Love For Sale (3 page)

“Bye, honey.” She settled the cordless in its cradle, staring into space.

Shaking off nostalgia, March shrugged, but her heart ached. Paul knew she loved and missed the boys. He used her affections as a weapon. Never in this lifetime would she go near another control freak. He always made her feel rebellious. She switched the stereo channel to music her ex detested.
Knights in White Satin
was playing.

Thinking about the lyrics, she opened the bottle of Sheldrake Riesling she’d bought at the rodeo. “And now I will celebrate insanity.”

Today, she’d stepped way out of the box, and even if it was only for one night, she intended to enjoy her walk on the wild side. She plucked a plastic bag of snow crab from the freezer, fished the steamer from the cabinet and filled it with water. Tonight was
be good
to March
night. She planned to eat her absolute fav.

Humming
Born to be Wild
, she sauntered to the executive chair at her desk and switched on the computer. Her fingers took her automatically to Google and the words Mayfair Electronics seemed to appear in the search box. She devoured the text and pictures on the web page, searching for any clue about the androids. Of course, there were none. The firm had branches in London and New York, specializing in
refined electronics
.

At eight thirty, she settled a plate of steaming seafood, a wine glass brimming with the Houston Rodeo’s Double Gold winner on the TV table, and hit the remote. A scene burst to life on the twenty-one inch screen—another hand-me-down from the divorce. No prob, since she rarely watched TV. Reading and her hobby, painting seascapes in Galveston, occupied her spare time, or maybe she’d take up pole dancing.

“And now…he-e-e-re’s…Merle!” The cameras swept the studio before spotlighting the host of a popular talk show she’d never watched, his thick white hair gleaming under the hot lights. Once, he must have had dark hair. His eyes were a deep, chocolate brown. His smile was implant perfect.

Focused on the upcoming guests, March listened, laughing at his amusing monologue, but her dinner required a lot of work for a little crab, especially with Mugs nudging her shoulder.

After a rousing applause, Merle lifted his hand, and March tensed. “Tonight, our show is live from New York. Allow me to introduce the first in a shining lineup of guests. You’re all familiar with Jonathan Barker. Please welcome him to the stage.”

The well-known actor waved to the audience, then, taking his seat, beamed a smile at his host. March paid close attention to the conversation. There was no clue that the tall, sandy-haired Jonathan was the android. In her video collection, she had every one of his movies. The man was only twenty-eight and had been married five times. Surely, he wasn’t Mayfair’s debut. Or had the electronics firm and their robot managed to fool moviegoers around the world?

“Well, Jonathan, I understand you have a big announcement.” The host signaled the orchestra for a drum roll.

Barker saluted the orchestra leader. “I do, Merle, in fact, a huge announcement.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Merle said.

Jonathan faced the camera, a proud smile on his handsome face. “My wife Joanne and I are expecting our first child.”

He rose, extending his hand to his pregnant spouse, the cover model for last month’s
Cosmo.
The tall, slinky redhead cat-walked across the stage, slung her luxurious hair over her shoulder and greeted Merle.

One down.
Surely, an android couldn’t sire children. Did they even have
the right stuff
? March rested her head on the back of the sofa and laughed, imagining a flood of motor oil from his mechanical shaft. Lost in thought, she missed the remainder of Barker’s repertoire, and suddenly, the actor and his wife moved down for the next guest.

“Oh, I’m getting the signal. It’s that time. Stay around for a big surprise after these few words. We’ll be back with a couple of guests you will
not
want to miss.” He lifted a hand. “I promise.”

“Damn, they always show a commercial when you’re on the edge of your seat.” March cracked another shell, disdained the butter and nibbled the succulent crab. She’d never watched such a long truck commercial. The vehicle pulling the space shuttle was not even American engineered. The ad was an affront to U.S. car manufacturers.

“I’m tapping my watch here. Let’s get on with the show.” She sipped her wine. “This is way too good. I wish I’d bought two bottles.”

Suffering through a second commercial about a popular household cleaner, she yawned. Finally, finally, the talk show returned. Her mother liked the phrase
grinning from ear to ear.
Merle was demonstrating the old saying.

“We’re back!” He stood, strolled to the front of his desk and addressed the audience. “Moving right along, let me bring out our next victim—I mean guest. This man is a world-renowned concert pianist as well as English aristocracy. Please welcome, Lord Morgan D’Arcy.”

