Aedan parted a panel and pulled me through. There were a few women, who I’m pretty sure were strippers, dancing with patrons, and I wondered if they were being paid to dance with them. Everyone was touching, some more so than others. Hands moved over bodies without shame or concern for the other people dancing. It was just hands, though; everyone appeared to be behaving themselves otherwise.

Aedan pulled me into his firm chest and wrapped his arms around me, his hands resting at my lower back. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, but I could feel the hard muscle under his dress shirt. He was handsome in a mischievous and roguish kind of way. The sparkle in his eyes reminded me a little of Decker.

“How’s Bradley’s whisking going?” he asked.

While I liked it when people got straight to the point, his question caught me by surprise.

“Oh, I guess the whisking’s only really just started. We’ve only been on a couple of dates. I’m not even sure you could call them dates, but he kissed me, so I guess that made it a date.” The inconsequential words fell from my lips like a sprung faucet.

“Yeah, a kiss certainly blurs the lines of friendship.” Aedan spun me around, the thumb of one hand rubbing a little circle on my lower back that was pleasant, yet unnerving. It felt wrong. What I really wanted was Bradley’s hands on me, but he was moping like the cantankerous ass he played so well. “If he takes you behind the curtains, those lines will blur a whole lot more.”

“What curtains?” I asked.

Aedan spun me until my back was against his front, one arm wrapped around my waist, another pointing to a curtain that lay against what I thought was a wall. The curtain was pushed aside, and a man and woman stepped from around it, back into the club.

“What’s through there?”

“That’s where men can pay the dancers for services not appropriate in public,” he whispered in my ear.

“And Bradley uses those rooms?”

“We’ve all used those rooms, Bradley included.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Aedan turned me back to face him once more. “Maybe we could slip back there.”

I stopped dancing at his suggestion. “You want to pay me to have sex with you?” I hissed, outraged.

Aedan was wise enough to look contrite. “No money, just two people who are attracted to each other making use of a little privacy.”

Twenty seconds ago, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the curtained off area. Well, I found all those feels real damn quick. They consisted of anger, fury, and maybe a little wrath. I was insulted that Aedan thought he could drag me off for a shameless quickie in the prostitute’s corner of the club. Especially when he knew Bradley was trying to whisk me! And, well, I was jealous over the idea of Bradley going back there. I hated jealousy; it was an ugly emotion and often completely uncontrollable. I focused on the anger rather than the jealousy. Screw this handsome, Irish playboy who assumed I was that easy. I gave Aedan’s chest a little push and put some space between us.

“Let me give you a crash course on adult film stars, Mr. My-Accent-Is-Too-Sexy-For-My-Own-Good. We have a job which requires us to perform sex in front of cameras. It’s a job. We go to work, do our job, and then go home. Some of us have families, husbands, even children. We are not cheap whores willing to screw any man who throws a few nice words at us.”

Aedan looked completely surprised.

“Everything okay here?” came Bradley’s familiar voice.

“I apologize. I meant no offense,” Aedan offered.

“Well, you sure as hell did offend!”

“I hear you, loud and clear. Again, I’m very sorry.” With a meek expression, Aedan disappeared through the fabric surrounding the dance floor.

Meanwhile, I was steaming mad. Bradley approached me cautiously, almost like a man might approach a rabid grizzly bear.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing, it’s what he said!” I snapped.

A few people were watching my little outburst, and embarrassment heated my cheeks. Bradley pulled me into his arms, holding me much like Aedan had. It was more comfortable, though; it felt right. I was still stiff and pissed off from Aedan’s presumptuous attitude, but Bradley moved me slowly, his head dipping until his lips were right by my ear.

“What did he say?” he asked, with almost lethal calm.

“He told me about the curtains,” I said, pulling my head back so he could see my dare-you-to-contradict-me look.

“You have a problem with the BJ rooms?” he asked, with a touch of disbelief, almost as if someone might ask you if you had a problem with the pickles on your cheeseburger.

“BJ rooms?”

“That’s what goes on behind the curtains, oral sex, one way only; the women don’t receive—they’re not allowed to. Other arrangements can be made for more outside the club, but Sanjay, the owner, has a very strict no sex rule for his club.”

“Well, Aedan suggested more went on back there. He offered to take me back there. Apparently, it’s normal for men like you and him to use club get-your-cock-out.”

Bradley stilled, his eyes suddenly filled with anger.

“He asked you to go back there with him?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh. Personally, I think it’s completely unfair that the act can’t be reciprocated, though. I mean, what’s good for the goose is definitely good for the gander. It sounds to me like Sanjay has a touch of cunnilingus phobia. And maybe we need to check with you first, maybe you’ve got the room booked already.” It was a childish thing to say, but jealousy was a crazy emotion, turning my brains to mush in a heartbeat.

Bradley began dancing again. I could feel the deep rise and fall of his chest before his lips were by my ear once more.

“Pussycat, I’m not going to deny it. I have been back there, but it’s in my past, just like you fucking on camera is in the past. I’m willing to leave it there, if you’re willing to leave the get-your-cock-out corner, as you call it, there.” He kissed a spot under my ear that had a one way buzzer to my lady bits. I stifled a shameless groan—after all, I was mad at him right now. “If Andi can let go of Decker’s past, and I assure you, it’s one sordid past, surely we can do the same.”

And there he went, making all that sense, dammit! I sighed, and my body sagged as the pent up anger disappeared. “I need your secrets, Bradley. They’re like a big damn brick wall between us, and I’m not climbing that sucker. You need to tear it down. You need to tell me what you do for a living.”

“Yeah,” he said with a long exhale. “I’ll tell you.”

When he didn’t go on, I gave his arm a shove. “Okay, I’m ready. Lay it to me.”

“Later,” he chuckled.

“What kind of later? Like two hours later, twenty-four hours later, months later, or years later?”

“When we get home,” he managed to say through bouts of laughter.

“Okay, I can wait that long.”

Instead of relief at the prospect of finally finding out what he did for a living, I was filled with apprehension. How bad could it be? Would it be deal-breaker material? God, could my heart take it? I was already half-way falling for this damn man. Maybe Bradley was overreacting about the employment thing. Maybe he was just embarrassed about whatever it was he did. Good lord, after all this build up, if he tells me he’s an insurance salesman, I might knock him out.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” I tugged on his hand. The schmuck was still laughing, and he pulled me back into his arms.

“I’m not finished. We angry danced, and we need to make up dance.”

“Angry danced?”

“As I recall, you were all bark and snarl when I first came in here.”

“Being propositioned like nothing more than a whore will do that to a girl.”

“But I wasn’t the one propositioning. All I’m guilty of is being a typical, sexually charged man, who spent some time with other women, which, since it was prior to meeting you, means I did nothing wrong.”

I wanted to argue, but he had a point. I hated it when people were so logical. At that moment, Bradley grabbed my ass and dragged me against his body. There was no mistaking the demanding prod from his groin.

“Ever since I met you, I found myself wanting blonde . . . blue eyes . . . sexy red lips . . . and spectacular breasts.” He said it with a mischievous grin, and I melted. If that grin could be bottled and sold with vibrators, someone would become extraordinarily rich!

“Did my snapping and barking get you hard?” I whispered breathlessly.

“Pussycat, I’ve been a walking fucking hard-on for you since the moment you stepped off that damn plane. I almost went to the doctor to see if he could give me a pill to make it go away.”

I laughed. “A pill to make Vlad go down?”

“I was worried it might do permanent damage. You know, too much blood flowing through the head in my pants and not enough flowing through the head on my shoulders.”

I moved my body against his in an effort to deliver a little of the torture Casey suggested I inflict on the man.

“There are things you can do to relieve that kind of tension, you know? Haven’t you ever heard of playing the flute solo?”

Bradley burst out laughing, the deep rumble in his chest a sound I could easily become addicted to.

“Baby, I’ve been playing that damn flute so damn much I’m surprised it still blows a fucking tune.” Bradley lowered his face until his lips were just inches from mine. “So, what are we at now? Third date, do I get to kiss you?”

“You already kissed me,” I whispered, and the memory of that kiss had my tongue dart out to moisten my lips in preparation to do it all over again.

“But I’m playing by the rules now.”

“Second date kisses are acceptable, but I’ve rarely given them. It takes someone special to be bumped up to second date kisses.”

“Oh yeah, what does one have to do to be considered special enough for a bump?”

“Bradley, if you don’t kiss me, I’m gonna get all snappy and bark again.”

So, he kissed me. Damn, his hot warm lips working mine turned my knees to limp, wet, noodles. Thankfully he wedged a firm thigh between my legs, and I groaned as his tongue gently caressed mine. It was a good kiss, a great kiss, a kiss of much practice, and rather than feeling a surge of jealousy, I was thankful to all those poor women who had less than this perfection. When we finally pulled apart, I half expected the club to be in darkness, having kissed the entire night away. That kiss was like a bend in time; what was most likely a minute felt like hours. The corner of Bradley’s mouth lifted into an arrogant smile.

“If you look that satisfied now, wait until I get you beneath me.”

“Not on a third date you don’t.” I murmured with a husky, breathy voice that was foreign to even my own ears.

“It will be worth the wait, pussycat.”

CHAPTER 15

Bradley

By the time I got home, I was far too sober, my heart raced like a wild beast, and my palms were sweaty. All this because I was going to tell Wiska what I did for a living? It seriously wasn’t that hard. I WORK FOR WILLIE BIANCO. I make one of New York Mafia’s wealthiest men wealthier! See, simple. I wondered if she would realize what a serious confession it was, though. In effect, I worked for the mob. I tried to distance myself from it by moving to another country. I told myself I worked in finance, stocks and bonds, that the money I gambled with in an effort to double, sometimes quadruple, was completely legal. While what I did was legal, the money was sure as hell acquired through less than savory methods. I was as delusional about my career as I had been about my want for Wiska. I was great at burying my head in the sand; if denial was a college degree, I’d graduate with fucking honors!

Wiska and Casey walked arm in arm down the short corridor to my apartment door. I pushed it open and watched them waltz in, completely oblivious to my imminent break down. I tossed my keys into the ceramic dish just inside the doorway and cringed at the loud clanking noise it made. Wiska and Casey paid it no attention, though, completely absorbed in their story about the intricacies of waxing. I wanted to drift into an explicit fantasy of Wiska’s waxed body, but instead, I was sitting in Sweaty-palm-ville, worrying about the conversation to come.

“I’m so glad I had the happy baby pose nailed; that makes the experience so much more comfortable,” Wiska sighed.

“OMG! Totally!” Casey exclaimed.

“What’s a happy baby pose?” I asked, hoping the distraction would help delay the inevitable.

Casey turned, lay down on the rug in the living area, then proceeded to raise his legs and clutch his feet, his bent knees parted wide. It was disturbing to say the least.

“Happy baby pose. You know, like babies like to grab their little stumpy toes?” Wiska said helpfully.

“And you need this pose for waxing?” I gaped.

Casey rolled to his feet. “For a Brazilian you do. How else would they clear away the shrubbery at the backdoor?”

I just stared, my mind conjuring up images of Casey that I wanted to burn from my memory.

“And you really don’t want to go after a night of curry. There is nothing more embarrassing then a little back draft while you’re spread-eagle and someone is ripping hair from your anal strip.”

Wiska burst out laughing. I didn’t. I was horrified. When they both turned and wandered off down the hallway, I dared to let my shoulders sag with relief. She’d forgotten. She wasn’t hanging around to hear my big secret. She was completely distracted. While the waxing conversation had bordered on one of the most terrifying conversations I had ever been a third party witness to, it had done the job of distracting Wiska.

I smiled as I strolled into my room and pulled off my shoes, placing them neatly back into the shoe rack in my walk-in closet. I tugged off my suit jacket, tie, and shirt, placing them in a dry cleaning bag that was almost full. When I stepped back out of the closet, Wiska was leaning against my bed.

“Casey is on the phone with Lionel. I thought I’d give them some privacy, and it would give us a chance to talk. You have a job to tell me about.”

Her eyes lingered on my chest long enough for my shoulders to draw back with pride, but when her steely gaze settled back on mine, they quickly slumped forward with defeat.

“Yeah, we do.”

Wiska turned and climbed onto the bed, crossing her legs, an expectant look on her face. “Okay,” I said as I turned and began to pace. “You gotta understand how I got into this; it was purely by accident.” I gave her a sideways glance, and saw she was watching me intently. “I was almost finished with college. I met this girl, we both had plans for a future that didn’t include relationships, but we found a mutual agreement that was beneficial to both of us. It was a chance to let off steam, you know . . .”

“Friends with benefits?” Wiska asked helpfully.

“Yeah, something like that. I also helped her study—I was good with numbers . . . real good.” I nervously ran a hand through my hair. “So, when she graduated, she introduced me to her father. I had no idea who he was at this stage, but she suggested I meet him; she thought he might be able to offer me a job.” My tongue became tied with memories and nerves. “It’s not like she thought he’d just give me a job outright. He had connections, and she thought he might use one of those to get me a job.”

“Uh huh,” was Wiska’s encouragement when I stalled.

“So, we met. He asked around the college about me and discovered I was somewhat of a numbers prodigy. I had a talent for taking a few dollars and turning it into a lot more . . .” I looked at her thoughtfully. “Stocks, bonds, property, I even helped Decker when his dad started up his business buying old property and renovating it. I’m good at making money.” My pacing paused as I glanced at her again.

“So, you buy and sell stocks and property for this man? That’s it?”

I bit my bottom lip and decided fast was the best way to go about this. Like ripping off a band-aid, real quick so the sting was over and maybe she wouldn’t notice it. Maybe she didn’t even know who Willie actually was. She had mentioned his name as someone who wanted to lure her into his own adult film company, but she didn’t acknowledge him as mafia.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I do . . . for Willie Bianco.”

Her brow rose in surprise. “Willie . . . Bianco . . . like, the Willie Bianco of New York? Like, the Italian Mafia Willie Bianco?”

“So you’ve heard of him,” I said, a little deflated that she knew who he was.

“Well, I don’t know him personally, but his company, Brutal Babes, tried to lure me over. Ryder told me to stay away, said that Willie seemed like a decent enough guy, but he was Italian Mafia, and all things considered, that was kinda reason enough to stay away. He’s freaking Mafia, Bradley. How many people does he make swim with the fishes?”

“His brother takes care of Brutal Babes. He doesn’t run as tight a ship as Ryder,” I said, avoiding the whole swimming with the fishes comment. I had no idea about the when, where, how, and why of the more sordid aspects of being a mafia crime lord.

Wiska was silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. This was the moment she would likely stand and walk away, or more like run away. Getting messed up with a man who worked for Willie Bianco was crazy. Bloody hell, I worked for the New York Mafia! Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew I worked for the fucking mafia, but every now and again, reality would slap me, hard. This was one of those moments.

“You had to move here to work for him?” she finally asked. She wasn’t hyperventilating or dialing the police; it was a good start.

“Not exactly. I could live anywhere to do what I do.”

“Then why here?” she asked, an expression of honest curiosity on her face.

I shrugged. “To begin with, I had warped impressions of what Willie and his organization was. I worried my family and friends would be threatened in an attempt to keep me compliant. I felt like moving here kept me distanced from those I loved, keeping them safe. I think I watched The Godfather a few too many times.” I mumbled that last past. “The reality is, Willie is a businessman. I don’t ask where the money comes from; I assume that the way he obtains it is somewhat illegal, but what I do isn’t. I make him money, lots of it. In return, he pays me well, and he couldn’t give a shit what my friends and family are doing. Except Decker. Brutal Babes has had a hard-on for him for years. When Willie realized I couldn’t persuade Decker to move over to his company, he let it drop.”

I leaned against the door, which I only now realized was closed. The possibilities had my dick give a gentle nudge against the fabric of my pants. Not a fucking chance, Vlad. Stand down!

“For a minute, I worried Willie might make Decker disappear or something. Turns out, Willie is “new” mafia. Power is in money, and he wants lots of it. Killing people and breaking legs doesn’t get him money, and that in turn doesn’t get him power.”

“So, he’s like the sweet and kind mafia, the kind you take home to meet the parents?” Her brow was raised in a challenge.

“Not exactly, smart ass,” I said with a half-smile. “Willie knows how to be unkind, when the moment calls for it. In my dealings with him, I found him to be a shrewd businessman; he’s smart, partial to very expensive whiskey called Kirkland Glenlivet, and has a fondness for the sea. He has a yacht and spends most of his time on it—it’s bigger than this apartment.”

Wiska nibbled on her lower lip in thought. The vision of her sitting on my bed, still in her snug fitting outfit, minus the shoes, which was a shame, sent a bolt of lust right to my cock.

“And what happened to Willie’s daughter?” Of all the questions she could have asked me, that wasn’t one I had expected.

“Last I heard she is a successful doctor, happily married to a ruthless lawyer, and they’ve made very pretty babies together.” The corner of Wiska’s mouth twitched in what I thought was a suppressed smile. “You’re taking this better than I anticipated.”

Wiska shrugged. “Honestly, you had me so tied up in knots worrying about what you did, I was entertaining thoughts of everything from assassin to male gigolo. If you are so good with money, why aren’t you sleeping on a bed of one hundred dollar bills?”

“Firstly, who the hell would do that? Sleep on cash? Do you know the kind of germs and bacteria that are found on bills? And secondly, I’ve got my own decent nest egg going. I’m more than comfortable and can provide for my friends and family if need be. I like what I do, though. I like the thrill of taking someone else’s money and gambling with it on the stock market, and if I’m lucky, and I usually am, five million becomes more like ten million. I don’t have that kind of cash to play with, but Willie does.”

“Okay, fair enough. So, you work with money, stocks, and bonds. It’s kinda boring.”

I straightened, my male pride slightly wounded by her words. “I deal with millions on a daily basis. One wrong move and I could bankrupt Willie in a heartbeat, then I’d be swimming with the fishes!”

Wiska waved my comment away. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Bradley. I think you’re hot, no matter what you do for a living.” I stopped a few steps from her and watched as she sighed and gave me an oddly dreamy look. “You’re kinda like Al Bundy.”

My mouth fell open and promptly shut again. How exactly was I supposed to respond to that? It wasn’t exactly a flattering comparison.

“How? I don’t know anything about shoes, and I’m far from married with children.”

Her brow creased with confusion. “What does the gangster Al Bundy have to do with shoes?”

I suddenly realized who she was talking about, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pussycat, I think you mean Al Capone. Al Bundy was the lazy, sexist pig from the television show Married With Children.” Wiska’s following blush had me laugh harder. She rolled her eyes and tried to slide from my bed, and I quickly stepped forward and trapped her body between mine and the mattress at her back. “And no, I’m nothing like Al Capone. I’ve never even seen a gun, let alone hold one. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“If I’m here purely for your amusement, I think I’ll go get ready for bed.” She squirmed, and Vlad gave her a gentle prod, almost like a dog nudging your hand for attention. She stilled, and I knew she had felt him.

“While I find you very amusing, I can think of a thousand other things I want to do with you.”

She looked at me with those big, beautiful, blue eyes and the desire I saw in them had me harden so fast I thought I might pass out from the sudden rush of southbound blood.

“What would you do with me?” she whispered.

I grabbed her hands and gently pushed them to the bed, leaving my hands over them to hold her in place. She was effectively trapped. I dipped my head and breathed in the soft scent of perfume that clung to her neck. Fuck, she smelled good. I rocked my hardness into her body so she would not miss what she did to me.

“For starters, I’d fuck your mouth with my tongue, just like I want to fuck your pussy. I’d kiss you until you begged me for air.” I kissed a tender spot right below her ear, and the catch in her breath persuaded me to continue, “Then I’d pull this top from your body so I could see these stunning breasts.” My chest rubbed against hers for effect. “My lips would drop to one nipple, and I’d suck it,” I murmured as I took her earlobe between my lips and gave it a gentle tug. “I wonder if you would want it hard or soft . . .” She pushed back against my body, and I forced a leg between her thighs. Her subsequent groan spurred me on. “Then I’d pull these incredible, tight pants from your legs so I could finally see your pussy. Your conversation about waxing has me curious. Are you smooth down there, or do you have a neat little patch of hair?” I asked. She rubbed that very place against my thigh, and I sucked gently on her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to let her know I wanted her, badly. “Then I’d lift your calves to rest over my shoulders, I’d part your pussy lips with my fingers, and I’d lick you, pussycat. I’d lick softly first, then I’d suck you deep and nibble with my teeth. I’d maybe slip a finger inside you and finger-fuck you like I’ve dreamed, and I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my tongue.”

Her thrusts against my leg had become more demanding, and when she suddenly came apart beneath me, I stilled. Holy fucking shit-balls, she had just come, and we were both still fully clothed! Her breathing was hard in my ear, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest. Fuck it, maybe it was my own heavy breathing and frantic heart beat I was feeling. I had never, in all my years of fucking, experienced anything quite like that. Never had I made a woman come simply through a little clitoral friction and a few dirty words. Wiska’s passionate response had me wanting to rip the clothes from her body and fuck her for days.

“I hope I didn’t break a rule just now,” I whispered.

I felt her lips bend into a smile as she nuzzled my neck like a kitten seeking affection; she practically purred with a contented sigh.

“I think rules have flown out the window where you and I are concerned, Bradley. I’ve never orgasmed like that before, and I think I’m a little worried about what you can do without clothes between us.”

“Trust me, there’s a lot I can do without clothes between us,” I murmured as I kissed her neck yet again. My cock was like forged steel, painfully hard in my pants.

“I don’t put out on a third date,” she breathed between kisses.

“I think what you just did was something akin to putting out, and I don’t think you can call it a date because Casey came with us,” I purred in her ear.

“Nu-huh,” she argued. “This doesn’t count. You fried my brain with your seduction, and we kept our clothes on. You didn’t even reach second base. And Casey was a chaperone on our date.” I loved how breathless she had become so quickly.

My thigh rubbed against her crotch, and she groaned in my ear. “So no second base. It was a date, and I managed to make you come . . . with your clothes on.”

She pulled her hands out from under mine and gave my chest a gentle push. I could tell she didn’t really want me to pull away, but I did. I respected her rules; they actually made me want her all the more. Her rules, her charm, made her history with porn obsolete in my eyes. I was finally beginning to understand how Andi accepted Decker.

“Will you allow me to take you out tomorrow? Just you and me? A real date, without a chaperone?”

“I’d like that,” she said. I don’t think she realized it, but her hands still lingered on my chest. It caused my brutal case of blue balls to twist with pain.

“Wiska, are you in there? You two better not be twerking the pipe. I made Wiska a promise to protect her virtue, and sex on the second date is absolutely defiling her virtue. I’m coming in there in five minus, four, three, two, one—”

I stepped away from Wiska, and her arms fell innocently to her side. The almost-fucked, dazed look on her face was priceless, and Casey easily zeroed in on those red, pouty, kissed lips as soon as he burst into the room.

“Your cheeks are flushed. Did he make you come?” His eyes did a careful perusal of Wiska’s body, and his brows climbed up his forehead with surprise. “WITH YOUR CLOTHES ON?” His gaze crossed to me with renewed appreciation. “Well, hello perfect pectorals. You got her off while she was fully clothed? I am truly impressed.”

“What makes you think he got me off?” Wiska huffed indignantly.

“Poppet, you have that look, shocked and shagged, but your clothes are still on . . . unbelievable.”

Casey was still eyeing me like the best cut at the meat market. It unnerved me somewhat.

“Stop looking at him like that, or I’ll tell Lionel,” Wiska demanded.

Casey’s attention flew to her. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Those perfect pectorals are mine, so eyes off.”

I preened under her possessive claim, even if she was protecting me from a spoken for gay man.

Wiska stepped toward the door and then, as if an afterthought, she moved back to her suitcase and took her sweet time in selecting a pair of pale blue, lacy panties. Then she grabbed her pajamas and turned to walk away, but hesitated, reaching back for her giant vibrator which had been tucked beneath a small pile of clothing. She also claimed a bottle of lube and gifted me a saucy wink as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. My heart almost punched its way out of my chest cavity.

“OMG, did you see the size of that thing?” Casey hissed once we were alone.

I resisted the urge to adjust my uncomfortable erection. “Uh huh, it’s not small.”

“And you’re not intimidated?”

