Prince of Forever Page 8

  “No! Absolutely not.” She leaned over to grip his arm. At the moment of contact, he jolted, as if she’d somehow burned him. As she drew back, he latched onto her wrist, urging her palm over his forearm once again. “There’s to be no killing. I just…I’m trying to ask you…I need…” Her cheeks burned so hot, she expected blisters to form.

  Humor flickered in the depths of his eyes, making them appear as clear and light as an ocean at sunrise. “Whatever has put that blush on your cheeks has roused my deepest curiosity.”

  “It’s just that dating is…hard.” And so were his muscles. Focus!

  “This is beginning to sound serious.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Do you wish to ask me on a date, Julia?”

  His teasing tone scraped against her already-raw nerves unchallenged. Sweet as sugar. “Before I begin, let’s have our coffee. Okay?”

  “A fine idea,” he said, parroting her overly polite tone.

  Besides being too sexy, too perfect and a sexual master, he was a freaking comedian. Fabulous.

  “I shall fetch your beverage this instant.” He stood, turned toward the coffee maker, stopped, then faced her once again. He braced his back against the counter and crossed his arms, a favorite position of his. His expression suddenly serious, he said, “Have I told you yet that you look very beautiful this dawning? Your lips are pink and dewy, your eyes are drowsy and you smell like oraberries.”

  The compliments went straight to her head, fogging her thoughts. Me? Beautiful? No, no. On her best days, she was cute as a button, and she knew it. He was just being polite.

  Her mother’s voice drifted through his head. Plain girls like us don’t win handsome boys like that, honey.

  “What do oraberries smell like?” she asked, wanting to cry now. Please don’t let him say moldy cheese.

  “Like the calm after a wild tempest.”

  Oh. Oh, my. Even though he probably told every woman who owned his box that she smelled like oraberries, Julia felt herself melting under his spell. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she savored the words, whether he’d meant them or not.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

  “You are welcome.” He straightened with a snap and frowned. “What’s wrong, little dragon? Why does sadness radiate from you?”

  He looked ready to slay any dragon for her, and it only increased the sadness. He didn’t want to do any dragon slaying on her behalf, not really. No one did. If her mother had spoken truth, no one ever would.

  She wilted, her shoulders rolling in. Why am I sad? I slay my own dragons. That was a reason to celebrate! “I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine just as soon as I have my coffee.” Coffee made everything better. Or at least, it made her not want to crawl into a hole and die.

  Though he appeared disappointed with her, he nodded and poured her a steaming mug of her beloved coffee. Her mouth watered, but not for the liquid. Not this time. For Tristan. As he turned to face her once again, he was pure male perfection, his muscles so…yummy. His bronze skin reminded her of satin, rippled in some places, smooth in others. For a man his size, he moved with such grace and agility, managing to look both angelic and devilish all at once.

  And right now, he belongs to me.

  She licked her lips. For a second, only a second, she allowed herself to mentally strip him. Off came the belt. Down went the pants. Oh, yeah, baby! Now they were getting to the good stuff. Such a tantalizing taper of dark hair…so many rippling muscles…a thick, hard erection aching for a touch.

  A moment passed before she realized the big, hard erection in her imagination was actually big and hard in reality and straining against his black leather pants.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Her gaze jerked from his crotch to his eyes—hot, blazing eyes. Before she melted in her chair, she cast her gaze past him, past the window. “Uh, I was just—I—you—”

  “Were admiring the view. Yes. We’ve established this.”

  “No! I mean yes. I mean maybe. But there are rules on this planet, you know. Rules about being seen in public with an—an engorged appendage. For all you know I was deciding whether or not to give you a citizen’s citation.”

  He offered her a shameless, sexy grin. “Tell me, little dragon. How do you like it?”

  She gasped. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

  “It is a perfectly innocent question. I simply wish to know how you want me to give it to you. Hot? Most definitely. Sweet?” He winked. “Maybe. If you ask nicely.”

  She had trouble dragging in her next breath and tugged at the collar of her shirt. “Discussing sex at the kitchen table might be okay where you’re from, but not here.”

  “Julia, Julia, Julia. What a naughty mind you have. I spoke only of your beverage. But, since you have no liking for the subject, I will certainly discuss sex with you.”

  What! “Um, no, thank you.” Coffee. He’d wanted to know how she took her coffee, and she had assumed he wished to know how she took her penises. Was penises the plural of penis, or was peni?

  Well, her mind officially resided in the gutter, didn’t it? “I’ll take cream and sugar, please,” she offered weakly.

  Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he placed a steaming mug in front of her and returned to his chair. Grateful for the distraction, she latched on to the cup with a vengeance, blew on the top, and took a tentative sip—and almost gagged. Her eyes watered, and she bit back a cough. This was by far the worst coffee she’d ever tasted. Had he even used a filter? Yuck! She spit out a mouthful of coffee grounds.

  Tristan eased into the seat beside her, then swiveled her chair around so that she faced him. “Now you have your drink,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah,” she assured him, hoping her distaste remained hidden. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by insulting his “superior” beverage-making skills. “I do.”

  He chuckled, and the deep rumble poured over her as smooth as melted butterscotch. “You may begin your lecture, then. Your requirement has been met.”

  Julia slowly pushed out a breath. The moment of reckoning had arrived. Either she forgot her plan entirely or she asked Tristan to teach her how to entice Peter—if her neighbor wasn’t the man for her, then he’d be excellent practice for the one who was, and she could honestly use Tristan’s pickup line.

  Was she a woman or chicken?

  One glance at the chiseled perfection of Tristan’s features, and she knew her answer.

  Chicken. Definitely chicken. More than likely, her pleasure slave had never faced a moment of rejection in his life. Well, besides the ones she’d given him. Anyway. He couldn’t know how it felt when others make fun of him, calling him mean names, ensuring their torment continued even when they walked away. But she did. She knew. Her battered heart bore the scars.

  “When I said we should have our coffee first,” she told him, hating the quiver in her voice, “I meant the whole cup.” Though the thought of drinking the entire mug made her shudder. Owning her own shop meant she couldn’t afford an overnight stay in the hospital because of food poisoning. And did she really want a brutal case of diarrhea while she had a houseguest?

  “I do not wish to wait,” Tristan said. “I am anxious to learn more about this dating.”

  He did sound eager. Maybe he’d figured out what she planned to ask and hoped to double? “Okay, okay.” Concealing another shudder, she scooted her coffee away. “I have something to ask you.”

  “You have told me that much already.”

  “I have?”

  “Aye, you have.”

  “Well, here goes.” Julia mentally rehearsed the impromptu speech one last time and nodded. I can do this, she thought just before a jolt of pure panic shot through her, shaking her resolve. Her heart rate increased, her breath coming in short, erratic pants. Was the light coming in from the window suddenly brighter? “Do you like cinnamon rolls?” she blurted out. “No. What
about croissants? I make them from scratch and they melt in your mouth.”

  “I am no longer hungry.”

  “What about—”

  “Julia.” Her name left his lips on a sigh of exasperation.

  “Okay. All right.” She sat perfectly still and kept her eyes on the floor, focusing all her energy on her next words and managing to temper her trembling. Her need for romance left no room for pride. “Will you teach me how to seduce my next-door neighbor?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  You Live Only To Pleasure Your Mistress

  TRISTAN NEARLY CHOKED on his coffee as a gamut of questions swept through his mind. Astonished and praying he had misheard, he demanded, “Repeat your last words.”

  A visible force of determination surrounded Julia as she rushed out, “I want you to teach me how to entice Peter, my next-door neighbor.”

  By Elliea, Tristan had never expected this. When she had mentioned dating, he’d assumed she hoped to date him.

  Him.

  “What need do you have of this male, Peter?” He spit the name. “I am here.”

  She sputtered, opening and closing her mouth. “This isn’t about my body’s needs. This is about love. So yes, Peter is needed.”

  “Love?” Tristan scoffed, not liking the idea of another man winning Julia’s affections, and liking even less that he cared. “Take it from me. No man is going to love you the way you probably dream. Love is a myth. Love gives instead of takes, yet I have never seen an example of this, not in all the days of my life.”

  * * *

  JULIA BRISTLED, and if she’d had a sword, Tristan felt certain she would have sliced off his favorite appendage. She looked fierce—she looked prettier than before, an inner glow seeming to radiate outwardly. How was that possible?

  “Love is a myth for women like me, is that it?” she demanded to know. “You think I’m an unattractive hag destined to die alone?”

  He bared his teeth, fury pricking him. How dare the woman say something so ludicrous about herself. “You are perfect just the way you are. Lovely.” Beyond lovely. “Anyone who says otherwise will taste my sword. I just did not want you to expect true love from this neighbor of yours.”

  Lines of tension softened around her lips, and the knots in her shoulder muscles relaxed. “You’ve never even met him, so how do you know what he’s like?”

  “I need not meet him to know he is a coward. Did he have an ounce of courage, he would beat down your door and demand that I leave.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”

  “Such a thing would not stop me from claiming what is mine.”

  “Um, that’s the most illogical thing I have ever heard. Besides, we don’t go beating down people’s doors.”

  “You do if you are fighting for your woman.”

  “And you know this because you’ve had a woman to fight for?”

  He pursed his lips. He’d never had a long-term relationship, because he’d enjoyed variety. The more women he’d pleased, the better he’d felt, physically, mentally and emotionally. Now? Variety had lost its appeal. He wanted…what did he want? “I know a man will fight for what he wants, if he wants it badly enough.”

  She lifted her chin. “Peter will fight for me one day.” Her words were assured, but her tone was doubtful, even hesitant. “So will you help me or not?”

  Tristan watched her chest rise and fall, her breaths labored. Throughout the night, as he’d listened to her toss and turn, a dark, carnal craving had grown within him. A hunger that surpassed his every reasoning. He wanted her. Wanted to see her expression come alive with passion. Wanted to hear her cry his name. Wanted to luxuriate in her softness. Her warmth.

  But she didn’t want him. She wanted another man.

  I desire this amusing, compassionate woman, and by Elliea, I will have her. So help her win another man? Nay!

  “Why can you not lure this Peter on your own?” he demanded, then flicked his tongue over an incisor. “Have you tried and failed?”

  “No, I haven’t tried and failed,” she grumbled.

  “Why not?”

  A long while stretched in silence. She fidgeted in her chair, her cheeks glowing with more rosy embarrassment. “I don’t know how, okay? I don’t have a good track record with men.”

  “What do you mean? Did someone hurt you?” Fury sparked all over again.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just…I’m shy, and when I’m with a handsome man my tongue seems to swell. Speaking intelligently is beyond my abilities.”

  “You? Shy?” Certain she jested, he laughed. “You are many things, little dragon, but you most definitely are not shy.”

  Tendrils of her hair, the palest locks of all, escaped the band and danced around her temples as she shook her head in denial. “If I were outgoing and bold, wouldn’t I know how to talk and act around men? Wouldn’t I go on lots of dates instead of spending every night at home alone?” Scowling now, she stamped her foot. “I’m shy, I tell you.”

  This woman who made his body harden and ache, and who made his blood quicken, thought she needed help winning a male’s affections? Unbelievable. “You have done just fine with me.”

  “But you’re different,” she insisted.

  “What do you mean? I’m no different from any other man.”

  “Yes, you are. I don’t know how to explain it, but you are different.”

  Tristan wanted an answer, not an evasion, but the stubborn set of her jaw told him he wouldn’t be acquiring what he sought anytime soon. So he abandoned that particular line of attack for another. “Has Puny Peter ever tried to win you?”

  Her chin rose another notch. “No, he hasn’t. But then, I haven’t given him any encouragement.”

  “You mentioned love.” He had to push the words past his clenched teeth. “Do you love him?”

  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and pinched the edge of the counter, her knuckles bleaching white. “That’s none of your business.”

  “If you desire my aid, it had better become my business.” Unless she ordered him to help. But then, the moment she issued an order, this wanting would end.

  “Fine. Do I love Peter? No, not yet. But he’s perfect for me. We’re alike in so many ways, and I can grow to love him. I just know it.” Before Tristan had time to dissect her words, she sent him an imploring look through her lashes. “I need your help, Tristan. Please. Help me.”

  His teeth gnashed in irritation. Finally she proved that she was just like the others, putting her will before his own. Oh, she hadn’t issued an order, but she’d begged. Manipulated. If he turned her down, she would only insist. “I will do as you request, of course,” he replied, his tone stilted.

  “Only if you want to, all right?” Slowly, with an almost imperceptible motion, she leaned toward him. “I’m giving you a choice. I won’t force you to do this.”

  Shocked, disbelieving, Tristan could only stare over at her. “You are giving me the right to say nay?”

  “Yes.”

  How…unnerving. He tangled a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. Such benevolence proved stronger than any command, leaving only one choice. “I’ll do it,” he grated, wanting to snatch the words back as soon as they left his mouth.

  “Oh, Tristan.” With a grin, she clasped her hands, jumped to her feet and spun around. Then she plopped back into her chair with a happy whoop. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this, I promise. I’ll be the best student ever.”

  “I’ll do it,” he repeated, suddenly inspired. “But on my own terms.”

  Her grin slowly faded, and she lost her excited glow. “What do you mean?”

  “Our…practice sessions must have set parameters.”

  Her neck elongated ever so slightly as she straightened in her chair. “Just what are these parameters?”

  “You may not see or otherwise engage in any type of activity with another man until I say you’re ready. Not even
Peter.” Which meant she would never see Peter the Coward again!

  “I don’t think—”

  “I am the expert,” he interjected. “Therefore we will do this at my pace.” As he spoke, warrior instincts long denied sparked to new life. The excitement of a challenge. The uncertainty of the outcome. The urge to dominate. “During a lesson, you will do what I say, when I say and how I say it. No arguments.”

  “Now, hold on just a minute.”

  He never even paused. “From now on, I will sleep in your chamber.”

  She gasped, those emerald eyes flashing with outrage. “That’s not going to happen. I’m asking for flirting lessons, not Dresden crystal.” Seconds ticked by but he didn’t respond. He merely watched her, expectant, determined. Finally she conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine,” she snapped, “you win. Is that it?”

  “No. Finally, you will remember the first parameter at all times.”

  She folded her arms across her middle, causing her shirt to strain, emphasizing the fullness of each breast. “Is that it?”

  “For now.”

  “What about this?” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ll agree to your parameters, if you’ll agree to mine.”

  Tristan almost smiled. What would she demand? He had to know!

  “Go on.” He forced his lips to remain in a straight line, hoping he appeared stern, nothing more. “I’m listening.”

  “You may not date, see, or otherwise engage in any type of relationship with another woman while you’re teaching me,” she said, mimicking his domineering tone.

  “Agreed.” He refrained from mentioning that because she owned his box, he couldn’t attend to other women. That would have spoiled the fun. “I suppose.”

  Those emerald eyes flashed brighter. “You will treat me with respect at all times, especially in the presence of others.”

  He didn’t have to fake a frown this time. Her words irked his masculine pride. “That is something you need not ask for.”

  “Nonetheless, I’d like to hear your agreement.”

  He gave a stiff nod. “You have it. Always.”

  “You can tell no one of our arrangement.”