March gripped the arm of the couch. “Dear God, he’s gorgeous. Mugs, I’d like to tuck that one in the sheets or do him on the floor.”

Tall, blond, and blue-eyed, the pianist sauntered onto the stage, turned and bowed to his stunned audience. He straightened, shook back his long hair and smiled at Merle, but March felt that smile was for her only.

“Am I licking my lips, Mugs?” She tousled the cat’s head. “That could definitely be the android. He’s too perfect to be human. And he’s wearing a tuxedo. I love a man in a tux.”

When he drifted gracefully to the sofa, the host returned to his seat. Merle looked at the studio viewers, his brows flickering. “Morgan, I know one question the ladies in the audience want answered. Are you married?”

“I am. My wife, Isabeau, is in the audience, in fact.” He rose, beckoned, and a beautiful woman waved from center stage, second row.

“She looks like Michelle Pfeiffer in
Lady Hawk
.”

Had pretty Isabeau bought her hunk? If so, March would order that model. Mayfair claimed their androids were capable of being programmed with any talent.
A classical pianist would do nicely for me.
Her imagination supplied a vision of beautiful Morgan and Isabeau strolling hand-in-hand, gazing at the Georgian architecture on historic Dover Street. Google had shown her Mayfair Electronics’ corporate offices, a handsome example of the style.

“What is your actual title?” Merle asked the blond god.

Mischief danced in those eyes, the color of a summer sky. He smiled again, and March’s heart stopped. His voice would melt a glacier.

“Earl of St. Averil,” he said in his too-too aristocratic accent. “The ancestral estates are in Devon.”

Could the electronics company secure an Earldom for a droid?

“I understand you’re in a time crunch. Will you play for us, Morgan?”

“I shall be honored, but I have to dash off immediately afterward to catch a plane to London. Tomorrow night, I’m performing Chopin at the Royal Albert.”

March nodded, repeating herself. “He’s way too perfect to be human.”

Okay, maybe they could buy a title, or they stole it from some dead earl. Mayfair seems to be powerful enough.

Morgan D’Arcy, concert pianist, English lord—and android?—
glided
to the grand piano. With his hand on the wing of the glossy Steinway, he performed an elegant bow. He flipped the tails of his tuxedo over the seat, placed his hands on the keyboard, and spun magic. Could an android play with such heart? As if he and the music were one?

March exhaled a pent-up breath as the pianist rose, bowed, and exited the stage. For an enchanted moment, there was silence on the TV.

“That’s him, Mugs. Too bad he’s taken, but they did say they could replicate any model with minor changes, ensuring that no two are alike. As it is with people.”

Merle joined in the loud applause. When finally the audience stopped clapping, he made a grand, sweeping gesture. “Mason, ask the orchestra to prime their instruments.”

“We’re all in our prime, Merle,” Mason joked.

“Indeed. I see a few there with hair as white as mine.” He addressed the camera. “After the commercial break, our guest is a rising star in the operatic field. Again, I promise you won’t want to miss him.”

Fidgeting, March watched a golden lab playing with a handsome man and learned how the premium dog food extended the animal’s life. An older man and woman strolled along a beach in a long drug advertisement while the announcer rattled off side effects including death.

“Yep, sign me up for that one.”

At last, when she was ready to throw the dish of crab shells at the TV, the commercials were over, and the show resumed. The cameras swept the studio, then focused on Merle, standing behind his mahogany desk.

“Our next guest is totally worth the wait. He is under thirty and…well, you shall soon see. Ladies, I give you Daniel De Bella, the Italian virtuoso who’ll capture your hearts. Gents, listen to a tenor to rival any star of the opera stage.”

Svelte as a panther, he strode through the lights as if he owned the theater. A tuxedo a shade blacker than his hair emphasized his slim, muscled body. Tall, dark, and handsome, he bowed to his audience. Barker’s cover girl looked different with her jaw dropped. Daniel gave the other man’s wife a smoldering look and a sultry smile. Her Cleopatra-lined, blue shadowed eyes widened in admiration as he—man?—android?—settled on the couch beside her. March remembered to breathe. The host welcomed his latest guest and began the Q&A.

“Where do you live, Daniel?” Merle asked.

“London, but I travel quite a lot.”

