Prince of Forever

by Gena Showalter

  “Puny Peter?”

  “That’s what Tristan calls him.”

  Wry amusement gleamed in Faith’s eyes. “I wonder why.”

  “Tristan’s just—he’s—I don’t know,” she ended lamely.

  “Too jealous for your liking?”

  “No.”

  “Too protective?”

  “Yes!” She stretched out, lying down. “But I like him so danged much.”

  “Okay, then. Call Peter and tell him you can’t make it. Then, you and Tristan can spend the evening here. Alone. Together.”

  Moaning, she covered her face with her hands. Did she really want to give up, to admit defeat before the date even began? She just didn’t know. If only she were remotely attracted to Peter—there, she’d admitted it—the date might seem easier to bear. But noooo, she had to lust after a man who would cause supermodels to drool over his beauty.

  “No,” she finally told her sister. “I’m okay. I want to do this. I need to do this.”

  “All right.” Faith handed her a cool, wet towel. “Pull yourself together, and we’ll get you ready.”

  Julia used the cloth to wipe her mouth, then pushed to her feet. Her knees were wobbly at first, so she leaned against the sink for balance. Once steady, she brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face.

  “Come on,” Faith said as Julia dried off. “You need to get dressed.”

  “Not until I find my shoes.” Finding those damn black heels had become her biggest goal in life. Well, that, and surviving the night.

  “They’re around here somewhere. Don’t panic. We’ll find them.”

  They searched for ten minutes, and just when they were about to give up, Faith found them stuffed inside the dirty clothes hamper.

  “Do I even want to know how did they got in there?” Faith asked, holding the shoes between pinched fingers.

  “I must have been distracted,” Julia admitted, “because I can’t remember.” Now that her shoes were in her sights, she concentrated on clothing. Unfortunately, she’d never modeled her new outfits for Tristan, so she had no idea what would actually look good. She gave it a shot, anyway.

  “I thought I’d wear this.” She waved her hand over a fuzzy pink sweater and long floral-print skirt.

  Faith shook her head. “That’s pretty, but it’s not the right outfit for tonight. It says, I’m walking cotton candy and I want you to eat me.”

  “I need a glass of wine,” Julia lamented. “The stress of this day is about to kill me.”

  “Drink the whole bottle. I’ll find an outfit the boys will drool over.”

  * * *

  CLOTHED ONLY IN his white cotton briefs, Peter Gallow flexed what little biceps he had in front of the full-length mirror hanging on his bedroom wall. A perfect frame for his art deco and black-wire lamps.

  “I am a man. A tiger,” he told his reflection.

  His date with Julia was scheduled to begin soon. Since she’d first called and asked him to have dinner with her—and he’d accepted—his nervous system had kicked into high gear. Unfortunately, he now had hives. He’d never been very good with women and didn’t have much practice. For too long, he’d lived in fear of the opposite sex, afraid they would laugh at him or reject him.

  He liked Julia, though. She was kind, and she made him feel comfortable.

  On the other hand, her brother scared the hell out of him.

  When the man had first moved into the house beside Julia’s, he’d hardly noticed her. But each morning as he prepared breakfast, he would see her leave for work, and each evening as he fertilized and weeded his garden, he would see her return, and each time he saw her, he became more attracted to her. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she’d become prettier and prettier until her image constantly filled his mind. The prettier he’d found her, the more he’d avoided her.

  After his grandmother died and he’d decided to live, truly live, doing all the scary things he’d previously avoided, he’d seen Julia hiding in his bushes and realized she was as nervous as he was. He’d decided to go for it and ask her out. No more avoiding her.

  The more he’d interacted with her, the more little things appealed to him. The vivacious sparkle in her eyes. The way her hair curled at the ends. The delicacy of her wrists. He’d wanted to go over and talk with her so many times and, in fact, had almost worked up the courage once or twice. Yet he almost always lost his bravado as soon he reached her house and raced home.

  Then he’d almost gotten murdered by her brother. Peter didn’t consider himself a strong man—or at least, he didn’t consider himself a strong man yet. By reading self-help books, he was becoming a more assertive man.

  When Julia had asked him out, he’d been stunned. And terrified. Very, very terrified. Not only because he’d been on so few dates in his lifetime, but because angering Tristan could result in Peter’s unsolvable death. Surely a guy like Tristan knew how to hide bodies.

  Peter had never seen an expression quite so fierce, or a man quite so intimidating. Tristan obviously loved his sister, and like any devoted brother, the giant hulk would protect her, crushing anyone who hurt her. So, Peter wouldn’t hurt her. He would prove himself worthy of her. He would be a gentleman. Then he thought, So what if I act ungentlemanly? What’s Tristan really gonna do?

  “If Tristan gives me any crap, I’ll squash him like a bug.” He flexed again. “I am a man,” he repeated. “A tiger. No woman can resist me.”

  Wait. Peter paused. That wasn’t right. Frowning, he strode to his nightstand and lifted his copy of Unleashing the Tiger Within. He flipped through the well-worn pages, found chapter four, and read, “Let your mantra be, ‘I am a man. A tiger. An irresistible force of nature no woman can resist.’”

  With a nod, he tossed the book atop his black silk sheets. “I am an irresistible force of nature no woman can resist.” He’d already spritzed himself with pheromone cologne. He’d made cue cards with sonnets, compliments and topics to keep conversation going.

  How could Julia not like him?

  He gave his reflection one more glance, then growled low in his throat. “I am a man. A tiger.”

  * * *

  JULIA STOOD IN her bedroom, sipping her glass of wine. Unfortunately, the alcohol did nothing to diminish her fear of the upcoming date.

  “Try the mint-green slip dress,” Faith said.

  Her brows winged upward. “Do you think it’s sexy enough?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Faith nodded, an assured grin lifting the corners of her lips. “He’ll be mopping up drool.”

  Smiling for the first time that day, Julia tugged the dress over her head and smoothed it down over her bra and panties.

  “A perfect fit.” Faith nodded her approval. She swept a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Now go show Tristan. He’ll love it.”

  He would, wouldn’t he? Eager, Julia padded to the living room. No doubt he’d beam and say she looked beautiful, since he’d wanted to see her in a dress since their first night together. In fact, she could already picture the glint of appreciation in his eyes.

  As for Peter, Julia would just have to tell him they were better off as friends.

  Tristan was sprawled on the emerald-and-ruby couch cushions, eating frozen grapes. He looked like the Greek war god, Ares, before a battle, ready to strike down those who defied him, yet ever patient to wait until the perfect moment to act. All the scene lacked was a scantily clad girl wielding a fan.

  She shivered and barely stopped herself from screaming, I’ll take the job.

  “What do you think of this?” she asked.

  At the sound of Julia’s voice, Tristan lifted his head and perused her from top to bottom. There was a slight tightening of his features, but nothing else. No other reaction.

  With one finger, he made a circular motion for her to spin. More nervous by the second, she did as instructed.

  * * *

  “AGAIN,” TRISTAN said, wanting another view of Julia’s backside. His groin t
ightened with need. By Elliea, she was beautiful beyond compare. But the thought of her wearing such a comely gown for another man—a gown he had chosen, no less—sent a talon-sharp pang of possessiveness through him. She would not wear such a gown for Puny Peter.

  “Sooo. What do you think?” A little more hesitant this time, she twirled for the third time.

  “It is too long,” he said with a deceptively lazy undertone.

  Confusion seeped into her expression, and she examined the length of her dress. She paused. “Too long?”

  “Aye.”

  “Maybe you didn’t notice the fact that I’m wearing a dress.”

  “I noticed.” I noticed hard.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “You should change.” Then, with a lazy motion at odds with the dangerous fire in his veins, he sucked a grape into his mouth.

  * * *

  JULIA IGNORED the twinge of desire as a drop of juice ran down his chin and marched back into her bedroom to announce, “He hates it! It’s too long.”

  “Hmm.” A frown shaped Faith’s mouth. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, all right, then. We’ll try something shorter. Like…this one!”

  She eyed the knee-length red halter dress her sister held up. Perfect. Tristan had seemed particularly fascinated with it at the boutique. She shimmied into the clingy fabric, and it hugged her every curve like a second skin.

  “This is the one. I feel it.” Certain she would receive a compliment, she strode back into the living room. “How much do you love this one?”

  Once again he looked her up and down. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and it was becoming more noticeable by the second. “Too red.”

  Wait. Surely she’d misheard. “Did you say it’s too red?”

  “Your hearing is excellent,” he replied, his tone snippy.

  “I can’t believe this.” She threw her hands in the air. “You think my dress is too red? That’s the only thing wrong with it?”

  “What I think of that gown cannot be put into mere words.”

  Scowling now, she flounced back to her bedroom.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Faith demanded.

  “It’s too red,” Julia replied, mimicking Tristan’s I-am-master-of-the-universe tone.

  The next time she entered the living room, she wore a black dress suit, complete with a neck sash. It wasn’t red, and it wasn’t long. It was the epitome of class.

  Just before she could ask his opinion, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Too confining.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Julia wanted to smother Tristan in the sea of clothing he’d rejected. No matter what she modeled, she heard a variety of refusals. “Too green.” “Too open.” “Too loose.” Until finally she heard, “Too… You will not wear that, Julia. I forbid it.”

  Sorely vexed by now, she stomped her feet on the way back to her sister. She jerked on a midthigh-length skirt and stormed back to the living room. “And this one?”

  “Too short. May I suggest you make a better selection next time?”

  “You picked out everything I’ve shown you. Remember our little jaunt to the mall?”

  “Aye, but you never showed them to me on.”

  True. At a loss, she ransacked the contents of her entire closet, grumbling about the pestilence known as “man.” Julia briefly flirted with the notion of wearing the green-and-orange baby doll dress Tristan had found the first night he appeared, but she didn’t want to frighten small children.

  In the end, she re-donned the mint-green slip dress, a perfect match for her eyes. Plus, it looked good with her bra and panties, hugged her curves and swayed when she walked.

  She left her hair down, and for the first time in forever, she applied enough makeup to make the cosmetic company’s stock soar. With her thin, strappy sandals in place, she breezed into the living room for the final time.

  “Do not say a single word about my outfit,” she commanded Tristan, hooking her hair behind her ears.

  His shrug didn’t tell her much, but the heated once-over he gave her spoke volumes. He liked the outfit!

  So. Why had he complained? Only one answer made sense. Because he didn’t want her dressing up for another man.

  Delight chased away her bad mood, confidence budding within her chest.

  Faith cast him a glower before turning back to Julia. “You are stunning, Jules. Simply breathtaking. Don’t let the opinion of one demented fool make you think otherwise.”

  “I think she is lovely,” Tristan said, defensive, “no matter what she wears.” Grumbling now, he added, “Or doesn’t wear.”

  Julia beamed her appreciation.

  Faith looked radiant in a sophisticated black pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back in a simple twist, tendrils cascading from the top. Tristan, sexy as always, wore a pair of jeans that kissed his muscular thighs, and a black shirt that fell open around the collar, revealing scrumptious skin that probably tasted as good as it looked. Julia’s mouth watered, and she shivered.

  The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

  “That’s him.” Butterflies flapped their wings inside her stomach. Even her desire for Tristan was overshadowed by her fear.

  Calm down. Still shaking, she smoothed her hair in place, drew in a deep breath and slowly glided to the entryway. I can do this. She tugged open the front door. A cold breeze burst past.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Peter said. He offered her a shy smile. “I lost track of time.”

  She returned his smile with one of her own. “You’re forgiven.”

  In his gray slacks and white dress shirt, he appeared sweet and bashfully charming. Yet the sight of him didn’t affect her. I’m an idiot. He’s perfect for me. I will give him a chance. “You look very nice, Peter.”

  “As do you. You’re like—” He glanced down at his palm, and Julia thought she heard him mutter, “I am a tiger.” Then he blinked over at her and said, “You’re like the rarest of cacti that bloom a flush pink only once a year.”

  “I—thank you?” Was being compared to a cacti a good thing?

  “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with pride, as if he’d just climbed a mountain without a harness and survived. He leaned into her, the strong scent of his cologne wafting to her nostrils.

  Tristan chose that moment to step up behind her. “We are ready,” he growled.

  Almost absently, she leaned back into him.

  Color instantly drained from Peter’s face, leaving him pallid and waxen. His limbs shook. “Uh…hello,” he squeaked.

  “Peter,” Julia said, hoping to soothe him, “Tristan has promised not to bite you.”

  Inch by inch, Peter crept backward. Julia reached out, took his hand, and tugged him into the foyer. Tristan’s growls intensified.

  “I’d like you to meet my sister, Faith,” Julia said, motioning her over.

  “Nice to meet you, Peter.” Faith moved forward and smiled a sexy, fall-at-my-feet kind of smile.

  Peter’s jaw went slack. He drank in Faith for a long, silent moment, his eyes half-lidded, what she could see of his irises filled with admiration. Then, he must have realized Tristan was Faith’s “brother” as well; he became agitated, pulling at his blue-striped tie.

  Gulping, he looked back to Julia. “I don’t understand. We’re going on a double date…with your brother and sister?”

  “Oh, Tristan isn’t our blood brother,” Faith said easily enough. Julia had told her all about the sibling thing. “He’s just so close to us he’s like a brother.”

  Petered pulled at the tie with more force. “Perhaps we should do this another day. I mean—”

  “No!” Julia wasn’t sure she could endure another morning of pre-date jitters. “It has to be today. You’ll have fun.” I hope.

  Faith inserted herself between them and batted her eyelashes up at Peter. “Please don’t leave. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.�
�

  “I’m just not sure this is a good idea,” Peter said with a step backward. “I have an appointment early tomorrow morning, and I need to—”

  Tristan cut him off before he could continue. “Enough conversation.” A slight warning glare accompanied his words. “We will leave now. And you will join us.”

  A jumble of horror and fear, Peter simply nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  “Peter,” Faith said, breaking the mounting tension. She linked her arm with his. “Allow me to escort you to your car.”

  “Excellent idea.” Julia gave the couple a little push toward the door. When they were several steps away, she linked her arm through Tristan’s and followed after them. “Please, please, please be on your best behavior today.”

  “I’m always on my best behavior.”

  If that was true…Lord help us all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Never Look Directly At Your Mistress

  Without Permission

  JULIA STROLLED DOWN a carpeted entryway draped overhead with a large red canopy, and tried not to freak out. I’m on a date.

  A date. Her first outside of high school. And she wasn’t attracted to the man. Something she hadn’t admitted to herself until it was too late. Now? She had to deal with Peter without hurting his feelings.

  Bright green foliage spilled from stone planters. Cold gusts of wind swirled and beat against the building. The moment she stepped inside the vestibule, warm air enveloped her.

  Peter walked at her side, Tristan behind them. Faith led the pack, cutting through the softly lit restaurant. Soft, lyrical music played in the background.

  A tuxedo-clad maître d’ appeared, and moments later they were ushered to a table for four in a secluded corner. High, narrow windows overlooked an immaculate blooming garden with twinkling white lights strung across the greenery.

  Peter sat. Tristan held out a velvet-covered seat for Julia—across from Peter, nowhere near touching distance—then directed Faith to sit next to her. That left the chair on Julia’s left. Tristan took his place, and Peter blushed, as if embarrassed he hadn’t thought to hold out her chair.