The Pleasure Slave i-2 Page 17

  "I am a man," he repeated. "A tiger. No woman can resist me."

  Wait. Peter paused. That wasn't right. Frowning, he strode to his nightstand and lifted his copy of Unleashing the Tiger Within. He flipped through the well-worn pages, found chapter four, and read, "Let your mantra be I am a man. A tiger. An irresistible force of nature no woman can resist."

  With a nod, he tossed the book atop his black silk sheets. "I am an irresistible force of nature no woman can resist." He'd already spritzed himself with pheromone cologne. He'd made cue cards with sonnets, compliments and topics to keep conversation going. How could Julia not like him? He gave his reflection one more glance, then growled low in his throat. "I am a man. A tiger."

  Julia stood in her bedroom, sipping her glass of wine. Unfortunately, the alcohol did nothing to diminish her fear of the upcoming date. "Try the mint-green slip dress," Faith said.

  A rush of uncertainty filled her, and her brows winged upward. "Do you think it's sexy enough?"

  "Oh, yeah." Faith nodded, an assured grin lifting the corners of her lips. "They'll be mopping up his drool." Smiling for the first time that day, Julia tugged the dress over her head and smoothed it down over her bra and panties.

  "A perfect fit." Faith nodded her approval. She swept a lock of hair over her shoulder. "Now go show Tristan. He'll love it."

  Julia's smile became one of eagerness as she padded to the living room. What would Tristan think of her in a dress? Would he beam and say she looked beautiful? Oh, of course he would, since he'd wanted to see her in a dress since their first night together. In fact, she could already picture the glint of appreciation in his eyes.

  And Peter would love it, too, of course.

  Tristan was sprawled out on the emerald-and-ruby couch cushions, eating frozen grapes. He looked like the Greek war god, Ares, before a battle, ready to strike down those who defied him, yet ever patient to wait until the perfect moment to act. All the scene lacked was a slave girl wielding a fan. She shivered and had to stop herself from screaming to the heavens, I'll take the job.

  "What do you think of this?" she asked.

  At the sound of Julia's voice, Tristan lifted his head and perused her from top to bottom. With one finger, he made a circular motion for her to spin. She did as instructed.

  "Again," Tristan said, wanting another view of Julia's backside. His groin tightened with need. By Elliea, she was beautiful, beyond compare. But the thought of her wearing such a comely gown for another man — a gown he had chosen, no less—sent a talon-sharp pang of possessiveness through him. She would not wear such a gown for Puny Peter.

  "Sooo… what do you think?" Expectant and eager, she twirled for the third time.

  "It is too long," he said with a deceptively lazy undertone. Confusion flashed across her expression, and she examined the length of her dress. She paused.

  "Too long?"

  "Aye."

  "Maybe you didn't notice the fact that I'm wearing a dress."

  "I noticed."

  "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

  "You should change." Then, with a lazy motion at odds with the dangerous fire in his veins, he sucked a grape into his mouth.

  Julia forced herself to ignore the twinge of desire that action caused and marched back into her room, announcing, "He hates it!"

  "Hmm." A frown shaped Faith's mouth. "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Well, try this one."

  Oh, yes, she thought, eyeing the red halter dress. Perfect. Tristan had seemed particularly fascinated with it at the boutique. She shimmied her body into the clingy fabric until it hugged every curve. Knowing she would receive a compliment this time, she strode back into the living room.

  "Okay, what about this one?"

  Once again he looked her up and down. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and it was becoming more noticeable by the second.

  "Too red."

  "Too red?"

  "Your hearing is excellent."

  "I can't believe this." She threw her hands in the air. "You think my dress is too red? That's the only thing wrong with it?"

  "What I think of that gown cannot be put into mere words."

  Scowling now, she flounced back to her bedroom.

  "What's wrong with that one?" Faith demanded.

  "He says it's too red," Julia replied, mimicking Tristan's I-am-master-of-the-universe tone. The next time she entered the living room, she wore a black dress suit, complete with neck sash. It wasn't red, and it wasn't long. It was the epitome of class.

  Just before she could ask his opinion, however, he raised an eyebrow and said, "Too confining."

  Forty-five minutes later, Julia wanted to smother Tristan in the sea of clothing he had rejected. No matter what she modeled, she heard a variety of refusals. "Too green." "Too open." "Too loose." Until finally she heard, "Too… You will not wear that, Julia. I forbid it."

  Sorely vexed by now, she stomped her feet on the way back to her sister. She jerked on a midthigh-length skirt and stormed back to the living room.

  "And this one?"

  "Too short. May I suggest you make a better selection next time?"

  "You picked out everything I've shown you. Remember our little jaunt to the mall?"

  He shrugged as if to say, You should damn well pick out your own clothes. At a loss, she and Faith ransacked the contents of her entire closet, grumbling about the pestilence known as "man." Julia briefly flirted with the notion of wearing the green-and-orange baby-doll dress Tristan had found the first night he appeared, but she didn't want to frighten small children. In the end, she settled on a lavender floral-print skirt with a matching button-up blouse, both of which coordinated with her bra and panties. The outfit hugged her curves and swayed when she walked. Not her first choice, but by God, it would be her last.

  She left her hair down around her shoulders, and for the first time in forever, she applied enough makeup to make the cosmetic company's stock soar. With her thin, strappy sandals in place, she breezed into the living room for the final time.

  "Do not say a single word about my outfit," she commanded Tristan, hooking her hair behind her ears.

  Again he shrugged, but the heated once-over he gave her said plenty. He liked the outfit! Delight chased away her bad mood, and confidence budded within her chest.

  Faith cast him a why-are-you-acting-like-such-an-ass glance, then turned back to Julia. "You are stunning, Jules. Simply breathtaking. Don't let the opinion of one demented idiot make you think otherwise."

  "I think she is lovely," Tristan said, "no matter what she wears."

  Julia beamed her appreciation.

  Faith looked radiant in a sophisticated black pantsuit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple twist that cascaded tendrils from the top. Tristan, sexy as always, wore a pair of jeans that kissed his muscular thighs, and a black shirt that fell open around the collar, revealing scrumptious skin that probably tasted as good as it looked. Her mouth watered, and she shivered.

  The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

  "That's him." Instantly butterflies unleashed a flurry of wings within her stomach. Even her desire for Tristan was overshadowed in wake of her fear. Calm down, she commanded herself. But the command didn't help. Still shaking, she smoothed her hair in place, drew in a deep breath and slowly glided to the entry way. I can do this. She tugged open the front door. A cold breeze burst past.

  "Sorry I'm late," Peter said. He offered her a shy smile. "I lost track of time."

  She returned his smile with one of her own. "You're forgiven."

  In his gray slacks and white dress shirt, he appeared sweet and bashfully charming. Yet the sight of him didn't affect her. I'm an idiot. He's perfect for me. I will give him a chance. "You look very nice, Peter."

  "As do you. You're like—" He glanced down at his palm, and Julia thought she heard him mutter "I am a tiger." Then he bunked over at her and said, "You're like the rarest of cacti that bloom a flush pi
nk only once a year."

  "I—thank you."

  "Are you ready?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with pride, as if he'd just climbed a mountain without a harness and survived. He leaned into her, and the strong scent of his cologne wafted to her nostrils. "I've been waiting for this moment since you called."

  Tristan chose that moment to step up behind her. Almost absently, she leaned into him. "We are ready," he growled.

  Color instantly drained from Peter's face, leaving him pallid and waxen. Shaky.

  "Uh… we?" he squeaked.

  "Peter," Julia said, hoping to soothe him, "you've already met Tristan, who has promised not to bite you."

  If possible, Peter's features became more pallid.

  "I've met him." Inch by inch, he crept backward.

  "And this is my sister, Faith," Julia said with a wave toward her sister.

  "Nice to meet you, Peter." Faith moved forward and smiled a sexy, fall-at-my-feet kind of smile. Peter ground to a halt. Lost in the sheer femaleness Faith radiated, he drank her in for a silent moment, his eyes half-lidded with admiration. Then, recalling Tristan was Faith's brother, as well, he became agitated once again and pulled at his blue-striped tie. Gulping, he looked back to Julia. "Did your brother say we are ready?"

  "Brother?" Faith asked.

  "I thought it would be nice if my family joined us," Julia interjected with a warning glance to her sister.

  What else could she say? Oh, by the way, Faith. I lied and told him we're all family. Or, Peter, darling, they're forcing me to bring them.

  "I hope you don't mind," she ended up saying.

  "Perhaps we should do this another day," he said. "I mean—"

  "No!" Julia wasn't sure she could endure another morning of predate jitters. "Today is fine. You'll have fun." I hope.

  Faith inserted herself between them and batted her eyelashes up at Peter. "Please, call me Faithie. Everyone does."

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea," Peter began again. "I have an appointment early tomorrow morning and need to—"

  Tristan cut him off before he could continue. "Enough conversation." A slight warning glare accompanied his words. "We will leave now. And you will join us. Understand?"

  A jumble of horror and fear, Peter simply nodded.

  "Peter," Faith said, breaking the mounting tension. "I'd love it if you walked me to your car."

  "Excellent idea," Julia said, desperate for a reprieve. Any type of reprieve. "You three go ahead. I need to turn out the lights." She spun away before they could protest. When she heard the car doors slam shut, she sucked in a breath. I can do this. I can.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Never Look Directly At Your Master Without Permission

  Julia strolled down a carpeted entry way covered with a red canopy. I'm on a date, she thought, still shocked and scared by that fact. Bright green foliage spilled from stone planters. Cold gusts of wind swirled and beat against the building. The moment she stepped inside the vestibule, warm air enveloped her. Peter tried to insinuate himself beside her, but Tristan edged him behind. They all followed Faith as she cut through a haze of dim, smoky air. Soft, lyrical music played in the background.

  A tuxedo-clad maître d' appeared and moments later they were ushered to a table for four in a secluded corner. High, narrow windows overlooked an immaculate blooming garden with twinkling white lights strung across the greenery.

  Tristan ushered Julia into a velvet-covered seat, then directed Faith to sit next to her. When both women were situated, he claimed the chair on Julia's left, leaving Peter the seat directly across from her, nowhere near touching distance.

  "Thank you," she murmured to the maître d' as she accepted a menu.

  Julia studied the selections while Peter quietly expounded on her beauty, her wit and her charm. He had even composed a sonnet in her honor. This was everything she'd ever wanted. A plain, shy man deeply and irrevocably attracted to her. But she couldn't summon a shred of happiness.

  Peter attempted to lean over the table to get closer to her—what was that weird scent her date was wearing? — and Tristan's scowl grew darker and more pronounced with every tick of her silver wristwatch.

  Thankfully, their waiter arrived. One by one, they made their selections. Peter ordered exactly what she ordered, the lobster bisque with stuffed mushrooms in red wine sauce. Tristan and Faith opted for the prime rib and lemon pasta—then Tristan immediately called the waiter back and said he would have both the prime rib and the lobster. After the man strode away for the second time, Peter launched into another sonnet.

  Julia thought she spied white index cards balanced on Peter's thigh, but she wasn't sure. When he mentioned the glorious sun-kissed locks of hair that framed her face as prettily as a cameo, she dared a glance at Tristan. His features were granite hard and tight in a glower. I have to change the subject, she thought.

  She gave Peter a tentative smile and interrupted him midverse. "Have you always liked to garden? I mean, I see you working with your plants so often."

  He nodded, and for an instant his eyes lost that desperate, I-must-not-stop-talking-about-you glaze. "I find peace among my plants and flowers, knowing that I'm enriching nature's beauty." He glanced down at his legs, then cleared his throat. "You know, you are like the moon and the stars."

  "Uh, thank you."

  "What about you?" he asked. "Do you enjoy horticulture?"

  "Oh, I love it," Faith interrupted with an airy laugh, even though the question had not been directed to her. "Not Julia, though. She has the Black Thumb of Death. Plants simply cannot survive in her care."

  Horror flashed over Peter's expression. Then he shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and offered a half smile. "I'm sure you have so many other wonderful talents, Julia."

  Before she could reply, Faith launched into a tale about an ancient civilization she dreamed of finding.

  Peter tried to interrupt her several times and shift his attention to Julia, but her sister wouldn't allow it.

  Julia propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hands. Here was everything she'd ever dreamed, yet she was sadly disappointed. She'd hoped, really hoped, that she would come to desire Peter at least half as much as she desired Tristan. That wasn't going to happen, she finally admitted.

  Not ever.

  The thought should have depressed her. Instead, she felt relieved. Peter wasn't the man for her, and she didn't have the energy to pretend he was any longer. Unbidden, she glanced at her sinfully delicious pleasure slave. Candlelight flickered across the linen-draped table. Every time he moved, shadows and light danced over his features, giving his cheekbones a stark, almost harsh appearance. She couldn't look away.

  I love him, she thought.

  Her breath froze in her lungs, and the nauseous feeling of hours before returned. No, no, she decided then with a shake of her head. There were too many complications, too many obstacles. Still… what if she'd done the unthinkable and fallen for a pleasure slave?

  What was she going to do?

  What was he going to do?

  From the moment Julia had stepped out of her chamber to reveal her new gowns, Tristan had been poised and readied to battle the male inhabitants of this world. Every garment she showcased had displayed her exquisite figure, hugging her luscious curves, revealing her perfection for all to see. Knowing she was now wearing a gown he had chosen, and she wore this gown for another man, still held enough power to infuriate him.

  He studied her now, in the smoky atmosphere of the restaurant, measuring her reactions to her date. But Julia was no longer watching Peter the Poetry Reader, he noticed. She was watching him under the spiky veil of her lashes. Why? He wanted so badly to know her thoughts.

  He cared for Julia, and he could not seem to make himself stop. Nay, he did not love her—he refused to love her, knowing he would only lose her—but she had somehow managed to sink her way under his skin.

  I need her in my arms.

  In the
garden, couples strolled hand in hand, soft music humming all around them. He wanted that with Julia, wanted her all to himself, if only for a little while. He extended his hand. "Let us view the garden, little dragon."

  Silent for a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip.

  "I'll take you," Peter said bravely, already standing.

  Tristan's gaze locked with hers, ignoring Peter, and he used the force of his will to quietly assert his dominance. "I will take you, Julia."

  With resignation, Peter sank back into his seat.

  "Peter," Faith said, brushing her fingertips over the man's arm. "I've been dying to ask you more about your garden. Let Tristan and Julia go, and you stay here and keep me company. Okay?" Slowly Peter melted under the loveliness of Faith's pouty you-are-the-big-strong-man-and-I-am-the-weak-woman expression.

  Tristan waved his fingers.

  "Come," he said, leaving doubt as to which way he actually meant the word.

  Julia placed her palm in his. Gently he helped her to her feet and led her through a pair of French double doors. They stepped into a glass-encased atrium. Above, the moon and stars twinkled like diamonds in black velvet. Antique oil lamps and flourishing cacti wove interlacing paths, broken only by the occasional alabaster statue. The air was cool and sweetly fragrant. He wrapped his palm around Julia's and they slowly meandered down the red carpet. Her body fit perfectly beside his. Vulnerability radiated from her.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked, giving her hand a light squeeze.

  With a sigh, she burrowed her cheek against his shoulder.

  "Peter isn't the man for me."

  Primal victory danced through him, but he managed to temper his tone.

  "And you have just now realized this?"

  "I think I knew it all along. I just didn't want to admit it."

  Tristan paused and faced her. He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek and hooked the silky strands behind her ear.

  "You need a man who sees the passion you try so hard to hide, Julia. A man who recognizes your generosity and your capacity for goodness. A man who realizes the depth of your beauty."

  She looked away, asking dejectedly, "Where will I find this superhero with X-ray vision?"