The Pleasure Slave i-2 Page 10

  Triumph drifted through her, as absolute and powerful as the fourth-season winds.

  "How?" she demanded. "Will you take me to him?"

  "Nay, I will not," he answered firmly.

  "Why?"

  "My answer is of no concern to you."

  "Then how will I obtain him?" she asked through gritted teeth.

  "I will teach you a spell that will return Tristan to you."

  "Had I my powers, I could do that on my own."

  "But you do not have your powers. 'Tis why you need my help. If my plan is not acceptable, then consider our bargain null and void."

  "It is acceptable," she said quickly. "It is acceptable."

  "Mayhap I will even show you how to win back all of your powers." Anticipation slithered along her spine, wrapping around her like a hungry serpent in search of sustenance.

  She could barely contain her eagerness. Her body was desperate to reclaim her magic, and her hands were itching for the feel of Tristan, to once more hold him in her arms, to glory in his body pressed against hers.

  "Whatever you must teach me, Romulis," she assured him, "I will learn."

  He shoved both of his hands through his hair, sweeping the dark locks from his temples. Sweat kept the strands in place. He sighed. "I must bathe ere we begin."

  "Hurry," she commanded with a clap of her hands.

  His gaze narrowed. "Best you recall who is helping whom."

  "Please hurry," she amended.

  "I think we will both come to regret this." With a weary shake of his head, he strode from the chamber. This man was going to be difficult to control, she mused as she lay back on the bed. Were she strong enough, she might have cursed Romulis inside a trinket box of his own. Then she would have two slaves to use at her leisure.

  The thought made her smile.

  CHAPTER TEN

  You Must Accept All Punishment As Your Due

  Julia's Treasures closed at five o'clock, and by that time, Julia felt as if she'd just fought in a world war—and lost. Every time the bell above the door had chimed, Tristan had instantly swooped to her side, hovering over her shoulder and glaring like the wrath of God. He claimed he'd only wished to protect her. Protect her, of all things. She wasn't sure if he meant to protect her from her customers or the door chime. The man did not like loud noises!

  Twice she'd watched him stroke his knife and eye the blasted door with a do-you-want-a-piece-of-this glare. Though he hadn't been looking their way, several patrons assumed he meant to commit a mass murder and had hastened away. The memory had her rubbing her temples in a vain effort to ward off the growing ache. She was only surprised the local PD hadn't been called.

  Never again would she put herself through this. If America's economy collapsed and the only way to raise money for herself was to nail Tristan inside her display "case, she still wouldn't bring him to work with her.

  Sure, women twittered over him and bought anything he recommended. Sure, she'd sold more merchandise today than she usually sold in two weeks combined. It didn't matter. The man smelled like a buffet of sensual delights and all that hovering nonsense had given her a pheromone overdose.

  Now her feet hurt, her stomach was twisted in tiny knots, her headache was already worse, and she was so irritable it bordered on PMS. All she wanted to do was toss back a few pain relievers, soak in a hot, steamy bath, then go to bed.

  "Let's go home," she told Tristan on a sigh.

  "Aye." He nodded. "This shopkeeping requires more energy than soldiering."

  She locked all the doors, and they strode to her car. Tristan handled the ride home much better than he had handled the ride to the shop. This morning his skin had turned an unflattering shade of green and sweat had beaded on his brow. Now he gripped his hands on his knees, but his color remained high. For his benefit, she stayed five miles under the speed limit.

  "What type of vehicle did you use in Imperia?" she asked.

  "I rode atop horned stags or the back of a dragon."

  "A dragon?" Astonished, she flicked him a quick glance. "As in fire-breathing, green scales and wings?"

  "The very same."

  "Is this the dragon you're so fond of comparing me to?" she asked with a narrowed gaze, ready to claw out his eyes if he agreed.

  "Again, the same," he said. "Dragons are revered for their courage, their defensive skills and their tenacity."

