The Pleasure Slave Page 8

  She paused. Surprised flickered in her beautiful fey-green eyes before she once again rewarded him with a smile. "Thank you, Tristan."

  "Do not thank me yet." He stood, then paced back and forth in front of the kitchen counter. "Lesson one will be how to dress properly. If the garments I found in your closet are any indication of what you normally don to impress a man, you need guidance. And this," he indicated her slacks and blouse with a sweep of his hand, "is attire only a man should wear."

  "We can go to the mall. It will have the largest assortment of clothes to choose from."

  "What is this mall?"

  "A big building filled with clothes, food and other necessities for the public to purchase."

  "Ah, a market," he said, his tone both wistful and resigned at the same time.

  "We'll go this evening after I close the shop," she said, then paused. She had to open her store in an hour. Just what was she going to do with Tristan while she worked? She could leave him here where he'd grow bored and execute something. She could send him back inside his box, but he'd hate her for the rest of her life.

  She wanted so many things from him, but hate wasn't one of them.

  She was going to have to take him with her, she realized with a shiver of anticipation and a shudder of dread. First, however, he needed new clothes.

  Having a pleasure slave grew more complicated by the second.

  Looking him over, Julia chewed on her bottom lip. "Before you can leave the house, we'll have to find you more appropriate clothing." Preferably something less sexy, something that covered every inch of his bronzed, come-and-lick-me skin.

  "What is wrong with my drocs?" he demanded.

  She gave him another once-over. In those leather tights, with no shirt, he resembled an exotic dancer playing the part of a rogue pirate, and perversely, she wanted him to stay that way. Except, equally perverse, she didn't want any other woman seeing him like that.

  "They're too tight," she informed him. "I can see the outline of your...your...I can just see things I'm not supposed to see, okay?"

  His arms crossed over his chest, and he uttered a patronizing snort. "If a warrior's clothes are loose, they are easily grabbed by his enemy."

  "We're not at war."

  "Silly dragon. Enemies are all around us, some seen, some hidden."

  "Fine," she said on a sigh. "Keep your pants. You still need a shirt, though."

  "Mayhap it would be easier if we simply stripped naked and stayed here."

  "No!" she shouted, though her body screamed, Yes. Oh, yes.

  "Will you find me appropriate attire, little dragon?" His voice was pure, unadulterated sin, and seemed to suggest he could wear her.

  Images of her naked body covering him, of her arms draped around his shoulders and her legs wound around his waist, flashed inside her mind. A delicious shiver danced along her spine, and she sucked her lip into her mouth.

  "Do not do that," he suddenly growled, all traces of seduction gone.

  Confused by his abrupt mood shift, Julia blinked up at him. "Don't do what?" Don't imagine myself draped over your hot, sweaty body? Too late.

  "Do not bite your lip. It is bad for you."

  "It is not."

  "If you continue, I might add another parameter. No biting of the lips--I mean, no biting of your own lip. You may bite me as much as you like," he said. "Now, about the clothing. I require that you fetch me a shirt."

  "There's a store a couple miles from here that's open twenty-four hours. They'll have everything you need." Again she glanced down his big, hard body. "I just hope they have big enough sizes."

  "We will leave immediately." Without waiting for her reply, he pivoted on his heel and stalked to the door.

  "Wait!" Julia leapt up and bolted after him. She grabbed his arm, a puny action, really, when dealing with a man his size, but it had the desired affect. He stopped.

  "You can't go," she told him. Thankfully, she'd only be gone an hour, probably less, and that didn't leave much time for him to get into trouble.

  He faced her, both brows winged upward. She'd known him such a short time and already she could judge his moods. Arched eyebrows meant one of two things: He was confused, or he was angry. Either way, she suffered.

  "Why not?" he demanded.

  Angry. Definitely angry. Hoping to soothe him, she gentled her tone. "Here in America, we can't go into a business establishment without being completely covered. We have a policy of no shirt, no shoes, no service."

