The Pleasure Slave i-2 Read online

  He hesitated but finally answered, albeit reluctantly, "Aye."

  "Tristan—"

  "Enough," he said. He was choosing to remain away from his home because… why? Was he afraid of Zirra? Julia bit back a sigh. If he would only allow himself to love and open his heart to her, the curse could be broken and he would never have to deal with Zirra again. How easy. How simple. Just love me, she inwardly cried. In his stubbornness concerning matters of the heart, he was forfeiting a life he had obviously adored.

  "Are you ready for your shower now?" she asked him, because she didn't know what else to say.

  "Nay. I am ready for our shower."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  You Own Nothing, Not Even Your Own Happiness

  Later, they found themselves in the backyard, a cool breeze dancing around them and muted rays of light fighting for evening dominance. Tristan's box was still locked inside the planter, where it would stay, giving them both a sense of relief and relaxation. They laughed, played tag and rolled atop a damp red hill. Because of the storm, the ground was soft and wet, and streaked them both with mud and raindrops.

  Tristan made a great production out of removing the mud and twigs from Julia's hair as she struggled to contain her laughter. Each time she smiled, his own lips would stretch, unbidden, into a grin. He did not recall a time in his life when he'd been happier or more carefree than he was at this moment. Like children they were, so lighthearted and vibrant.

  When their bodies ached from their antics, they settled on "lounge chairs," as Julia called them. Lying there in the cold and holding each other to stay warm, he shared memories of his mother and of the trouble in which he, a precocious and mischievous little toddler, had always found himself. Julia shared her favorite memories with her sister.

  "Before my parents split up," she said, "I once found Faith's diary, copied the pages and taped them all over the house. I'm still not sure if she's forgiven me."

  "Cruel, cruel Julia," he teased.

  "I had to do something to make her suffer." Almost absently, she picked at the ivory buttons on his coat. "My sister had sneaked into my room the night before and cut off all my hair."

  His fingers tangled in the thick mass, angling her head up to face his flashing eyes. "Such a travesty deserved a harsh punishment. You did well."

  He captured her lips with his own then, a hungry kiss that filled his soul and melted his bones.

  When Romulis appeared to Zirra again, he gripped a turquoise shard of the Kyi-en-Tra Crystal, the source of all their power. Smug secrets danced in the golden depths of his eyes as he angrily faced her.

  "Think you Tristan is the only man who can meet your desires?" he growled.

  "Aye," she answered, though a single doubt sprang to life inside her. She hastily tamped it down. "I do," she said with greater force, more for her own benefit than his.

  He blinked, the action somehow highlighting the smugness in his eyes. "Even if I prove beyond a doubt that he hungers for another?"

  Her stomach twisted at the thought, yet she had to know. "What have you found?"

  "Watch," he commanded. "See."

  He lifted the prism. With a few muttered words, multiple rays of color exploded toward the ceiling. Red, pink, blue, green, all brilliant and nearly blinding. They whirled together, colliding, mixing, and when they evaporated, she spied Tristan's image hovering in her air.

  Zirra watched him and his guan ren play and laugh. Tristan tackled the woman to the ground, twisting in midair to take the brunt of the fall upon himself. The woman smiled up at Tristan. He returned the smile with one of his own, one filled with joy and affection. Then he kissed her hungrily.

  Waves of emotion flooded Zirra, a sea of anger and fear, cresting with a relentless desperation so intense she wanted to shout You belong with me.

  "I cast a spell to destroy that woman," she said through clenched teeth. "Why is she still alive?"

  "Your magic was too weak to do much harm."

  "But yours was not, and you helped me with the spell."

  "Nay." He slowly shook his head. "I only helped you with your powers. I used none of my own."

  Pure hatred filled her. For Romulis or the woman, she wasn't sure which.

  "Kill the woman for me, Romulis. Kill her."

  Lethal fury smoldered in his gaze, and he watched her for a prolonged moment.