  Oh, she thought, melting into her seat and smiling slowly. He thinks I'm a dragon. How sweet and absolutely endearing. "I know fifteen hundred years have passed, but do you still miss your home? The magic… and the dragons?" she added tentatively.

  "More than I can ever say."

  As he sat there, memories filling his eyes and sadness radiating from him, something inside her cracked. Poor man. What all had he lost? She couldn't, or perhaps didn't want to, fathom the answer. At the house, she pampered him a little, letting him relax while she fixed turkey sandwiches. Tristan ate five. So far he'd cost her three hundred and forty-eight dollars, plus the loss of her sanity. A good bargain? Earlier she would have said absolutely not. Now… well, the jury was still deliberating.

  "Best we go to the mall now," he said, after putting his plate in the sink. "I do not like these clothes you have provided me with. These—" he motioned to the sweatpants with a wave of his hand " — leave me suspended."

  The thought of battling crowds, of having Tristan «protect» her from salesclerks, swept away every ounce of relaxation she'd gained. "Slight change of plans," she said, hoping he wouldn't mind. "We'll go to the—" She paused, the last part of Tristan's speech registering in her mind. "Uh, Tristan, you are wearing the underwear I gave you, right?"

  His chin veered to the side, and his eyes changed from green to blue to purple with confusion. "What is this underwear?"

  How to explain, how to explain? "It's a protective cloth for your—" She pointed.

  "Ah." He shook his head. "A strange garment, that, and one I did not make use of the way you described. I tore strips of the underwear and used them to secure my new blade to my thigh."

  Which meant he had spent the entire day with only a pair of sweatpants between his assets and the rest of the world.

  Oh, my.

  "So you didn't like either the boxers or the briefs?" she asked. When he gave her another confused frown, she explained the difference.

  "I do not recall seeing these briefs. Only boxers."

  Wonderful. She'd either left them in the cart or her sedan's trunk. "I'll see if I can find you a pair. That way, you won't feel so… suspended." Was she really sitting here, peacefully discussing a man's underwear?

  Grinning at her progress, she grabbed her coat and practically skipped outside. She stepped off the porch, looked past her shrubs and froze. There, trimming the hedges surrounding his house, stood Peter, her next-door neighbor. Her love interest.

  Julia's happy-go-lucky mood vanished, and her tongue thickened like a block of concrete. She didn't want to face him until her lessons were finished—or had begun, for that matter. Panicked, she scrambled for a hiding place and ended up kneeling behind one of her bushes, not twenty feet away from him.

  Several prolonged minutes ticked by, and she watched him all the while. I'm a coward, she thought, envisioning the spectacle she must make. However, jumping up and announcing her presence wasn't feasible at this point. Peter might think she was foolish, and she really, really wanted him to believe she was wonderful.

  Only one solution popped into her mind: wait him out.

  She continued to watch him. In his late twenties, early thirties, Peter resembled the average American male. He had a full head of sandy-colored hair, good skin, and a decent, if a bit skinny, body. He always wore a smile, as if forever pleased with the world around him.

  He was reserved, didn't always know what to say, and wasn't so beautiful women would flock to him, trying to steal his affections. He was perfect for her.

  And yet…

  She didn't feel drawn to h
im, didn't crave his lips against hers. Didn't dream of him when she closed her eyes. Didn't imagine his body stroking hers. Instead, Tristan occupied her thoughts. She liked the way he moved, sensuous yet sometimes predatory. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the sides when he teased her. While his muscles bulged with strength, he'd never hurt her. He was always careful of her smaller size.

  Shame washed over her as she realized that she was comparing the two men, just as she'd been compared to her sister throughout her entire childhood. "Faith plays the piano so beautifully. Why can't you, Julia?" "Faith won first place at the track meet. Better luck next time, Julia." "All of the boys adore Faith. If you'd just try a little harder, Julia."

  So Tristan resembled a legendary warrior king, and Peter resembled a toilet-scrubbing servant. Big deal. Beauty always faded. She knew that. Why then did her palms sweat and her heart pound whenever Tristan entered a room? Why did she feel unaffected by Peter, a man who seemed made specifically for her?

