The Pleasure Slave i-2 Read online

  "Julia Anderson."

  "Well, Jules me girl, I'll be honest with you. I think you need this here box more than you realize. Great pleasure will put some color in your cheeks. Maybe put a sparkle in your eyes. So are you interested in buying or not?"

  Julia tried not to be insulted; she really did. She might not have any hobbies outside of work, and she might spend every evening in bed, reading sexy romance novels and watching made-for-TV movies, but she did have pleasure in her life. At the moment, though, she just couldn't recall where.

  "Thirty," a nasally voice said from behind her. Julia spun around. The Mustang's owner gave her a smug I've-got-you-beat-this-time grin. "I'll pay thirty."

  "Well, lass?" the salesman prompted, giving her a chance to outbid.

  After haggling for half an hour over the price, Julia finally paid seventy-three dollars—plus fifteen for the pipe. She'd been robbed. She knew it, just as she knew her opponent hadn't really wanted the box. He'd wanted retribution, and she hadn't been able to walk away without owning the "greatest pleasure."

  The moment she arrived home, an all-too-familiar anticipation filled her. She carefully placed her new purchases on the kitchen table, then gathered a rag and cleaning supplies. The bark of a dog pierced the air and the midday sun dappled through sapphire curtains covering the large bay window on the far wall. Settling into a high-backed gold velvet chair, she focused all of her attention on the jewelry box, cleaning every inch with painstaking gentleness. There was something almost… magical about it. And she would swear to God it purred every time she stroked the corners.

  Just as she began adding polish to the outer surface, she zeroed in on a tiny button hidden beneath the rim. Her fingers stilled and her heart drummed erratically in her chest. Excitement pounded through her veins. Would this open the lid? And if so, what would she find inside? Jewelry? Love letters? Nothing?

  With shaky fingers, she set aside her rag and pressed the button.

  At the moment of contact, lights flickered on and off throughout the house, dancing shadows and light on the rose-tinted wallpaper. A pulsating, purplish mist erupted in her hands and lit her entire kitchen.

  Startled, Julia jumped to her feet, dropping the jewelry box as if it were nuclear waste. Instead of shattering, it landed atop the honey-oak tabletop with a thud. She tore her gaze from the box… and froze in terror.

  A man—a large man—a very large man—stood just in front of her. He wore nothing more than a pair of black, skintight pants and—Omigod! A long, menacing sword dangled at his waist. A scream rose in her throat at the exact moment a hard lump formed, preventing any sound from emerging.

  Terrified, she scanned the kitchen, looking for a way out. The back door was bolted shut. The windows were closed. Sweat beaded across her forehead.

  It didn't matter that the man was, well… gorgeous, that his seductiveness hit her like an uncontrollable whirlwind. He didn't belong here, didn't belong in her home. Alone. With her. With her panic intensifying, she assumed a karate position and prayed with every fiber of her being she appeared menacing and lethal.

  Why had she never taken self-defense lessons?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  "I know karate," she forced out. "My body is a dangerous weapon."

  He merely arched a brow.

  He knows I'm lying. At least she could memorize his description—just in case she survived. Concentrate.

  Concentrate. His towering height pushed toward the ceiling. Inky shoulder-length hair framed a strong forehead, a straight nose and high, bladelike cheekbones.

  Yet it was his eyes that truly drew her attention. They were pale violet, almost lavender—wait. They were blue, a light aqua. No, no. They were emerald green. But that wasn't right, either. She blinked, shook her head and realized his eyes weren't one color. They were all colors, shimmering like a sea of constantly changing purples, blues and greens. Glowing with a life of their own, catching her attention until she almost forgot where she stood—and why she was standing there.

  Look at the rest of him, Anderson.

  His skin was bronzed, sexy and ridged with muscle. Lord, what strength! His stomach muscles formed a vee that pointed her eyes lower, lower still, directly between his legs. She gulped. He was like a savage romance novel warrior come to life in her home. Everything about him oozed carnality yet screamed with danger.

  He stared at her a long while before taking a step toward her. She recoiled. The chair stopped her retreat. A slow grin lifted the corners of his full, mouthwatering lips, revealing perfect white teeth. For some reason, the smile seemed less than genuine. Almost predatory. Her heart galloped then skipped a solitary beat.

  "You summoned?" he asked.

  Summoned this gorgeous warrior? In her wildest fantasies, perhaps, but not in reality. She hadn't even known such beauty existed. Besides, the man had a sword that looked like it could chop her in half in less time than was required to blink. He wanted to kill her, or worse, so no! Julia hadn't summoned him.

  "Me? Summon you?" Eyes impossibly wide, she shook her head. "I promise I did no such thing."

  He ignored her denial as if he hadn't heard her or didn't care. "What do you wish of me?" She had to escape. With the back door locked, she had only one option—the front entrance. Perhaps if she inched around the chair… She managed one tiny step to the right. Two.

  "Do I now kiss your naked body or let you kiss mine?" His slightly accented tone dripped with boredom and still managed to be the most compelling, erotic voice she had ever heard. Honey-rich, warm, like refuge on a stormy night.

  Even still, the word naked twisted terror through her stomach.

  She gained another step. Did he plan to rape her? She had to know, had to prepare. "What do you want from me?" Each word ripped from her throat. "Why are you here?"

  "To please you, of course."

  "I don't want you to please me. I don't even want you within a hundred yards of me." Another step.

  He studied her and frowned. "Do I frighten you?"

  Never admit your fear. Over and over her sister's words drummed through her mind. Never admit your fear. Julia gulped, inched to the right just a bit more.

  "Yes. I mean, no! I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anything."

  "That is good." He nodded. "For I would never hurt you."

  "I don't know you. I've never seen you before. And you're in my house." She gave a half hysterical, half desperate laugh. "I didn't invite you, yet there you stand. No, I'm not afraid. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all."

  A mocking smile played at the corners of his lips. "Then why, my fierce little dragon, are you widening the distance between us, even as we speak?"

  She froze, unable to reply.

  "My word has been given," he said. "I will not hurt you." Then he winked, causing her stomach to flutter. "Unless, of course, you ask me to."

  "No, no." She raised her arms higher, placing her weapons of mass destruction, aka her fists, directly in his line of vision. He didn't seem impressed. "I definitely do not want you to hurt me," she said. "I definitely don't want you here, either. I just want you to leave. Please."

  Looking confused, he folded both arms over his muscled chest. "I am bound to you. I stay where you are."

  Bound. "Let's not be hasty," she rushed on, trying for an easy, carefree laugh. She sounded more like an asthmatic running through a pollen field. "No one needs to be tied up, okay."

  "I have already told you no harm will befall you at my hands."

  She hadn't believed him the first time he said it, and she didn't believe him now. The man had a freaking sword the size of a small country.

  "Come now, little dragon. Tell me what you desire of me. Caresses? Erotic words?"

  Julia scoured her mind for something that might keep him from «caressing» her body and talking dirty while he did it. "Look, I just started my period and I have cramps and I haven't shaved my legs in three weeks. I haven't had a bath, for that matter. Trust me
, you do not want to caress me."

  "Then I will entertain you in other ways." He uttered a resigned sigh. "I am not simply here for your sexual pleasure. I am here to entertain you, converse with you and protect you."

  He persisted. "Shall I dance naked upon the table-top? Feed you by hand? Pose so that you may paint my likeness?"

  While all of those scenarios sounded quite nice for any other circumstance, they didn't appeal to her now. "My husband is in the living room. He's big. And mean. And he hates when other men come near me. He killed the last one who tried. It was a violent death. Very bloody."

  Indifferent, the intruder shrugged. "I am here for your pleasure. Not his. Besides, your husband's strength is no match for mine." His tone held no hint of pride. Only truth. "Unless that is your hope," he added, his pale violet eyes accusing, yet acceptant. "Do you wish me to kill your mate?"

  She almost fainted right then and there. "I prefer no one be murdered in my home," she managed to squeak out.