  "This is how you react? Do you not see these two are in love?"

  "They are not in love, you fool," she spat. "Otherwise, his spell would be broken."

  "Why can you not forget him?"

  Her nails cut into her palm.

  "I will forget him when I am dead, and no sooner."

  "Mayhap that can be arranged," he said quietly, deceptively, and strode from the chamber.

  Zirra spent the next hour agonizing over exactly how to acquire Tristan. She wanted his box, and to get it, she must first destroy his guan ren. But how? How did she accomplish those things when her magic continued to fail her? When Romulis continued to refuse her?

  The answer lay in Romulis. He could not refuse her for long, for he had given her his vow. He must help her.

  Scowling, she prowled through the empty, silent hallways, a meadow of arching walkways, sea-scented air and cool, midnight-colored marble flooring, a direct contrast to the alabaster columns that stretched to the high, high ceilings.

  Because she did not acknowledge the lamori gems, they ignored her, enveloping her in darkness. But then, she did not need light; she knew the way. Knew all the palace residents slumbered peacefully in their beds. Because of their magic, they assumed no one possessed enough courage to stalk their hallowed halls. That complacency might one day be their downfall, she thought disgustedly.

  Finally she reached Romulis's private passage. She did not bother to announce her presence. She brushed past the wispy sheers and stormed inside. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. Her breath burned in her chest as she drank in the image Romulis presented.

  He lounged in his bathwater, head reclined against the rim, dark hair in disarray about his shoulders. How utterly masculine he was. How beautiful.

  When he saw her, he unabashedly eased to his feet. Her gaze traveled the length of him, all golden muscle and virile hardness. Rivulets of water trickled down the ridges of his abdomen, pooled in his navel, then caught in the dark curls surrounding his growing cock. He smelled of elsment, an aphrodisiac to their people, and she tried to hold her breath against his allure.

  "What do you here?" he demanded with a calmness that belied the luminance in his eyes. He stepped from the opal tub and toward the bed where his robe draped the bottom ledge.

  Before he reached it, she closed the distance between them and gripped his shoulder. He spun around and faced her. Without a word, she pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of his bed. And he let her. Though he possessed the physical strength to stop her, he allowed her the final push. He fell, naked, splayed atop the silkiness of the black furs.

  Her legs suddenly felt heavy, and she wanted to sink into him. She fought past the urge and glared down at him. "You promised to help me. I demand that you do so."

  "My vow was not offered with a time constraint. I will aid you when I decide, not a moment before."

  "Arr!" she screeched. "You are worse than your father, always trying to thwart me."

  "Why must everything be about you?" Romulis crossed his arms under his head, his expression still relaxed, almost impassive. "What if I collect your debt to me now? What if I demand you forget Tristan and pleasure me?"

  "Have you no pride?" she said, the words somehow foul in her mouth. "You would welcome my touch while I imagine you to be another man?"

  His nostrils flared and his lips strained over the whiteness of his teeth. "Leave. Now. You are a greater fool than I, and I find I am tired of dealing with you."

  She stormed from the room. If she could not go to Tristan this night, she would just have to find a way to remind him of her own
ership.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Never Ask Your Master For Anything

  On Monday, Julia opened up the shop one hour and ten minutes late, which wasn't bad in her estimation, considering she'd forgotten all about her business. Of course, she blamed Tristan for that. The man constantly consumed her mind, body and heart. In bed and out.

  Perhaps some of her preoccupation with him stemmed from the fact that she'd almost lost him. That Zirra wanted him enough to hurtle him through galaxies and time, wanted him enough to destroy his guan ren's possessions.

  Perhaps the same worries lingered in Tristan's mind, because he remained at her side, his eyes always watching the store safe, where she'd locked his box. Neither of them had wanted to leave the house without it. He remained tense and guarded, as if he expected a monstrous alien to fly into her store and attack, which was exactly what she considered Zirra. A monstrous alien with a God complex who needed someone to knock her down a peg or two.

