Gah! Caught in the act of spying! Julia stifled a groan of mortification and crawled out from beneath her hiding place. She jumped to her feet and smoothed away clinging foliage and dirt.
“Uh, hi, Peter.” She offered him a bright smile, hoping to cover her embarrassment with faux cheer. “I was just, uh—” Where were her wits when she needed them? “Doing some non-creepy. You know, crawling around in the dirt. For exercise. You get it.”
“Really?” He returned her grin and set his shears aside. “That’s the exact reason I decided to do a little gardening today.”
“Smart. It keeps your body and your yard looking fresh.” No. No way I just spoke those words. I didn’t. I’m dreaming. This is a dream. A nightmare.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, her humiliating, non-dreamed innuendo echoing inside her head. His too, probably. He was rocking back and forth on his feet, his hands jingling the change in his jacket pockets.
“Do you prune often?” she finally asked, willing to talk about anything at this point. “In the winter months, I mean.”
“I’m new to it. Well, kind of new to it. I gardened with my grandmother as a child. She died recently and I thought I’d grow some of her favorite flowers in tribute.”
“That’s so sweet.” Since she knew nothing about greenery, Julia said nothing more, too afraid of what might come out of her mouth. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he continued to grin from ear to ear as he covered the distance between them, closing in on her.
Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation, but she didn’t run for cover. Whatever happened, she would converse with this man, and that was that.
“I’ve been meaning to come by and see you,” Peter told her. His fragrance—pine needles and lemon zest—followed him on a scented cloud. “We’ve been neighbors for a few months now, but we’ve never really made words together.” A flush stained his cheeks. “I mean, we’ve never really talked. I’d, um, really like…I mean, I’d like to change that. I realized none of us are promised a tomorrow, and I need to live while I have the chance.”
If she could come up with a flirty response, and deliver it without messing up, she wouldn’t need Tristan’s help. Right? Right. Julia forced her mouth to open so she could shove her reply off her tongue. “I’d love to have a conversation with you, too.”
“That’s good. Great!” His hazel eyes glowed with approval, and he inched another step closer. “I must admit, I’m curious about you. What do you do for a living?”
“I own an antique store downtown. Julia’s Treasures. What about you? What do you do?”
“I work for the Santa Fe division of Powell Aircraft doing title searches on planes.” He noticed her confusion and added, “When someone wants to buy an airplane, I go over the title to make sure there are no outstanding liens. It’s the same procedure used for buying a preowned car.”
“How interesting.” In a boring kind of way.
“Very. I meet fascinating people every day.” He shifted from one foot to the other, as if his nerves were fraying more with every second. “Listen, I was thinking—”
“Julia will not be going on a date with you,” a low, sexy voice growled behind her.
Julia whipped around, but not before she caught a glimpse of Peter’s pale, horrified features. She wanted to assure him everything would be all right, that the muscular man would not be committing murder as his gleaming eyes seemed to suggest. But her neighbor’s sensibilities ceased to matter when she noticed Tristan’s arms crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart, and a dangerous, predatory light in his eyes. He bore no weapons save his fists, yet he needed no other. He had the skill.
“What are you doing out here?” she whisper-yelled.
* * *
“I AM SAVING you from yourself.” The moment Tristan had heard voices, he’d stepped outside…only to overhear Julia conversing with the man she hoped to entice. Raw possessiveness had ripped through him, and he’d had to fight the urge to grab several blades from the kitchen and slice this puny man into ribbons.
It surprised him, this instant, volatile reaction. He’d never felt more than mild affection for any of his other women, and he’d never cared when they’d entertained other men. How could he ask for monogamy when he refused to give it? But it was not mild affection he felt right now. Fury? Aye. Julia had told him an untruth, consciously breaking the first parameter of their bargain by talking with another man. Incredulity? Aye, he felt incredulity. Discarded and rejected? Absolutely. Julia hungered for the touch of a man—and it wasn’t Tristan’s. He growled.
His muscles clenched, his blood boiled and his warrior instincts surfaced in full force. Imagining removing Peter’s heart with a bare fist mollified him somewhat. What was so special about this neighbor of hers, anyway? He appeared lacking in every way.
Mayhap he’s kind?
Kindness was overrated! Except, it really…wasn’t. He’d learned it was the only thing that mattered.
Julia pivoted to face her neighbor, an apology swirling in her irises. Tristan’s rage resurged and redoubled, and he worked his jaw with a callused hand. Aside from their explosive kiss, she’d rarely acted as if she wanted anything to do with him. In fact, she continued to push him away, a completely foreign concept. Yet she desired something concrete with this man.
What if she truly loved Peter? The possibility bothered Tristan more than he cared to admit. Did she not realize love would make her weak? It would give someone else control over her emotions?
As he’d told her only moments ago, he would just have to save her from herself.
Tristan clasped Julia by the shoulders and tugged. Her back pressed against his chest, their bodies melded. He’d just staked a claim, leaving Peter with no doubt about the nature of his presence. That’s right. We’re lovers. Or we will be. Soon.