  "It will be as you desire."

  "Uh, thank you?" He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.

  "Decide what you wish me to do. I do not like this waiting. I will do whatever you like. To you," he added, "and no other. Not even your mate."

  The man probably planned to torture her—her, mind you, not her nonexistent husband—and he definitely planned to kill her. Yet there he stood, speaking to her as if she were his master and he were her slave.

  "I will do whatever you like," he repeated.

  Surely that statement was too good to be true. She arched a brow and studied him. "Anything? Anything at all?"

  "Aye." His jaw clenched, as if his next words were somehow painful. "Your every desire is mine to fulfill. Whatever will please you, that will I do."

  Well, she knew exactly what she wanted. "You want to please me? Then get out of my house. That's all I want."

  His eyes widened with surprise, then quickly tapered to half-mast with suspicion.

  "You have not yet tasted the bliss of my touch, and yet you command my absence?"

  No, stay and kill me, she almost shouted. Dying might be worth the price of this luscious man's touch.

  "Look, the sooner you go," she said, surprising herself at the evenness of her tone, "the more pleased I'll be."

  "Leave? Without touching you?"

  She held up her right palm. "I swear I don't want you to touch me."

  Everything about the intruder relaxed. He grinned again, this time wider, more genuine.

  "You shall have your wish, little dragon." With that, he disappeared, leaving a scented cloud of masculinity in his wake.

  Julia's eyes darted around the kitchen, going from one corner to the other. Okay, what had just happened here? How had Mr. Let Me Touch Your Naked Body simply appeared, then vanished? One second she'd been alone, the next she hadn't, and now, in less than a heartbeat, she was alone again. Totally confused, she sank into the chair behind her. There were only two explanations for what had just happened. Either a large man with very quick reflexes and a deadly sword had, indeed, invaded her home. Or she needed intense psychotherapy. After a moment's thought, Julia settled upon the second. Hearing the legend associated with the jewelry box must have somehow caused her mind to try to prove it. Hence, all that «pleasure» and «caressing» nonsense. It also explained the purple mist, because what fantasy was complete without erotic lighting?

  Relief surged through her, but quickly evaporated. A perverted killer hadn't invaded her kitchen. Oh, no. She was simply insane. Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Regardless Of Personal Feelings, Your Master Must Be Treated Respectfully

  Monday morning Julia opened her shop thirty minutes late—a first for her since she usually arrived an hour early. The problem? She'd overslept. All the blame fell on Mr. Half-Naked Body's massive sun-kissed, delectable, mouthwatering completely lickable shoulders, of course.

  All night she had endured vivid, realistic dreams where he did, in fact, please her body, touching her, caressing her. Pleasuring her. Several times! When her alarm clock erupted in its shrill ring, she'd simply been too tired to rise.

  At least she'd been smiling.

  She wasn't smiling anymore.

  With her thoughts so fixated on Mr. Body, she'd scratched a late Victorian walnut chair, decreasing its value by at least a hundred dollars. Next, she had dropped a 1950s vase, shattering the precious crystal into a thousand tiny pieces—another three hundred dollars in the garbage. But best of all, she had stepped in a pile of dog poop on her lunch break. Now, even though she'd scrubbed her shoe clean, the scent of puppy a la manure followed her everywhere.

  Julia uttered a sigh. She needed a distraction to keep her mind off this increasingly atrocious day.

  As if hearing her silent plea, an eerie whistle drifted from the back of the shop and greeted her ears.

  "No, no, no," she muttered. With a grimace, she massaged her temples to ward off the sudden ache. The store's bathroom pipes were acting up again. She almost stomped her foot. This wasn't the kind of distraction she wanted. Left with no other choice, she gripped the phone and punched in her landlord's number. After the third ring, a gruff, craggy voice answered.

  "Hello."

  "Hi, Mr. Schetfield. It's Julia Anderson. I'm calling to see if you've hired anyone to fix the plumbing here at the shop."

  "The plumbing's broke?" A stream of air crackled over the line, and she pictured him smoking one of his cigars. "When did that happen?"

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. Stay calm. Try to forget that you've phoned him three times in as many weeks about this problem. Could be worse, Julia. You could be imagining Mr. Body's luscious navel and the dark hair that plunged…

  Argh.

  "The toilet doesn't flush," she reminded her landlord. "The sink turns on and off of its own free will, and the pipes are making that noise again. Something needs to be done, Mr. Schetfield. Soon." She pinched the bridge of her nose, imagining another week of closing the shop to run next door every time she needed to pee.

  In such a prime location, gaining business from surrounding restaurants and boutiques, she paid an exorbitant amount for rent. An exorbitant amount she didn't mind paying because she loved the old Mexican-style building. Plus, she hoped to expand one day soon, and there was enough space here to do that. But Mr. Schetfield's miserly ways were pushing her to the edge of her tolerance.

  "I'll take care of the problem," he said. "Don't you worry."

  Since that was exactly what he'd told her the last time she called, Julia didn't allow herself to hope he spoke the truth. "Why don't you tell me how much you're willing to spend. I'll call a plumber and make sure he doesn't exceed your limit."

  "No. That just won't work." The old man's rough voice crept a notch higher. "I want my son, Morgan, to do the job. Good boy, my Morgan."

  "All right." She sighed. "Please call me in the morning and—" The bell over the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. Julia hurried to end the conversation. "Just let me know what time Morgan will arrive, okay?"

  "Can do."

  The connection severed. She replaced the phone in its cradle and strode to the front of the store. A tall pleasant-looking man dressed in a suit and tie stood in the entryway, a bewildered, what-do-I-do-next expression on his face.

  "Is there anything I can help you with?" Julia asked, drawing his attention.

  "Yes. Yes, there is." His lips lifted in a relieved smile. "This is going to sound strange, but I'm searching for a glass donkey. My mother collects them, and her birthday is tomorrow."

  "Any color preference? Or era?"

  Surprise flashed in his big brown eyes. He shook his head. "No. I'll take whatever you have in stock. I've been to six different antique dealers. You're my last hope."

  "I have two here," she said, her pride evident. "Does your mother prefer blown glass or etched?"

  "I'm not sure." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "
Why don't I buy both?"

  "Excellent choice." In the center of the store, Julia climbed a gray step stool and rooted around a shelf for the desired items. A few seconds later, the tinkling of the doorbell sounded again. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled warmly when she saw who had arrived. "Good morning, Mrs. Danberry."

  "Morning, dear." Mrs. Danberry, a regular customer of Julia's Treasures, gave her quintessential "old woman" curls a pat. Immediately the springy silver bob bounced back into place. "I came to see if you have anything new."

  "Yesterday I acquired a corncob pipe that I know you'll love. I'll have it ready for viewing in a few days."

  "Oh, wonderful. I'm still going to have a look around, though. I might've missed something the last time I came in."

  "Of course." Still grinning, Julia returned her attention to the shelf. When she found what she needed, she lifted the donkeys from their perches and eased to the floor. "Here you go," she told the man, bequeathing him both items. "Are these what you had in mind?"

  He palmed each one in a different hand. After studying them, he blew out a satisfied breath. "Yes, they are. They're perfect, actually."

  "The first is a seventeenth-century model made from—"

  "No need to explain," he interjected. "I'm already sold on them. You just saved me a lecture about a son's responsibility to his family."

  A chuckle tickled her throat. "Glad I could be of assistance."

  He tilted his chin and gave her a lingering onceover. He cleared his throat. "You know, you have very pretty eyes."

  His words, though innocent, caused her tongue to thicken, a familiar sensation whenever she spoke with the male species about, well, anything remotely flirtatious. She quickly lost her good humor. "Uh, I—uh — thanks. You, too." After that, speech became impossible. She tried anyway, managing another «uh» and two grunts.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

  Her cheeks warmed. She nodded, though what she really wanted to do was slink away and hide. The admiration slowly faded from his expression. He gave her a strange perusal, paid for his donkeys and left without another word.