“What is your favorite food?” Merle twirled a gold pen on his desk. “Something Italian?”

“Honestly…” He flashed a heart-stopping grin. “Lobster.”

The host quizzed Daniel on everything from his music preferences to whether he had a girlfriend. He sat at ease, answered in his musical voice, expressions chasing across his exquisite face. When he talked, his hands illustrated with graceful gestures.

“In women, what’s your type?” Merle fired the personal question.

Daniel glanced at the camera and smiled. “All of them. I simply adore women.”

“You know, Mugs. Daniel might be the robot.” March shook her head. “He’s dynamite, too.”

Daniel delighted the audience with his dancing eyes, quick wit, and sexy smiles. The model gazed at him as if she could eat him alive. He appeared to be a living, breathing man, but then Mayfair claimed their androids were completely human. If there were no other male guests, it was a toss-up between the English D’Arcy and the Italian De Bella. Mayfair Electronics was in London, which might indicate the pianist, but Daniel had admitted that he lived in London.

“I do not know, kitty cat. I simply don’t know which one it is.”

The host laid his palms flat on the desk, leaning toward De Bella. “Daniel, will you sing for us?”

“My pleasure.” The to-die-for creature rose, his movements fluid and refined.

He strolled into the rainbow of spotlights and glanced at the orchestra.

March dipped the last sliver of crab into melted butter. How many other prospective purchasers were watching this trial run? Daniel wasn’t her dream man, but he was gorgeous. His presence filled the stage, washed into her living room, and fed her craving for beauty. There were other models, four to be exact. One of them might be her perfect match—a mechanical soul mate. She smiled at her own joke. Lord, how she anticipated tomorrow! In a few hours, she’d be on a plane to London. Soon after, she’d meet these incredible androids. Yes, her 401K was on the endangered list.

Daniel accepted a microphone, smiled at his listeners. His eyes were as black as his hair, his skin tanned and smooth. A red bow tie was a shock of color against his dark clothes and white shirt. The orchestra played the opening notes of the song. He tilted his head, slightly wavy hair brushing his collar. The romantic in March trembled as his voice rose like an angelic choir. His gorgeous body moved with his song. Nothing betrayed Daniel’s secret, if he had a secret.

The secret belonged to Mayfair.

To satisfy would-be buyers, the electronics company had recorded a message giving the android’s name on a special telephone number provided by the receptionist. March grabbed the phone and dialed. The line was busy. Other prospective purchasers checking in?

“Well, damn.” She was off the sofa, striding for the bedroom.
I should pack.

Every five minutes, as she folded clothes into her case, she dialed again with the same result. She gritted her teeth in frustration, then returned to the pleasant task of choosing her wardrobe. What should she wear to meet the androids? She folded a dark blue pantsuit into the case, shook it out, and returned it to the hanger. Looking businesslike wasn’t the aim. She needed to be sexy, pretty, appealing. From the overstuffed closet, she chose a black dress with an asymmetrical hem and a matching shrug.

Finally, packed and ready for adventure, at ten past midnight, the
pring, pring
chime of the British phone ended with one name.
Daniel.

March was so excited she was coming out of her skin.

Shedding my skin. Being reborn
.

****

Heathrow airport swam with travelers from every corner of the world. Veiled Indian women in rich embroidered dresses floated like flowers amongst Hasidic Jews and pale blond Norwegians. The noise and blend of languages confused and unnerved March, but she made her way through the throng of strangers, tugging her suitcase toward fate. She held firmly to Daniel’s TV performance. The flight was the first step in a quest of the heart. She scanned the placards claiming disembarking passengers, not one of them printed with her name. Never having been out of the country, she was battling a sudden wave of nervousness. As she swam toward the exit doors, she looked at no one.

She felt like it was stamped on her forehead, “I’m going to buy a man, a love toy.”

I mustn’t think of him as a sex machine
.

Anxiety prickled her skin. What if no one showed to pick her up? She didn’t even have the address for Mayfair. In her rush to pack, she’d forgotten to print their email, and she was way beyond her comfort zone. Yet excitement fluttered in her stomach. She was still determined, but her courage faded each minute the car didn’t arrive. Had they forgotten her? Would the driver secretly laugh at her? Maybe they’d send one of the gorgeous androids to take her to the hotel. How would she find the car? She felt like a grain of sand swept on the tide of people surging toward the exit.