Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (7 page)

“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.”

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.”