The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) (3 page)

“You’re quick.”

Declan stepped backward toward the kitchen door. “So what exactly do I have to do this weekend?”

“Fulfill her fantasies—only problem is, she can’t tell you what they are. The service took her profile and was supposed to provide her with the partner who’d give her what she needs—not what she thinks she wants. I can tell you now, if you do what she tells you, she’ll be bored.”

“Is she so repulsive she has to hire a pleasure-giver?”

“Repulsive? Why would you think that?”

“She can’t find her own
partner
.”

The woman’s laughter did nothing to calm Declan’s fears. “She’s an exec. A stuffed shirt. She doesn’t have time to find her own man.”

The very last sort of woman Declan wanted to ride—stiff, unimaginative, unyielding. How the hell was he supposed to work up a hard-on?

“Are you any good?”

“Huh?”

“In the sack! No time to be shy. I need to know what I’ve got to work with.”

Declan shrugged. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied nastily, fed up with her snide remarks concerning his manhood.

“Aaa—gnes!” A strident voice came from beyond the kitchen door.

Declan jumped.

“The ca-ca’s gonna hit the fan now,” his captor muttered.

“I take it that’s your mistress?” he whispered.

“Yup. My boss, the dragon lady, my ball and chain. She’ll be in here in a minute. Whatever odd thing she says, just go with it. Remember, this is supposed to be a fantasy weekend.”

“I haven’t agreed to do anything yet.”

“Remember your crew and ship!”

In for a penny…out for a pound.
“My cargo, too?”

“All right!” she hissed. “Do we have a deal?”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t. But I’m the only chance you’ve got. It’s me or Sing-Sing. Do we have a deal?”

What the hell was Sing-Sing?
Declan swore again. “Deal. You’d better not welsh, or I’ll tell the boss lady about our little arrangement.”

“Aaa—gnes!” Priscilla shouted
again, and then paused to kick off her heels before continuing on to her bedroom. “What’s with you? Are you still sulking about me threatening to pull your grid?”

“Of course not,” Agnes replied, in a monotone. “I’m just a hunk of cells, no real intelligence, no feelings to hurt.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes and reached for the first button at the top of her white blouse. “So when is it arriving?”

“It?”

“My Pleasure Bot.”

“Oh, about your new toy…”

“Aaa—gnes?” Her hands froze on button number three. “Don’t tell me they can’t deliver.”

“No, no.”

“Whew! You had me worried there.” She continued unbuttoning her blouse, letting her mind roam to the coming hours. Already her body was juiced at the thoughts of the wicked things she wanted to try with her life-like, better-than-life-sized robot.

“Well, I just wanted to remind you of a few things first.”

“Like?” She hoped like hell Agnes wasn’t going to give her the list of the manufacturer’s disclaimers.

“You were promised life-like.”

“Yeah, yeah. Down to the wet tongue and hangnails, I’m sure.” She finished with the last button and peeled off the shirt.

“Just so you know, it’s also programmed to believe it’s a real person—to enhance the experience.”

The word “enhance” was the only one her mind registered. All day long, the thought of all that “enhanced” hardware aimed at providing her the ultimate pleasure had put heat in her cheeks and a bounce in her step. Her skirt joined the heap on the floor. “All right. Is there more?”

“Um…it’s in the kitchen.”

Priscilla’s body revved into hyperdrive, and she headed out of her bedroom. “Why didn’t you say so? It eats?”

“Probably does a lot of things even more disgusting in the name of realism.”

“Wow! Pinnacle’s going to make a fortune. I wonder if they need an ad woman.”

She reached to push the kitchen door, but it swung toward her, and she stepped back with a gasp. A tall, disheveled—shirtless—man stepped through. Her gaze swept over him in shock. “Agnes! Just what did you put in my profile?”

“Why, boss?”