  Julia didn't have the answers to those questions, and she told herself it didn't matter. Once she spent time with her neighbor, romantic feelings would come. She'd long to strip him naked and have him do the same to her. She'd long to taste his kisses and feel Tristan's—uh, Peter's body pressing against hers. Thankfully, a cool breeze drifted by and calmed the sudden fire in her blood.

  Surely Peter possessed some quality that overshadowed Tristan. Hoping for a better view, she shoved several branches out of her line of vision. The brittle foliage tickled her check, but at least she now saw him clearly.

  He paused, sheers in hand, and turned toward her bushes, his expression curious. "Julia?" he asked, unsure.

  Caught in the act of spying! Julia stifled a groan of mortification and crawled out from beneath her hiding place. She jumped to her feet and smoothed away clinging foliage and dirt. "Uh, hi, Peter." She gave him a smile, hoping to cover her embarrassment. "I was just, uh—" Where were her wits when she needed them? "Pruning my bushes."

  "Really?" He returned her grin and set his shears aside. "Me, too."

  "That's great. Keeps your yard looking fresh."

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. He rocked back and forth on his feet. His hands dug into his jacket pockets and jiggled change.

  "Do you prune often?" she asked, willing to talk about anything at this point. "In the winter, I mean."

  "I work in my garden all year round. I find it very relaxing."

  Since she knew nothing about greenery, Julia didn't reply, too afraid of what might come out of her mouth. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he continued to grin from ear to ear as he covered the distance between them. Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation, but she remained in place, determined to converse with him even if God himself reached down from heaven and clamped her lips shut.

  "I've been meaning to come by," Peter said. His fragrance, like pine needles and dark wood, followed him on a scented cloud. "We've been neighbors for a few months now, but we've never really talked."

  Julia forced her mouth to open and her reply to emerge perfectly, precisely. "I'd love to change that. To talk to you, I mean."

  His hazel eyes glowed with approval, and he inched another step closer. "I must admit, I've been curious about you. What do you do for a living?"

  "I own an antique store downtown. Julia's Treasures. What about you?"

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I do aircraft title searches." He noticed her confusion and added, "When someone wants to buy an airplane, I study the title to make sure there are no outstanding liens. It's the same procedure for buying a used car."

  "How interesting."

  "Very. I meet fascinating people." He kept shifting from one foot to the other. "Listen, I was thinking—"

  "Julia will not be going anywhere with you," a low, sexy voice growled behind her.

  Julia whipped around, but not before catching a glimpse of Peter's pale, horrified features. She wanted to assure him everything would be all right, but she couldn't think about her neighbor's sensibilities now. Not when Tristan's arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart, and a dangerous, predatory light gleamed in his eyes. He bore no weapons save his fists, yet he looked ready to kill.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered furiously.

  "Saving you from yourself." The moment he'd heard voices, Tristan had stepped outside… only to see Julia conversing with the man she hoped to entice. Raw possessiveness had ripped through him, and he'd had to force himself to resist the urge to grab several blades from Julia's kitchen and slice this puny man in two.

  It surprised him, this instant, volatile reaction. He'd never felt more than mild affection for any of his other women, if anything at all, and hadn't cared if they entertained other men when they no longer wished his services. But mild affection did not eat at him right now. Fury? Aye. She had told him an untruth, consciously breaking the first parameter of their bargain by talking with another man. Incredulity? Aye, he felt incredulity. Discarded? Absolutely. Julia hungered for the touch of a man—and it wasn't Tristan's.

  He growled.

  His muscles clenched, his blood boiled and his warrior instincts surfaced in full force. The image of removing Peter's heart—if he possessed one—with his bare fist mollified him somewhat. What was so special about this neighbor of hers? Tristan glared down at him, but saw nothing that might entrance an exotically sensual woman such as Julia to madness.