  The image of doing just that flashed through her mind, and she smiled. And as she smiled, she recalled all the other reasons she had for smiling. First and most important being the fact that she had a lover! Her. Julia Anderson. She'd gotten laid. She'd had so many glorious orgasms and had given her lover numerous orgasms of his own.

  Practically skipping, she went to the register, lifted the candy canister and selected several pieces—all of them chocolate. She deserved a treat for her fantastic performance this morning. The first one she ate teased and tantalized her taste buds, reminding her of Tristan. With her eyes closed in surrender, she ate the second, and then the third.

  Moments later, she felt Tristan come up behind her.

  "Stop moaning every time you eat those," he said fiercely, his warm breath tickling her ear. Awareness rustled along her skin. Thankfully, they were alone in the store.

  "Or what?" She turned to face him, her expression daring him as she fought a rush of sensations between her legs. "You'll beat me?"

  Gone was the intense guardian of the day. In his place was a man who only responded to the sensual. His heat bored into her, sending tingles of delight along her nerve endings.

  "Aye," he said. "I will beat you most soundly."

  The way he said those words made her long for whips and chains and anything else he might need to properly punish her. Where had this playful, flirty wanton come from? she wondered, amazed with herself. Plain, awkward Julia had finally become a tease! He looked so beautiful, seething with sensuality, life and carnal intent.

  Huskily she said, "Do you promise to make it hurt real good?"

  He clasped a stray tendril of her hair between his fingers and smoothed it from her cheek.

  "Whatever happened to the shy maiden who tried to defend her honor with karate?"

  "She took lessons from the master of seduction." Laughing throatily, she ran her hands up his chest. "It's too bad those lessons are completed."

  "How dare you say such a thing," he replied with mock ire. "The lessons were never completed. There is so much more I must teach you."

  "Oh, really?" Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip just the way she knew he liked. She teased the waist of his jeans with her fingertips, then dipped lower and cupped him. "What else do you need to teach me?"

  He hissed in a breath.

  "That there is a penalty for teasing your man. Later," he promised. "You are mine." Oh, yes. She was his. And he was hers.

  "Now, if we do not change the subject," he added, "I cannot be responsible for my actions."

  Though it required all of her strength, Julia pulled away from him. Her store was no place for a seduction. Not during working hours, at least. With a sigh, she glanced at her wristwatch.

  "My landlord's son is supposed to fix the bathroom pipes today, and he's—big surprise—late. Since your knowledge is so advanced—" she almost choked on that one " — would you mind taking a look?"

  "I do not mind," he said. He licked his lips with wicked intent. "That is to say, I do not mind… if you will agree to pay me for my services."

  Still thrumming with excitement, she flicked her hair over one shoulder and acted nonchalant.

  "What kind of payment?"

  "The lascivious kind, of course."

  She tried to appear reluctant, she really did. "All right," she said, hoping her tone sounded less eager to him than it did to her. "But only because I'm desperate to have those pipes fixed."

  "I will take great pleasure in the receiving of my payment."

  As would she, she was sure.

  "Just out of curiosity, have you ever done any plumbing work?"

  "Nay, but my knowledge is—"

  "Sufficient. I know." She placed her hands on her hips. "I should supervise."

  "Let us get to work." He pulled his T-shirt over his head, baring his body from the waist up. His deeply tanned muscles rippled with the movement.

  Her mouth watered because she knew exactly how that skin tasted. She'd licked every inch of it only this morning, and she knew he tasted much better than chocolate. If only he weren't so handsome, so beguiling that even the air in her lungs burned for him. Lord, not even six hours ago, the very body she was now ogling had been pressed up against hers, doing wonderful things to her.