“Hell no,” I confessed.

Truth was, while the giant vibrator had an easy inch on me, I knew how to use the equipment I had. No woman had ever left my bed unsatisfied, and considering I had just made Wiska come while fully clothed, Thor didn’t concern me in the least. Casey’s eyes dipped to my groin. There would be no missing the raging hard-on pressing against the zipper of my pants.

“Uh huh, I see,” murmured Casey. “You can borrow some of my lube so you can take care of that.” He signaled to my groin.

This was officially one of the most awkward moments of my life, right up there with the parental sex talk and Casey and Wiska’s waxing conversation.

“Nope, I’m good.”

“You sure are,” Casey purred as he backed away from the door. “And FYI, the vibrator has nothing on me.”

With a wink, he left, and I really, really wanted to purge the new thoughts that Casey’s words conjured.

CHAPTER 16

Wiska

“Personally, I think Kim Kardashian is an alien, sent to Earth to spy on us.”

I burst out laughing as Casey lounged on the sofa bed painting my nails in a bedazzling shade of O.P.I. Pineapple. “I’m not kidding. She is absolutely, one hundred percent extraterrestrial.”

“What on earth makes you think she is an alien?” I balked.

“Her face. It’s fake. I have no doubt it’s some sort of alien prosthetic mask, but the aliens didn’t take into account the human ability to have so many different facial expressions. Kim has two: pissed off and fuck you. Plus, she is carrying an alien booty; that ass is just not real.”

“You’re just jealous she has such great skin,” I said, doubting he really believed she was, in fact, an alien.

“Her skin is some freaky alien prosthetic, too.”

The clearing of someone’s throat interrupted our celebrity trash talk moment. Casey was like my gateway to celebrity knowledge now. He knew everything about everyone, even who they were supposedly doing and where they were doing it. Casey obviously spent too much time watching TMZ and gossiping. I wasn’t going to give him a hard time for it, though. He was helping me make sure I’d never have another Kasper slip-up again, no more married, cheating celebrities for me. We turned at the same time to look at Bradley who stood at the end of his long hall. He looked nervous.

“Wazzup, homie?” Casey asked, and I shook my head at his terrible gangsta impression. “Would you like to join us for a manicure or pedicure?” Casey blew on my nails and sat up expectantly.

“I was born with a set of balls. I don’t do anything that ends with the word ‘cure’.”

“I have balls, and I get a manicure and pedicure weekly.”

“You were born missing a Y chromosome, so you don’t count,” Bradley argued.

“You do know that doctors have publicly stated the XY chromosome count doesn’t determine gender on its own?”

I swung around to stare at Casey, my mouth wide open with disbelief.

“What? I read!” He sniffed in an attempt to brush off my surprised stare. “So, no ‘cures’ for Bradley. Maybe Wiska could offer you a massage?”

Bradley’s gaze found mine, and I shivered at the intense look he pinned me with. “Maybe later. Get dressed, I’m taking you out on that date.”

“You know, there is a method to asking a girl. As in, you actually ask her.”

“I asked you last night.”

I clearly remembered that, but this walking in and ordering me around was getting old. He needed to find some manners beneath that brutish attitude. I just sat there and stared at him, and after a few moments, he huffed and stood a little taller. I could tell he was cranky, and it made me want to smile. He was so cute when he was flustered.

“Wiska, will you please get dressed because I’d like to take you out on a date, alone?” he gave Casey a pointed glare, which didn’t effect Casey in the slightest. He just smiled back, watching the interplay between us.

“So, so close,” I sighed. “Fine, give me ten.”

Pulling my feet away from Casey, I jumped up and ran to Bradley’s bedroom where I grabbed some fresh clothes. Secretly, he could have dragged me from the apartment by my hair and I would have been happy. Spending time with Bradley had quickly climbed the ladder of my top five favorite things to do. A warm bubble bath with a good book was still number one. I kind of hoped Bradley found a way to topple it from its prime position. Maybe there was something else that could be done in a bath that would leave me in a relaxed state of wrinkle toed mush.

*

“Where are we going?” I asked as we seemed to get further and further from the hustle and bustle of London.

“To a quiet pub out of town, somewhere we can talk.”

“We didn’t have to go out of town to talk. I’d have been just as happy if you had taken me to McDonald’s.”

“Pussycat,” Bradley said with a grin, “I’m not taking you to McDonald’s. This place is owned by a previous employee of Willie Bianco. They’ve done the place up real nice; it’s got old world charm, and the food is amazing. “

“Soooo,” I hedged. “Willie doesn’t bury his employees when they decide to leave?”

Bradley laughed. “No, it doesn’t work that way. It’s just like any other job—you quit and move on. I guess some of the people more closely associated with the inner workings of the organization have less flexibility when it comes to quitting.”

“Huh.” This mafia business wasn’t at all like the movies.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, with Bradley pointing out certain places of interest. My gaze kept drifting to the sun that was dipping over the horizon. It was a beautiful night, and as we left the city, I finally began to see some of the English charm everyone kept telling me about. When we arrived at a cute, quiet pub, the parking lot was so full we had to park quite far away, down a cobblestone street, under a quaint old lantern style street lamp.

“Must be busy tonight,” Bradley noted as he took my hand and led me back towards the pub.

As we grew closer, the noise grew louder.

“It’s rocking tonight,” I said with a smile.

It seemed the nice, quiet place we had spent the last forty-five minutes en route to wasn’t so nice and quiet tonight.

“Mr. Emerson,” said a short, balding man standing by the front door. He shook Bradley’s hand with a big, bright smile, then his eyes turned to take in little ol’ me.

“You brought a contestant?” he asked, his gaze lowering to my breasts.

I was silently thrilled when Bradley pulled me to his side possessively, catching the attention of Mr. McPervy who looked suitable abashed.

“A contestant for what?” Bradley asked.

“It’s Saturday, Mr. Emerson, Jell-O night.”

“Jell-O night?” I asked, sending Bradley a what-the-heck look.

“Go take a look.”

The man stepped aside, and Bradley pulled me into a pub that radiated very little old world charm and something more along the lines of a WWE fight night. With a sprawling mahogany bar to one side, the other side of the pub was filled to capacity, and between the thick crowd, I caught glimpses of a large, inflatable kiddie pool filled with green Jell-O.

“You brought me to a Jell-O wrestling contest? How . . . romantic,” I whispered with a chuckle.

Bradley just shook his head, his mouth open wide with astonishment.

“You like it, Mr. Emerson?” the doorman asked.

“I don’t suppose Maggi’s Café is open?” he responded.

“No, she flipped the closed sign an hour ago. In fact, you might find her in here somewhere. Her daughter Blair is wrestling tonight.”

“Blair? Little Blair with the pigtails?” Bradley scoffed.

“It’s obviously been a while since you saw Blair.”

“Not long enough,” I heard Bradley mutter. “Let’s grab a drink and see if they’re serving food,” he suggested, kneading the back of his neck nervously. “Scotch neat and a sparkling water,” Bradley called to the bartender over the rumble of laughter and voices. “Is the kitchen open tonight?”

“Not tonight, but the chef is back there. I can have some chips whipped up if you like.” The Scot pushed the drinks across the bar, and Bradley handed him some cash.

All the while, my eyes were glued to the rowdy crowd. I actually liked it; the energy in here was electric, and the people were in good spirits. I watched as cash quickly exchanged hands as bets were placed.

“I’d appreciate that. We’ll wait down there.” Bradley pointed to the quieter end of the bar and quickly dragged me towards an empty stool, spinning me around and lifting me onto it, all in one fluid and impressive movement.

“I’m not that small. I could have made it onto the stool on my own.” I chuckled.

“I’m not risking any more broken limbs, pussycat.”

“There are no swans around, so I should be fine.”

Bradley smiled, and suddenly the busy bar around us seemed to fade away and we were the only two people in the room. It sounded awkward, but it wasn’t. Okay, it totally was, but I didn’t care. What I wanted was for Bradley to lean forward and kiss me. Was he thinking the same thing? I stared into his beautiful green eyes that seemed full of mischief and seduction. I wanted to know what was going on inside that head of his. He was probably thinking I was a creeper with the way I was just staring at him. We’d been staring too long, saying nothing. We were just . . . I don’t know, connecting or something. When his eyes dropped to my . . .  nose? Did I have a booger? No, lips, his eyes dropped to my lips—thank goodness—and I instinctively licked them and leaned in a little closer. He was still staring at me. Was the lip licking lame? Did I look clueless? Seduction wasn’t a class I excelled in. Oh, screw it, I was going to kiss him. He was taking too long to make the decision, so I was going to be the proactive woman I was and make the decision for us both.

“EMERSON!” The high pitched scream made me flinch, and without warning, a red haired woman flung herself at Bradley and wrapped her arms around his body. Her hands roamed unashamedly down his back and were brazen enough to grab his ass.

With a firm but gentle push, Bradley managed to disentangle the female from him. An embarrassed hue filled his cheeks as he cast me an apologetic smile. Clingy bear was dressed in a scrap of bikini, her firm round breasts barely contained in the triangle cups. She was stunning, but her eyes held a touch of cray, cray. Rather than feel jealous, I kind of felt sorry for Bradley as he tried to keep the ginger twat away.

“Blair?” Bradley choked out.

Oh, this was the pigtail wearing girl Bradley hadn’t seen in a while. I was guessing she didn’t wear pigtails much these days. It appeared she didn’t wear much of anything these days.

“I missed you so much,” she purred, wrapping her arms around Bradley’s neck.

I raised a brow at Bradley, and he tried valiantly to peel Blair away again. Okay, she was getting a bit too handsy with a man I was beginning to think of as mine, and like Bradley, I didn’t like to share. Blair was pushing a green button, and any minute I was going to Hulk out and throw her through a wall.

“That’s sweet of you to say. I’d like to introduce you to Wiska.”

That seemed to get her attention, and she finally let go of Bradley, which somewhat pacified me. Blair spun around, her face not one of friendship. Yet, I pushed my shoulders back and smiled the sweetest, fakest smile I could manage.

“Well, hello! I love your bikini. It’s gorgeous,” I gushed.

I didn’t love it at all, it was far too flimsy for a pub, but I could fake nice with the best of them. Blair didn’t return that faux kindness, though; instead, she entirely dismissed me and turned back to face Bradley, her deep red lips curved in a seductive smile. Well, that clueless hussy! Anger boiled dangerously beneath my skin. I could feel my muscles trembling, and I just knew my clothes would tear from my body as I went Hulk any moment now.

“So, Emerson, I’m thinking we should pick up where we left off the last time we saw each other. Namely, you . . . between . . . my thighs.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, and I stood, not at all intimidated by this shameless, flirty, English twat.

“How about I wrestle you for him.”

Bradley’s eyes just about popped out of his head, while Blair looked completely taken aback.

“You want to fight me for him?” she asked, a little outraged.

“What, you don’t think he’s worth it?”

Her mouth dropped open for a moment before she shook herself back into a state of semi-composure.

“I mean, if you don’t think you can win, that’s fine. Bradley and I were leaving soon, anyway.”

“Bradley?” Blair echoed, confused.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be upset if you didn’t think you were up to it,” I continued sweetly, and Blair’s back stiffened.

“You don’t appear to have a suit,” she sniffed indignantly.

I waved her comment off with ease. “No problem. I’ll just wear my panties and bra. I’m not ashamed of my body, and since Bradley and I have been living together, he’s seen my underwear.”

Blair balked at that and gave a stiff nod. “Fine, I’ll go let the organizers know.”

Once the little red tart disappeared from sight, I turned to Bradley and gifted him with the most innocent smile I could muster.

“What panties are you wearing?” he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

That’s what he got from the scene that just transpired?

“The purple ones,” I huffed, wrangling my jealousy back under control.

“Geez,” he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not sure I can let you strip down and show this room full of maniacs your beautiful body.”

“I’m wearing underwear; it’s just like wearing a bikini. Now, I have to go and get all wet and slippery, and take care of your crazy stalker.”

“She’s not crazy. She’s just . . . excitable.”

“She’s nuttier than squirrel shit,” I snapped, letting him see my irritation.

Bradley grinned. “Are you jealous, pussycat?” I glared at him, but he just continued to smile before leaning in to whisper in my ear, “I never touched Blair. She was way too young, and even if she wasn’t, she’s not my type. But I still kind of hope you are jealous. There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants and is prepared to Jell-O wrestle for it.”

A burst of laughter escaped my lips, and soon we were both laughing at the absurd direction our night had taken.

“Hi, I’m Maggie,” came a bright, cheerful Irish lilt from beside us.

I pulled away from Bradley, ready to fend off another jilted, wannabe lover, and took in a tall, leggy, brunette beauty with a sweet smile and dimples. She paid Bradley no attention, her eyes heavy on me. Oh, perhaps it wasn’t me who needed to be defending my territory this time.

“I hear you are wrestling Blair.”

“Good news travels fast,” I murmured.

Maggie’s gaze roamed over my body, and I shifted, feeling a little awkward under her study. I was more accustomed to being ogled by men, not women. Not that I had a problem with it; it was just new.

“Yeah, word travels fast in these parts. Come with me, I’m pretty sure one of my suits will fit you.”

I smiled and handed my drink to Bradley. Before I could step away, he grabbed my fingers in a loose grip.

“Pussycat, you don’t have to do this. We can head back into town and find a McDonald’s. I’ll even buy you a caramel sundae.”

I patted his cheek in an attempt to let him know that I was okay with this. I was actually excited about Jell-O wrestling. I’d never done it before, and although it wasn’t on my bucket list, I was totally last-minute adding it.

“Tell you what, let me take care of this red haired succubus, and then you can take me to Mickey D’s for a burger, and maybe, if you’re very, very lucky, I’ll let you get to second base in the backseat of your car.”

Bradley’s eyes flared with undisguised arousal. “You’re on, pussycat.”

CHAPTER 17

Bradley

Well shit, operation whisk Wiska had taken a deadly turn for the bizarre and interesting. A busy Saturday night in this place was supposed to be no more than eight people sitting at the bar. It was supposed to be quiet, the lights dimmed to a shade that you could hide in, the air filled with the smell of steak pie and Guinness. Instead, it was yell-if-you-wanna-be-heard loud, the lights were a shade of ugly and bright, and the air held a strong odor of sweet Jell-O and alcohol, which kind of reminded me of shooting Jell-O shots in college.

I held my and Wiska’s drinks high as I pushed my way through the crowd. Finding a familiar face, I moved up alongside Lenny “Two Socks” and nodded a hello. I still, to this day, had no idea why they called him Two Socks.

“Emerson, thought you’d be at the Lovely Lounge tonight,” Lenny said with his own nod.

“Not tonight. How long has Kelly been Jell-O wrestling?”

Lenny chuckled. “Must be about three months now. He tells me revenue has tripled on a Saturday night since he introduced it.”

“I’ll bet,” I murmured, noting a few women strutting around in nothing but strips of lycra and string.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you caught wind of this. Emerson and female flesh go hand in hand, don’t they?” Lenny joked.

“I can’t deny the old Emerson was a lover of female flesh.”

Lenny gave me a questioning look. “There’s a new Emerson in town, and he doesn’t like female flesh?”

“Seems he prefers only one woman’s flesh these days.”

Lenny’s eyebrows rose. “Nooooo, Emerson’s gone monogamous?”

“I’ve always been monogamous, Lenny, but I’ve rarely had a relationship to use it in.”

At that moment, Wiska walked out of the bathroom on the other side of the Jell-O filled kiddie pool, and my tongue rolled out of my mouth and across the floor. Well, at least that’s how I imagined it looked—images in my head were always funnier when turned into a cartoon impression. She was wearing a white bikini that wasn’t quite as insubstantial as Blair’s, and yet I found it far more appealing.

Lenny whistled. “Damn.”

“Careful Two Socks, that’s my monogamy there.”

“Double damn,” he grunted, casting me an impressed look.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the large, round bellied man in the center of the ring bellowed. The crowd went quiet . . . well, quieter. “Bah, who am I kidding, there are no ladies or gentleman here, perverts the lot of ya,” he laughed. “For our first battle this evening, we have a special treat for you.” The man turned to Blair and encouraged her forward. “In the red corner, we won’t say what she weighs, because that would be rude and she’d probably hit me, but she is a feisty little ginger-nut with a temper to boot. Please give a round of applause for our reigning champion, BLAIR.”

The crowd went nuts.

“And in the blue corner, hailing from New York and looking like an angel of temptation in her white bathers, we have WISKA.”

The crowd was much less enthusiastic, and offended by their cavalier attitude, I hooted and whistled on Wiska’s behalf. She turned in my direction and gave me a double thumbs up. Her smile was wide, and her eyes held an excited gleam. Then the people around me began placing bets with each other, most in favor of Blair. Insulted, I turned to Lenny.

“Five hundred says my girl takes red down.”

Lenny killed himself laughing, before finally straightening. “You keen to lose some money tonight, Emerson?”

“I won’t be losing, but how about we make it a little more interesting.” Lenny gave me a look that said he was clearly listening. “You tell me what the hell ‘Two Socks’ means.” He laughed, again.

“Blair is a tiger. Your wee little slip there has no chance. When Blair wins, I want that five hundred pounds, and you can get me a meet with Willie.”

I rolled my eyes. Lenny worked for Willie, but he was so far down the ladder he would likely never meet his boss, and I doubted I’d be able to set such a thing up.

“I can ask, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Lenny held out his hand. “Good enough for me.”

Finishing my drink, I set the empty glass down on a table, placing Wiska’s beside it. By the time my eyes moved back to the ring, both the girls were standing in the ankle deep green Jell-O—Blair sulking; Wiska beaming. A little blue tag hung out the back of her bikini, and Lenny explained a red one was tucked into Blair’s. The objective was to grab a hold of the other woman’s tag, kind of like tag football. Easy enough. Blair obviously had the advantage, having wrestled before, but she would underestimate Wiska’s flexibility and strength, not to mention her intoxicating enthusiasm. Finally, a bell rang and the girls began to circle each other. Blair kicked off the verbal assault with vengeance.

“So, you’re Bradley’s flavor of the week. You look like boring ol’ vanilla to me. He’ll toss you aside any day now.”

Wiska laughed, and I could tell it wasn’t forced. “Oh, sweetie, your schoolgirl crush is adorable. I could just pinch those pretty little cheeks of yours.”

Blair growled and launched herself at Wiska who easily sidestepped the screeching banshee. The Jell-O obviously made for slippery footing as Blair slipped to her butt. She quickly scampered to her feet again, but Wiska simply reached out and pulled the red tag free. The crowd went quiet, and I went loud, cheering for my girl. Blair was clearly mortified as she moved back to her place in the Jell-O pool, tucking the red tag into the back of her bikini bottoms once again.

“Wow, that was a surprise. The foreigner takes out Round One!” boomed the referee, rubbing salt in Blair’s wounded pride. “Girls ready?” He glanced to both corners.

Blair was steaming mad; the only thing missing was the actual steam blowing from her ears. Wiska, on the other hand, was grinning like a loon. Fuck me, she was gorgeous. I wanted to sigh and point out the petite sized angel, letting everyone around me know that she was my girl . . . but I had balls, big manly balls, so no sighing or screaming like a crazy, lovesick fool.

The bell rang and Blair quickly moved forward. This time she went low and managed to get her arms around Wiska’s waist. Wiska wiggled, her cute little ass teasing me in a way that had my jeans tighten.

“Not now,” I muttered, deciding in the middle of a Jell-O wrestling match, smack bang in the center of a pub, was not the place for my relentless Wiska boner.

Wiska somehow pulled Blair away, and they both tumbled down into the Jell-O. I winced as Wiska’s head was dunked into the green by a livid Blair who held her hair in a ruthless grip. I stepped forward to protest, but the referee was quick to intervene.

“No hair pulling,” he growled at Blair.

It gave Wiska a chance to regain her footing, and when Blair turned to face her once again, Wiska went down low and picked Blair up, dumping her onto her back, Jell-O splashing over the floor all around the ring. I laughed as Blair slipped while trying to get to her feet, and Wiska fell back to her knees and ducked her head, lunging into Blair’s mid-section. The crowd went wild as Blair was tossed to her back again. I was beginning to see the lure of Jell-O wrestling. This was fucking awesome.

Giggling like crazy, Wiska worked at turning Blair over to get at her tag. Blair didn’t appear to be having as much fun, her face turned in a frustrated frown as her hands slipped from Wiska’s skin. Blair had made it to her knees and was crowding Wiska’s space, leaning over her, which in turn forced Wiska to lean back. Her head was just about touching the Jell-O, displaying a core strength that I’m pretty sure rivaled my own. Blair was trying to push Wiska to her back and was about to succeed when Wiska simply reached around the redhead’s back and snatched the tag from her bikini. Wiska fell into the Jell-O, and Blair rolled to her side and just sat there, dumbfounded.

Wiska climbed to her feet and bounced around the pool with a victorious grin on her face, punching her little fists into the air. My eyes, of course, were automatically drawn to her bouncing breasts, and when I noticed Lenny also concentrating on that area of her body, I frowned and cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning, trying to avert his gaze and failing.

“And the foreigner takes out Round two,” called the ref, and this time the crowd cheered. “Final round!”

The girls retreated to their corners and fixed their bikinis, then the bell announced it was time to wrestle again. Blair ducked her head and lunged forward, and Wiska shocked the crowd by falling into a perfect split, reaching her hand between Blair’s thighs and snatching the tag from the back of her bikini bottoms. Everyone was stunned, including me. The sight of her sitting in a split . . . fuck being embarrassed about a boner in a crowd. I was proud of my girl and my dick was cheering for her, too. The silence around me turned to groans as people realized Wiska had unanimously beaten Blair, which meant a lot of people had lost money.

I turned to Lenny and smiled. He just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

“I don’t have that kind of cash on me. I’ll transfer into your account.”

“And?”

He glared at me, but I wasn’t intimidated. In theory, I was higher up the Bianco ladder, much higher, which kind of made me Lenny’s boss.

“If I hear anyone repeat this story, I’ll know where they heard it.”

“Yeah, yeah, spill, Two Socks.”

“As a young lad, I masturbated quite a bit, as all young lads do. I liked to jerk off into a sock; it made clean up easier.”

I somehow stifled my laughter.

“I actually began using two socks because I had so much baby juice it would leak through just one. When I discovered my cousin had stiff, dirty tissues lying around the floor of his bedroom, I told him. He called me Two Socks, but because he began doing the exact same thing, he kept it quiet. But Two Socks stuck . . . literally.”

I slapped Lenny on the back. “Well, think of it like this, it’s a hell of a lot better than Jerking Sock . . . or Shooting Socks . . . or Shining Socks . . .”

“Uh huh, quit while you’re ahead, Emerson.”

Having used his smart phone to transfer five hundred pounds into my account, Lenny turned at the sound of someone squealing behind us. I only just caught sight of the slightly green, wet, white bikini clad sex-pot before she launched herself into my arms. I caught her, barely; she was pretty fucking slippery.

“That was so cool!” she exclaimed, wrapping her legs around my waist.

I could feel the heavy stares of the people around us and the heavier sensation of Vlad rising to sniff at the object of his fascination that hovered precariously above him.

“All that’s missing is my victory kiss,” Wiska murmured with a twinkle in her eye, or maybe it was the Jell-O dripping in them that made her squint that way. “After all, I did win the man.”

“You won him way before tonight,” I whispered.

The last thing I noticed was the shock that registered on her face, right before I pressed my lips to hers. She tasted vaguely like lime, and I wondered if the Jell-O was mint flavored. That would explain why her eyes might be stinging if the green crap was dripping into them. I licked and sucked at her sweet lips, and when we finally pulled away, Wiska let her legs drop, and I placed her feet back to the ground. I followed her gaze to a clearly pissed off Blair who stood nearby.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, we need to be going. My man here wants to pick up where we left off before we came out tonight . . . namely, this mouth,” her finger ran lightly over my bottom lip, “between . . . my . . . thighs.”

I dropped my face to her neck in an effort to hide my laughter, then kissed the tender spot beneath her ear. I reveled in the sweet shiver that racked her body at my touch.

“Come on, pussycat. I do believe you, me, and the backseat of my car have a second base date.”