  "This policy mentions nothing of leg coverings. Does this mean that once you find me a shirt and shoes, I must remove my drocs?"

  Hormone overdrive, she thought. "You must wear all three items at the same time."

  "I do not like the rules of your world."

  "You may not like them, but you still have to obey them. So you'll stay here, and I'll go. No exceptions. When I return, you'll change and then we'll go to my store."

  "This I will not allow, for a woman must never travel alone."

  "I know how to take down a bad guy."

  "Your karate would not hurt a defenseless babe."

  "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Now, if I'm going to open the shop on time, I have to hurry. You'd only get in the way. And for your information, I am a black belt, the most lethal of all." A small lie, really. She did own a black belt--it was leather with silver tassels at the end. "You will stay here." Cringing inside and hating her next words, she straightened her shoulders and stared up at him. "I--command it."

  His jaw hardened instantly, and the heat in his eyes became glazed with frost, turning the violet to icy steel. He no longer resembled the warrior she'd come to desire, but the slave he professed himself to be. Disappointment thundered through her, as potent and alive as her sudden sorrow.

  "I shall do as you command, of course," he said, his tone devoid of emotion.

  How could he look so...cold, almost brutal in his lack of sentiment? I have to do this, she reminded herself. He couldn't leave the house dressed as he was.

  Knowing there was nothing she could say to ease his pride, she gathered her purse and keys. Tristan was a hard man, one who obviously yearned for the full measure of his authority. Though the curse demanded he obey her orders, he didn't back down until the end. She couldn't help but admire him and wish she possessed some of his inner strength.

  He'll have fun while I'm gone, she assured herself. He'll play with his sword, maybe take a walk...and demand to pleasure every woman he encounters. Fighting back a wave of jealousy, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe leaving Tristan here, alone, wasn't such a smart idea.

  She could order him back into his box. One heartbeat passed. Two. With a sigh, Julia again discarded the idea. How could she, in good conscience, ask another human being to lock himself within a tiny crypt? Tugging her lip into her mouth--and for the first time realizing how often she actually did it--she slipped on an old pair of tennis shoes. She glanced up, only to find Tristan watching her, his expression still blank.

  "I shouldn't be gone more than half an hour," she said, a catch in her voice. "Don't answer the door and please, please, don't use your sword on anyone."

  "Whatever you desire...master." He sneered the last. "Didn't I already swear not to use my sword in your home?"

  "Tristan--" She closed her mouth with a snap. He didn't want an apology, he wanted to go with her. However, she refused to change her mind. And as the ticking of the wall clock filled her ears, she slipped into her coat. "I'll be back soon," she said. "I promise."

  He turned from her, giving her his back.

  The urge to stay bombarded her common sense. Regret burned hot as she forced one foot in front of the other. Outside, a crisp gust of wind hit her full force. Going from contentedly warm to impossibly cold played havoc with her internal thermometer, and she shivered. After pulling the lapels of her coat closer together, she palmed her keys and hopped down the porch.

  Her gaze automatically sought her shrubs. Than
kfully, they were still alive. Her sister was fond of telling her that she possessed the Black Thumb of Death. Anything green and leafy that was left in her care was sure to die. Julia sighed. Tristan wasn't green, but she was having trouble taking proper care of her alien.

  TRISTAN FOUGHT against his fury as the silence of the house enveloped him. Julia had commanded her will to his again, just as he'd expected. Just as all the others he had served. Her careless disregard for his wishes made the beast inside him roar and paw for release. But he was a warrior, first and foremost, and a warrior knew when to allow the beast release and when to force him to heel.

  Right now, he would heel. He would obey and offer no more of himself than was demanded.

  He'd wanted Julia to be different, he thought with clenched fists. She wasn't.

  He would do well to remember that.

  He would do well not to place too much significance on the sweet things she'd done for him, on the fact that thoughts of her with this other man, this Puny Peter, awakened his deepest possessive instincts.

  Even now, his blood boiled.