  Julia pivoted away from him and stared at her neighbor, an apology—and something else? — in her eyes. Tristan's rage sparked to life with greater potency; he worked his jaw with a callused hand. Aside from their kiss, she rarely acted as if she wanted him. In fact, she continuously pushed him away, a completely foreign concept. Yet she desired marriage with this man.

  What if she truly loved Peter? The possibility angered him more than he cared to admit. Did she not realize love would make her weak? Gave another control over her emotions? Obviously not. Well, as he'd told her only moments ago, he would simply have to save her from herself.

  Tristan clasped Julia by the shoulders, melding her body with his own and visibly staking a claim lest Peter doubt the nature of his presence. The puny man's face was pallid by now, and he was backing away. Julia didn't turn or acknowledge Tristan's gesture in any way. At the moment, she was completely oblivious to him as a male, to the raw, masculine intent surging through his veins. He might as well have been a tree stump for all the attention she paid him. Every combative bone in his body demanded he act. Immediately!

  By Elliea, he would make her want him.

  To Peter, he barked, "You will leave us now."

  The puny man blanched further, inched another step backward and held up his hands in a peace offering. "I was just on my way home. I swear to God I barely even looked at Julia."

  "Please stay," Julia said with a shaky smile. "This will only take a second. My… brother and I just need to chat."

  "No, really. I should go."

  "Stay!" she commanded with such determination that he froze in place. She whipped around and pinned Tristan with a glare. "I don't appreciate you messing this up for me," she whispered fiercely.

  "I require my underwear," he barked, not even trying to quiet his voice.

  "Shh," she hissed. "That is not information Peter needs."

  "Have you forgotten our bargain already?" His lips thinned, and his nostrils flared. "The first parameter—you will not see or otherwise engage in any type of activity with another man while I am giving you lessons."

  Color drained from her face. "Peter and I were just talking."

  "Otherwise engaged includes speaking. That you knew. Mayhap I should bend the parameters and carry my sword." He leaned into her until their noses brushed, until their breaths intermingled. "Shall I retrieve the weapon now?"

  Still ashen, Julia shook her head. She blinked several times, watching him, gauging, as if she didn't quite believe what was happening. "You're right, Tristan. You are. But it wo
uld have been rude for me to walk away without saying anything to Peter."

  "You will be forgiven the moment you inform him that I am not your brother."

  "Don't ask me to do that. Please."

  "I have already asked, thus you will do it." The beast inside him had emerged, clawing and fighting and demanding immediate appeasing. He cared not at all that Puny Peter had already retreated inside his dwelling.

  "I can't tell him who you really are," she said. "He might assume you're my…»

  "Lover?" he finished for her. "If you will not tell him who I am, then explain to him that you cannot see him again until your lessons are complete."

  "He'll think that's an excuse, that I don't really like him. I can't damage his feelings that way. He's a nice man, and he doesn't deserve to be hurt."

  "So you will hurt me, instead?"

  She looked away guiltily.

  "I doubt a woman could ever hurt you," she muttered after a long, defeated sigh. "Go back into the house, Tristan. Please." He remained in place. "I said go back into the house. Now!" Glaring down at her, he waited for her to do or utter more words that would prove she was not as heartless as she sounded. She didn't.

  "I live with you," he said quietly, "and as of tonight, I sleep in your bed. I will be your lover, Julia, and I will make sure he never once crosses your mind." With that, Tristan spun on his heel and obeyed her command.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Your Pleasure Rests In The Pleasure Of Your Master

  Julia cursed under her breath as she stomped to the car. Men were sooo unbelievably stubborn.

  By ordering Tristan back inside the house without hunting Peter down and telling him the truth, she'd damaged Tristan's pride, treating him as a slave instead of a man. Yet her actions had been unavoidable. Allowing Peter to believe she had a live-in lover was not the best way to win his affections. Besides, she'd wanted to avoid all confrontation, thereby avoiding Peter's execution.

  In Tristan's black mood, Peter might have accidentally said something to set him off. Tristan would have unsheathed his dagger, and Peter would have dropped to the ground in a fetal ball, crying for his mommy and sucking his thumb. Then Tristan would have killed him.