CHAPTER 18

Wiska

It had been a long time since I had been thrown off balance and tossed into the tumultuous world that was dating. I was a confident woman, but I still found myself somewhat unstrung as Bradley drove us through London in what we were officially calling our first date. The first time Bradley took me out to dinner didn’t really count because I didn’t realize it was a date. The love lock experience wasn’t a date because . . . well, I didn’t think it consisted of all the things that constituted a date, and the bike ride was not a date because I got drenched by a leaky rat. Bradley had argued on that one. Bradley assumed that since I removed my shirt when we went for our ride, it made it something special. He had me there, seeing his tanned, taut chest was definitely something special, yet it really wasn’t a date. I refused to consider a trip to the strip club a date, and our last outing, two words . . . Jell-O . . . wrestling. Mind you, the second base make-out session in the backseat of his car when we arrived back at his apartment was definitely date-worthy.

This time we were alone, destination unknown, but Bradley had insisted it would be Jell-O free, and snippets of things like romance and love sent my pulse racing. I had never felt for another man what I felt for Bradley. The only word to describe it was possessive. He dominated my thoughts, he possessed my sanity, and I was pretty sure he was starting to seize control of my heart, too.

In my bag was this morning’s sticky note.

To think that I was driving him to handle his own hard-on was somewhat empowering. Casey’s idea of a little torture most definitely had its advantages. I knew Bradley had wanted me, he made that loud and clear, but now I was beginning to believe his heart wanted me, too.

His confession of working for Willie Bianco confused me. On one hand, it scared me. The thought he or someone he cared for could find themselves at the mercy of such a man was frightening. On the other hand, it kind of excited me, too. He was like a reluctant bad-boy, and I found that oddly exhilarating. The thoughts I had entertained for his occupation had been ten times worse than the truth itself.

I sighed as I tried to rest back in the warm leather embrace of the passenger seat. Bradley drove with his usual quiet confidence, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was cool out tonight, but Bradley insisted I wear something old, which made me panic because I assumed something messier than Jell-O would be involved. Bradley promised it wouldn’t. So instead of the long, warm, expensive coat I was going to wear, I was dressed in a pair of comfy jeans that were ripped at the knee and a New York Mets jersey with one of Bradley’s hoodies over the top. It was clearly not date attire, but Bradley was clear our clothes could get wrecked and to wear something I didn’t really care for. While I cared a lot for the Mets, I had another jersey at home, a newer one.

Wearing Bradley’s hoodie was doing all sorts of crazy things to my heart, and from the look on Bradley’s face when I put it on, he was pleased, too. All day, I’d been trying to whittle out of him what we were doing tonight. The thought of clothes being destroyed in the process had me bouncing around with impatience and a healthy dose of lust.

I was completely confused about my dating procedure. While this was an official first date, we had reached second base last night, which meant tonight should be third base. The base before home run. Crap, I was nervous. Would tonight be third base or should I revert back to first base because it was really our first date? Heck, who was I kidding? I wanted a home run weeks ago. Bradley had smacked the rules out of the ball park when he kissed me on the side of the love lock bridge on our first non-date. I was willing to climb his body like an out of control lusty monkey that night, but I had somehow restrained myself. So, here we were at date four?—Or one?—and I was curious where the night would lead us. Secretly, I hoped it led me on my back and Bradley cradled between my thighs, clothes off this time.

Bradley parked the car, and before I could unclasp my seatbelt and reach for my purse, he was opening the door, reaching a hand out for me. The smile he gifted me was my undoing. There was so much youthful mischief in that smile; it turned his brooding persona into nothing more than a hazy, distant memory.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t even touched your laundry, so there is no chance I’ve screwed it up. This is simply me being chivalrous.”

I allowed him to pull me from the car. “How very gallant of you. I feel like I should be dressed as a princess.”

“Pussycat, you are far too dirty to be a princess.”

I should have been insulted, but the little kiss under my ear was too distracting.

Bradley stood back, and his possessive gaze roamed over me. I sighed, melting into a state of feminine rapture. The things this man could do to me with just a look should have been illegal. In some states, I’m sure they were. His words could have filled the pages of a romance for dummies manual. Mind you, a few of those pages might be contaminated by typical male arrogance and outright roguishness, but I liked a man who was confident enough to be poetic and romantic while a little rough around the edges.

Bradley tugged me along by the hand, leading me into a building and up a set of narrow stairs. When we came to a door, he rapped his knuckles quickly against the white wood, and a moment later, it sprung open, a jaw-dropping man standing on its other side.

His hair was an untamed mess of electric blue, and his light grey eyes were framed with thick, white rimmed glasses. His soft, almost feminine cheeks were smudged with what looked like paint. He was wearing white overalls that were splashed in an almost deliberate way with all shades of color. A brilliant smile was centered on Bradley, and when his gaze moved my way, it grew bigger.

“You made it,” he sang in a heavy French accent.

The wild, bright young man stepped aside, and Bradley pulled me into the studio apartment. I glanced around and quickly noticed the easels set up around a vacant chair in the center of the room. There were four other people crowded around a coffee machine, their curious eyes unashamedly watching us.

“Manuel, this is Wiska. Wiska, meet my good friend Manuel.”

Manuel grabbed me by the shoulders and leaned forward to air kiss each cheek before moving back to gaze over me with a look of wonder and awe.

“Elle a la beauté d’un ange, Bradley.”

I had no idea what he had just said; my first and only language was English, with the occasional dash of sarcasm.

“Oui,” Bradley said from my side, surprisingly understanding the language. French! Could this man get any sexier?

“Come, come, we are ready to start.” Manuel reached for both my and Bradley’s hands and pulled us into his studio. I looked again to the easels then back to Bradley with my best what-the-fig look in place. He simply winked and smiled.

“For the belle femme,” Manuel said, pulling me to stand in front of an easel. He quickly arranged a palette of paints on a small wooden table at my side, then with a little twirl, he passed me a paint brush. While Manuel made himself busy setting Bradley up alongside me, I stared at the brush and paints, then took another curious look around the room. The other people had slowly moved to their own easels, casting me encouraging smiles as they joked and talked among themselves. This was our date? Painting? I didn’t have the first clue about painting, and I felt the need to point out that this was a group thing. THIS WAS SO NOT A DATE!

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for joining us today. I have good news, and bad news. Mademoiselle Lillian was unable to make it—” That news was met with disappointed grumbles. Lillian was obviously something special. “Tut, tut, I have someone even better.” Manuel clapped excitedly. “Benjamin,” he called out.

A door to one side of the room opened, and a tall, dark, and handsome slice of heaven walked through, a robe draped over his shoulders. His entrance was met with oohs and aahs. I glanced to Bradley whose brow was sitting comically high on his forehead. “Everyone, meet Benjamin. Benjamin, meet my budding artistes.”

Benjamin gave a charming grin as his eyes flittered over the small gathering. He proceeded to stroll casually into our carefully gathered circle before disrobing and sitting on the chair in front of us. My jaw dropped as I watched the powerful, beautiful, very naked body of this strange man assume a thoughtful pose, his elbow resting on one knee, a closed fist under his jaw, his knees spread . . . wide. My eyes became glued to the centerpiece of his amazing body, the tuft of dark hair nestled around the large, limp penis that fell with obvious disinterest between his legs. I don’t know why I had this reaction to a naked man; it sure as hell wasn’t like I hadn’t seen one before. I think this was just a very unexpected turn of events for what I expected from our date. I finally glanced to Bradley who looked equally as shocked.

“This wasn’t what you were expecting, was it?” I murmured, trying to contain a chuckle.

He actually blushed as he glanced my way. “Fuck no,” he whispered back with a smile.

“Well, I’m very impressed, Bradley. This is a great date, probably the best I’ve ever been on,” I said with a very pleased smile.

Bradley rolled his eyes.

“So, you paint?” I asked as I dipped my brush into some black.

“Nope, but Manuel has been bugging me to come for ages, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. He made quite the fuss about how great Lillian is and how people pay top dollar to paint her.” Bradley chuckled. “Now I get to stare at some stranger’s . . .” He tried hard not to look, but the scrunching of his nose told me his eyes had found their unwelcome target.

“Cock?” I supplied helpfully.

A small bark of laughter escaped Bradley’s lips, and Manuel cast him a chastising look. Bradley tried to look contrite, and failed.

“Well, I’m glad Benjamin is here,” I said, trying to put the same French flare on the name as Manuel had done. “I’ve always wanted to paint a penis.”

Bradley grinned as he picked up his brush, and I began to create what was quite obviously the worst impression of a big, limp dick one had ever seen.

*

I couldn’t stop laughing. The paint date had been fun, but my and Bradley’s attempts to recreate the beautiful Benjamin had been a disaster. I think Manuel had cursed in French upon seeing Bradley’s painting. I couldn’t be sure, but Bradley had laughed, and Manuel gifted him with a playful slap across the arm. Manuel was a little more diplomatic with my attempt, but I knew he was trying hard to find kind words for my appalling painting.

We now had the studio to ourselves. I’m not sure how Bradley managed it, but we were alone. As soft music played in the background, Bradley had spread out a clean drop cloth on the hardwood floors and arranged a picnic of breads, cheese, and fruit in front of us. He even had non-alcoholic wine and expensive crystal looking glasses. My belly was full, and laughter had me sprawled out on my back, while Bradley lay propped up on one elbow beside me.

“This could have been a disaster,” he said with a grin. “I guess I should be thankful a naked man showed up to save the day.”

The mention of the word naked had my eyes automatically drop to the unbuttoned V in the top of his shirt, exposing the warm, smooth skin beneath. Bradley obviously didn’t miss my momentary slip of appreciation.

“So, what’s this, fourth, maybe fifth date? What are my rules?” he asked.

How the hell had his voice become so husky and sexy? In the span of three point five seconds, he sounded like a sex god.

I cleared my throat before I spoke. “Perhaps you know the saying, ‘rules are made to be broken’?”

Bradley’s eyes blazed with an intensity that had me shifting in an effort to relieve some of the need that was building between my thighs.

“In that case then . . .” Bradley leaned forward and kissed me.

It was not a slow seduction, but more like an insatiable hunger he had somehow been restraining. It was now unleashed, and as his warm lips devoured mine, I felt the need that had been thrumming through my body begin to rise.

“I’m not finished painting,” Bradley murmured as he pulled away.

My body felt hot and heavy, and the loss of his warmth made me growl. Bradley laughed as he fiddled around with a few bottles of paint and found himself a clean brush. He wanted to paint me? NOW?

He turned to face me, his cheeks flushed with need and desire. “Strip,” he ordered.

I only hesitated a moment; the quietly spoken command was sexier than any angrily growled directive. I slowly stood to face him. Pulling the jersey over my head, I let it fall to the floor, then reached for the clasp at my back that released the navy blue, lace bra. Bradley’s gaze roamed over every inch of skin I slowly revealed, until I was standing before him, completely naked and vulnerable. Oh, well, vagina vacation over! I wanted to fist pump the air, but instead, I stood still and waited for his next command. God, I hoped he could paint fast. What I wanted to do did not include a brush or an easel.

Bradley’s lips lifted into a mischievous grin as he dipped his brush into a bottle of paint. Instead of moving to the blank canvas sitting idly on the easel, he stepped towards me.

“I think this will be my greatest piece ever.”

CHAPTER 19

Bradley

I had seen plenty of naked women before; some flawless, tall and svelte, like Leah had been; some rounded with curves; some whose skin flushed pink with awkward embarrassment, hiding behind hands and limbs. Even Leah preferred to cover herself in a dressing gown when we weren’t wrapped around each other’s bodies.

Wiska, though, seemed more comfortable out of her clothes than in them. Her skin was like porcelain, creamy and smooth with a softness that I ached to run my hands over. Her body wasn’t thin or bony, she had curves, but yoga and running kept her body taut, not muscled. Her hips flared slightly, and her stomach had a subtle roundness that I preferred over flat skin. Her breasts were large, a D cup that I was proud to say I was completely familiar with. Yeah, I’d handled her underwear on more than one occasion. I wouldn’t be a red-blooded man if I hadn’t. Those breasts sat youthfully pert with dusky pink nipples. My gaze dropped to the juncture at her thighs, and I couldn’t help but smile. She had a small, neat triangle of blond hair over clean, hairless lips. It was a hell of a lot sexier than the completely waxed women I had been with lately. My mouth watered. Fuck, I wasn’t going to last long.

When I stepped towards her and dipped the brush in the paint, I tried to figure out where I would start.

“I think this will be my greatest piece ever,” I murmured.

Wiska’s eyes grew wide, and she panicked when I raised the brush to the top of one breast. Her hands waved mine away, and she took a small step back.

“Oh, hell no you don’t. Will it even wash off?” she squealed.

I paused, the brush hovering right over her breast in a way that taunted the shit out of my cock. I gave her a wicked smile.

“Trust me, pussycat, and when I’m finished, you can have your turn.” The tip of the brush touched her skin, and I drew a line of red from the top of her breast to the nipple. Leaning forward, I kept my eyes on her. “It’s edible paint,” I whispered, then to prove my point, I licked the trail of strawberry flavored paint all the way to her nipple, and somehow found the strength not to suck that pink peak into my mouth. Pulling away, I watched her carefully.

“What does it taste like?” she asked.

“Strawberry,” I answered as I licked my lips. She reached for the brush, and I pulled it away.

“Hands off. Me first.”

I dipped the brush back in the paint and began to create the path I wanted to take with my tongue. I started under her ear, dipping over her collarbone, and down between her breasts. I took a detour there and painted a swirling line around one nipple, than continued down her stomach, around her belly button, and down to her sweet fucking pussy. Here I stopped, unable to wait any longer. With trembling hands I dropped the brush and bottle onto a small table.

Running the backs of my fingers down her arms I enjoyed the goosebumps that dotted her skin and watched in fascination as her nipples peaked, begging for my mouth. I’d be a fool to leave those nipples in such need. I licked the sensitive spot beneath her ear and followed my trail down over her collarbone. I wasn’t getting all the paint, but hell, I’d come back and retrace my descent later. Wiska’s chest rose and fell rapidly as my tongue traced the strawberry path down between her breasts. My gaze caught hers as I crossed to the nipple surrounded by my less than neat swirls, and I allowed the tip of my tongue to dart out and follow the line. Once I reached the tender, soft peak, I drew it into my mouth and sucked hard. Wiska’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she moaned loudly. I grinned under my onslaught before allowing the nipple to slip free from my lips. Wiska shifted, and I knew she was trying to find her own relief. She’d just have to wait. I was an artist at work here. Back on the path to paradise, I lowered to my knees and licked a path down her stomach, around her bellybutton, and finally lapped up the last stroke of the brush just above her pubis.

“Delicious,” I said, licking the strawberry from my lips.

My hand rose to the inside of her thighs, and I encouraged her legs open. I could have painted and licked all fucking night, but there was something else my tongue needed to sample. I ran a finger through the soft, short curls between her legs, then carefully parting her soft lips with my thumbs, I leaned forward and licked. Unable to keep quiet, I groaned loudly and felt Wiska’s legs shake with the effort to hold herself still. My tongue glided over her wetness, skimming lightly across her clit and pressing with more demand below and around it. I knew where she wanted my attention, but I wanted her begging before I latched onto that spot that drove women wild. Dipping my tongue down to her opening, I probed with force before flicking my tongue back up and around her nub. Wiska’s hands were suddenly in my hair, tugging and pushing me to where she wanted me most.

“Don’t tease,” she breathed heavily.

“I’m not. I’m tasting,” I murmured as I continued my torturous path.

“Bradley, I’m going to take matters into my own hands if you don’t get on with it.”

I chuckled, and my gaze rose to find hers. “Say please.”

She huffed out a small bark of laughter before looking straight into my eyes.

“Oh, good lord, please, oh fucking please, make me come,” she begged.

“It would be my pleasure. Just hold on,” I whispered as my mouth closed over her pussy.

I felt her hands fall to my head and grip my hair. Fuck was she holding on. I sucked gently, drawing her tight little bud into my mouth, where my tongue darted over it again and again. Wiska’s legs shook further still, and her hands pulled relentlessly on my hair. It didn’t take long, a few more gentle tugs, another lick, and she came undone, groaning loudly and repeating my name like a reverent plea. I held her legs as I pulled my mouth away and made sure she wasn’t going to collapse as I rose to my feet, no doubt a smug smile on my glistening lips.

“My turn,” she said as she took a shaky step away from me. “Get out of those damn clothes, Bradley, or I’ll tear them off you.”

I laughed at her snarly command and began to unbutton my shirt. My pussycat got bossy when she was horny. That was definitely something I could handle. With as much finesse as a desperate-to-get-laid man could handle, I kicked off my shoes, lifted my shirt over my head, and then tackled the buttons on my jeans. Pushing them over my hips, I finally stood naked before her, and it had taken less than eight seconds. High-five me for speed!

Vlad was at full attention, reaching for what he wanted most. Don’t worry, big fella. There will be plenty of pillaging and impaling tonight. Just hang on a minute and let the sweet goddess have her turn.

My fists clenched as I watched Wiska lick her lips as her gaze lowered to my cock. She almost knocked the paint from the table as she blindly reached for it, and I tried hard not to laugh. Honestly, I did. She glared at me when a chuckle escaped.

Dipping the brush, she approached me and fell straight to her knees. Fuck me, I did love a girl who went straight for the treasure. She painted my dick, long, slow strokes from tip to base, around and around. The beast throbbed under her gentle hand, demanding a heavier touch. Once she was finished, she carefully put the bottle and brush aside, then licked her lips, her eyes locked on Vlad who bobbed like a wild fucking animal. Her tongue peeked out and took a tentative lick. I tried to restrain the noise that was moments away from bursting from my mouth, and I think it came out something like a pathetic whimper. Wiska smiled and looked up at me through those blue doe-eyes of hers, licking her lips.

“Tasty.”

I kinda hoped she was referring to Vlad and not the paint; however, I didn’t get time to consider it as her tongue began a torturous path around my dick. My lips finally parted, and I sighed, groaned, grunted, panted, and made noises akin to an animal. She found a ticklish spot underneath my cock, high up close to my balls, and when I squirmed uncomfortably, she gave the skin there a little suck and my hands automatically grabbed her hair to hold her in place. Holy shit, she hadn’t even got to the blow part of this job, and I was ready to spill.

When her mouth finally took me into its warm, wet confines, I sighed again and allowed myself to gently thrust between her lips. The sucking motion, combined with the occasional flutter of her tongue over the tip of my cock, brought me quickly to the point of no return. The stain of edible paint on my cock and her lips was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. The first time I came, though, I wanted it to be inside her pussy, not her mouth. I pulled her off me and dragged her body up the length of mine. I turned, looking for the first available place to deposit her. It was a wooden ladder leaning against a wall. With a what-the-fuck shrug, I practically dragged her by one hand while reaching for my jeans with the other. Maybe I was being a little rough, but if my cock wasn’t in her soon, I’d come into thin fucking air like in inept teenager. With one hand on her chest, I pushed her against the ladder.

“Sit,” I ordered while I pulled a condom from the back pocket of my jeans. I tore it open and quickly slid it on.

“On a ladder?” Wiska asked with a bemused smile.

I grabbed her waist and lifted her onto a higher rung so that we were perfectly aligned. Then I reached for her hands and lifted them, encouraging her to hold onto the sides of the ladder.

“So you can hang on,” I offered as I lined up my cock and began the torturous journey into her pussy. It was a gazilion times better than her mouth. The tight, wet heat that wrapped around me had Vlad throb with impatience over the slow pace I had commanded. Wiska fixed that by leaning back and angling her hips forward, and I sank all the way to the hilt with one long thrust. We both groaned loudly, then I drew my hips back and slammed into her, hard.

“Oh shit,” Wiska panted as I did it again. “That feels really good.”

My hands reached up until they were wrapped around hers on the ladder, and I thrust and retreated in and out of her body, my pace gradually getting faster. Vlad was impaling with the force and demand he was renowned for, and the sight of our joined bodies was the stuff wet dreams were made of. Well, at least my wet dreams. They were always pretty fucking detailed.

Wiska wriggled one hand free, and I watched as she slipped her fingers into her mouth. Her eyes stayed on mine as she dropped those fingers between our bodies. I would like to have said I kept that connection . . . that we maintained the eye contact which felt like a religious experience of awareness and something more than just two bodies finally coming together. Instead, my eyes were glued to that hand with rapt devotion as she rubbed her clit. What would have been no more than a scant few thrusts later, I felt the walls of her pussy spasm around my dick. She came, hard, and I slammed once more into her and held still as I emptied into the rubber barrier that I kind of wished weren’t there.

When my eyes gained focus once more, I blinked a few times and tested my legs by pushing slightly away from Wiska and the ladder. We were still intimately joined, and somehow my wobbly legs supported my weight. Wiska’s face, which was now at the same height as mine, was flushed with a beautiful, satisfied glow. I smiled at the same time she smiled, and we both leaned forward until our lips melded together. When we parted, I left my forehead resting on hers.

“I’ve never done it on a ladder before,” Wiska murmured.

I drew back and glanced at the ladder, thankful it hadn’t crashed down on top of us.

“Me either,” I confessed. “I think I’m gonna need to buy one, though.”

Wiska laughed as I kissed her one more time and reluctantly drew away from her body. Losing that connection was like losing a fucking limb. I wanted to stay buried inside her, our bodies wrapped so tightly together, not knowing where one began and the other ended. I wanted her in my bed, in my home, in every conceivable position and place. And I had less than two weeks to fulfill that dream before she went home to New York. What would happen then? Was it possible Wiska might want to stay? Was it possible I might want to go?

“I’m hungry for burgers.” Wiska’s declaration from behind me dragged me from the what ifs. I quickly discarded the condom in a trash bin and threw her clothes at her as she wandered around the studio completely naked.

“While I could watch the scenery in here all night, we need to get going, and I could easily eat a burger or two. I’ll feed you, then get you back to my place so I can paint you again.”

Wiska smiled and leaned forward to give me a quick kiss on the lips. The easy, open display of affection she had so quickly slipped into made my cold, heavy heart roar back to life. It had been a long time since a woman had moved me like this, and it was then I realized I could easily follow her back to New York.

CHAPTER 20

Wiska

I didn’t remember falling asleep; my last cognitive memory was of Bradley lying beside me on the sofa bed laughing as I inspected his feet. What could I say? I was a feet girl, and ugly feet would be a deal breaker for me. Luckily for him, his feet had been just as damn perfect as the rest of his body. The memory of which returned with a vengeance at the realization there was a long, hard, warm body currently pressed to my back. Bradley had given me pleasantly explicit details of the painting he intended to do once he got me home, but one beef burger and a warm shower later, I had tumbled into a gooey mess of placated, sleepy female. Bradley had curled up beside me, and we had talked for a long while before I began to study his feet, then apparently passed out. The paint date had been one of the single most romantic moments in my life.

As a girl who grew up on her mother’s tales of Cinderella and Snow White, I could attest to the driving need of a female who yearned for romance. Most men I had dated in the past saw their supremely half-assed efforts of opening a door and paying for dinner as a romantic gesture. I knew there had to be men out there who broke the mold, but they were obviously few and far between.

Decker Steele was one of those few and far between men. He was constantly thinking of new and exciting ways to sweep Andi off her feet. Apparently, Bradley had learned a few tricks from him, or maybe it was Decker who had learned a few tricks from Bradley. I couldn’t understand what Leah hadn’t seen in Bradley. She appeared almost relieved when they parted ways, and having come to know the man as intimately as I did now, I was grateful for her disinterest. One woman’s trash was another woman’s treasure.

The nuzzling of warm lips and hot breath at the back of my neck drew a smile to my sleepy face, and I stretched like a lazy kitten as Bradley slowly roused from sleep. He was wearing what I assumed were long pajama pants, and I was slightly disappointed it wasn’t naked skin nestled firmly between my thighs. When I dared to open one eye, I was greeted with the unexpected, knowing smile of Casey as he peered over the back of the sofa.

“Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

“Are you some kind of creepy voyeur?” Bradley asked in a voice husky from sleep.

“Oh no, if either one of you starts getting frisky, I’m out of here, but you both look so adorable curled up together, I just had to stop and take a picture for Lionel.”

“You took a picture?” I demanded, only slightly outraged.

“Of course. I promised Lionel I would document your fall into L-O-V-E.” Casey smiled at Bradley. “This looks about an O, Mr Emerson.”

“Shut it,” Bradley said, though there was no anger in his tone.

We continued to lay there while Casey stared at us.

“Maybe we need to start getting frisky.” I wondered out loud.

Before Bradley’s hands had a chance to move to more interesting territory, the ringing of his phone broke the awkward moment, and he carefully disentangled himself, repositioned the semi-erect Vlad that had been pressing against my backside, and grabbed his cell phone.

“So, you have that sated look that only Thor has been able to put on your face lately. Come to think of it, I don’t think even Thor could make you glow like this.”

I wanted to be mad at Casey’s callous disregard for privacy, but honestly, the man was far too sweet and kind for anger. Also, we were sleeping in the living room. If we wanted privacy, we should have fallen asleep in Bradley’s big-ass bed. I offered Casey a lazy smile.

“Thor’s got nothing on Vlad,” I murmured.

“Vlad?” Casey wondered out loud. “Oh, my god, the Impaler! That’s a good one.”

“I have to go into the office for a few hours,” Bradley said as he stood beside the sofa bed, his cell phone clutched in one hand.

“Not a problem. Casey and I might hit the shops.”

Casey’s eyes lit up, and he nodded with enthusiasm.

“If you can get yourselves ready in twenty minutes, I can drop you off somewhere.”

Casey twirled before disappearing down the hallway. Bradley stood still, casting a vacant look across the room. It was almost as if he was slipping Broody Bradley back into place, all playfulness wiped away. I didn’t like it one little bit.

“What’s got that look on your face?” I wondered. “Should I offer you a quick paint job to get you smiling again?” That did it, Bradley’s eyes twinkled with laughter as his gaze lowered to mine.

“I had hoped to spend your last two weeks completely at your mercy. Work is a distraction.”

“Maybe I’m the distraction?”

“Pussycat, you are a distraction men would kill to have.” He reached out a hand and pulled me from the bed. “You take the first shower, but be quick. I really have to get into the office.”

“If we shower together, it would go faster.”

“Now that is a downright lie,” he said with a grin. “But tonight we can shower together and time ourselves, just to be sure.”

When Bradley dropped us off in front of Westfield Shopping Mall half an hour later, I cast Casey a look that I hoped expressed the mischief I was feeling. I wanted to do something special for Bradley when he got home from work. I wanted to show him the wicked spontaneous fun he had shown me.

“What’s that look?” Casey asked, taking a cautious step away.

“I’ve got about five hundred dollars left in my bank account, and I want to spend it on a gift for Bradley.”

“What kind of gift?”

“The naughty kind.”

Casey smiled and tapped a finger against his chin. “My favorite kind.” He took my hand and dragged me into the shopping mall. “And I know just what you can get him, and it won’t cost five hundred dollars.”

*

My heart was thumping hard and fast. I wiped a sweaty palm down my thigh and readjusted my ponytail. Sitting on the end of Bradley’s bed, I began swiping through the UK vacation photos I’d begun accumulating on my cell phone. I paused at a selfie of Bradley and me that I had taken the night of our paint date; it made me smile and a little of the nerves receded. He was so damn handsome. I could honestly admit I had never dated a guy who looked quite so freaking hot before. It bolstered my confidence that such an attractive man wanted me. He was mine—all that yumminess was mine. I wanted to high-five someone, but since I was alone, I settled for a quick pat on my back.

“Well done, Wiska, you made a good choice this time.”

Placing the phone on the armoire, I stretched out my arms and tried to shake away my nervous tension, before bending forward to touch my ankles. Standing, I rolled my shoulders and reached for the two items I had laid out on the end of the bed.

“Well, good evening, Mr. Emerson. You look as tense as a weight lifter with a bad case of diarrhea,” Casey practically yelled from the living room.

He promised me he would make sure I knew when Bradley was home. Tucked away in his bedroom with the door shut, I hadn’t even heard the front door open and close. I was grateful for his loud, obnoxious voice.

“Where are you going?” I heard Bradley’s muffled voice.

I could picture the scowl on his face, the abrupt and growly words confirming he was in a mood. I was used to his moods now, though. They didn’t bother me like they had when we first met, but I did want to find what button to press to make that surly look disappear. Tonight was an experiment in seduction and bad mood banishment.

“I’m joining Floyd and his wife, Elizabeth, for dinner.”

“Floyd is married? He asked you over for dinner?” I heard Bradley ask, his voice rising with disbelief.

“Sixty-two years and counting, and yes, we exchanged phone numbers a few weeks ago. Toodles.”

“Where’s Wiska?” Bradley called out.

When there was no answer, only silence, I assumed Casey had left. Game on, Wiska. I glanced around the room to make sure everything was in place. I had a breakfast tray resting on the bed with all the kitchen necessities sitting atop it, ready to go. Three candles were lit, throwing a dancing light over the shadowed walls, and I was dressed to kill . . . well, at least seduce.

When the door to the bedroom flew open, Bradley took one step forward and froze. His surprised eyes fastened firmly on me, as they should have. I was wearing my most expensive black and red satin bra and panty set, with a garter belt and thigh high stockings that I had purchased earlier today. I was also wearing the high, spiked heel ankle boots that Bradley had barely been able to take his eyes off when we went to the Lovely Lounge. In my hands, I held two of his leather belts loosely at my sides.

“Fuck. Me,” he finally managed to say.

“We’ll get to that,” I purred.

This vixen that scratched beneath my skin was not normal, but I had always had a healthy and curious sex life. Although I didn’t readily or easily sleep around, I liked to explore with my lovers. This was a new exploration, but from the heavy lidded look in Bradley’s eyes, and the quickly growing bulge in his pants, it was well worth exploring.

“Strip,” I commanded, just as he had done with me on our paint date.

He stepped further into the room and kicked the door closed. Slowly, he began loosening his tie while his eyes devoured me from head to toe.

“What have you been up to today?” he asked, the slight tremor in his voice almost bringing a smile to my lips and destroying the dominant look on my face.

“No talking, strip, and lie on your back on the bed, your hands at the headboard.”

Bradley cocked a defiant brow before removing his jacket.

“Okay, pussycat, we’ll play it your way for a bit, but just remember, turnabout is fair play.”

I think my effort to swallow was audible as he removed his suit. Unlike last night when he had ditched his clothes like a speed demon, tonight he went slow. It was meant to tease, and it freaking worked. Not familiar with playing the dominant role, I chose to ignore it and enjoyed the body that was revealed to me, one layer at a time. Once naked, he obediently stepped to the bed and went to move the towels that I had carefully laid out aside.

“Leave them. Lay on top of them,” I ordered.

With a smile, he rolled to his back, raising his hands above his head to hold the slatted headboard, and just stared at me, a grin on his face that dared me to keep going. I stepped onto the stool that I had found in his walk-in closet and climbed onto the bed. Crawling over his prone body, I enjoyed the way his gaze became almost hypnotized as he watched my breasts sway. I straddled his chest and used one of the belts to secure a wrist to the headboard, all the while my breasts were poised directly before his lips. He leaned forward to try and capture one in his mouth, but I rested back on my hunches before leaning forward to secure the other hand. This time he did lick the top of my breast, just above the cup of my bra, but I quickly pulled away, leaving an adorable pout on his face.

“Completely at my mercy,” I sighed.

“And what are you going to do with me now?”

I moved the tray I had prepared earlier to my side and shifted down his legs until his proud, hard cock was between my knees. Taking a cube of ice, I slipped it between my lips and let it sit in my mouth a moment, twirling it around my tongue before slipping it back out and placing it on the dish. Then I leaned forward, took his cock in my hand, and slipped my mouth over the head of him.

“Holymotherfuckinghellthatisfuckingfantastic . . .” he said, all garbled into an unintelligible mess.

I bobbed and sucked like my life depended on it, and when he would have begun to buck and thrust into my mouth, I pulled back. The panicked look in his eyes as I moved away filled my veins with heady power.

This time I reached for the chocolate sauce, which had been heated and was now lukewarm. I scooped some into a spoon and held his cock while drizzling the chocolate across the head and shaft.

“Damn,” Bradley sighed.

When my hands were free again, I dipped low and began to lick and suck every drop of chocolate off him. Soon enough, he was moving beneath me once more, and I allowed his dick to slip from my lips as I sat back and reached for the next apparatus in this blow job extravaganza.

I had already sliced the grapefruit and hollowed it out to an approximation of Bradley’s girth. I had seen the grapefruit blow job performed on the Internet, and I had several expectations for how this might go. Citric acid slipping into the eye of his dick and causing some kind of weird food infection was high and foremost on that list. Casey assured me he had researched this thoroughly and even performed it on Lionel. He was very insistent that I used no less than three towels beneath Bradley, as the mess was somewhat mood evaporating. Then he promised me the results would be more likely my gag reflex tripping as Bradley tried to bury himself in my throat. While the thought of gagging halfway through my careful seduction didn’t appeal to me, the thought of Bradley losing control under my hands was erotic as hell. With one hand still wrapped around his dick, moving in a slow leisurely pace, the other hand brought the carved grapefruit up high so Bradley could see what I was doing.

“I’m going to put this on Vlad,” I explained.

“Ummmm, okay,” Bradley managed, albeit nervously.

I carefully squeezed the cool grapefruit around his cock and pushed it down his shaft. Bradley’s loud groan confirmed it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Then I again leaned forward, wrapped my mouth around him, and began to suck, working the grapefruit up and down with one free hand. The cool liquid spread around his dick, and I licked and lapped at it like a kitten with milk.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Bradley’s mantra filled the room, along with the slurping and sucking of one very juicy fellatio journey.

When Bradley started to buck under me, I sucked a little harder, and within seconds, he came, the warm, salty liquid filling the back of my throat. I wasn’t usually a semen throat catcher—I wasn’t particularly fond of the taste—but the grapefruit certainly added a delicious flavor to the experience. When he finally stilled, I sat up and watched him, my tongue catching the juice that dripped from my lips.

“That was fucking incredible.” Bradley panted the words out, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. His gaze dropped to the grapefruit which was still wrapped around his softening member, and I carefully pulled it off. “It’s a bit messy, huh?” he observed.

I untied his wrists and went to move away so he could stand, but Bradley caught me around the waist and held me steady as he rose to kiss me, his tongue sweeping in to lick and taste the grapefruit that still lingered.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to pay you back for that one, but I’ll damn well think of something,” he whispered.

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with,” I murmured.

Rolling off him, I pulled the tray of food and ice off the bed and left it on the chair in the corner. Once Bradley was up and in the shower, I pulled the messy towels from the bed, happy that the juice hadn’t seeped through to the linens, then tossed them onto the floor in the bathroom before carefully stepping out of my heels and lingerie.

“I like that outfit,” Bradley purred as he watched me, lathering his body with soap. When he would have dropped his hands to tend to his grapefruit sticky groin, I raised a hand to stop him.

“I messed it up, I’ll clean it up,” I said as I stepped into the shower.

Bradley grinned and held his hands up high in surrender. “Be my guest.”

CHAPTER 21

Bradley

I was back in the fucking office again; the two week vacation that I had scheduled for myself was interrupted by falling stocks, and Willie’s latest business venture.

It had been three days since Wiska had opened my eyes to the pleasure of a grapefruit blow job, the single most mind blowing moment of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about it; the soft, cool feel of the grapefruit moving around my dick had not been dissimilar to an actual vagina. Coupled with the warm confines of Wiska’s mouth, I was pretty sure I had found my version of heaven. Fuck, I hoped when I drew my last breath and made my way to the pearly gates that would be what awaited me.

My dick hardened just thinking about it, and my hand dropped to my lap to shift the rigid demanding fucker aside. I was nearly finished here, and I was dying to get back to Wiska. She had officially moved from the sofa to my bed, and having her fall asleep in my arms last night, only to waken in them this morning, was a new experience that I didn’t think I could ever let go of.

Spending the night with women had always been a firm HELL-NO rule. I was always sure I had an escape at the end of the night, and the women were always aware I didn’t cuddle, and I sure as hell didn’t spoon. I had been tempted to spend the night in Leah’s bed once or twice, but she had always tossed me out like a dirty bag of laundry as soon as she was finished with me.

Sleeping with Wiska had been like sleeping in a fucking cloud of awesomeness. A big, erotic, sexual cloud of awesomeness that had spooning! And sleeping with Vlad nestled into the curve of a Wiska’s ass had been spiritual. I don’t think Vlad would be happy if he didn’t fall asleep there every night from here on out.

I glanced at the sticky note I had found in my brief case when I arrived at work this morning.

I smiled. It sure as hell was my new favorite citrus fruit.

There was a soft knock at my door, and Davina slipped through, a file in one hand. She was dressed in a pencil skirt and tight fitting button-up blouse. She was a beautiful woman, yet the sight of her didn’t affect me one bit. The thought of Wiska playing secretary in a suit, sauntering into my office, now that made me grow harder.

“This is the signed contract for the villa. The money should be in the account tonight.” Davina placed the file down on my desk, then boldly moved around to sit on it, just as she had done all those weeks back when I had been brooding about my want for a teeny, tiny, hot as hell porn star. Her leg brushed against my arm, and I tried to move, putting some distance between us.

“Would you mind removing yourself from my desk?” I asked, not the least bit apologetic for my rude, arrogant tone.

Davina ignored me, her fingers moving to the buttons on her blouse as she began carefully slipping them free, her large breasts peeking out the fabric. I was furious she would be this bold, and I had absolutely no interest in seeing her ta-tas. The only breasts I cared to see were attached to a stunning blonde who I hoped was sitting and waiting with sliced grapefruit in my bedroom when I got home. I stood and pushed my chair back just as the door to my office opened.

“Oh, crap, sorry, Mr. Emerson.” Karly, the receptionist from across the hall tried valiantly to look away. “You had someone looking for you, and I couldn’t find Davina, so I brought her over myself.”

It was then I noticed Wiska’s shocked face standing on the other side of a highly embarrassed Karly.

“Wiska, this isn’t what it looks like . . .” I said with raised hands.

Wiska’s eyes dropped to my groin, and I knew what she saw: the hard-on I had sported for her, which was now quickly deflating under this awkward, embarrassing moment. Wiska rolled her eyes, but instead of storming away like I expected her to, she gently pushed her way past Karly and gave the woman a forced smile before closing the door on her surprised face.

“You should know I KO’d an adult male photographer in the States.” She was so calm as she said it I think my balls actually retreated in fear. Her furious gaze settled on Davina, and she shook her head while clucking her tongue. “You poor, pathetic excuse for a woman. You are so damn fake even Barbie is jealous.”

Davina’s back stiffened as she rose to her feet. “You should know, Emerson has a thing for his secretaries. He pays us well and we get the pleasure of sucking him off whenever we feel like it.”

I opened my mouth to refute her claim, but Wiska’s laughter brought me up short.

“Really, Davina, how closely related were your parents?”

While laughter escaped my lips, righteous indignation escaped Davina’s.

“You little bitch. I guess you’re happy to fuck anyone and everyone, so you probably don’t care that Emerson is sleeping with me.”

Again, I opened my mouth to lay into the presumptuous cow, but Wiska beat me to it.

“Wow, I really wish I could see things from your point of view, but I don’t think I could get my head that far up my ass.”

Davina’s eyes flared, and I took the quick moment of silence to quickly insert my voice before this verbal battle turned into claws and fists, however hot that might have been.

“Nothing happened. She was attempting to seduce me, and it didn’t even come close to working. This—” I pointed to my quickly deflating dick, and Wiska’s eyes dropped to it. “—was for you. I was fantasizing about fucking you on my desk when Davina walked in here and started this shit.” I glared at Davina. “And you’re fired.”

Shit, another secretary down. That had to be some sort of fucking record.

“You can’t fire me!” She practically screamed in a voice that would make the dead surely rise.

“I can. I’m your fucking boss. I can do what I like.” She stared at me with a ridiculous look on her face that was seconds away from tears. “Really, Davina, you want to know how I truly feel about you? It’ll bring me a lot of joy when you walk out that door.”

With what little dignity the woman had left, she did the wisest thing she had done since I employed her: she shut her mouth and walked out the office door. My shoulders sagged with relief, and I glanced back to Wiska, wincing at the burning fury in her eyes.

“I’m sorry . . .”

She held up a hand to stop me from speaking. “I know what was going on. I’m not an idiot, Bradley, and I know women like Davina. I saw her the moment I got off the elevator, and she came running through this door like a bat out of hell. And I’m serious, I’m pretty sure she was spawned in hell, right alongside those beautiful, evil swans.”

“You’re stunning when you’re mad,” I whispered.

“I’m beyond mad. I’m furious,” she gritted out. “I’m so spitting mad I think I could take on Thor right now, and I don’t mean my vibrator. I mean the real Thor, with the big muscles and the big freaking hammer.”

“Well, you know how I feel about hitting people. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Let me make it up to you.” I moved around the desk and approached her like one might approach a wild animal. She cast me a look that said she didn’t think I could.

“I’ll be working from home for a while. No office, and no Davina . . . well, I guess I just fired her ass so she won’t be around here, anyway. And next week, Thursday evening, I have a charity function I need to attend on behalf of Willie Bianco and his UK business associates; I want you to come with me. I’ll give you the money to buy a dress, and tomorrow you and Casey can hit the shops while I work.”

“That’s making it up to me?” she scoffed, shuffling from one foot to another. “Surely you can do better than that.”

When I reached her, she took a step back, and I followed until I had her trapped against the wall. I dipped my head and whispered in her ear, “When I get you home, I’m going to tie you to my bed and eat you until you come so hard you’re riding my face like a fucking rodeo queen. Then I’m going to flip you over and ride you until you come again and again. You are going to come so many times you’ll pass out, and tomorrow, you’ll be walking bow-legged. Will that be to your satisfaction?”

She worried her lip between her teeth. “I’m not really sure I like the idea of being bow-legged, but if you add chocolate sauce, you have a deal.”

“I’ll one up you and bring some cream for my demanding pussycat.”

*

The sun was like a warm blanket, protecting me from the unforgiving reality that kept trying to steal my happiness. Wiska was sprawled out beside me, her head resting on my thigh, her long, blond hair cascading over my jeans. I drew a hand through that silky hair and watched as her mouth tilted into a small smile. It was just four days until the charity dinner, five days until she left London. Each hour that ticked by felt like a countdown to doomsday.

Neither of us had talked about the future or the fact that I lived in the UK and she in the US. We didn’t talk about her jobless state once she got home, or the knowledge that if her financial situation was as dire as it sounded, she only to ask for her job back at Kink Harder. We didn’t talk about the gossip frenzy that surrounded Kasper Karish; Casey had assured me the fallout from that had died down. We hadn’t talked about how Kasper was Willie Bianco’s nephew, and I had every intention of demanding Willie take care of him for the shit he’d pulled with Wiska. I didn’t want the cheating man-whore at the bottom of the ocean. Oh, no, I wanted him humiliated, his name worth shit no matter where he went. I knew Willie could arrange it, and since I rarely asked for anything, and I knew my worth was far greater than Kasper’s, he’d do it for me.

Even though we hadn’t talked about the future, we’d spent a lot of time talking. In the short seven weeks I had known Wiska, I felt like I had never known anyone quite so well. Maybe Decker, and unfortunately, thanks to his porn career, I had unwillingly seen him intimately, too. I knew she loved frozen berries and yogurt almost as much as she loved burgers. She loved yoga and hated weight training. She was terrified of going back to college to finish her nursing degree only to fail. She loved pink, hated brown, had a fondness for vanilla scented candles, and could eat an entire tub of cookies and cream ice cream. She loved making snap decisions and taking unplanned road trips, and had a secret crush on Neville Longbottom; apparently, he was smokin’ hot these days. She was everything a woman should be and more, and the thought of losing her made the remaining days of her stay bittersweet.

I glanced to the blue sky overhead and watched a cloud drift lazily by. We were in the park at the end of the street, the same park we jogged in her first day in London, when she dared to take on a territorial swan and broke her wrist. The same park she was peed on by the over-excited Chihuahua. The same park we had quietly jogged side by side more than a dozen times now. The park would be empty without her.

“What are you going to do when you get home?” I broached the question I had been avoiding like an ugly rash.

She opened her eyes and rolled to her side so she was facing me. Her eyes traveled from my chest up to my face with female appreciation; she was being a total perv, and I loved it. She was also stalling, but since she was checking me out, I let her have it.

“Casey said Lionel spoke to Andi. She knows of a bar a few blocks from her and Decker’s apartment that is looking for help.”

The relief following the knowledge she wasn’t going back to porn took a heavy weight off my shoulders.

“I’ll have a forty minute bus ride from my apartment to Manhattan, and I’ll be working nights,” she shrugged, “but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right?”

“Why don’t you finish your degree?” I suggested. “I know you’re afraid of failing, but, Wiska, that’s not who you are. You aren’t afraid of anything.”

She hesitated only a moment before speaking. “I only got through high school with the help of a tutor who was more like a prison warden. The freedom of college comes with too many distractions. I can’t stay focused long enough to study one damn page let alone an entire damn book.”

“I could help you.” Wow, where the hell had that come from? Helping her meant leaving the UK. The UK was like a security blanket for me; shaking it off would be hard, yet as I gazed upon Wiska’s equally surprised face, not impossible.

“You’d leave here?” she asked, her voice small as if almost afraid to ask.

“I hadn’t really given it serious thought, but yeah, pussycat, in a fucking heartbeat. I’d follow you anywhere, like a crazy stalker.”

She rolled over and climbed over my body until our noses nearly touched. I somehow restrained the need to glance down at her breasts that I knew would be on display in her shirt.

“Go ahead,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a smile. “Take a look. I know it’s killing you.”

My gaze dropped to see the mounds encased in a simple, white satin bra, and I sighed, my body and eyes content to have had their daily peek, or more like hourly peek.

“I think I’d like to have you as my stalker,” she confessed when my pervy retinas returned to her face.

I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are giving up your career for me. The least I can do is move countries.” I said it with a blasé shrug, as if moving countries didn’t come with the mammoth task of . . . moving. “It might take a few weeks to get things in order, but it won’t be too difficult. My apartment belongs to Willie. We’ll just sublet it out. The office space is nothing; he has plenty of offices in New York and can easily move me into one there.”

“And you need a new secretary, anyway,” she said helpfully.

“That I do. In fact, I know of this girl who needs a job.” The thought of Wiska as my secretary sent a bolt of lust right to my loins.

“No way. I’d be permanently glued to your desk. That’s not my idea of a job.”

“You were a porn star,” I offered, more a playful tease than an offensive remark. “The only difference would be I wouldn’t video it. Or, at least, I wouldn’t share the videos,” I added with a wink.

“Hell no,” she said with a smile. “But I will totally entertain your secretary fantasy at some point in the not too distant future.”

“Well, as long as office sex is on the table, I think I can deal with the disappointment of not having you as my secretary.”

“As long as your secretary is over the age of eighty, I’m cool with that.”

CHAPTER 22

Wiska

Casey’s idea about falling in love one letter at a time really meant something to Bradley. He had surprisingly taken the notion with all seriousness, and the message that he was at V was as good as saying the actual word as far as I was concerned. It seemed fast, too fast, but falling in love wasn’t something that could be measured with a specific time frame. For some, it was a slow journey; for others, it was a hard, fast, out of control fall. What Bradley didn’t know was that I was already at E. I’d done the hard, fast, and completely out of control thing. There was no way I was telling him, though. I knew guys were easily spooked by girls who said the L word too soon. The fact Bradley was thinking it was enough to send my heart fluttering like a box of butterflies. Remembering the way we started our morning had my lady bits fluttering, too.

I had woken up wrapped tightly in Bradley’s arms, for which I was glad. His bed was so far from the floor I was scared of falling over the edge like one might tumble down a mountain. Trapped in his arms, I felt safe and secure and cherished.

“Morning,” Bradley had whispered in my ear, his voice still husky, caught on that fine line that balanced between sleep and wakefulness.

“Good morning,” or something that was supposed to sound like that was pushed through my sleepy lips. At the urging of my bladder, I began to disentangle myself from his toasty warm embrace. It was with great reluctance and a healthy dose of protest that he finally let me go, and I rolled to all fours, hiding my relieved grin.