The puny man’s face lost all color, leaving him pallid and waxen. He backed away. Julia didn’t turn or acknowledge Tristan’s gesture. At the moment, she seemed to be completely oblivious to him as a male, to the raw, masculine intent flooding his veins. He might as well have been a tree stump for all the attention she paid him. Every combative bone in his body demanded he act. Immediately!
By Elliea, he would make her want him.
To Peter, he barked, “You will leave us now.”
The puny man blanched further, inched another step backward and held up his hands in a peace offering. “I was just on my way inside.”
“Please stay,” Julia said with a shaky smile. “This will only take a second. My…brother and I just need to chat.”
“No, really.” Peter shook his head, adamant. “I should go.”
“Stay!” she commanded, unrelenting determination saturating the word. As he froze in place, she whipped around and pinned Tristan with a glare. “I don’t appreciate you messing this up for me.” She spoke softly but fiercely, ensuring no other ears picked up her words.
“I require my underwear,” Tristan barked, not even trying to be quiet.
“Shh,” she hissed. “That is not information the rest of the neighborhood needs.”
“Have you forgotten our bargain already?” His lips thinned, and his nostrils flared. “You will not see or otherwise engage in any type of activity with another man while I’m giving you lessons.”
“Well, yeah, but…but…Peter and I were just talking.”
“Is speaking an activity?”
“Yes,” she grated.
“Mayhap I should bend the parameters of our deal, as you have done, and carry my sword.” He leaned into her until their noses brushed, until their breaths intermingled. “Shall I retrieve the weapon now, little dragon?”
Ashen now, Julia shook her head. She blinked several times, watching him, gauging, as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening. “It would have been rude of me to walk away without saying anything to Peter.”
“That is why I will forgive you…the moment you inform him that I am not your brother.”
; “What! Noooo. Don’t ask me to do that. Please.”
“I have already asked. Now the choice is yours. Will you comply or not?” The beast inside him had emerged, clawing and fighting and demanding immediate appeasement of some sort. He cared not at all that Puny Peter had already retreated inside his dwelling.
“I won’t tell him who you really are,” she said. “He might assume you’re my…”
“Lover?” he finished for her. Exactly! “If you will not tell him who I am, then explain to him that you cannot see him until your lessons are complete.”
“He’ll think that’s an excuse, that I don’t really like him. I mean, that’s what I would think if the situation were reversed. And I can’t damage his feelings that way. I just can’t. He’s a nice man, and he doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Besides, his grandmother just died.”
“Grow up. Everyone’s grandmother just died, Julia.” As her mouth floundered opened and closed, he added, “You refuse to hurt him, yet you are willing to hurt me instead. How is that acceptable?”
Her gaze darted guiltily. “I doubt a woman could ever hurt you,” she muttered after a long, defeated sigh. “Just…so back into the house, Tristan. Please. I need to visit Peter and apologize.”
He remained in place, glaring down at her. He couldn’t be hurt; she was right about that. Because he was already hurt, and horribly so. Inside, he feared he was a raw, festering wound with no hope for a cure.
His refusal must have crushed Julia’s patience. She stomped her foot and screeched, “I said go back into the house. Now! You’ve made a mess of this, and I’ve got to fix it.”
Another order. Another instance of Julia asserting her will over his, as heartless as all the others had been.
Isn’t that what you have been doing to her, as well?
He hissed. No, absolutely not. But…
Maybe.
He popped his jaw, not quite as furious as he’d been a moment ago. Unlike the others, Julia wasn’t ordering him around every second of every day, nor was she enjoying her power over him. So far, she’d issued only two demands, and she’d apologized the first time. No doubt she would apologize this time, too. Already guilt filled her incredible eyes. Besides, she had issued both orders only because other people were involved. First the crowd at the supercenter, and now Peter.
“I live with you,” he rasped, “and as of tonight, I will be sleeping in your bed—for your lessons.” By the time they were finished, she wouldn’t even remember his name.
Decided, Tristan spun on his heel and stomped inside the house as ordered, all the while willing the sun to go down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Your Pleasure Rests In The
Pleasure Of Your Mistress
JULIA CURSED UNDER her breath. She didn’t march to Peter’s door to apologize. She was too jazzed up. NO, she stomped to the car for a moment alone. Men were sooo unbelievably stubborn.
By ordering Tristan back inside the house without knocking on Peter’s door to tell him some semblance of the truth, she’d damaged Tristan’s pride, treating him as a slave instead of a man. Yet her actions had been unavoidable. Allowing Peter to believe she had a live-in lover was not the best way to win his affections. Besides, she’d wanted to avoid any kind of confrontation, thereby avoiding Peter’s execution.
In Tristan’s black mood, anything Peter said would have set him off. Tristan would have unsheathed his dagger or fetched his sword, and Peter would have dropped into a fetal ball, crying for his mommy and sucking his thumb. Tristan would have killed him, and Julia would have screamed. Other neighbors would have called the cops, and they would have inundated her property to study the scene. Someone would have discovered Tristan’s genie-like tendencies, and reporters would have flooded to her door, a Lifetime movie about her life soon airing. Her Lethal Lover or something like that.
Julia snorted in disgust. Men were not a prize; they were an affliction. A disease upon society. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single reason she should even want to seduce one. She was better off alone.
Alone. The word echoed in her mind, chafing against her deepest dreams until she admitted the truth she’d hidden for years, only taking it out to play on special occasions. She didn’t just want a man of her own. She wanted romance, complete with moonlight and candles. She wanted promises of love, soft, sweet music and slow dances with wandering hands. She wanted to feel beautiful, admired and gloriously special. And she wanted to make her man feel the same.
Mostly, she wanted a family of her own. Marriage, kids, the works. She wanted to be part of something. Did Peter?
Did Tristan?
She banged her fist against the steering wheel, her knuckles throbbing. Stop thinking about him! But, but…why did he act as if she were somehow important to him? As if her desire for him mattered? Did it? Could it?
Maybe?
Feeling lighter, freer, she exited the car, walked to the back and opened the trunk. As she rooted through the contents, she hummed under her breath. Minutes later, she found the package of black men’s briefs, extra-large, and sauntered into her house.
Tristan lounged on the living-room couch and, even in his relaxed pose, he radiated authority and consuming fury. Her temper might have simmered, but his has not.
She gulped. “I found your briefs,” she told him, placing the package atop the coffee table.
Without glancing in her direction, he replied, “Thank you, mistress.”
His steely tone cut like a knife, shards of guilt uncoiling deep within her. “I didn’t want to order you inside, Tristan, but you gave me no choice. You were angry, and I didn’t want you to take your emotions out on Peter.”
Nothing. No response.
“He’s not as strong as you are,” she continued, “and if you had hurt him, you would have been arrested.”
When Tristan continued to refuse to acknowledge her in any way, a sharp ache cut through her chest. Had she caused irreparable damage to his pride? Had she ruined their growing friendship? And he was her friend, wasn’t he? The only one she had right now. Her busy work schedule hadn’t left much time for girls’ nights out.
“Tristan, please say something.”
“Is that a command?” Clipped tone, each word sharp enough to slice through metal. But at least he’d spoken to her.
“No. I don’t like when I’m forced to—”
“If I refuse,” he interjected, cutting her off, “it will become a command, aye? And no one forced you to do anything.”
“No, it won’t become a command,” she croaked. “If you weren’t so stubborn and argumentative—or, I don’t know, if you ever took a moment to wonder if I could be right about something, you wouldn’t force me—yes, someone can be forced—to use the only card in my deck.”
Only silence greeted her. He didn’t look at her.
“Fine! Be that way.” She marched from the room, head high, calling, “Be a big man-baby pouter and wallow in your misery. I’ve got better things to do.”
* * *
TRISTAN WATCHED Julia walk away, hating his existence more than ever before. But, while he had forgiven her for issuing the command, and he absolutely planned to seduce her when he got her into bed, the hurt remained; he’d lashed out with the only card in his deck: the ability to punish with silence and unconcern.
He shouldn’t have punished her at all. She was right. They were forced to play the cards in their decks, and he had not listened to her…ever. He’d talked over her, and he’d told her how things would be, but he’d never considered the reason for her requests. That, he should have done.
She was an incredible woman, and the more he learned about her, the more he began to care for her. Care. For a mistress. Him.
Curse him, he knew better! She might challenge him, draw him and anger him. She might even confuse him with her illogical speech. And most times, she might simply captivate him. But none of those things mattered. With her, with anyone, everyone, he had to remain distanced. One
day Julia would die or mayhap even lose his box; he would continue on to another woman, maybe another world.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Relaxed. Tensed again. The thought of Julia alone, with no one to care for her, did not settle well within him.
Drawing in a deep breath and catching a hint of Julia’s sweet fragrance, he decided to take a moment before he planned his next move.
He leaned forward to study the portraits on the small table in front of him. In one, Julia perched next to a girl who was slightly older. They had the same dark hair, but Julia’s eyes were green, the other girl’s blue. Both looked young, somber and defeated. Julia did not resemble the spitfire he knew her to be. In another, the same two girls were splayed atop a bed of bright emerald foliage, their eyes sparkling, the corners of their mouths lifted in wistful smiles.
’Twas the same smile Julia had worn when she’d walked away from him moments ago. Wistful.
Pang. Pang. PANG. He could not leave things as they were, could he?
He knifed to his feet and bolted down the same direction she’d taken. What he planned to say, he didn’t know. He just knew he needed to speak with her now, now, now.
He found her in the bathing chamber, petting a plant that sat in the windowsill and humming. Pang. She was kind, even to plants.
Water poured from a spout, filling a tub with steaming water. Her hair was plaited high at her crown, a few tendrils cascading down her temples. A long blue robe covered her from shoulders to toes. She looked so tiny, so fragile, and he could not temper a swell of tenderness.
She jolted at his presence, then flattened a hand over her heart and stepped toward him. “Tristan? Is something wrong?”
What would she do if there were something wrong? Try to make it better?
Yes. Yes, she would. This woman… He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. She wasn’t plain, or cute, or pretty, or anything else he’d previously thought. She was exquisite. Gorgeous beyond measure. She was life, the epitome of beauty, and it almost hurt to gaze upon her.
In that moment, he felt unworthy of her glance.
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