Her hand swept over his shoulder and a muscle rippled beneath her palm. She jerked away her hand. “It’s…brawny. I prefer lean.” She backed away and looked up. “Dark hair? I like blond. And it’s
hairy
.” She sniffed. “Oh, and it stinks! Did you tell them I wanted a dark stinky man?”

The bot’s narrowed brown gaze followed her as she paced in front of him. His face grew a blustery red.

“They have a few kinks to work out in this model.” She waved an encompassing hand at him. “It does understand English, doesn’t it Agnes?”

“Sure does,” Agnes said, her voice sounding a little strangled.

The bot’s eyes slitted.

“Well, at least they got that much right.” Priscilla eyed his wide, hairy chest. The muscle beneath the sun-dark skin looked well developed…
hard
. She might be able to get past all the dark hair—the body was mighty distracting. “Let me see what my money’s buying. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

When the bot didn’t move, she huffed and reached for the leather belt. A large, hard hand closed over hers and pushed her away. She glanced up in alarm. The look on the bot’s face could have curdled milk. “Agnes? It looks angry.”

From between gritted teeth, the bot said, “
It
prefers to be called
he
.”

‡

D
eclan eyed the
half-dressed woman with irritation…and reluctant interest. She wasn’t any bigger than a minute, the top of her red head barely reaching his shoulder. But all the creamy, freckled skin revealed between the beige, satin strips of her underwear clothed a body with all the necessary curves. His cock agreed and stirred behind the placket of his breeches.

Then she opened her mouth again. “Agnes? Don’t you play dumb now. What the hell was in my profile?”

Although pitched lower than her previous shrieks, her voice still held an imperious note that set his teeth on edge. No wonder the woman couldn’t find a man of her own. She was a bossy little snipe.

He had the overwhelming urge to tell the woman the truth, just to get her to shut up—and give Agnes a taste of her own brand of poison. Two women couldn’t deserve each other more.

“Just the facts, boss,” Agnes said, her tone blithe. “I’m sure they added their own statistics regarding your purchasing behavior in order to come up with the right blend of male properties to suit your needs.”

“They just should have given me an order form with a checklist for my preferences. Tonio’s more my taste!” She scowled, looking him over like he was a lumbering bear rather than a man. “I’ve half a mind to send it back.”

He grunted his disapproval.

The woman gave him a startled glance. “
Him
back,” the woman corrected. “I mean, who in her right mind would want something so primitive?”

Some dark
primitive
emotion stirred in his belly. The woman needed to learn a lesson or two in manners. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he replied, adding a silky texture to his voice.

Her gray eyes widened. Was she shocked he could do more than grunt? Then he saw a telltale flush rise from the tops of her breasts to her cheeks. He’d bet a case of Samureen Black that arousal soaked her panties.

“That’s a recommendation?” She eyed him with doubt shadowing her gaze. “It’s too late to get a replacement, isn’t it, Agnes?”

“Much too late,” Agnes muttered.

“I guess I’ll keep him,” she said, her voice sounding less than enthusiastic.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said with exaggerated relish, his hands going for his belt.

Her eyes widened like saucers. “Wait a minute!” She held up a hand.

Declan stared. A moment ago she’d wanted him out of his clothes.

“Shouldn’t we get a few things straight first?”

He took a step toward her. “What’s to
get
, other than naked?” He slipped the belt from the loops of his breeches and lifted it high, his gaze holding hers as he dropped it to the floor.

With a stubborn tilt of her chin, she said, “We could start with what I’m supposed to call you other than
it
.”

He narrowed his eyes at the termagant. He knew a stall when he saw one. “I have a name. Declan. What’s yours?”

Her pretty, pink mouth gaped. “You don’t know my name? Why wouldn’t Playthings tell you my name? They know absolutely everything else about me.”

“To increase the realism?” Agnes whispered.

He wished like hell the older woman would show herself. He preferred to gauge the mettle of his adversaries by watching their eyes.

“Just imagine,” Agnes continued, “that you’re two strangers meeting for the first time.”

The redhead’s scowl could have singed an oven. “First times suck!”

“Perhaps you’ve been going out with the wrong men,” he purred, and then grinned at the acidic glance she shot his way.

With a tomato-red flush of anger, she said, “There is no way
this
was programmed with me in mind. It’s impossible!”

“Is his face so unattractive?” Agnes asked.

“How should I know? I can’t see his face under all that stubble. He could be hiding a weak chin.”

He lifted his brow and scratched his beard, feigning unconcern.
A weak chin?

Thunderclouds couldn’t match the fierce displeasure roiling in her stormy gray eyes.

Declan’s grin stretched wider. Goading this one to anger should be a sport. He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman with his clothes on—
ever
. He scratched his balls for good measure.

“Ugh! His manners are as disgusting as his smell.”

“Is his body unappealing?” Agnes’s voice sounded a tad strained.

“He’s too large.” Her gaze swept over him, pausing at his chest then trailing over his arms. “But he does have interesting bumps.”

Bumps?

Her hand reached out to smooth across the muscle on his forearm. “I don’t think I ever dated a man with bumpy arms.”

Declan couldn’t resist. “If you’ll let me remove me breeches, you can touch me legs. The bumps are bigger.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would they give it sarcasm? Couldn’t they figure out I get enough from you, Agnes?” she said, aiming her shout to the ceiling. “Tell me again: it’s too late to return it for another model.”

“It’s too late, boss.”

“And I suppose it’s too much to hope it has a mute button?”

“Damn straight!” Declan growled.

The woman sighed. “I sure hope they knew what they were doing.”

He planted his feet shoulder width apart. “So, shall I lose the pants?”

She shook her head. “Just like a man. You don’t even know my name yet.”

An imp of mischief must have been riding on his shoulder. “Why does that matter?”

“What will you call me when we’re…”

He raised a single brow, pretending not to understand.

“You know…doing it.” Her frown deepened as her face was once again suffused with heat.

“Woman?”

Her face grew impossibly redder, warring with the bright hue of her hair, but he hadn’t missed her shiver. Was her exasperation stirring up more than just her temper?

He flicked open the button at the top of his breeches.

Her gaze flew up to his face. “Priscilla!” she shouted. “My name’s Priscilla!”

“Priss? It fits.” His glance swept her from head to toe. Already he thought of the names he would torment her with when he was deep inside her pink cunt. “Prickly Priss”, if she ceded control reluctantly. “Prim Priss”, if blushes flooded her cheeks. “Pretty Priss”, if she melted beneath his loving.

His cock stirred against his breeches, aching for ease. He quickly flicked open the next button.

“Um…” She backed up a step. “A shower! There’s no way you’re coming near me until you’re clean. What the hell did you bathe in anyway?”

“Whiskey,” he said with a grin.

“Whiskey? How? It’s prohibited.”

“He’s a smuggler,” Agnes interrupted.

Declan knew the older woman’s game. She was trying to remove his only weapon—the truth—by making his occupation part of his role.

“A smuggler? They think I want a criminal?”

“I’m sure they were thinking opposites and all…” Agnes sounded a little desperate.

“Agnes! Unless you care to join us, butt out!” he snarled.

Priscilla giggled. A tinkling, feminine sound that so surprised him, he caught himself gaping.

“Not so smart after all, are you?”

Declan barely heard her words—didn’t care to understand. Her smile took his breath away. Pink, full lips stretched over white teeth and a glimpse of her pink tongue stirred the predator lounging in his belly.

She stared back warily, her smile slipping. “Well, let’s see about that bath.”

He knew exactly where the shower was, but preferred following his hostess through the living room to the marble-tiled hallway beyond to watch the flex and stretch of her ass beneath the satin as she led the way. The plump contours reminded him what the weekend was all about—survival and sex, not falling into her smile.