“Where are you off to?” he murmured, his eyes skating over my naked body. I began to crawl my way to the end of his king size bed when a heavy hand wrapped around my ankle. “You won’t get far crawling around my bed like that.”

“I need to pee,” I confessed, trying to shake off the hold he had on my ankle.

“In a sec,” he purred, throwing the covers aside.

“My bladder doesn’t have a sec.”

I felt the warmth from his skin against my backside, his hands gripping my hips tightly. Vlad was pressing with impaling need against one cheek of my buttocks. I wriggled in an effort to dislodge him, which only made Bradley groan and hang on tighter.

“You know, intercourse on a full bladder can heighten your orgasm.”

“That sounds like something you would read in Cosmo.”

Whack! Oh, hell no, he didn’t! I glanced over my shoulder, my mouth agape and eyes widened with surprise.

“Did you just slap me . . . with your dick?”

Bradley grinned, the look one of boyish charm and mischief. One big hand was wrapped around his dick, the other still holding me in place at the hip. Without warning, he swung his hips, and with the help of his hand, he slapped me with his cock again.

“I don’t read Cosmo. It’s something Decker told me about.”

“Figures,” I whispered, somewhat flabbergasted as my eyes watched him handle himself.

“Are you being disrespectful to my best friend?” he asked with a raised brow.

“I don’t think so?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted another slap with his big stick, so I panicked and answered with a question.

Whack!

“Dammit! Quit spanking me with your dick.”

“It’s called a cock-slap, pussycat, and it’s hot as hell.”

I paused and watched him as he rubbed himself all over my buttocks, his own intense gaze focused on his movements. A little bubble of laughter burst through my lips, and Bradley glanced my way, his own smile in place.

“What would you do if you had a penis for a day?” he asked me.

The question took me by surprise, and strangely enough, my full bladder felt less demanding for a moment as I wondered what I would do.

“I’d probably play with it . . . a lot!” Bradley chuckled. “I would want to dance around the house and let it swing in the breeze, then I guess I’d want to finish up by sticking it in every available hole.” I was laughing now, as was Bradley.

“You really need to be careful which holes you try to stick it in, and you really have to try cock-slapping, baby. It’s awesome. There is no better feeling than holding a heavy dick in your hand and spanking a stunning ass with it.”

He drew back his engorged member and whacked the side of my buttocks once more, and that’s all it took. I fell to my stomach laughing so hard that the pressing need to pee re-emerged with vengeance.

“Things are gonna get all golden showers!” I squeezed through bouts of laughter as Bradley tried valiantly to drag me back to bed. I fell over the edge of Mount Bed-Everest, arms first, and ended up in a messy pile of limbs on the thick, plush carpet. Bradley’s own laughter could be heard from above me as I staggered to my feet, clutching my stomach, and ran to the bathroom.

“I’m totally cock-slapping you with Thor when I get back in there!” I called out from the toilet seat.

“If you drag that monster out of your bag, you better expect me to use it on you.”

I chuckled again, noting the subtle ache in my cheeks from laughing. I hadn’t laughed that hard in months. With a sigh, I finished my business, washed my hands, and strolled more comfortably back into the bedroom. Bradley was stretched out, deliciously naked, his hands laced behind his head, his cock proudly standing at attention. He watched me with a hunger that had me adding a little extra swing to my hips.

“Decker was right,” he murmured as I climbed back into his bed.

“About cock-slapping?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That when you wake up in the morning, and all you wanna see is your woman’s smile, and all you wanna hear is your woman’s laugh, that’s when you know you are truly happy.”

I might have swooned at that point. I definitely sighed as I reached out a hand to caress Vlad.

“You are so getting lucky this morning.”

“Earth to Wiska. How do you just blank out like that? It’s like you just slip into your own in-house movie theatre and sit back in a chair and check-out. You may as well walk around with a ‘do not disturb’ sign around your neck.”

Casey snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I blinked back to the here and now, slightly disappointed my thoughts had been interrupted.

“What about this one?” He held up a sparkling pink dress by its hanger.

“Trust you to zero in on sparkles and glitter. It’s a charity function. I think I need something more conservative.”

“Oh, big hairy bollocks. Conservative is for politicians. You can wear whatever you darn well like.”

He hung the dress back on the rack and continued to search through the garments. We were giving Bradley a little alone time to get some work done while we shopped for the dress Bradley said I would need for his charity gala thingy. The last time I had been dressed up in a fancy dress had been prom. Due to my parent’s strict upbringing, the dress had been beyond conservative, with long sleeves and a gathered skirt that fell just below my knee. Compared to most of the other girls wearing dresses that left very little to the imagination, I’d felt like an old spinster walking into the gym. The memory made me want to rebel and wear the pink sparkling dress Casey had suggested.

“So, what letter are you at?” Casey asked.

It only took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. I shrugged with nonchalance. “I don’t know . . . V maybe.”

Casey snorted. “Poppet, you are as good as at E. Don’t lie to yourself . . . or me. I’m like a walking lie detector.”

“Do you think it’s too fast for E? I feel so stupid,” I said sulkily, only slightly distracted with the amazing black dress I had stumbled across.

“Of course it’s not too fast!” Casey’s big strong hands gripped my shoulders and turned me to face him, an aghast look on his face. “And maybe being love and stupid are the same thing.”

I shifted nervously under his hands. “I always thought when I fell in love it would be a gentle fall. I feel as if I barely know Bradley. I mean, does he have a middle name? And is it awful? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color? Does he want kids?” My voice rose in a panic. “What if he hates Harry Potter?”

Casey sighed. “Nobody hates Harry Potter; he got that invisibility cloak and never so much as inched his little toe into the girl’s dorms. He’s too sweet to hate. I fell in love with Lionel the moment I laid eyes on him, and trust me, that very same day I laid a hell of a lot more on him.”

“You did?” I asked, shocked. I should have known by now nothing about Casey was normal. Then again, what was normal? A highly overrated notion.

“I did.” He smiled, a fond memory obviously filling his thoughts. “We quite literally ran into each other. I was walking out of the Wash Bar Laundromat, and he was walking in, neither of us was watching where we were going. I ended up wearing his Tommy Hilfiger linen slacks, and he ended up wearing my cappuccino. It was love at first catastrophe.”

“And you bumped uglies that same day?”

“Poppet, there was nothing ugly about it. And yes, we went to lunch, and by the time I dropped him back to his apartment, we could barely keep our hands off each other. It was insta-love, and I didn’t even know his last name.” He pulled my long hair over my shoulders with a small tug. “Some people fall in love slowly, gently as you put it. Then others, me and Lionel, and you and Bradley, fall in love hard and fast. Like bungee jumping, you just gotta go with it and have faith that the cord holds.” Casey glanced over my shoulder. “And I found your dress.” He gently pushed me aside and reached for a dress at the far end of the rack.

“Oh, that’s stunning,” I murmured.

“It’s perfect,” Casey said with a broad smile. “Let’s try it on.”

He dragged me to a dressing room, practically pushed me through the curtain, and as almost an afterthought, handed me the dress.

“Do you want me to change your plane ticket home? Maybe give you a few more weeks? I can’t stay, but I think you’ve got this now. It’s like watching my baby go off to her first day of school, except this school is all about sex.”

“Ahhh, no, it’s all good. I’ll leave with you in three days.”

Casey’s head popped through the curtain just as I was shucking off my jeans.

“Ohhhh, nice panties. What do you mean you’re still leaving? Are you going to do the long distance romance? It never works, trust me. You must be in the same zip code to let love blossom.”

“No, Bradley’s moving back to America.”

I carefully began to climb into the dress. Casey was behind me in a heartbeat, helping me pull the snug fitting garment over my hips, through my arms, and around my neck.

“He said that?” he asked, almost doubtfully.

“Uh huh.”

Casey clipped the dress into place and watched me via the mirror.

“Do you have a magic vagina or something?”

“No,” I snorted. “Well, maybe. I gave up my career for him, so he’s giving up London for me.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Casey cried out, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re both at E.” He spun me around and checked the fit and line of the dress as it hung from my body and brushed the floor. “And this is the most superb dress I have ever found. I almost wish I were a cross-dresser. I need a photo for Lionel. He’s going to cry like a baby when he sees our little poppet all grown up and at E.”

I slapped his hands away as he fiddled with the gown and turned to admire my reflection. In a stunning Tiffany blue, the dress had a high fitted neckline with sheer lace that was clasped together between my shoulder blades by a delicate crystal button. That sheer lace edging scooped the back of the dress which reached low enough to skate over the curve of my buttocks. From the waist, the gown draped elegantly to the floor in layers of fine silk. It was daring, yet sophisticated. Casey and I sighed in unison as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

“You’re a princess, just like every girl should be.” Then he winked at me. “And every gay man.”

CHAPTER 23

Bradley

It was Friday, Fancy Dress Friday to be precise. Wiska had only had one dose of her regular Friday night shenanigans, and that had turned into a miserable mess courtesy of one overzealous receptionist.

I’d been at my computer most of the day, making final arrangements for Willie’s new business venture, which was importing organic cigars out of the Bahamas under the label Wild Cigars. I didn’t know much about cigars, but from all the information I had, it looked like a profitable venture.

I’d then spent a few hours putting my move back to the US into motion. While I hadn’t thought it would be that big of a job—shifting finances, finding a new office in New York, packing, moving—it was beginning to feel a little overwhelming. All I had to do was allow my thoughts to drift to Wiska—and trust me, it wasn’t hard—and the mammoth job ahead of me seemed inconsequential.

My constant hard-on wasn’t quite the frustrating nuisance it had originally been. Accepting Wiska, and allowing myself to just go with the flow, had found me in an agreeable mood with my barely placated dick. I wondered if I would ever grow tired of being buried deep inside her. I grinned as I remembered how I had pinned her to my bed last night—her stomach pressed to the sheets, her legs hanging over the mattress. I’d taken her until she muffled her scream into a pillow. Yeah, I’d never get tired of that.

Damn, I was already at E, as Casey put it, but there was no way I’d tell Wiska that. It was too soon. I’d confessed to V, and writing that acknowledgement on a sticky note had propelled me into a state of mild panic. I’d never uttered that innocuous little word to a woman before. I’d come dangerously close to using it with Leah, and what a mortifying mess that would have been. Wiska was different, though. Our relationship had found momentum like a wild fire. What started as a reluctant spark was now a raging beast with flames that would never be quenched.

My last chore for the day had been to call in a favor from Aedan, and he owed me, big time. After offending Wiska the way he had at the Lovely Lounge, even if it had been inadvertently, he had, in effect, tried to move in on my whisking, and that was a serious slight against dude code. You didn’t move in on someone else’s claim.

Half an hour ago, he had dropped off three costumes. I was already in mine, and this time it was not a skirt. No, this time I was dressed as the legendary Norse God of Thunder, Thor, and I had a hammer. I gave the plastic toy a quick flick of my wrist and threw it into the air just as the door to my apartment flew open. Thankfully, I caught it, retaining my impressive visage.

Wiska and Casey stopped dead in their tracks, and the looks on their faces made me laugh. The garment bag hanging from Casey’s arm had me curious, and I stepped forward to take a peek inside.

“Tut, tut, hands off you godly beast. Why are you wearing that?” Casey asked, moving out of my reach.

“Oh, my god,” Wiska whispered excitedly. “Fancy Dress Friday!”

I nodded as I retrieved their costumes from the sofa. I couldn’t wait to see Wiska in hers, and I couldn’t wait to see Casey’s face when he climbed into his.

“Get dressed and hurry up. Mocktails are ready, and we’re playing poker.”

Wiska ran off to the bedroom with her bagged costume, and Casey eyed his like someone might eye a deadly snake ready to strike. I slapped his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Bet your wishing you didn’t dress me in a skirt now.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to embarrass me, Bradley. I’m as shameless as they come.” He pressed his shoulders back proudly as he marched down the hallway to his room.

“Uh huh.” Yeah, I couldn’t wait to see his face.

I turned in time to see Wiska saunter out of my bedroom, and my hammer rose—not the one in my hand.

“Damn, pussycat,” I purred.

“Catwoman!” she shrieked as she did a little twirl. The lycra body suit left little to the imagination and looked just as good on her as it did in my fantasy.

“If I can come home to this sight every day for the rest of my life, I’ll die a happy man.”

Wiska snorted. “Bet you won’t wanna see me in lycra when I’m eighty.”

The implication of what we were both talking about seemed to hit us at the same time. Forever. This was no shy or uncertain relationship anymore. This was Wiska giving up something for me, and in return, I was giving up something for her, which we both seemed to hope would pave the way to forever. The future before us overshadowed her past; her history as an adult film star was trivial and practically forgotten. She was mine, and I was never letting her go.

“Jesus H. Christ, Bradley Emerson, what were you thinking?” Casey screeched from behind us.

Wiska’s hand slapped over her mouth when she saw Casey’s costume. I asked Aedan to find the most ridiculous outfit in the store, and he had done well. Casey was dressed in a replica of Miley Cyrus, sparkling silver leotard, with a weird bear on the front, from her VMA performance.

“Miley Cyrus?” he cried out. “Miley freaking Cyrus?” he repeated.

“You fill it out well.” I nodded to the bulge at his groin.

“Of course I do,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Lucky for you, I can rock a leotard, but dressing me as Miley Cyrus means war.” He stuck a finger in my laughing face. “Be afraid, Bradley, be very afraid.”

A knock at the door interrupted the Kodak-worthy moment, and I quickly answered it.

“Aedan?” Wiska exclaimed, as she froze mid-pour of her virgin appletini.

“Hi there, love,” he said sheepishly. He was dressed as Luke Skywalker and carried a blue glowing sword. Dammit, the sword was way cooler than the hammer!

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited him. He’s been feeling adequately guilty over his behavior at the Lovely Lounge. He’s promised to behave tonight.” I gave him a dare-you-not-to glare, and he returned it with a subtle nod.

“I’ll do my best, but I am Irish—we are renowned scoundrels.”

Wiska laughed, and Casey leaned boldly against the kitchen counter.

“I know you see all this and want it . . .” He ran a hand down the length of his leotard. “But I am taken. It doesn’t mean you can’t look, though. Nice sword,” he added, as almost an afterthought.

“I knew you’d like the sparkles,” Aedan admitted.

“You are the reason behind this?” Casey suddenly demanded, standing a little taller.

“No,” Aedan said nervously. “He is.” He pointed my way, and Casey narrowed his eyes.

“Both of you are so on my shit list right now.”

Wiska sauntered forward, handing me a beer. The fingers on her free hand ran across the tip of my hammer—the plastic one, not the one in my pants—which responded as if it had a direct link to the one in my pants.

“Thor, huh.”

“Well, I do believe I rock your world,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth.

She nibbled on her bottom lip in thought. “I wish you’d fit in my suitcase, so I could take you home with me in three days.”

The melancholic tone drew me up short. Wiska didn’t do melancholy. She did joy and exuberance, impulsive and sweet, angry and wild, and sometimes, when I was on my knees between her thighs, she did this cute little thing that was a cross between a sigh and a snort. But she didn’t do melancholy. With a finger beneath her chin, I lifted her gaze to mine.

“I’ll be right behind you, pussycat, chasing down that tail like the horn-dog I am. Just try and keep me away.”

Her frown turned upside down, and I wanted to pat myself on the back for making that happen. Sometimes it only took little things to make a man feel ten feet tall.

*

“Are you for real?” Wiska asked with a furrowed brow.

Our cards lay face down on the table, ready for the next hand, but Aedan had Wiska’s undivided attention right now.

“I do not cod ya, love.”

“Cod what?” Wiska shook her head, trying to make sense of his words.

“I’m not joking,” Aedan said with laughter in his eyes. “The average male produces enough of the jack-off juice in a two week period to impregnate every fertile female on the planet.”

“Holy mother of . . .” Wiska trailed off. “Did you know this?” She turned to me, and I raised my hands in defense.

“Had no idea, but it doesn’t surprise me considering the walking hard-on I’ve had since meeting you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she said with a small smile.

“Did you know sperm can be used as invisible ink?” Casey asked, taking a dainty sip from his Shirley Temple.

“Get out!” Wiska exclaimed, slapping his arm and forcing the liquid to splash from his glass onto his leotard.

Casey gave her a frustrated frown as he patted himself dry with a towel. It wasn’t the first spilled drink of the evening; the towel was now on stand-by.

“All you need is a splash of love juice, and you have yourself readable invisible ink.”

“I wanna try it,” she squealed.

“While I’m willing to donate to the cause, I don’t think now is the best time to explore invisible semen ink.”

“We are so trying that sometime,” she murmured, sitting back in her chair. “Did you know the male orgasm only lasts six seconds compared to twenty-three for females?”

My head tilted in deliberation. I didn’t know that, yet it didn’t surprise me. Also, I was pretty sure Wiska lasted a hell of a lot longer than twenty-three seconds. The mathematician in me started calculating.

“That means you should give me four orgasms for every one of yours to make us even.”

Aedan spat out his drink in laughter, and Wiska gave me a saucy wink.

“That’s totally doable, if you think you can keep up.”

I leaned forward until my elbows were resting on the table. “Pussycat, is that a challenge?”

“You know it is.”

I didn’t think, I just acted. As I rose from the table, my dick rose, too. I grabbed Wiska’s elbow and, none too gently, hauled her off to my room.

“Is the game over?” Casey called out from somewhere behind us.

I kicked the door to my bedroom shut and assumed he’d get the picture.

“We can’t just leave your guests.” Wiska giggled.

“Guest,” I corrected her as I found the zipper to her cat suit. “Casey practically lives here, and Aedan will find his way home.” I pulled the outfit from her body and carefully slid the black thong down her legs. “Put these back on.” I shoved her feet back into the black heels she had been wearing.

“Wow,” she whispered breathlessly. “You’re quick when committed to your mission.”

I threw her onto the bed, grabbed a condom, and tossed it beside her, then spread her thighs and buried my face in the place I wanted to live, breathe, and die.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her hips thrusting to meet my mouth.

“Holy something,” I murmured, thrusting a finger into her wet heat before my mouth closed over her clit.

I ravished her, exploring every inch of her pussy until I was sure I could sketch it from memory, assuming I could sketch, which I highly doubted. Her unashamed moans grew louder and louder, and she used a hand on the back of my head to force my mouth closer. I kinda wished I could get closer, but my tongue was currently buried as deep as I could manage.

Climbing onto the mattress, I finally lifted my head from between her thighs and slid the condom over my dick. I lifted her hips a little higher, drawing her legs over my shoulders. With one thrust, I was impaled deep in her body. There was no time for slow and no room for gentle. Dressing her in that damn outfit had been my downfall. I’d been craving her since she’d walked out of my room dressed as a fucking cat. I shook my head as I pounded into her body relentlessly. I’d been craving her since she’d stepped off that fucking plane.

I leaned forward and sent a silent thank you to whoever gifted her with such flexible genes. With her knees pressed against her shoulders, I kissed her, my hips still thrusting and retreating with fast, powerful strokes.

“I want you to come all over my cock, pussycat,” I growled.

Like the good girl she was, her pussy clenched around my dick, and I knew she was tumbling over.

“Holy motherfucker,” she groaned as her body thrashed beneath mine.

Her rarely spilled filthy words, combined with the feeling of her inner walls gripping my shaft, was all I needed to follow her over the cliff, and all too soon we were a panting, sweaty mess tangled in the sheets.

“Holy crap,” she said on a long exhale. “Do you think Aedan and Casey heard us?”

“I hope they did,” I quietly confessed. “That was impressive.”

“That was fast.” Wiska chuckled.

I kissed her cheek and rolled off the bed, quickly disposing of the condom. By the time I returned and climbed back in beside her, she was slipping into a sleepy, sated place where she had no business being. I grabbed her hand and placed it over my softening cock.

“No resting, pussycat. You owe me three more orgasms.”

The disbelieving look she gave me was priceless, but just the feeling of her little hand over Vlad caused a response, and ever so slowly the big fella stretched and began to rise to the occasion.

“Again, already?”

“Baby, I’ll always be ready for you, including the two orgasms you will owe me after this.”

She laughed, but I’ll give the feisty girl credit. She made me come twice more, and a third time around dawn.

CHAPTER 24

Wiska

I barely recognized the woman staring back at me from the mirror. She was elegant in a way I never thought I could be. My hair was swept into an intricate knot on my head, thanks to Bahula, the sweet Indian girl who had squeezed me in for a shampoo and style. My makeup was flawless—a smoky grey look to my eyes, a line of blush to accentuate my cheekbones, and a dusty nude lipstick to finish my full lips. I was wearing a pair of silver heels, courtesy of Casey who demanded he be allowed to buy me something new. When I pointed out this wasn’t a wedding, he shushed me, like he so often does, and purchased a pair without even letting me try them on. Lucky for his sharp fashion sense and eye for sizing, they fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper.

I glanced to the sticky note stuck to the top corner of the mirror in front of me.

Damn, that man could undo me with his sticky note romance. Casey was busy snapping pictures from every angle, a request from Lionel. I could hear Bradley moving around in the kitchen, and my heart flipped. Was this good enough for his charity event? Was it too daring? Was it too revealing? Was it too formal? Gah, enough already!

I finished applying my lipstick while Casey stared over my shoulder.

“You do know that most lipsticks contain fish scales.”

“I really didn’t need to know that,” I whispered, grabbing the black clutch that I had brought all the way from New York. It wasn’t fancy, but it would do. I threw in my fish scales lipstick, some mints, my cell phone and credit card, and turned to give myself one final inspection in the mirror.

“You’re going to knock his boxer briefs off, poppet,” Casey said with a proud grin.

I lunged into his arms and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Casey. You have done so much for me, and I don’t know how I will ever repay you. You’re more than a friend. You’re the sister I never had.” I slowly released him in time to catch the glassy shimmer in his eyes.

“Now, stop it. You’re going to make me cry and ruin my mascara.”

“You’re wearing mascara?”

“Of course. Now, let’s get you to your prince. I hope he has a pretty pumpkin with a big V8 engine and privacy screen to take you to the ball.”

Casey led me out of the guestroom, and my heartrate practically tripled until I thought I might be having a heart attack. Wouldn’t that suck? At the end of the hallway, Casey stepped aside with the typical flourish that only Casey could do, and revealed a drop-dead gorgeous Bradley.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo, his hair carefully gelled into a stylish mess, clean shaven, and absolutely, one hundred percent sexy male perfection. I have no doubt his stunned expression matched mine.

“Don’t look so surprised, Bradley. She’s beautiful. Of course she’d look like a princess in a pretty dress,” Casey said almost defensively.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Bradley finally murmured as he approached and did a slow walk around me. “But she’s not a princess.” He stopped directly in front of me as he took my hand, turned it over, and leaned forward to press a kiss into my palm. “She’s a goddess.”

Ohhhh, no fair! Looking like he did, saying such things, made me want to jump his handsome bones!

“Don’t wait up,” he said to Casey with a wink.

“Be home before midnight,” Casey ordered, and Bradley raised a brow. “No, really, before midnight. We fly out at noon tomorrow; she needs at least a few hours’ sleep.”

The reminder that my stay was drawing to such an imminent close could have dragged me into a state of misery if it weren’t for Bradley.

He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “When I get back to New York, I’m going to chain you to your bed, and you won’t leave there for a week. You better be ready for me, pussycat. You won’t be able to walk straight for a month.” Then he tugged me by the hand and pulled me out of the apartment.

“You look spectacular, love,” Aedan gushed when he opened the door to the Lexus parked on the street in front Bradley’s home.

“Thank you,” I murmured as Bradley helped me into the backseat.

I fiddled with the pink polish on my nails, the pretty crystals on the bodice of my dress, and the nifty button that slid the window up and down. It was a typical Wiska reaction to a nervous situation, fiddling, but it somehow kept me occupied and level. Obviously, Bradley finally got tired of my relentless fidgeting and took my hand in his, pressing his lips to the back of my knuckles.

“Are you packed for tomorrow?”

“Mostly,” I confessed.

“Do you have a ride organized when you get back?”

“Lionel.”

“Do you think I look handsome in my suit?”

Aedan tried to disguise his laughter behind a cough.

“There is no one more handsome,” I whispered with a smile.

The rest of the drive was in comfortable silence, until we pulled in front of a place that was more suited for kings and queens. It was a castle, with turrets, massive arched stained glass windows, and a wide staircase leading up to mammoth, wooden double doors. The looping driveway was busy with cars and limousines, but Aedan easily navigated around the throng and dropped us off practically at the foot of the stairs.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said with a handsome smile as Bradley took my hand and guided me from the car. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Aedan,” Bradley said, giving him a final nod before leading me up the staircase.

“I feel like I need to burst into song right now,” I confessed. When Bradley raised his brows in question, I began singing “Let It Go” from the children’s movie, Frozen.

“What is that?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t seen Frozen. That would be a definite deal breaker.”

“Maybe you can introduce me to it when I get home.”

We both simultaneously paused . . . home. He was my home, and the thought of having him in my home just seemed right. Yeah, this was all happening way too fast. I was already at E, and now I was thinking turbulent thoughts of moving Bradley into my tiny one bedroom apartment. I was clearly going to be an obsessive girlfriend.

“Home,” Bradley whispered the word again, as if testing it. He finally gave a decisive nod and tugged me through the wide open doors.

*

The interior of the castle was as dazzling and refined as any castle should be: red velvet carpets, shiny gold fixtures, and furniture that would give any antique collector a life-long hard-on. Bradley led me past a winding staircase that put Scarlett O’Hara’s to shame, and through another set of wide open doors into what I could only assume was a ballroom. All the while, I wandered through the place like a fish, quite clearly, out of water. While most the other guests seemed immune to the castle’s charm and brilliance, I was in awe. The ballroom was bustling with activity, servers carefully navigating the gathering with calm precision; hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes sat atop trays as guests greedily reached for the treats.

“Sir,” came a voice to Bradley’s side, and he was offered a drink from the tray. He leaned into the waiter’s side and whispered something before returning his attention to me. At my curious glance, he smiled and encouraged my arm to wrap around his bicep. It was such a chivalrous, old-world thing to do, but I adored the way it brought my body closer to his.

“I asked him to bring me a whiskey and you a sparkling water.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. I could have gotten it for us.”

Bradley stifled a laugh and kissed my cheek.

“Pretend you are a spoiled princess for tonight. These people are paid good money to serve us, and we, in return, are spending a great deal of money on this charity.”

“And what charity is it that you’re supporting.”

“It’s a charity that raises money for children in poverty stricken countries. My boss’s grandfather grew up on the streets. He actually started the charity, and Willie continues it in his honor.”

I then noted the nods and hellos Bradley received from just about everyone we walked by.

“We’re not just here as guests, are we?”

“In a manner of speaking, I’m here representing the Bianco organization. Although Willie’s right hand man from the States is here to take care of all the official things, I’m just a show of support.”

“Do they know who you are and who you work for?” I murmured as I began politely nodding to the curious gazes that passed me by.

“Nobody knows much about me or who I work for.”

“Then why are they all acknowledging you?”

“Because I come every year; this is my sixth time. They know I represent the charity on some level.”

“Oh.”

At that moment, the server brought us our drinks, and Bradley quickly caught the eye of someone passing out what looked like pieces of shriveled up, slimy, dead animal. When he offered me one, I leaned in close and sniffed it. It had a seafood smell, which I wasn’t fond of at all.

“Oysters,” Bradley said with a chuckle. He tossed it back into his mouth and deposited the rough looking shell base that had housed it into a small bucket the server held.

“Figures you’d eat something that looks like a vagina.”

He couldn’t hold back the laughter that spilled from his lips, and I thrilled at the curious stares, particularly those from the somewhat envious eyes of women. Yeah, ladies, he’s all mine, and I made him laugh with a vagina joke! Bradley leaned in to kiss me, and I pulled away.

“Oh, no you don’t, not with stinky mollusk breath.” I snapped open my purse and handed him a mint, which he accepted with humor in his eyes.

We continued to wander through the room, and Bradley was stopped repeatedly by people saying hello or asking about Willie. Bradley was an expert at non-disclosure, never giving the curious questions quite the answers they were after, but just enough information to placate them.

When we rounded a doorway that led into another room, Bradley pulled me behind a gold, gauzy curtain, and his hands were suddenly all over me as he pressed his lips to mine with a desperation that made me gasp for breath. His body pressed mine to the wall, and the rigid length of Vlad pressed against my lower stomach as my hips reached for his. When he finally pulled his mouth from mine, he rested his head in the crook of my neck.

“I’m gonna hate letting you go tomorrow,” he confessed.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him as close as I could, which still wasn’t close enough.

“Don’t say that,” I whispered. “You’re supposed to be the strong one. I’m the weepy female. If the roles change, it will completely destroy your street cred.” I reached for humor in an attempt to soothe him, and by the shaking of his body, I had succeeded.

“Ahhh, pussycat, didn’t you know? I have no street cred.”

“Oh, really? Then what the hell am I doing with you?” I tried to shove him aside, but he held me in place, his eyes dancing with laughter.

“These are going to be the longest three weeks of my life.”

My finger drew a line from his brow to his cheek, down the stubborn jaw that had been permanently fixed into a brooding line only a few weeks earlier. That scowl appeared less and less now, and knowing I made him happy made me happy.

“So, am I gonna get some nookie back here, or do we need to mingle some more.”

“Nookie?” He chuckled. “As appealing as that sounds, I guess we should mingle.”

He stood back and tried to wipe my lipstick first from his lips, then mine. I shooed his hand away.

“I’ve got backup. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just go fix myself up if you can point me in the direction of the bathrooms.”

Bradley managed to merge us back into the passing guests, who seemed oblivious to the fact we had just stepped out from behind a curtain, and pointed in the direction of the bathrooms.

“I’ll be over there getting us another drink.” He pointed out the bar and kissed me on the cheek before I made my mad, post-kiss dash across the room.

In the bathroom, I took care of a little tinkle business and fixed up my makeup. There was nothing quite as exciting as a man willing to mess up your makeup with a little make-out session in the middle of a formal charity event. Smacking my lips together, I stuffed the tube of MAC lipstick back in my clutch and escaped the throng of women who poured into the room as I left. I carefully moved through the crowd, and not noticing Bradley at the bar, I stood to one side to see if I could find him.

“It’s good to see you again, Paul.” Bradley’s familiar voice from somewhere over my shoulder caught my attention. I smiled, admiring the confident, sexy way he spoke.

“Likewise, Emerson! I’ve been dying to speak to you. Are the rumors true?”

I would have turned around to look for him, but the question in a strong English accent had me pause.

“You know what they say about rumors, Paul: they’re carried by haters, spread by fools, and accepted by idiots.” That was received with a full bellied laugh.

“So, you aren’t shacked up with the porn star, Wiska James.”

And now they had my full, rapt attention.

“Yeah, I heard where Kasper failed, you nailed it. You’re wining and dining this sexy skin-flick chick straight from your bed and into Brutal Babes.”

My heart suddenly flipped, and for all the wrong reasons. My stomach lurched, and I pressed a shaking hand to it.

“It appears someone can’t keep their mouth shut,” Bradley growled.

Oh, my god, he didn’t even deny it. I took a few staggering steps forward, and soon those clumsy movements were fluid and fast as I wound my way through the crowd, my eyes glued to the big doors at the end of the room. Once I reached them, I panicked, not quite sure which way Bradley and I had entered from.

“Miss, can I be of assistance?” asked a young woman, dressed in a uniform not dissimilar from the servers inside the ballroom.

“How do I get out of here?” I asked, my voice shaky, barely recognizable to myself.

“Just head down the hall here, pass the staircase, and you’ll see the entrance directly in front of you.”

“Thank you,” I somehow managed to squeeze out.

The elegant decor that had held my attention when we entered was now lost to panic and shock. I staggered into the cool night air with relief. I’d barely been able to breathe inside, and now I found a modicum of peace in the fresh air that filled my lungs. I clung to the side of the building for a moment, my mind a whirl of messy confusion. While one part of me refused to believe Bradley’s entire effort to romance me was a charade, the other part of me, the part already betrayed by another man so recently, kicked in. This hurt was a million times more painful than what happened with Kasper, though. All Kasper had managed to do was damage my pride. Bradley had damaged something much more valuable—my heart.

“Wiska?” came a familiar voice.

I looked up into the concerned eyes of Aedan.

“Can you take me back to the apartment?” I asked, my throat tight with emotion.

“Where’s Emerson, love?”

“Please, Aedan, otherwise, I’ll hail a cab, or walk.” I glanced around the driveway, which was virtually free of traffic, the Lexus we had rode in parked to one side.

“Shall I get Emerson first?” he asked cautiously.

“No, I need to go, right now, please, Aedan,” I begged, a tear finally slipping free and tumbling down my cheek.

“Oh, love, you’re gonna break my heart.”

He reached for my arm and gently led me to the car, opening the back door and closing it with a quiet click as soon as I was seated. Another tear slipped free, followed by another, and another. Once the car was moving, Aedan cast a worried frown in my direction through the rearview mirror.

“Did Emerson do something to upset you, love?”

I managed a despondent nod.

“Is there anything I can do? Someone I can call?”

The tears were falling in a steady cadence now, and I rubbed my chest in an effort to relieve the pain that seemed buried deep beneath the skin there.

“Just get me back to his apartment so I can get Casey and leave.”

I just wanted to go home. I wanted my things, I wanted my bed, I wanted my fluffy slippers and comfy pajamas. I wanted to curl into a ball on my couch and cry so hard until I puked. I wanted my own toilet bowl to puke in. But most of all, I wanted to be numb to this pain that was crushing me with ruthless force.

CHAPTER 25

Bradley

My brow furrowed as I looked over the crowd once more. Wiska had been gone a while now, far longer than your average bathroom break should take. My body still throbbed with anger over the conversation with Paul and his associate, Reece. Their assumption that I was bedding Wiska on the premise of wooing her over to Brutal Babes had made me feel ill. Someone most definitely couldn’t keep their mouth shut, and from that mouth spilled lies and deceit. I tried to find out where Paul had heard the rumor, but as soon as he noticed my anger, he became awfully quiet for someone who’d been only too eager to talk moments ago. They wouldn’t be speaking of Wiska so callously again, though, certainly not in front of me. I might not have fists that can fly, but I sure as shit had a tongue that can cut down the tallest ego in less than five seconds flat. My verbal assault had Paul wincing more than twice. I found myself wondering if it was worth taking some lessons on how to throw a punch just so I could feel the satisfaction of his nose breaking under my fist. I tried to unclench those fists now as I searched for Wiska.

“Excuse me, do you remember the date I came through here with a short while ago?” I asked the staff member stationed at the entrance to the ballroom. “Blonde hair, blue backless dress.”

Her eyes lit up, and she nodded quickly. “Oh yes, she came through here about twenty minutes ago. She was looking for the exit.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my thoughts lost to confusion and concern as I made my way toward the castle entrance.

“She didn’t look well, sir. She seemed pretty upset,” the staff member added.

I nodded, my worry increasing as I navigated the long hall and foyer. Racing through the open doors, I expected to see Wiska waiting for me, but the driveway was empty, and nothing but cars appeared to sit in the small adjoining parking lot. Pulling my cell phone from my back pocket, I tried to call her. It didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail.

Frustrated, I looked around for Aedan and the Lexus, and found them both missing. Getting more confused and more worried by the minute, I called Aedan.

“Mr. Emerson,” he answered in a somber voice.

“Aedan, where are you? Have you seen Wiska? I can’t find her, and I’m worried.”

He let out a long sigh. “I have her, sir. She came out of the manor somewhat upset, asked me to take her back to the apartment, and I pulled up here not long ago. I’m waiting in the car for her and her friend Casey.”

“What the fuck’s going on, Aedan?” I growled as I raced down the steps two at a time. I approached a waiting cab sitting on one side of the driveway, the driver leaning against the front door having a smoke.

“I’m not sure. She was awfully upset, and apparently, you put those tears on her face.”

It was said as an accusation, and it brought me up short, literally. I was standing frozen not ten feet from the cab, the driver looking at me expectantly.

“She was crying?”

“That she was, Mr. Emerson.”

“What the fuck happened? She went to the bathroom, and that was the last I saw of her.”

“I’m not sure. She’s not willin’ to talk to me about it, but I’ll give you this—she’s packing her belongings right this minute. If you want a chance to find out where you fucked up, I’d suggest you get yourself a cab and get home. I’ll try and stall ’em, but I’m guessing she’s going to be ready to leave ASAP.”

I practically threw myself into the back of the cab, and the driver sat in front of the steering wheel calmly and far too slowly.

“If you can get me to Hyde Park in less than fifteen minutes, I’ll give you a one thousand pound tip.”

The driver gave me a disbelieving look, and we fell into a frustrating stare-off.

“Two thousand pounds, and now you have fourteen minutes.”

He revved the engine, threw it into gear, and did an impressive, noisy skid on the asphalt before the car lurched off in the direction of my apartment.

The roads were blissfully clear, the scenery whizzing past me in a blur as Abram, my Russian driver, navigated London like a seasoned professional. I didn’t care one bit about the two thousand pounds I was going to have to pay; I was just grateful he was driving like a maniac. I directed him to my street and saw Aedan’s Lexus parked outside my home. The car was running, and the parking lights were on.

“Give me five,” I said as I jumped from the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop.

Racing towards the Lexus, I didn’t notice Casey come at me from the side. One minute I was running for Wiska, her blonde hair clearly evident in the back window of the Lexus, and the next minute I was being slammed up against the brick wall.

“I warned you,” Casey growled, and I barely recognized the raging man. He looked pissed, he sounded pissed, and it was clearly evident I was the reason for it. “I told you if you hurt her, I’d destroy you.” I went to speak, and Casey shoved an angry, shaking finger in my face. “Don’t, don’t speak, don’t breathe, and definitely don’t look at her. She’s nothing but a memory, one I hope haunts you until your dying day. Stay away, Emerson,” he spat, shoving me hard against the wall while he climbed into the backseat.

I was dumbfounded, completely shocked by Casey’s anger and utterly bewildered by Wiska’s dismissal of me. I had no idea what I had done to warrant their behavior, and my mind spun with disbelief. I watched the car drive off, and with it, they took my heart.

“You paying that two thousand cash or card, Mister?” Abram called out, and I barely heard him over the thunder that beat in my ears.

What had I done? And worse yet, what had I lost?

*

Time had little meaning when you were chemically inconvenienced by your best friend Pappy Van Winkle. The bottle of whiskey stared at me from my coffee table, almost daring me not to drink it. I shrugged and reached for it. I’d already drunk half; it would be a crime not to finish it.

My apartment was dark, the blinds were drawn, and all the lights were out except for the lamp in the corner. It had been lit when I walked into the place two weeks ago, right after Wiska drove off into the night like a scorned lover, and I hadn’t bothered to turn it off since. I hadn’t moved anything. My bed was still a rumpled mess from when I’d last made love to her. I’d been sleeping on the couch, unable to stand the scent of her that clung to my sheets.

I’d stumbled out for food once and alcohol a few more times. Floyd had very carefully navigated my drunken ass back to my apartment door yesterday when I decided to drink my Pappy on the cab ride home.

I hadn’t bothered to call Aedan; he wasn’t answering my calls, anyway. No one was; not Wiska, not Casey, not Lionel, not Decker, not even fucking Andi. Ridiculous thing was, I had no idea why. So why bother, right? Why not drown my misery in a bottle of fucking whiskey and enjoy the peaceful numbness it gifted me with. Anger then began to brew.

This was the pattern I had been living for two weeks. Dejected self-loathing and misery lasted until about the halfway mark of the Pappy bottle, then anger set in. If I was going to be in misery, I deserved to know why, at the very fucking least. I took another long drink from the bottle. If the past two weeks were anything to go by, I’d reach the bottom and pass out, sleep twelve hours, wake up, vomit, eat, then start drinking all over again. Fucking perfect.

I glanced at the closed blinds and immediately hated them. Wiska wanted them closed because of her fear of heights. Well, she wasn’t here anymore, so I could open the fucking things.

I stood up and swayed. Using the back of the sofa to find my balance, I staggered over to the window and pulled the blinds back so fast I was surprised they didn’t tear from their tracking. My forehead hit the glass window with a heavy thump, and I admired the view from my balcony. I snorted. You couldn’t really call it a balcony, it was more like a ledge for pigeons to shit on.

When I turned, my foot caught the rug and Pappy Van Winkle made sure I tumbled right onto my drunken ass. I allowed my body to slump to the floor and hoped the world would stop spinning now that I was lying down. It didn’t.

I recalled the first day Wiska had spent in London, in this very apartment, flat out on her ass just like this, minus the Pappy. I’d been watching her dance around the living room for a good five minutes before she fell over in an ungraceful heap. It had taken every memory of my mom and grandma to convince my hard-on to back the fuck off as I watched her. She had been so beautiful. I’d been mesmerized by the sight of her, like a fucking fairy moving around the room with such youthful energy. I shook my head in an effort to dislodge the memory. The memories hurt and the thought of my future hurt more.

I was supposed to be moving in two days; the movers were arriving tomorrow to start packing. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had an office ready for me in New York, but no girlfriend, no home, and apparently, no friends. I had originally planned to rent an apartment somewhere close to Wiska, but I had no idea where she lived, and at the moment, I think she would shoot me on sight, for god knows what reason.

“Idiot,” I slurred. “She’s a porn star. Probably was just using you for your fine ass body.”

I’d googled her, and god how I wished I could erase the images from my mind. That fucker Google had so many pictures of my woman, and the videos, fuck, they’d made me puke. I could appreciate it was top grade HD porn, but seeing her with another man, and woman, fired an anger in me that was a little scary. Then I’d sat down with Pappy, poured my heart out to him while he poured his whiskey out to me, and I’d found that numb place I loved so much.

A gentle vibrating noise caught my attention, and I found my cell phone laying on the floor beside the sofa. I rolled towards it and checked the screen.

“I’ll be fucked.”

I swiped the screen, and it opened on the third attempt. I lifted the device to my ear and opened my mouth to speak.

“You motherfucking, dumb as shit prick,” was spat in the earpiece by one familiar and currently disliked voice.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Emerson is currently not here right now, and he’s not taking messages, so fuck you.” I tried not to slur. I truly did.

“You dumb shit, you’re hanging with Pappy, aren’t you?” Decker sighed.

“Nope,” I managed.

“Fuck me, Bradley, what the hell did you go and do this for?”

“Hang with Pappy?” I garbled.

“Andi’s been with Wiska. She told her what you did.”

“She did? Fucking awesome, so enlighten me.”

“You were fucking her for your boss. YOU’RE WORKING FOR WILLIE FUCKING BIANCO?” Decker screamed into the phone.

“Ummm, nope, and as of late last night, when I told him to fuck off, probably nope on that count, too.”

“So, you weren’t fucking Wiska in an effort to lure her to Brutal Babes? And you got fired from the fucking mob? Is that even possible? Will you wake up beside a decapitated horse head?”

“I wasn’t fucking Wiska. We were making love!” I snapped. “That sounded gay, didn’t it?” I then said sulkily.

“No, bro, Casey would never use the term ‘making love’. You’re in love with her?” He sounded incredulous.

“Was,” I murmured. “She fucked off and left me, so I’m trying hard not to be. I think I’ve gone from E to V, or maybe I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.”

Decker sighed, again. “Bro, I have no idea what you are talking about. I can’t believe you work for the mob, and you never told me. What do you do for them, anyway?”

“Financial advisor.”

“You launder their money?”

“Fuck no,” I said defensively and tried to sit up; however, it seemed my apartment was presently at a forty five degree angle, and I slid right back down. “The money is already laundered when I get it.”

Decker laughed. “You cock. I’m gonna beat some sense into you when I see you next. I’m looking for flights right now.”

“Sweet, I’ll wave as I pass you by on my trip to the US.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yup, I had plans to spend the rest of my life with this sweet little porn star, with a rack . . . shit, that rack is the stuff of dreams, and that ass . . . I cock slapped that fine ass.”

“Hold up, you cock-slapped her? For real?” Decker chuckled.

“Uh huh.” The memory immediately made me antsy. I tried to stand up again and failed. Vlad tried to stand up for the memory, too, but apparently, he was also drunk.

“So, she has a hot body. I’m sure London is full of women with great racks and tight asses.”

I practically growled at Decker’s arrogant, blasé impression of Wiska. It offended my heart and ears to hear him discredit the woman so easily.

“She’s not just a piece of ass. She’s smart; she’s funny; she’s kinda crazy; and I want her back. I want the woman that dances on a pole like a stripper queen, the one whose laugh sounds like fucking bells or some shit, the one who lights up a room as soon as she enters it back. I want my fucking pussycat back.” It was a well delivered tirade considering how slurred the words came out.

“Then, dude, you need to put Pappy down and get your head straight. When did you get a cat?”

“’Bout nine weeks ago.” I sulked.

“Okay, sober the fuck up, pull your head out of your ass, and get home so you can sort this shit out and grow old with a woman rather than your hand.”

“I like my hand,” I murmured. As I studied it, I realized there were now two attached to that arm.

“Yeah, but I bet your hand doesn’t make your heart hammer like you’ve run a marathon at simply the sight of it. See you in a few days, bro.” He hung up, and I let the phone fall to the rug at my side.

“Don’t listen to him. We make a great couple,” I said to my hand . . . s.

Somewhere in the foggy recesses of my drunken addled mind, I recalled Floyd’s words as he had helped my pathetic ass into my apartment yesterday. I had told him everything in the elevator; we had taken several trips up and down before I had the entire story out in a manner that Floyd was able to understand. He had patiently listened with the occasional ahhhhh and sympathetic nod of agreement.

He asked me if I regretted the time I spent with Miss James. I stopped in my tracks and realized there wasn’t a single day that I regretted, except possibly the few weeks early on when I had tried desperately to avoid her like an ass. Then he asked me if I would regret not fighting for her. At the time, I had rambled on about being a lover not a fighter, but the shock from Decker’s conversation, and the fact I wasn’t quite past the half way mark with Pappy, had me thinking differently.

Maybe I needed to be a fighter to be a lover. Maybe the two went hand in hand. My eyes landed on the sticky note stuck haphazardly to the side of the couch. On the note was a picture of a heart, and written inside it:

Well fuck that, the feisty little woman was going to hear me out, and she was damn well giving me her heart back. It belonged to me—I worked hard to woo that heart. This messy fiasco had gone on long enough. I was going home to claim my pussycat.

I tried to stand up again, and fell back down. I sighed and closed my eyes. I’d get going right after I slept a little, and probably puked a little, too.

CHAPTER 26

Wiska

Being depressed sucked. I’d been holed up in my apartment for almost three weeks now, and if it wasn't for the fact I needed money to pay rent and bills, I’d have never left the sweet, one bedroom residence. I loved my home. The décor was old and simple; the living room and adjoining kitchen and dining area comprised of warm, honey colored hardwood floors. In the living room, a bright red, fluffy rug spread out before a relatively new, plush grey love seat that sat in front of a small flat screen TV. A red arm chair had been crammed into the small area to give an extra seat. Floor to ceiling windows made up one wall in the living area that looked down upon a tolerable second floor drop to the street below. The kitchen area was tiny, but I preferred to think of it as quaint. In the bedroom, there was barely enough room to move around my queen size bed, which was pushed against one wall with a tall wooden armoire sitting against the wall at its foot. I loved my bed; it was like a big, white, fluffy cloud, covered in way too many comfy pillows of varying sizes and colors. Above my bed was a massive painting of a woman dancing on a pole, inverted and in a split; she was spectacular.

No matter how comfortable my apartment was though, it didn’t bring any solace to my aching heart. Thankfully, Andi dragged my sorry, weepy excuse of an ass into The Best Bar in Manhattan—that’s not my personal opinion, that’s actually the name—and with puffy red eyes, wearing nothing but old sweats, I was hired. The hours were crappy, it was a long forty minute bus ride from my apartment, and the pay was appallingly average.  The staff seemed friendly, and the owner, Sal, was a whole stack of cray cray, he but made the job startlingly enjoyable. He had the voice of a tenor and broke out into songs that radically conflicted with the pop beats coming from the DJ or band.

I had to admit, I didn’t actually hate working there. I had only been working for Kink Harder seven months, but in that time, my pay had increased quickly and astronomically. The money had been a huge plus to working in adult film, but if I was honest with myself, having sex in front of a room full of people was not exactly my idea of fun. I was occasionally recognized at The Best Bar, and on a few occasions, they had asked for a photo. Sal came to my rescue, forbidding pictures of his staff while they were on the clock; it worked a charm. For the most part, I kept my head down, worked hard, and kept to myself, and my constant sullen expression seemed to keep most people from trying to engage in conversation. The Best Bar peaked on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and the place would be pumping. I was so busy I barely had time to wipe the sweat from my brow let alone think about my tragic love life.

Choices . . . choices, choices, choices. It seemed I sucked at making choices; I always made the wrong one. I thought I had it in the bag this time, but my own pathetic damn luck came back to bitch slap me in spectacular fashion.

Hearing Bradley’s conversation with those hideous men didn’t just break my heart, the damn thing had been ripped from my rib cage and stomped on. I felt empty. I wished my chest cavity felt hollow, but it didn’t—it was full of pain.

However, seeds of doubt and a small sprinkling of hope had been planted when Andi confessed Decker had spoken to Bradley, and he seemed to suggest there had been some sort of misunderstanding. I know what I had heard, though. My ears worked just fine. The words Bradley had spoken were said with callous disregard for me. I’d never heard Bradley speak to anyone with such a low, dangerous voice. Heck, he worked for the goddamn mafia, of course there was a side to him I’d never seen, an angry side, a dangerous side. And yet, it felt like I was swallowing a bitter lie trying to convince myself that Bradley was anything but the sweet, albeit sometimes moody, exciting, passionate, romantic man I’d met in London. I rolled over on the couch, my back to the TV playing MTV’s Hits of the 00’s.

My friends were right in telling me the craziness that surrounded Kasper’s betrayal had died down. Currently, a little known, wannabe, white boy gangster had found his way to the front cover of every smutty and trashy gossip magazine. Dozie Boy was the flavor of the month, and yes, that’s his name, so gangster, isn’t it? He’d found himself in a rather amorous position in an elevator with a well-known female celebrity who was happily married to a man thirty years Dozie’s senior. Having been put through the paparazzi ringer myself, I felt a pang of sympathy for the pair, then I remembered the blurry image of her on her knees in front of Dozie in a public elevator, and thought they were the world’s biggest pair of dumbasses for doing something so private in public. Then again, maybe Dozie didn’t know she was married, and the cheating ho needed to hook up with Kasper. They could represent Team Adulterer.

I’d been home almost three weeks, and I hadn’t seen or heard hide nor tail of Kasper Karish. Kasper, Willie Bianco’s nephew! How was I supposed to know that? HE DIDN’T HAVE THE BIANCO NAME! Apparently, Kasper was the product of another marriage between his mother and Mr. Karish. Mrs. Karish had left her husband for Willie Bianco’s brother, Tony. From what Ryder was able to attain, Willie barely tolerated Kasper’s behavior and only did so out of love for his brother. It hadn’t stopped him from persuading Kasper to date me in an attempt to lure me over to Brutal Babes, though. Bradley’s boss was an asshole!

To top it all off, now I was sick. I had the flu, and it was like adding another miserable layer on top of the already existing gloomy, pathetic misery that had buried me. My head throbbed like a bitch, my nose was stuffed up, sore, and red, my eyes watered, and my limbs were weak. As I lay on my couch with a tissue stuffed up one leaky nostril, I allowed a tear to slip free. I pretended it was simply an excess build-up of fluid in my eye, but when it trickled down the side of my face, it was accompanied by a familiar pang of regret and sorrow. It was hard to believe I had tears left. As Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River” wafted from the TV, I let out a humorless chuckle. It was more like cry me an entire freaking ocean of woe. When the realization it was Justin Timberlake singing, Justin Freaking Timberlake, former NSYNC band member, I began wailing like an inconsolable banshee. Bradley had been an NSYNC fan. Damn him and damn his bad taste in music!

Surely this was my rock bottom: snotty, stuffy, and balling my eyes out to JT. Any lower and I’d drown. As soon as the song finished and “Who Let The Dogs Out” began barking, I crawled from the couch and stumbled my way to the bathroom. Peeling the sweaty, baggy, pity pajamas from my body, I tossed them in the laundry hamper and climbed under the shower head. The water was about one hundred degrees too hot, but I still shivered. I sagged there for the longest time, my head resting against the tiled wall, as the water sluiced over my body until it became lukewarm, then sub-arctic freezing. Wrapped in a giant fluffy towel, I simply stood there and allowed the fabric to soak up the water. I was too tired to bother drying myself.

Wrapping my hair in a smaller towel, I tottered to my bedroom and pulled out my Minnie Mouse pajamas. Once dressed and my hair towel dried, I felt a little closer to alive and functional, and by little, I meant less than one quarter of an inch closer. Grabbing another pillow from my bed, I turned and headed for the couch of grief and anguish, when a loud knock on my door stopped me in my tracks. My mom and dad had been over this morning and said they’d call tonight, so I knew it wasn’t them.

Yes, I’d made up with my mom. As soon as I’d stepped into my apartment after arriving home from the UK, I called her and burst into tears. She was on my doorstep half an hour later, and she’d been hovering close by ever since. Her guilt for abandoning me when I needed her was almost palpable, but she was here now, and honestly, I needed her more now than I did then.

On tippy toes, I peeked through the peep hole in the door only to find Leah and another Kink Harder star and friend, Trix, staring back at me. I unlatched the lock and pulled it open. This was the first time I had seen Leah since I’d returned. She was absolutely stunning, and I could understand why Bradley was attracted to her. Her long brunette hair fell from a perfect part down the middle; her eyes were a startling shade of blue-green; her lips were full; her figure was divine—tall and svelte. It wasn’t just her looks that people were attracted to, though. She was smart . . . like really super smart. And she was honest, fair, and sweet. We instantly became friends when I joined Kink Harder. Right now, her beautiful blue eyes were full of sorrow.

“Honey,” she whispered with sympathy, and then I burst into tears, again.

I kinda wanted my mom, but as soon as Leah wrapped me into her arms, and Trix wrapped herself around my back, I felt warm and loved.

“Come on, we brought soup.” She pulled me further into my apartment, and Trix shut the door behind us.

“It’s chicken soup. I made it,” Trix said proudly.

Trix was only an inch taller than me, her bust easily a cup larger, her hair longer, her lips fuller. She was what one might expect a female adult porn star to look like. She was also as cute and lovable as they come. Trix wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but that only added to her charm. It also made her friends and work colleagues somewhat protective of her. Trix was also an amazing cook; this would be the first time I would get to sample her much praised culinary skills.

“You girls shouldn’t be here. You might catch my flu.” My voice sounded nasally and distorted.

Leah waved away my concerns, though, and reheated the chicken soup in my microwave, while Trix tucked my heavy patchwork quilt around my shoulders.

“Don’t be silly. You need us right now, and the saying ‘to catch a cold’ is an old wives’ tale. You can’t catch a cold.” Trix scoffed as she cuddled up on the couch, my feet in her lap.

Leah and I both gave her bemused looks.

“Of course you can catch a cold. Germs from coughing and sneezing can easily be spread,” Leah explained carefully.

“Really?” Trix asked with a raised brow. “Holy cow, I thought someone was just being silly. I mean, catch a cold? That’s ridiculous! Sure, you can catch a ball, but how do you catch a cold?”

Leah and I cast each other a small smile before she brought the warm soup to me. Propping a few pillows under my head so I could eat, she sat on the small arm chair beside me and Trix, and watched me carefully as I gave the liquid a stir.

“I didn’t know you were back until a few days ago.” The look Leah gave me was one of reproach. “Decker stopped by Ryder’s office and told us what happened.”

“Wonderful,” I murmured as I took a sip from the soup. Now everyone knew of my pitiful failed love story, even Bradley’s ex. “Oh, my god, this is amazing,” I exclaimed after the warm, slightly spicy liquid, which tasted like the god’s nectar, hit my tongue.

Trix beamed with pride.

“I’d say she’s in the wrong profession,” Leah said with a small smile. “But she does look great on film.”

I knew Leah and Trix had done a few scenes together. Even though Leah assured me she was not bisexual, when it came to performing for Kink Harder, that’s what she did—perform. She would do whatever she needed to get a scene done. She could also fake an orgasm with the best of them.

“So, tell me what happened with Emerson.”

Emerson? She called him Emerson? Only his friends and family called him Bradley, and he had dated Leah for almost six months. Surely that made her a friend? I couldn’t help but be a little thrilled that she hadn’t called him Bradley, but I had.

“Didn’t Decker fill you in?” I said with a sigh.

“Bits and pieces,” Leah admitted. “I can honestly say there is no way I can bring myself to believe Emerson would try and lure you, or any girl for that matter, over to Brutal Babes. I can’t even for the life of me fathom why he would; he has no affiliation with pornography, other than Decker.”

Leah had no idea who Bradley worked for; he hadn’t entrusted her with his secrets like he had trusted me. That fact, coupled with the thought that he let me call him Bradley, cheered me up, slightly. The memory that he had broken my heart had me sinking back down into the pits of misery just as fast.

“While Emerson, for the most part, was a mystery to me, which was the reason we broke up, he was one of the most kind and protective men I had dated in a long time. I can’t imagine him hurting you in any way.”

“He’s moody,” I reluctantly admitted, trying to point out his faults. “He was brooding for the first three weeks I was in the UK.”

Leah’s brow furrowed. “I never noticed that side to him,” she admitted. “If anything, he seemed to try a little too hard to be happy. I knew he wasn’t one hundred percent invested in our relationship. I think he just wanted what Decker and Andi had. But he was . . . sweet.” She said it with a wistful smile that flared up the green eyed monster in me.

“After he got over his brooding, he was pretty sweet with me, too,” I whispered. “He was funny and incredibly romantic.”

Leah’s eyebrows shot up. “Romantic? I never saw romance! He was a clown, almost as bad as Decker. Are you sure we’re talking about the same Emerson?”

I placed my now empty bowl on the coffee table and snuggled back into the couch. Trix was busy flicking through channels, ignoring the heart to heart between exes.

“If you saw things in him I didn’t, and I saw things in him you didn’t, don’t you think it’s possible there is an uglier side to him neither of us saw?”

Leah seemed to consider that a moment. “Or,” she said almost cautiously, “he was really in love with you and only trying to be in love with me.”

“Pfft,” I snorted. “He never used the word love. He claims he only got to V.”

Her questioning frown was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I got it,” sung Trix, jumping up from the couch.

“Trixster,” came a familiar voice followed by Trix’s excited squeal. Casey wrapped her up in a huge hug while Lionel stepped into the apartment and kissed her cheek. “And my Princess Leah,” he sang, racing to give Leah an exaggerated air kiss to each cheek.

Lionel set a bag down on the kitchen counter and quickly came to kneel in front of me, resting his hand over my brow.

“You’re hot,” he said with a frown. “Did you go to the doctor?”

“Yes, Dad, my parents drove me this morning. I have the flu. I need rest and fluids.”

I glanced at Casey who was chatting with Leah and Trix without even pausing for a breath. Something about Decker and Andi taking off for the weekend because Decker’s middle brother was having some sort of love-life crisis. Lionel took the empty bowl of soup to the kitchen and returned with a full glass of water. He placed it on the coffee table and fussed with my blanket and pillow. Meanwhile, Casey was tying a frilly apron around his waist. I looked from Lionel to Casey and back again. He shrugged and began cleaning up the tissues that had missed the plastic bag on the floor beside me.

“Why are you wearing that?” I asked Casey, interrupting his conversation with the girls.

“I’m cleaning, silly.” He turned to carry on his chat like I hadn’t even breathed a word.

“You’re cleaning my apartment?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded with a proud smile, obviously happy with his decision to do a little cleaning for me. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it either; the place looked like a bomb had hit it.

“And you’re wearing a woman’s apron to do it?”

“It’s not a woman’s apron. Where on here does it say women only?” he scoffed.

“Why are you wearing an apron period? It’s not the eighteen hundreds anymore.”

“So my clothes don’t get dirty.” He said it with a ‘duh’ expression.

“Normal people just wash their dirty clothes once they’ve finished cleaning,” Lionel murmured.

“Normal is overrated,” Casey said with a wave of the feather duster he had dragged from the bag they’d brought.

“Honey, we’ve got to get going. Trix has a shoot tonight.” Leah leaned over the back of the couch and kissed the top of my head. “Call me if you need anything, even a bitch session about a certain charming American with a ridiculous British accent.”

“I’ve left the rest of the soup in the fridge. I’ll bring more tomorrow.” Trix blew me a kiss.

“You don’t have to do that,” I argued.

“It’s not problem. I have no one to cook for at home, and I like cooking . . .” She gave me a naughty wink. “Almost as much as I like f—” At that point, Leah gave her head a gentle tap with the palm of her hand. “What?” Trix pouted.

“Let’s go.” She sighed.

Lionel and Casey gave the girls kisses and hugs and let them out. The apartment then fell into a comfortable silence.

“Have you seen the gossip rags lately?” Casey asked innocently as he dusted my bookshelf.

He looked quite the sight in his apron with his duster. I would have taken a picture if I could have found the energy to reach for my cell phone, which sat on the arm of the red chair Leah had not long ago abandoned.

“Not since Dozie tried to impregnate a married woman via her mouth.”

Lionel snorted as Casey darted to their bag and dragged out a trashy magazine I recognized immediately. Tinsel Town, more like rumors and lies town. It had been the relentless, blood thirsty, soul sucking magazine who first broke the news of my family destroying ways. I cringed at the sight of it as Casey approached me.

“It’s not bad,” Casey confirmed. “In fact, it’s very, very good.”

He placed the magazine on the coffee table, and I eyed the image on the front cover. My stomach rolled at the sight of Kasper. Then I noticed the story tag line—“From Reality Royalty to Shame”. My body rose of its own accord as I reached for the book, flicking to the double page spread. Kasper had admitted to cheating on his wife, with not only me, but a slew of other women. He also admitted that those women, myself included, had no idea he was married. It was a big, dirty confession, and I loved it.

“Decker told me that Bradley made this happen,” Casey whispered.

My gaze shot to his. “He did?”

“He did. Bradley made a call to his boss and threatened to leave if the story wasn’t published. It’s all over the Net, even made the headline news last night. There are other women coming forward to confess their own trysts with Mr. Can’t Keep My Pants Zipped.” Jumping to his feet, Casey continued fluttering about the place like a feathered fairy.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a douche canoe, and a walking poster boy for STDs.”

“Not Kasper,” I whispered. “Why would Bradley do this?”

Lionel’s gaze softened as his eyes met mine. “I guess because he reached E.”

“He hurt me,” I reasoned.

“We don’t know the full story, but if Decker is willing to stand behind his best friend, I would assume it means we’re missing something. You know how Decker gets. He wouldn’t have ditched Bradley as his best friend, but he sure as hell would have been on the first plane over there to talk to Bradley with his fists if he had wronged you.”

I threw the magazine on the coffee table and allowed my gaze to wander around my apartment. My head was spinning, a combination of the flu and shock. The little waves of hope that had caressed my heart when Andi told me there might have been a misunderstanding between Bradley and me had turned into bigger waves, nudging at the pain, washing it away and replacing it with possibilities. If there was a misunderstanding, why hadn’t Bradley tried to fix it? I’d been a complete mess for three weeks. Why would he leave me suffering like this? I glanced to my cell phone. I’d ignored his calls, then been so bold as to change my number. That’s why he hadn’t been in touch. But he could have gotten a message to Decker to pass on to me! All the hurt and pain that had filled my body morphed into anger. Was all my suffering for nothing?

“You look kind of ill. Do you need to throw up?” Lionel asked in a concerned voice.

“No,” I managed to say through a croaky voice. Then my stomach flipped and nausea sent a surge of saliva into my mouth, and I tried desperately to swallow it back down. “Yes,” I said, a little panicked.

“Ohhhh, she’s gonna toss her cookies!” Lionel exclaimed as he leaned down and scooped me into his arms. “Gosh, this isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies. You weigh about as much as a baby elephant, girl.”

He stumbled down the short hall and into the bathroom where Casey waited with the toilet seat raised. I barely made it; my knees hit the tiles, and Trix’s awesome chicken soup hit the porcelain. Casey held my hair back while I lost any ounce of pride I might have had left. When I finally stopped retching, Lionel handed me a warm towel, and I wiped my face and mouth. When I tried to stand, Casey swept me into his arms and headed for my bedroom.

“More like a teenage elephant,” he grunted, as he elbowed his way through my half closed door.

Lionel carefully moved the excessive amount of throw pillows and pulled back my quilt, tucking me tightly beneath it.

“You guys shouldn’t be here. I’ll get you sick,” I murmured, my eyes already trying to close.

Someone patted my head affectionately.

“Then you can take care of us,” murmured Lionel.

Darkness swallowed me.

CHAPTER 27

Bradley

As I pushed the door to the business open, the tinkle of a bell was drowned out by Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk”. I paused as I took in the sight before me. Slowly lowering my suitcase to the ground, I let the door fall closed and watched Lionel and Casey as they danced their way around LC’s Day Spa. Lionel had a tiny terrier wrapped carefully in his arms, while Casey had what I thought might be a bottle of shampoo at his lips as he sang loudly to the upbeat song.

When Lionel’s gaze caught mine, he stopped dead in his tracks, while Casey continued to dance and sing, mimicking many of the moves from the music video. He was actually pretty good. When he noticed Lionel had stopped though, he followed his boyfriend’s gaze, and his uptown funky mood plummeted to arctic in a heartbeat. Lionel used a remote to turn down the music.

“You,” Casey hissed.

My eyes narrowed, and I’m sure the worry line that had begun to cultivate between my brows three weeks ago deepened.

“Didn’t Decker talk to you?”

“He told us there had been a misunderstanding, and that’s the only reason I haven’t tossed you through our front window; that and the cost to fix it probably isn’t worth the flickering moment of happiness I would get from your pain.”

Lionel carefully placed the terrier at his feet, then both the men stood, their arms crossed over their chests, their angry gazes focused on me. The terrier promptly sat and watched with open curiosity.

“You have exactly three minutes to explain yourself,” Lionel demanded.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. The last few days had passed in a blur. I was tired, moody, and missing Wiska like a man might miss his dick. That wasn’t exactly a romantic analogy, but any man would tell you, that’s a fucking lot!

“She didn’t hear all the conversation. The lads were mouthing off. They assumed I was with Wiska in an attempt to woo her over to Brutal Babes. I mentioned that someone quite obviously had a loose tongue, not exactly in those words, but I was curious who the fuck had been talking shit. Then I proceeded to let both of the guys know I would make them both disappear if they ever spoke about Wiska like that again. I reminded them who I worked for, and explained, in no uncertain terms, that Wiska was mine, and if they dared to even breathe in her direction, they’d die a slow, painful death.”

Casey and Lionel cast each other doubtful looks, then finally, Casey smiled.

“You said lads,” he chuckled.

“You sound even more British now that you’re back in America,” Lionel observed with a smile.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Hell no,” Casey growled, causing the terrier at his feet to take a few cautious steps towards Lionel. “You put our girl through hell. She’s a mess. She leaks twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week . . . she’s sick, dammit!”

“She’s sick? And she leaks?” I asked, suddenly panicked.

“Why did it take you so long to get your ass here?” Lionel said. There was no anger in his tone, only acceptance and worry.

“Well, I spent the first week trying desperately to call you all so I could find out what the fuck happened! Then, when I realized no one was going to speak to me, including Decker and Andi, I decided to see how many bottles of whiskey I could consume in the shortest amount of time possible. By the time I mostly sobered up, Decker finally called and we realized this was all a misunderstanding. I was only days away from leaving. I decided to wait until I got back on US soil to fix things. I would have gone straight to Wiska’s, but I don’t know where she lives. Now, what the hell is wrong with her? She’s sick?”

“How many bottles?” Lionel asked. At my confused frown, he said, “How many bottles of whisky did you put away?”

“In total? I have no idea . . . one a day?” I said with a shrug. “That’s not important, anyway. What’s wrong with Wiska?”

“She has the flu,” Casey sighed. “She looks terrible. It might be best to wait another week to see her, or you might get contaminated yourself.”

“Not fucking likely. You either tell me where she lives, or I’ll head over to Kink Harder and get her address from someone there. And where’s Decker and Andi? I was going to crash at their place, but there’s some girl working in Andi’s store, and she won’t let me upstairs.”

“Decker’s middle brother is having a love-life crisis. Apparently, his fiancée was found in bed with another woman, and he’s gone off the rails. They raced out to Vegas to drag his sorry butt home. And we’ll give you Wiska’s address, but you can’t just race over there guns blazing.”

“Damn straight I can . . . Drew was engaged?”

“Decker’s brother’s name is Drew? How anti-climactic. I imaged he would be a Dwight,” Casey mused.

“I imagined him as a Dermot,” confessed Lionel.

“Oh, I like Dermot. I could totally picture Decker’s brother being a Dermot.”

The two men grinned at each other. “I love you, you crazy bastard,” Lionel chuckled.

“And I love you like a back alley hooker loves crack,” declared Casey.

I looked from one man to the other as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. They’d clearly been drinking this morning.

“You need to woo Wiska,” Casey murmured, dragging me from the land of WTF.

“I already wooed and whisked. She’s mine!”

“Yes, but you bruised her heart . . . unintentionally,” he added before I could argue. “So you need to remind her you L-O-V-E her.”

I didn’t dispute him. I fucking adored her, L-O-V-E, shouty caps and all.

“She’s also been sick. She could use a pick me up.”

“So, what should I do? Buy her soup or something?” Both the men looked at me with raised brows. “Okay, that was lame.” I glanced around the room, and my eyes came to rest on a small pack of sticky notes sitting on the front counter. “I’ve got it,” I whispered. “I just need someone to get her out of her apartment for an hour.”

“She’s sick,” Lionel reminded me.

“It will take me a couple of days to put it together. Do you think she’d be up for a little sunshine by then? Maybe you can take her to Central Park for a bit while I fix up her apartment.”

Lionel looked to Casey, and he shrugged as he scooped up the terrier. “She will probably be dying to get out of her apartment by then,” he confessed. “Whatever you have up your sleeve, Bradley, it had better be fan-fucking-tastic.”

He moved to the back of the store, leaving me shifting nervously from one foot to the other while Lionel pretended not to watch me like a hawk ready to strike.

“You might need this, too.” Casey held a garment bag high off the ground, and my stomach churned with both anticipation and nerves.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you’re thinking it’s the sexy gladiator outfit you wore to our first Fancy Dress Friday . . . you’re wrong.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” I admitted with a raised brow.

“Oh, then you’re probably spot on. She was going to throw it away, and that would have been a travesty.” Casey confessed. “We had it dry cleaned and kept it here for her. It’s too beautiful a dress to throw away.”

I reached out and took it from him. “I never got to take it off her,” I whispered, regret over the way our night ended yet again flailing me, rendering me speechless.

“Maybe you can rectify that,” Lionel said softly.

“I hope so,” I breathed.

*

Two fucking days felt like a year! Casey and Lionel were kind enough to put me up in their apartment, but I would have been more comfortable in a shantytown. They were constantly pranking me, everything from whoopee cushions to blue dye in my shampoo. I’d scrubbed for an hour to make myself look less Smurf-like and more human. I was seeing Wiska today, and I was already nervous as hell. I didn’t need to look as blue as my balls felt.

I’d also been roped into helping out in the day spa. Washing the Great Dane, Marigold, would be one experience I wouldn’t soon forget. I’m not sure who came out of the cubicle cleaner—me or the dog. Perhaps I should try to spray off in there to get rid of the lingering blue from my skin. To top it off, I had a severe case of writer’s cramp, but it was more than worth it. I gathered the enormous pile of sticky notes into a box and kept the half dozen important ones separate.

“Hurry up, lackey, we need to leave. Lionel will be picking Wiska up in less than half an hour.”

“I’m ready,” I mumbled as I raced down the stairs and into the business section of Lionel and Casey’s home.

“Ohhhh, you’re not really blue anymore, more like a fading indigo.”

“And again, thank you,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

“You’re very welcome,” Casey replied with a grin.