  He needed something else to do, something to occupy his mind until Julia's return. He scanned the chamber. Mayhap he would assuage his curiosity and search the home from top to bottom. His eyes lit on the tapered window alcove that allowed the morning sun to flood into the room, and he nodded. Aye, he would learn the layout of the house, and discover more about his newest guan ren.

  Ebony framed mirrors with gold-plated edges hung at each corner of the wall. Bright pillows of turquoise, emerald and lavender were scattered across a plump lounging dais and a thick carpet draped the polished wood floors. A cobbled hearth sat devoid of any embers, but glistened all the same. A place of depth and hidden sensuality, most assuredly. The woman who had decorated this room was not cruel or malicious. She was bold and passionate and a maze of untapped delights.

  Unbidden, he felt himself once again soften toward her, helpless against the sensation. How did she do this to him? How did she tie him in so many knots?

  He sighed. The overflowing boxes that had failed to gain his notice yestereve now received his full attention. He bent before the closest one and shuffled through the contents. There were toys, clocks and silverware. In another were books--all had pictures of half-naked men and women and garnered much interest from him, for these were exactly the positions he craved with Julia. Him looming above her half-clad bosom while her lips parted with passion.

  In still another box were dishes, porcelain flowers and vases, all carefully packaged. A treasure connoisseur, she was, and no wonder she had purchased his box. She had recognized the value--of him? His respect for her grew.

  What else would he learn about Julia? Inspection finished here, he journeyed throughout the house, bypassing the kitchen, for he'd already seen it. Too, he'd surveyed the downstairs bedchambers. So he found himself padding up the creaking stairs and following a path that led to two bedchambers with closed doors. He opened the first...and cocked his head to the side, unsure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

  The chamber was filled with old toys and a cradle. A tomblike silence greeted his ears. The walls were white, the floors unpolished. And the next chamber appeared exactly the same. Toys, a cradle, a crib. Cracked paint and splintered wood. Below, she had carefully arranged her trinkets and furnishings to reflect a certain ambiance. Yet here she had left the room in disarray, choking the life from the light.

  A loud, shrill noise ruptured the silence, like a messenger of death come to claim him.

  Alert, ready for battle, Tristan raced down the stairs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Your Body And Mind Belong To Your Master

  AT THE SUPER CENTER, Julia grabbed Tristan a bit of everything. Jeans, sweatpants, T-shirts, shoes and underwear (in every style and all extra-extra-large, of course). She only prayed they fit. A man that big and that sexual needed extra room to breathe.

  On her way to check out, she passed the hunting and fishing section where she spotted a display case of weapons. One knife in particular drew and held her gaze. She paused, studying the intricately carved hilt, a pattern of slashes and symbols. The metallic blade gleamed sharp and deadly.

  She knew instinctively that Tristan would cherish the weapon. Was it smart to purchase a lethal blade for him, though? One so easily hidden? Drumming her fingers against the glass, she imagined his reaction if she presented him with this gift. He'd smile, then tug her into his arms. He'd plant a lingering kiss on her lips and whisper exactly how he wanted to thank her.

  "I want that one," she told the clerk in the next heartbeat of time.

  "Excellent choice, ma'am," he said. With a face smothered by freckles and bright, silver braces covering his teeth, he looked about twelve years old. The giant tattoo on his forearm--a squirrel eating a pair of nuts--upped his appearance to seventy. "The handle is a wicked work of art."

  "Wicked, you say?"

  "Oh, yeah. Totally bitchin'."

  She'd have to remember to tell Tristan that.

  Julia paid for the rest of her purchases, spending over three hundred dollars. "You better appreciate this, Tristan," she muttered, wheeling the basket to her car.

  Within ten minutes, she eased her sedan into her driveway. One of the bags tore as she lifted its weight from the trunk. "Argh." Frowning, she gathered everything together as best she could and stumbled inside the house.

  Tristan was perched on the living-room couch, his sword on the woolen rug in front of him. He leaned over the coffee table, his fingers picking at her phone, which was now in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle! Mouth agape, Julia dropped her purchases on the floor with a hard thump.

  "What have you done to my telephone?" she demanded, hands anchored on hips.

  "I have conquered it," he said, looking up at her with pride. Worse, his tone carried the unspoken words, Bow to your knees and thank me for this great service.

  At least he was no longer distant and emotionless.

  "I don't have another phone in the house," she growled.

  "Then my work here is done."

  What did I do to deserve this? she thought, shaking her head in bewilderment. She didn't kick puppies, or run over children who played in the streets. She lived an honest life and even made a yearly contribution to charity.

  "I thought the knowledge you gained from other worlds far surpassed mine," she said dryly.

  "That it does." He leaned into the pillowed chaise, his arm draped over the edge, both his hand and the veer of the chair curling like a lover's palm just after an erotic caress. He locked his other arm behind his head and slanted her a glance between half-lowered lids. The pose was carnal. Seductive. "There is much you have to learn."

  She heard his true meaning: There is much I can teach you.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer magnificence of the man. When she drew near him, inexplicable things happened to her mind and body, and she could never quite gain the upper hand. He had only to speak; hell, he had only to glance at her, and she craved the forbidden. Craved him.

  Physically, he was faultless, majestic and regal, and his wild fall of hair proved the perfect frame for his chiseled features. How easy it would be to go to him now, to straddle his legs and sink into--onto--him. To demand the pleasure he offered so willingly.

  Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because the moment their eyes locked, his nostrils flared. His sensual lips parted.

  She gulped.

  Change the subject, Julia. Change the subject now. "Um, I bought you some clothes," she managed to croak. "I hope they fit."

  "I'm sure they are fine." His tongue swept over his lips, an intoxicating invitation she struggled to ignore.

  When he made no other reply, she prompted, "Put them on. We need to leave." Staying here, no matter the deliciousness of the reason, wasn't an option. "We've only got twenty minutes to get downtown. I always open the shop at eight o'clock, and not a minute later." Well, except for yeste
rday, she silently added, but he didn't need to know that. "Oh, I almost forgot. I bought you a present, too."

  "A gift?" His eyebrows drew together, and a flicker of surprise darkened his eyes, chasing away his seductive intent. "For me?"

  "Yes, for you." Grinning, she handed him the bag that contained the knife.

  He glanced at her, then the bag. Her, then the bag. Finally he hesitantly accepted her offering. "I do not know what to say."

  "Don't say anything. Just open it." Eagerness flooded her veins, almost bubbling over. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

  Slowly he smoothed the plastic aside and lifted a long, shiny black box. With exquisite care, he withdrew the blade from the velvet center and studied every angle. The sharp-edged metal winked in the light and fit perfectly in his hand.

  Silence surrounded them.

  She waited, watching as his lips tightened into a fierce frown. Still she hoped for more of a reaction, but her excitement drained little by little. He didn't like the gift. The knowledge caused her shoulders to sag. Maybe she should have gotten him a leopard-print thong instead.

  "Thank you, Julia," he said suddenly, his voice laced with reverence. His lashes swept upward, and he pierced her with such gratitude she wanted to promise to buy him an entire arsenal--guns, grenades and all. "Where I am from, weapons such as this cost more than living quarters."

  He'd never received a gift before, she realized. How...heartbreaking. This wonderful man had lived over a thousand years, yet no one had thought to buy him a present. She sank to the carpet and rummaged through the surrounding sacks. After a few moments, she withdrew a shirt, a pair of jeans and boxers. Delighted she had other items for him, she handed him the bundle.

  "Here, these are for you, too."

  "I--thank you," he said again, then placed the clothes beside him on the couch and continued his scrutiny of the knife.

  "You're welcome. We need to leave in five minutes," she hinted. "I don't want to be late."

  "Tardiness can be a benefit, little dragon, especially if the time is spent in bed--or on the kitchen tabletop. Or on the floor. Mayhap one day you will allow me to prove all of this to you."