“Um, excuse me,” Julia said, all traces of humor gone. “That’s my stuff you’re going through. My personal belongings.”
“Your personal belongings need organization. Ten monsters could hide in here, and you’d never know it.”
“My closet is not a clown car. Also, no monsters are hiding inside it. I know because I double check every night,” she muttered.
He emerged holding a yellow, green and orange floral-print gown. A large mass of painted foliage covered one side. “This is the most hideous garment I have ever beheld. Do your people truly wear such things?”
She lifted her nose high into the air, and he had the distinct impression she prepared to give him another lecture. She didn’t. She settled for, “That’s an authentic baby doll dress from the sixties.”
“It is authentic dung.” He knew his eyes were gleaming with mirth as he tossed the gown at her. “Put it on. I want to see it in all its glory.”
“I most certainly will not put it on,” she said, catching the material with a humph. “Why don’t you wear it and look in a mirror? Now you’ve checked my room. It’s time to go nighty-night.”
“I have not barred the room against supernatural threats.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What if a witch ghosts through the wall and tries to boil you alive?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll smack her over the head with her broom.”
“What if demons of the night attack?”
“I’ll scream my head off, and you can come running.”
He clicked his tongue. “If I were with you, little dragon, you would scream—again and again. Since you will be alone, you will do nothing but imagine.” Tristan left her with those words, firmly shutting the door behind him.
* * *
CURSE THAT MAN, Julia thought.
You will do nothing but imagine, he’d said. Sadly, he’d been right.
All through the night she tossed and turned, imagining his naked body pressed against hers, his tongue and hands doing wicked things to her. In her fantasies, she’d been a wild woman. Totally insatiable. She’d clawed at his back, shouted his name with abandon and sucked his entire length into her mouth.
In her dream, she’d whispered, “More. Give me more.”
“For you and no other,” he’d replied silkily.
“Harder. Harder,” she’d begged.
He’d softly laughed. “Oh, but I do love to please you.”
“No talk. Only pleasure.”
Several times she’d almost cried out for him to beg him to turn her dreams into reality. In the end, though, she’d suffered in silence. She would be a job to him, nothing less, nothing more. No, not a job. A chore. A chore he could not refuse if he so desired. Or didn’t desire. No thanks.
Her body might crave the man, but her pride demanded she be with someone who truly wanted her. Anything less would be pathetic.
In a secret part of her heart, she’d always longed for a fairy-tale existence. A man who considered her the most beautiful woman in the world, who laughed at her jokes and found her intellect sparkling. A bit much? Probably. But her dream of happily-ever-after had never faded and would never fade.
There had to be someone out there for her. Please let there be someone out there for me. If she found him, maybe then she could finally, blessedly find her sense of contentment.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the type of man who might find her desirable, yet wouldn’t intimidate her—argh! Why was she seeing Tristan? He would never qualify. After wiping her mind, she—argh! Tristan. Trying again. There. Better. His features were plain, but he had an easy, gentle smile. Height-wise, he was below average, not much taller than she. He was kind and tender and maybe a little shyer than Julia. Most importantly, he never once made her feel stupid or unattractive or unworthy. He was as grateful for her as she was for him.
Was that asking for too much?
“No, it’s not,” she muttered. In fact, the more she considered this paragon of virtue, the more he took the shape of her new next-door neighbor, Peter. Peter had brown hair, kind hazel eyes, and constantly flashed a good-natured grin. She’d liked him from the moment they’d met. He hadn’t triggered her shyness. Instead, she’d always felt comfortable in his presence. Maybe because he was shy, too. The only problem was, the few times they’d spoken, Peter hadn’t really shown any romantic interest in her.
Maybe he was too shy, and she needed to make the first move?
A sigh parted her lips. How would Peter react if she called and asked him out on a date? Fall to his knees and thank her? Or demand she never call him again?
In a spurt of determination, she decided she didn’t care how he reacted. She would simply pick up the phone and invite him to dinner. Now. Today. This very second.
Well, maybe in the morning.
Confidence swiftly draining, she burrowed deeper into the covers and recalled the first and only date she’d ever been on. She’d been sixteen, much shyer than she was now, but also kind of mischievous. Brian Davidson, the most popular boy in school, had invited her to dinner. Since she’d had a crush on him for years, she foolishly agreed.
The night of their date, they’d shared a pizza at the local hangout and talked about their lives. He’d treated her with such care, had been so complimentary, she’d floated on a rainbow of dreams, imagining the flowers, candy and romance in her future. She’d placed no significance on his glances to the door, or on his laugh, which had been a little too forced.
Later in the evening, Brian had driven her to his home. They’d been alone, his parents out of town. They’d talked some more, and Julia had admitted how much she liked him, how she wanted her first time to be with him. He’d smiled, his eyes cold, and leaned down to kiss her. A heartbeat before his lips had met hers, making all her dreams come true, she’d heard a deep voice say, “Gross, Bri. You’re not actually going to kiss Julie Ghoulie, are you? We dared you to be seen with her in public, not to make out with her.”
Hunter Stevens, Brian’s best friend, had come running into the room, three other boys behind him. All of them doubled over, laughing and pointing at her.
“Brian, you’re so wonderful,” one of the boys had mimicked. “Man, if I heard her say that one more time, I was going to puke.”
Brian had jerked back, his gaze darting guiltily. “I had to shut her up, didn’t I? What took you guys so damn long? Another second and I would’ve had to do something desperate.”
While the boys continued to taunt her, Julia had gathered what little remained of her pride and sprinted out of the house. Each step home, the dam holding her emotions together had cracked. Finally, humiliation and despair had consumed her, and she’d sunk to the ground, sobbing until her tear ducts threatened to burst from the strain.
That one night had destroyed every ounce of self-confidence she’d possessed—and there hadn’t been much to begin with. She’d been shy before, but she’d soon become the tongue-tied idiot she was today.
How could a man fall in love with a plain, jittery, awkward woman who didn’t even love herself?
Trick question. He couldn’t. But…
What if she learned to love herself? Her shoulders straightened, and she blinked up at the ceiling, hope unfurling in her stomach. Yes. Yes! She could learn to love herself. Tristan could help her. He possessed a vast amount of experience when it came to dealing with the opposite sex, and she could make use of that knowledge. Not the way he was used to, of course, spending hour upon hour burning up the sheets, but in a better way.
Better? Fine! Make that a more productive way. He could teach her how to attract a man… How to attract Peter, or someone like him.
And if she didn’t dream about her neighbor the way she dreamed about Tristan, well, that was her cross to bear. She needed a man like Peter. They were more similar, both reserved and lonely, plain and inexperienced.
The question was, would Tristan be willing to help her? She absolutely refused to force him under the pleasure
slave code of behavior. Unsure, Julia stared out the window, a pillow clutched to her chest. Stars twinkled in the black velvet sky. Tristan had made his intentions toward her very clear. She was his master, so of course she belonged in bed with him. But he didn’t really want her. He just wanted something to do. Why else would he check the locks on her window?
Um, maybe he’s as lonely as you and Peter?
Tristan? Lonely? No way. Bored was a better word. So why was she sweating this? No doubt he would be ecstatic when she asked him to help her entice another man.
CHAPTER SIX
A Slave Must Never Hesitate
When Given An Order
SUNLIGHT POKED BONY fingers through Julia’s bathroom window, brightening the spacious haven but also highlighting her fatigue. She stared at her pale, tired reflection in the vanity mirror. Bloodshot eyes with dilated pupils. Red, puffy lips, thanks to excessive chewing. “Stress” skin, pink and blotchy.
A leisurely shower had done nothing to improve her I’ve-been-up-all-night-imagining-Tristan-naked appearance.
“Coffee,” she croaked. Her mouth watered in homage to the beverage. “I need coffee.” Then, she would talk to Tristan about Peter.
Just thinking about the upcoming conversation caused her stomach to churn with anxiety all over again. She tried to ignore the discomfort. Nothing had changed; there was no reason to agonize. If she treated Tristan as sweet as a brownie-fudge sundae with extra whipped cream, using lots of smiles and a gentle tone of voice, he couldn’t refuse her.
Unless he secretly wanted to make her miserable? What did she know? He might despise anyone who owned his box. No telling what other owners had demanded he do.
Great! Now her stomach churned faster.
Focus, Julia. You can do this. You can. Determined, she wound her damp hair in a ponytail, shimmied into a pair of beige dress slacks and a white button-down shirt, all super professional, and strode to the door.
Sweet as a sundae, sweet as a sundae, sweet as a freaking sundae….
Two steps into the hall, her foot knocked into a large immobile object. She toppled, plummeting face first and landing with a thud on the hardwood floor. Air shot from her lungs like a Fourth of July rocket. A little dazed and a lot confused, she shook her head and blinked rapidly. Only when she recaptured her breath did her vision clear.
Wait. Was that…it was! Tristan’s sword lay directly in front of her, glistening with menace.
“Julia,” he said, concern tingeing his voice. He was behind her, easing to an upright position. “Speak to me. Tell me you are unharmed.”
“Why were you sleeping on the floor?” She popped to her feet. “Is something wrong with the guest bedroom?”
“I can answer both questions with the same answer. I wished to be near you.”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “We need to find a place to stash your sword, once and for all.” She’d almost sliced herself in half!
“No need.” He picked up the sword and stood, then took Julia’s hand and led her to the kitchen. He tapped the weapon’s tip to the trinket box. The air around both wavered, thickening like dappled water. A second later, the silver metal vanished in a puff of smoke. “It’s done,” he said.
Maybe she’d gotten used to the spectacular. The disappearing act didn’t register as weird or anything. All right. Now that the weapon of doom was out of sight, they could start this day over again. Sweet as a sundae, remember? “We have to talk.” Gentle voice. Bright smile. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
He tensed. Because he dreaded what she would say, or because he anticipated her words? “My attention is yours.” He braced his legs apart and folded his arms over his chest. A pre-battle stance, no doubt. “You may begin.”
She was supposedly in charge here, yet he kept issuing orders. Running a hand down the length of her ponytail, she compiled a quick speech. She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released each molecule of air. “In America, when a man and woman are attracted to each other, they begin to date. A single date might include a romantic dinner, followed by a walk on the beach, or a—”
“Halt there, little dragon,” he said, raising a hand. “We must eat ere you lecture me, for I am in desperate need of sustenance.”
She frowned. “I’ll have you know I do not lecture. I simply state facts.”
“These facts can be stated after we dine, aye?”
“Aye. I mean, yes,” she told him like a good little brownie sundae. But her nervous system might collapse by then.
She grabbed a blueberry muffin from the counter and offered it as if it were a priceless treasure. “Here you go…” Her words tapered to quiet. A shaft of light illuminated Tristan’s hair, creating a glossy halo around his face. He was Hercules come to life just then, only he had a bigger…well, a bigger everything.
Look away before you start shivering.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the muffin with a frown of confusion. “I expected to cook something for us both.”
“No worries. I’ll take care of it.” She began her morning ritual. Fill coffeepot with water. Drain water into percolator. Scoop grounds.
“Sit,” Tristan ordered. He set his muffin aside and pried the coffee tin from her hands—an action no one else had ever done and lived to tell the tale. His fingertips brushed her palm, sending shafts of electricity up her arm. “I shall do this duty.”
She gulped and pulled away, rubbing the still-tingling skin. “Do you know how to make coffee?”
His features lit with wry amusement. “The knowledge I gained on other planets far surpasses that of your Am-erica.”
“But your knowledge stems from almost a century ago,” she pointed out.
“Aye. So, I’m probably a century or two ahead.”
A century? Or two?! “So you know what to do? I just want to be clear, because your life hangs in the balance.”
He canted his head to the side, studying her expression. “You would kill me if I failed in this task?”
“What? No! I just meant—never mind. No, I won’t kill you. Not now, not ever.” Without another word, Julia plopped down on the stool behind the counter. Since she kept messing up their conversations, saying the wrong things, she’d be better served with silence.
Her new position gave her a better view, anyway. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she watched the corded muscles on Tristan’s abdomen tighten with his every move. She watched his nipples pucker in the cool, early morning air. Then she watched him saunter across the tile barefoot and stop at the faucet, revealing his naked back.
She gasped, horrified. To cover the piercing sound, she forced a cough. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice, allowing her to study his bare back in more detail. Thick, jagged scars laced every inch of flesh. Some of those scars intersected, some stood alone, but all were badges of pain and anguish. She’d noticed the slight marks on his chest, of course, but these… What had he suffered?
A small tattoo perched on the upper left side of his shoulder blade. A black symbol, utterly provocative and endearingly sexy. Another tattoo very similar in appearance decorated the curve of his lower back, dipping past his pants.
When her curiosity became too great, she asked, “What do those symbols mean?”
He glanced at her over the shoulder without the tattoo. “Conquer and destroy.”
How appropriate. “Is that your family motto or something?”
“That is the creed of all Imperian warriors.” Another over-the-shoulder glance. “Do you usually rise this early?”
She had to tear her attention away from him to glance at the wall clock. Six- thirty. “Yes. Today is a work day, so I have to get up early.”
“And yet you hardly slept last night.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “How do you know I didn’t fall asleep? Did you enter my room, Tristan?” She hadn’t worried about him in that way. A mistake on her part. In today’s society, it was better to always worry.
“Nay,” he said,
and she relaxed somewhat. “I heard you through the door. If you were not sighing, you were punching your pillow.” He cast a third glance over his shoulder, his pale, otherworldly eyes filled with wicked knowing. “I could have helped you, little dragon. One orgasm, and you would have fallen right to sleep.”
She nearly choked on her tongue. One orgasm… Oh, sweet goodness. “If you heard me, you didn’t get any rest, either.”
“I am used to going without slumber. In Imperia, if I wasn’t involved in a war, I was tupping my way through villages, debauching the sweetest maidens.”
I might have to try that sometime. The words registered, and she shook her head in surprise. Such a thought… Who am I? Had she always had a bit of a wild streak, or had Tristan roused one? “You were a playboy before you ended up in the box, then?”
“Oh, aye. Perhaps they were merely practice for you,” he rasped.
She gave him a thumbs-down and called, “Boo! No lines, okay? I’d rather be honest with each other.”
He stiffened, but didn’t speak. Once the coffee began to percolate, filling the house with the fresh scent of caffeine, he strode to the table and sat beside her, then consumed his muffin with the gusto of a man just off a year-long fast. When he finished, he requested another. And another. And another, chasing each one with a glass of milk.
He swallowed the final crumb of the fourth. “Would you happen to have another?” he asked, hopeful.
“Sorry. I’m out,” she said. “How did you eat inside the box?”
“Magic sustained me.” With a contented sigh, he settled more comfortably in his chair and rubbed his eight-pack. “All right. I’m ready to listen to your lecture now. You may proceed.”
But I’m not ready. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to—” Wait, that didn’t sound right. “My next-door neighbor is—” No, that wasn’t right, either.
“Go ahead. Say it. There’s someone you’d like me to murder, isn’t there, nixa?” He sounded resigned.
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