It was a forty minute drive to Wiska’s apartment, and Casey called ahead to make sure Lionel had already left. They’d just reached Central Park which gave us an hour tops to do what needed to be done. Thankfully, Casey had a key to her apartment; it was an emergency key he had made Wiska give him when she came down sick with the flu. Thinking of her so sick, and on her own, made my heart throb with grief. I felt like I had let her down, even though I really hadn’t. The whole thing felt like my fault. Perhaps I should have tried harder to get in touch with her that first week. My Pappy pity party that followed sure as hell hadn’t helped the situation.

With a regretful sigh, I entered her home. I stopped and took in the surroundings. It was perfect, just as I imagined it would be. It was small, but homely. The colors were a combination of warm honey floors, a red arm chair, and red and grey pillows. The place was spotlessly tidy, except for a few errant dishes that crowded the dish drainer by the sink. Her fridge was covered in magnets that held pictures of her and her friends and family. Among the memories, I found pictures of Andi and Decker. They were in costume, so I assumed it was Fancy Dress Friday.

When I moved through the apartment to her bedroom, I looked over the small room and her comfy bed with longing. I could almost imagine Wiska laying there, her long blonde hair splayed over the pillows as she snuggled under the covers. I had come to realize she had a habit of sticking her feet under me, whether to keep warm or for comfort I had no idea. At first, it had irritated me, having her feet firmly wedged under my thighs or back. But three weeks without it had made me realize how much I missed it. I wanted her feet back under me . . . heck, I wanted her under me.

I moved forward and sat on the bed. It was actually quite firm, nothing like the cloudy oasis it looked. It brought me back to the first day she had been in London, when she bounced all over my bed like a sexy, albeit slightly crazy, angel. I’d wanted her then, even if my brain hadn’t been with the program yet.

“If you are thinking of jerking off in her bed, that will so not work.”

I frowned at Casey.

“Okay, okay, enough reminiscing and sulking. We need to put this plan into action before they get back.”

With a determined nod I handed him the box. “Get to sticking.”

CHAPTER 28

Wiska

“You’re looking much better,” Lionel said as we sat on the park bench. I guess, to be fair, I was feeling much better. I could almost breathe through my nose now. I still felt lethargic, which probably had more to do with being sick than my aching heart. For the past few days, I had overthought the situation with Bradley to the point where I didn’t want to think about it ever again. It was making my headache a million times worse than it should be. I was confused as hell. If Bradley hadn’t been in the wrong, if I had misheard him or had been mistaken, why hadn’t he tried to get in touch with me yet? I’d sent Andi a text message and asked her to pass my new number on to Bradley with a message that I wanted to talk. In return, I’d heard nothing . . . zilch . . . zippo . . . nada. I’d been so sick I wondered if I hallucinated the entire UK experience.

“How are your parents?”

Lionel’s arm was stretched behind me, and I rested my head into the crook of his neck. I missed having contact with people. I was a social person; I had many friends, and I was close to my parents, but the last few weeks I’d hidden myself away in my apartment in an effort to drown myself in misery, alone. Now that I was outside, the sun on my face helped make me feel a little better than I had in weeks. I could now admit I missed being around people. I especially missed physical contact. I missed hugs . . . I missed Bradley. I sighed, a long, drawn out, pitiful sound.

“Is my company so terrible?” Lionel asked with faux hurt in his voice.

“I’m a mess,” I admitted.

“You are, but we all need to make a mess every now and again. We can’t always be neat and tidy.”

“Have you heard from Bradley?” I finally asked, not daring to look at Lionel for fear I’d see his pity.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he said without hesitation.

I sat bolt upright, which had the world around me spin violently.

“Whoa,” I murmured as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Are you going to puke? There’s a bin I think we can reach in time,” Lionel said, only slightly freaked.

He’d seen me puke enough to last a lifetime. I’m pretty sure the threat of more had him crapping his tighty whities.

“No, just a little dizzy. When did you hear from him?” I opened my eyes, happy to see the merry-go-round had finally stopped.

“A few days ago.” He didn’t look at me while he spoke, which was my first clue that something was up.

“Really? What did he have to say?”

“He used the word ‘lads’,” Lionel said, shaking his head with a smile.

“And?” I ground out, my voice still voice.

“You’ll see,” was all Lionel replied with. Oh, and he added a small, patronizing pat to the top of my head like I was his pet pooch or something.

“It’s Casey’s birthday next month. I need something spectacular to surprise him with, any ideas?”

His abrupt subject change was frustrating. How was I supposed to think about birthday gifts when I had the mysterious ‘you’ll see’ looming over my head?

“What do you think about male genital piercings?”

And just like that, all thoughts of Lionel’s cryptic words were gone.

*

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

Lionel’s concern was sweet, but I was really feeling much better. I hadn’t been dizzy for over fifteen minutes now. Furthermore, my apartment was on the second floor. How much damage could I do between here and there?

“I’m fine. Stop being an old woman and go home to Casey. You have ball bling to talk about.”

Lionel didn’t drive away from the curb until I was safely inside the building. I leaned heavily against the wall as I waited for the elevator, the small excursion having zapped all my energy like a greedy, soul sucking bitch.

I once again leaned heavily as I rode the short ride to the second floor, then with a heavy sigh, I walked down the short corridor to my apartment door. When something caught my attention from the corner of my eye, I stopped, my head slowly turning to one side, then I gasped. There was a sticky note stuck to the hallway wall. Turning towards it, I took a step closer and read.

My heart leapt into action, and with a slow, shaky hand, I pulled the sticky note off the wall. When I turned and took another step, my heart and head dueling for rights to control my body, I noticed another note stuck to the wall.

Like the emotional, miserable wretch I had become lately, a tear slipped down my cheek as I pulled down the note. Then I noticed another, and another. The final note was tacked to my front door.

My hand shook uncontrollably as I unlocked my door and stepped into my home. There, I froze. My head was spinning again, and I had to hold the kitchen counter to keep my legs upright. The walls of the entire living area were covered in sticky notes. On wobbly legs, I stepped toward the closest wall.

More tears fell as I moved around the room, reading the little innocent notes that he had poured his heart into. After a short while, my eyes settled on a small, brown box perched on the loveseat. On the box sat a picture of us before our paint date, a selfie I had demanded we take before our first official date. I sat down and placed the box in my lap, pulling a sticky note off the top.

I opened the box to find a whole bunch of silver padlocks. I thumbed one of them, my mind a whirl of ‘what the hell’.

“You left too soon.”

I jumped at the sound of his voice. Oh, god, that voice, I had missed it so much, and hearing it brought instant relief to my abused heart.

“You didn’t hear everything. I was so mad at those men for the way they spoke about you, for devaluing something I value above everything else in this world.”

He stepped from my hallway and rubbed a hand through hair that didn’t look like it had been brushed in days. Over his forearm hung a garment bag, and I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what was in it.

“If you had stayed, you would have heard me give them a very impressive tongue lashing.” His small smile was adorable. “I’m so sorry, honey. I would have come sooner, but I kind of lost the plot. At first I was confused, then I was miserable, then I was angry. I drank . . .” He gave me a sheepish look. “A lot. Then Decker talked some sense into me, and I dragged my drunken ass into the shower and sobered up. I came as soon as I could.”

He stepped forward and handed me another padlock. I couldn’t take my eyes from him, though; he looked so tired and dejected. Nothing like the confident, somewhat arrogant, man I had met in London. This look didn’t suit him, and it made my heart ache for the misery we had apparently put ourselves through needlessly.

Eventually, he nodded to the cold, steel lock in my hand. “Read it.”

My gaze lowered to the lock.

No Running.

Bradley and Wiska

“No running, pussycat. You need to promise me you won’t run again. It almost destroyed me. You need to promise me that if I ever fuck up that you’ll give me a chance to explain myself and fix whatever I did wrong”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered.

“Perhaps, but I still feel like shit for what happened, and I hope you can forgive me.” He nodded to the box I had placed beside me on the couch. “That’s for every other fuck up we encounter. I have no doubt there will be a few. I’m not a perfect man, I’ll make mistakes, no doubt you’ll make a few, but they’ll inevitably be my fault.” He said it with a cheeky smile. “But each time we fuck up, we’ll fix it with a promise and a padlock.”

“That’s so romantic.”

“I have my moments.”

“What’s in the bag?” I wondered, my eyes dropping to the garment bag he’d hung over the back of the love seat.

“I think you know what’s in there. I never got to take it off you. I had big plans for this dress that night. Admittedly, it was only going to end up on the bedroom floor, but if you’ll forgive me, I can show you exactly what I had planned for the woman who wore it.”

“I do,” I quickly said.

Bradley’s head tilted to one side in confusion. “You do what, pussycat?”

My eyes fluttered shut at the sound of my nickname falling from his lips, and I took a nervous step forward.

“I forgive you,” I further explained. “There was really nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong, apart from maybe taking too long to come home. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run; I should have screamed, and maybe cursed a little, which would have given you a chance to defend yourself.”

“Really?” he asked, almost disbelieving. “You forgive me, just like that? I kinda thought I might have to grovel a bit first.”

I smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. My shoulders sagged forward with relief, and I no longer felt like I was drowning under the tears that spilled down my cheeks. “You can grovel later if you really want to, but you really didn’t do anything wrong. I overreacted, and as soon as I’m feeling a little better, you can cock-slap me all you like.”

Bradley took a small, hopeful step forward.

“Are you sure? Maybe the drugs are affecting your judgement . . . maybe I should come back when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m not on any drugs, and if you walk out that door, I will tear off your nuts, put them in a blender, and feed them to Mrs. Waters’ toy poodle two doors down.”

He smiled, a big cheeky-ass grin that made me melt into a puddle of sobbing mess. When my tears grew harder, he quickly enveloped me in a hug, holding me so close it should have hurt, but instead, I felt like the missing half of my soul had been found.

“I really would prefer to keep my testicles,” he whispered, his words accompanied with the familiar part American, part British lilt I had come to love.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“Pussycat,” he breathed, and as he did, it seemed as though all the tension in his body evaporated. “I love you, so damn much.”

We held onto each other for the longest time, before his words broke the comfortable silence we were cocooned in.

“That’s a lot of tissues,” he noted.

I glanced to the bag sitting on the floor by the front door, filled to the brim with snotty, white tissue paper.

“That’s only today’s supply.” I pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Can you still love me knowing I produced that much nasal waste?”

Bradley laughed and hugged me close again. “Pussycat, it takes more than a little snot to scare me off.”

“That’s more than a little,” I scoffed, and he continued to laugh. “I missed you so much.” I sighed as I felt him press a long kiss to the top of my head.

“I’m never letting you run again, baby. You’re stuck with me, and when you’re up to it, I want you to put that fantastic dress back on so I can rip it off you like I was supposed to.”

“Maybe that dress is bad mojo,” I murmured.

Bradley snorted at that. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.”

He pulled away and raced to an unfamiliar black backpack I hadn’t noticed sitting on the kitchen counter. Unzipping it, he searched for only a moment before returning to me with a triumphant grin, and a flat, square, plastic CD case in one hand. His face lit up as if expecting of a reward for some neat trick. Handing me the CD, my nose scrunched up with confusion.

“What is it?” I asked as I glanced down. “Oh, no you didn’t,” I murmured.

“Wanna put it on now?”

“You want me to start throwing up again?” I deadpanned.

His smile fell only a fraction as he took the NSYNC CD from my hands.

“Maybe later,” he suggested. “When you’re well enough for that cock-slapping, you can put the dress on and maybe we can fool around to their single ‘Bum Bum’.”

“They have a song called ‘Bum Bum’? What are they, the Wiggles?”

I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. I wanted to tell him I was good to go for the cock-slap, minus the NSYNC, but right at that moment, I lunged for a tissue and sneezed. It wasn’t pretty. Maybe I wasn’t quite ready for bedroom action yet. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I wanted bedroom action, but there was nothing less sexy than stopping for a tissue while you were getting horizontally frisky. No, sexy time would have to wait until later, and as he pulled me to the couch and wrapped himself around my germ infested body, I knew we would have later. With a bit of luck, we would have forever because I knew I’d made the right choice. I loved this man, brooding or smiling, bridge dancing or painting. I loved every single aspect of him, and if he could love me, the ex-porn star he tried so valiantly to avoid, if he could love me falling into ponds, if he could love me covered in green Jell-O, and if he could love me through a very unattractive flu, then he would love me always.

EPILOGUE

Bradley

My entire life can be summed up in one sentence: It didn’t go as planned. I don’t even think I ever had the chance to plan. Life simply pushed and shoved me from one road to another, and I just rolled with it. I was never meant to work for the mafia. My best friend was never meant to be the prince of porn. I sure as shit was never meant to shack up with an adult film star living the premarital dream. And it was premarital; I had every intention of marrying Wiska and making an honest woman out of her, but not just yet. She was too tied up in knots with her studies right now to throw a ring in the works.

Wiska and I had been living together for three months, and it seemed every day just got better. She was, as I expected, completely impulsive. My life was now an unpredictable road of surprises. One day I would come home to her singing and dancing around the apartment completely nude, the next I’d come home to her repainting the bathroom. Then there was the night she woke me up for a midnight picnic on the floor in the living room, which ended up in a messy sexual exploration of whipped cream and berries. And I’d never forget the day I came home to find a pole installed in our bedroom. She claimed it was for exercise. The fact it was positioned by our bed told me she had more than exercise on her mind, but hell, what kind of a man would deny his woman a stripper pole?

Obviously, we had moved to a larger apartment; the single bedroom didn’t cut it. We now lived ten minutes outside of Manhattan, in a renovated, ground floor apartment I had purchased from Steele Structures, owned by Decker and his old man. The apartment was large with an open living space. Wiska decorated the room with all sorts of mismatched furniture, which should have looked ridiculous but worked. She wasn’t a girl who liked or needed new and expensive things. Her taste was more eclectic, her purchases based on the spontaneous love for something she just simply had to have. It was usually secondhand and found in a thrift shop. Strangely enough, I liked her quirky taste, and I loved our home. Honestly though, we could have lived in a trailer, and I’d have been happy, as long as Wiska was there with me.

I still worked for Willie. I had no expectations to leave his organization any time in the near future. I felt curiously safe with the mafia family. I had an office downtown, but tried to work from home as often as possible. It gave me the opportunity to help Wiska with her studies.

She wasn’t wrong when she said she had trouble remaining focused for long periods of time. The first month after she returned to college, I would find her, instead of studying like she had said she was going to, in front of the computer on Skype with the girls at Kink Harder, or dancing around the pole in our massive bedroom. It took great discipline on my behalf not to indulge in her wandering mind. Instead, I worked with her and found a system that helped her stay in the zone. To my amusement, and my dick’s utter joy, it was sex that seemed to keep her motivated. We had a reward system in place. One hour earned her a first base make-out session, two hours earned her second base, three hours, third base . . . you get the picture. Thankfully for me she reached four hours more often than any of the others. Mind you, I’d have to send her back to the office two or three times in that period because she’d break for a snack and end up perched on the arm of the sofa watching the National Geographic channel with me.

Fuck, I adored her. I was a possessive and moody bastard, but Wiska brought out the better man in me, the man who liked to play hide and blow, which was just like hide and seek but ended with a blow job, Wiska’s best made-up game to date. She found in me a man who liked to laugh and dance, and much to Casey and Lionel’s delight, a man who was addicted to Fancy Dress Fridays. Not a Friday passed where we weren’t in some sort of costume. I imagined the day would eventually come where we would have worn every costume available to us. I once asked Wiska what we would do then, and she suggested we move on to naked Sundays, less the guests, just her and me. I thought we should start doing them immediately.

“Bradley!” Wiska yelled from the other end of the apartment.

“What?” I shouted back.

“Don’t bellow, just come here.”

I looked down at the game of Sudoku I had only just started and sighed. “Sorry, pretty babies, my girl is calling. You’re gonna have to wait for papa.”

Standing, I moved through the apartment and came to an abrupt halt when I found her standing in middle of our bedroom. She was wearing the dress she had bought in the UK, the backless one that showed endless skin and hugged her curves with an elegant finesse. It was the dress I had been dreaming of seeing her in again, and taking off her in a slow and careful seduction. She didn’t want to go there, though. She said the dress was bad luck. I actually thought she had sent the dress off to Goodwill, so I was more than shocked to see her wearing it.

“Pussycat?” I murmured from the doorway.

She sighed and did a slow turn, allowing me to see her beautiful body from all angles. Her long hair was down, but swept over one shoulder. When she faced me once more, her beautiful, big, blue eyes rose to mine.

“I decided it was silly to be scared of a dress. It’s not like it’s haunted or anything.” Her gaze became intensely serious. “I’ve heard of that, you know, haunted things like dolls and dresses. It’s a real thing.”

“Okay,” I answered with a pacifying nod.

“I’m not afraid of this dress, but I think we should do something good to cancel out the bad mojo it brought us.”

“Good idea” I said encouragingly, liking the direction this was going.

“I thought we could have a candle lit dinner, maybe we could dance a little, you could kiss me at the end, like we were supposed to do in London, and then . . .” her words trailed off, and I grinned. “Then I’ll take it off, you can put it in the garment bag, and we’ll give it to Andi next time we see her. She said she really liked it.”

My smile fell. “You don’t want to get freaky in it?” I asked in a sulky voice.

“Oh, I assumed between the kiss and you putting it away we’d totally get freaky. Just don’t tell Andi. She might find it weird that she’s taking a dress we got a little frisky in.”

My grin was back in place. “I don’t want to eat . . . or dance.”

“You don’t?” She pouted.

“I kinda wanna kiss you, though.” I stepped forward, and she smiled. When we were close enough to touch, she automatically went up on her toes and puckered her lips for a kiss, but I put a finger over them. “Not here,” I whispered. My hand dropped to her crotch, and I ran a finger lightly over the fabric of her dress. “I want to kiss you here.”

“How can I say no to that?”

I dropped to my knees and lifted the dress. Wiska helped gather the flowing material and held it high, exposing her pretty pussy.

“I love it when you don’t wear panties.” I sighed.

She leaned against the large bed behind her, and I helped her hang one leg over my shoulder, then I buried my lips between her thighs. There were times when I went down on her nice and slow—I would take my time, tease her until she was begging. Right now wasn’t one of those times. My cock was too hard and impatient to wait. It wanted to visit the pearly gates of Wiska heaven, like ten minutes ago, and if I didn’t move things along, Vlad would throw a fit and come before I was ready.

I licked and sucked, smiling at her moans, groans, and soft sighs. She sounded like a contented kitten, and her hips thrust against my face demanding more. Rising to my feet, I sat her on the edge of the bed, pulled down my zipper, and nudged my cock into her hot, wet folds. I would never grow tired of watching my body enter hers.

“Casey invited us over for dinner this Thursday.”

“You wanna talk about this now?” I panted, as I began to retreat and thrust, in and out, with long, slow strokes.

“Well, I have your undivided attention, don’t I?”

“Pussycat, your body has my undivided attention. My ears can barely hear over the thumping of my heart, and I really, really don’t want to talk about Casey right now.”

I bent my knees and drove forward hard, catching what I now knew was her G-spot, which held a direct line to her brain. If I hit it just right, she turned into a pile of incoherent goo and words would be reduced to screaming pleas, which was what I was aiming for now. Hearing Casey’s name during sex did nothing for my ego.

“Oh, you play dirty,” she groaned as I kept thrusting deep into the magic spot.

I kissed her lips hard. “I love it dirty,” I murmured, when I finally pulled my mouth away from hers.

The sexual bout was like a fast race, almost clumsy, frantic, and so fucking good. I felt my balls tighten well before I was ready to let go.

“I hope you’re close; otherwise, we’re gonna have to invite Thor to the party to help you finish, ’cause I can’t hold back anymore. You feel too damn good.”

I brought my thumb to her clit and began to massage the little bud. Much to the delight of my ears, she screamed, her pussy clenched around my dick, and I glanced down and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ to Vlad for holding out. Then I rammed myself deep and hard into her body, yelling some unidentifiable garble, and more than a few curse words, as I came. When we both finally regained our composure and stopped panting like we’d run the New York Marathon, I moved back to pull out of her.

“Don’t get your baby juice on the dress,” Wiska said in a panic.

I stopped and began laughing. She slapped my shoulder and huffed out an expletive I didn’t often hear from her mouth.

“Pussycat, we can have it dry cleaned, you know. In fact, I think we should anyway if you’re giving it to Andi.”

“But it’s got good juju on it now. I don’t want it to wash off.”

“Baby, it’s about to have my juju on it, and we really want to wash that off.”

“Fine,” she sighed as my cock slipped from her body.

“And yes to dinner with Lionel and Casey. When I was there yesterday, I put sugar in the salt shaker. I need to see if they’ve discovered it yet.”

Wiska walked to the armoire and reached up for the padlock sitting on top of it. I winced and watched as she ran a finger over the innocuous silver lock.

“Can we do this today?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, go get dressed, and we’ll get out of here.”

That padlock was a reminder of our first real fight as a couple. I was looking forward to getting rid of it. I took the lock and read over the inscription.

No jumping to conclusions,

Ever.

Bradley and Wiska

Yeah, I learned my lesson the hard way. Arriving home from work early one day, I found a message on the machine from Ryder Harder. Hey, Wiska, that sounds awesome, honey. I’d love to help you out. Call the office, soon. I’ll admit, I saw red, and my mind took me to the only logical conclusion I could possibly fathom: Wiska was working for Kink Harder again.

As soon as she’d walked through the door, I let loose on her. While I yelled, huffed, and yelled some more, Wiska calmly stood in front of me, and when I finally couldn’t take her silence anymore, she coolly explained that she knew my birthday was coming up, and she planned to put a bunch of photos to music as a gift. She didn’t know how, and Ryder was going to help her. And that was my first relationship ‘Oh Shit’ moment.

Wiska had spun on her heel and left. I’d stood there like a stunned fucking mute, and when she didn’t come home for dinner, I panicked. Thankfully, a message from Casey assured me she was alright, pissed and threatening to unman me, but fine. She didn’t come home that night, though, and it made me feel sick. First thing in the morning, I found someone to engrave one of the padlocks, and when she finally turned up home at lunchtime, I got down on one knee and groveled. I bought flowers, chocolates, and non-alcoholic wine, but it had been the padlock that finally earned her forgiveness. The make-up sex had been un-fucking-believable, but the misery and guilt that consumed me over hurting Wiska hadn’t made it worth it. Wiska found a love-lock bridge in Brooklyn, and we were going to snap that fucker on the fence and leave it there. The lock might remain behind, but the lesson would certainly follow me home.

I knew it wouldn’t be my one and only fuck up, and I knew Wiska would have her fair share, too, but the love-lock promise would always be our stepping stone to fixing where we went wrong. I’d lock a million of those damn things to bridges just to keep us together. I’d do anything for my pussycat. She was worth it. She may not have been my first kiss, but she was definitely going to be my last. The thought of growing old wasn’t so scary when I knew I’d grow old with Wiska, grey pubes and all.

My whistle might have wanted her before my heart did, but that only proved he was the brains in this body. My heart was well and truly on board now. I L-O-V-E’d her, and that made my somewhat unconventional life just perfect.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Okay, there is usually a big list of shout outs here, but honestly, those people know who they are and I need to save this space for a very special mention.

The character ‘Wiska’ was inspired by a very special person, my cousin Lori.

No, she’s not a porn star, and as far as I’m aware she doesn’t have ADD. However, she is spontaneous, bold, beautiful, and a touch cray cray from time to time. She adores Harry Potter, isn’t loved by animals, has pole danced, jelly wrestled, and has gone on bike rides in foreign countries. She’s had her heart broken, and she’s had it pieced back together again.

She is a woman every woman should aspire to be like—comfortable in her own skin, independent, loving, and smart.

Lori, I love you babe. Stay true to yourself, always.

www.kirstydallasauthor.com

Other reads by Kirsty Dallas

Saving Ella (Mercy’s Angels, #1)

Fighting Back (Mercy’s Angels, #2)

Tortured Soul (Mercy’s Angels, #3)

Mother’s Love (Mercy’s Angels, #4)

Breeze of Life

Decker’s Wood

Violet Addiction

Bradley’s Whistle

AND FOR A SNEAK PEAK OF THE NEXT PORN STAR COMEDY, READ ON…

Table of Contents

- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR