Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) Read online

  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 wit
h 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?”