  The man needed only to remove one item of clothing, and she was hot for him. No, the man needed only to look at her, and she was hot for him. Almost trembling with her desire, she followed him into the bathroom and watched him as he worked. She was struck again by the raw masculinity of his form, the panther-like grace with which he moved, even while doing manual labor.

  But half an hour later, she was jerked from her sensual reverie when Tristan began shouting curses at the pipes. She gasped when she saw that he had cut his hand. Concerned, she rushed to his side. Blood seeped from the wound, running with constant force.

  She had to bite back her fear as she grabbed his shirt from the floor and hurriedly wrapped the material around his hand. Soon crimson soaked through the white, and dripped to the floor. "I need another bandage. This one is useless. Do you still keep a spare set of clothing in your office?"

  "Yes. I'll just go get—"

  "There is not time. I'm bleeding too badly. Remove your blouse and hand it to me," he demanded, his attention centered on his wound.

  "Of course."

  Her concern for him increased. She tugged off her shirt and helped him rewrap his hand.

  "Now give me your panties," he said.

  This time she paused and bunked up at him.

  "What?"

  He winced. A little too forcefully, perhaps?

  "Give me your panties," he repeated.

  She studied his features, and suspicions grew in her mind.

  "Let me see your hand."

  "There is no time. I have need of your panties."

  "What kind of need?"

  "I am in pain, woman, and you dare question me?"

  She didn't doubt he was in pain. It was the type of pain that was in question. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and she knew her thin, lacy thong would offer no protection for his injury. Still, willing to play along, Julia cast a quick glance around the corner to make sure no customers had entered. They were still alone.

  Feeling daring and uninhibited, she removed her pink lace thong and gave the tiny scrap to Tristan. Cool air touched the heat of her, making her shiver. Delightful bumps popped up all over her skin.

  "There," she said, trying to hide her growing excitement. "Happy now?"

  "Nay. I need your skirt, as well."

  Not wanting this to be too easy for him, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  "What for?"

  "Come here and I will show you."

  "No way. You only get paid when the pipes are fixed. And they aren't fixed."

  "True, but this is just to inspire me."

  Well, how could she argue with that? If the man needed inspiration… A fog of anticipation wrapped around her as she closed the distance between th
em. Grinning, he lifted her up and placed her atop the sink's edge.

  "That is better," he said. With slow, deliberate movements, he removed the shirt from around his hand and tossed it to the ground.

  She stared down at his palm. As she watched, his wound was even then healing itself. The tissues were weaving together, interlacing and sealing. Soon there was no evidence he had ever been hurt. Her jaw dropped.

  "How did you do that?"

  "A function of the curse."

  He tugged her skirt from her body and dropped it with a whoosh. He held fast to her thong.

  "This is mine."

  "Okay. But you have to give me something in return."

  "Hmm, I like the customs of your world. What do you say I keep your panties and in return I give you your woman's pleasure twice?"

  As if she needed to think about that!

  "Sounds like a good bargain to me."

  Through the fabric of her bra, he circled his fingertips over her nipples. Just as it did every time he touched her, the heat of his skin seared her to the core. She gasped.

  "I want you, Julia. Are you too sore?"

  Yes, but need pulsed through her anyway. It was like melting, dissolving into hot flames.

  "I want you," she said, "and I'm willing to bet you can make me forget any discomfort I might feel."

  "Such will be my personal mission."

  He placed drugging kisses along her breasts, making her bra moist, causing delicious friction, then he flicked each nipple with his tongue.

  "Did you lock the front door?" she asked suddenly.

  He shook his head and gave her a soft, sweet kiss that captured her breath.

  "Nay."

  "Then don't make me scream, okay? I have to know if someone comes in."

  "If I cannot make you scream, little dragon, I am not worthy to be your lover."

  With that, he slipped inside her. Five minutes later, she was moaning. Ten minutes later she was ordering him to move faster. Fifteen minutes later she screamed over and over again, the sound echoing off the walls. Neither heard the bell above the door chime.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE