Prince of Forever

by Gena Showalter

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she accepted a menu from the maître d’.

  Peter leaned over the table to discuss the weather with her—what was that weird scent her date was wearing?—and Tristan’s scowl grew darker and more pronounced with every tick of the clock.

  Thankfully, their waiter arrived. One by one, they made their selections. Peter ordered exactly what she ordered, the lobster bisque with a side of stuffed mushrooms in red wine sauce. Faith opted for the prime rib and Tristan ordered lobster, prime rib, and lemon-garlic pasta.

  Julia thought she spied white index cards balanced on Peter’s thigh, but she wasn’t sure. She gave him a tentative smile. “How did you enjoy gardening?”

  “I found that I’m more like my grandmother than I realized. Being among my plants and flowers, knowing that I’m enriching nature’s beauty, is actually quite peaceful. What about you?” he asked. “Do you enjoy horticulture?”

  “Oh, I love it,” Faith answered in Julia’s stead. She gave an airy laugh. “Julia has the Black Thumb of Death, though. Plants cannot survive in her care.”

  Peter cast her a half smile. “I’m sure you have so many other wonderful talents, Julia.”

  Before she could reply, Faith launched into a tale about an ancient civilization she dreamed of finding. Peter listened, rapt.

  Julia propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hands. Unbidden, she glanced at her sinfully delicious pleasure slave. Candlelight flickered across the linen-draped table. Every time he moved, shadows and light danced over his features, giving his cheekbones a stark, almost harsh appearance, but she couldn’t look away.

  She was in total lust with him, and at the moment she had no idea why she’d ever fought it. So what that they didn’t have a future. Maybe. Probably. No one’s future was guaranteed. But they had today. They had memories to make.

  * * *

  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

  From the moment Julia had stepped out of her chamber to reveal her new gowns, Tristan had been poised and ready to battle the male inhabitants of this world. Every garment she showcased had displayed her exquisite figure, hugging her luscious curves, revealing her perfection for all to see. Knowing she was now wearing a gown he himself had chosen… and that she wore it for another man…still held enough power to infuriate him.

  In the dim atmosphere of the restaurant, he studied her anew, measuring her reactions to Peter. But Julia was no longer watching the male. Nay, she watched Tristan under the spiky veil of her lashes. Why? He wanted so badly to know her thoughts.

  He cared for Julia, and he could not seem to make himself stop. Nay, he did not love her—he refused to love her, knowing he would only lose her—but she had managed to sink under his skin.

  I need her in my arms. Soon.

  In the garden, couples strolled by hand in hand, some swaying to the soft hum of music. He wanted that with Julia, wanted her all to himself, if only for a little while.

  Unable to stop himself, he extended a hand. “Let us view the garden, draga.”

  Silent for a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. Then she stole a quick glance at Peter, who still conversed with Faith.

  Faith brushed her fingertips over the man’s arm, telling him, “I’m thinking of adding a beehive to my garden. Any interest in hearing what I’ve learned about them in my studies?”

  Slowly Peter melted under the loveliness of Faith’s pouty you-are-the-big-strong-man-and-I-am-the-weak-woman expression. “Tons of interest.”

  Tristan waved his fingers. “Come, Julia,” he said, leaving doubt as to whether he meant “climax.”

  Julia placed her palm in his. Gently he helped her to her feet and led her through a pair of French double doors. They stepped into a glass-encased atrium. Above, the moon and stars twinkled like diamonds in black velvet. Antique oil lamps and flourishing cacti wove interlacing paths, broken only by the occasional alabaster statue. The air was cool and sweetly fragrant.

  He slung an arm around Julia’s waist, and they slowly meandered down the red carpet. Her body fit perfectly beside his.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, giving her hand a light squeeze.

  With a sigh, she burrowed her cheek against his shoulder. “I realized something today.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Peter…he isn’t the man for me.”

  * * *

  PRIMAL VICTORY danced through Tristan, but he managed to temper his tone. “I think you knew it all along. You just didn’t want to admit it.” He paused to brush a tendril of hair from her cheek and hook the silky strands behind her ear. “You try so hard to hide your passion, Julia, but I recognize your generosity and your capacity for goodness. You enchant me.”

  She peered up at him, vulnerability radiating from her. “I do?”

  He cupped her chin in his hands, forcing her to face him once again. “You do. I want you, Julia. I want you so much I ache. My desire is not civilized, forced or contrived. You are more precious, more beautiful, than any other woman I have ever encountered.”

  “But, but… How can you, a man who has known hundreds, maybe thousands of women, say that about me and mean it?”

  How he hated when she spoke poorly about herself. “Mayhap when we return home, we will have ourselves a little chat to help you understand, hmm? Complete with a demonstration and charts. Believe me, Julia. There is something special about you.”

  A long while passed in silence as she studied him. “I believe you mean it,” she whispered, her eyes softening with awe. “I do.”

  “Good. Then I am going to give you a final lesson in dating. How to rid oneself of unwanted company.” Tristan tugged her to a window alcove, which offered a perfect view to the restaurant’s inhabitants.

  “Wait,” she rushed out. “I don’t want to hurt Peter.”

  “We won’t.” He leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers. Then his fingers tangled in her hair, and he tilted her chin to kiss her more deeply. As his tongue explored her mouth, his lips demanded all of her passion. He wasn’t sure which of them was flavored with wine and which of them was flavored with mint. He didn’t care, either. He only yearned for more.

  With Julia, he always wanted more.

  He leaned his hips into her body, wordlessly demanding she acknowledge his importance to her; he was the only man for her.

  She moaned, and he swallowed the sound, fighting the urge to whisk her away to a private haven where he might explore her more fully. He let his thumb dabble at the corner of her mouth, a silent appeal to take him deeper. Deeper, still. He hadn’t lied to her. She affected him as no other ever had. If he could, he would give her his heart, even give her his name and the children they both secretly wanted.

  Before his blood heated to the point of no return, he forced himself to pull back. Without her, his arms felt empty, void.

  Arousal blazed in Julia’s eyes and gentled her expression with hazy desire. “I don’t understand. How did this convince Peter I’m not the one for him?”

  “Because we stood right by the table and kissed and he did not notice. He’s too wrapped up in your sister,” he said.

  She whipped her attention to the window at their left and gasped. “Peter and Faith are right there.”

  “Told you.” With a possessive hand at her waist, he led her back to the table.

  Peter noticed their return at least. His cheeks reddened. “Oh, um, hi.”

  “Listen,” Faith said, winking at Tristan. “I’m just going to come right out and say it. Peter and I are hitting it off, and we’d like to switch dates.”

  “That is wise,” Tristan said. She must truly like Peter, or she wouldn’t have made an offer to separate.

  Peter shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he told Julia.

  She smiled a genuine smile at him. “It’s fine, Peter. Truly. I think this is for the best.”

  “We’re going to head to a restaurant of our own,” Faith kissed Julia’
s cheek, then gathered her purse and jacket and stood.

  Peter stood as well, his chair skidding behind him. The two said a couple more goodbyes before sauntering from the restaurant.

  Relaxed and solicitous now, Tristan helped Julia into her chair, then reclaimed his own. The food arrived not long after on a scented cloud of deliciousness.

  “We’re going to have so much extra food,” Julia exclaimed.

  “I predict we will not have a single bite left.”

  Julia tossed him a new smile, one that lit the entire room. “This evening is far better than I could have ever anticipated, and I almost want to give you a lesson in doggie bags.”

  He didn’t understand her meaning, but he grinned all the same and filled two glasses with the dark, crimson wine. “How about I give you a new lesson instead? One about discovery—our discovery of each other.”

  She sucked in a breath, her excitement palpable.

  “You know,” she said, her voice going low and husky, “I do want to be a good student. The very best.”

  Blood rushed to his groin, and he shifted in his seat. “Lesson six will require intense, in-depth training at home—in bed.” With the tip of his finger, he traced a path across her cheek, along her jaw. “What think you of that?”

  “I think I’m glad.” She sipped her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. The pulse in her neck quickened, and he longed to caress the beat with his tongue.

  Later. He would lick her later. She’d never experienced a “real” date, so he would give her one.

  The rest of the meal passed in a sexually charged silence as they ate, each anticipating what came next. When their plates were finally taken away, Tristan ordered dessert, prolonging the torment and anticipation. “Tell me about your childhood, draga. I know very little about your past.”

  She set her napkin aside and regarded him happily, clearly pleased by his interest. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Hmm. Well, I had a typical childhood, I guess. My parents split up when I was eight. Our mother remarried. I’m not sure if our father ever remarried or not.”

  When she didn’t continue, he said, “That is only part of the story. Tell me the details you don’t usually mention. The ones that truly shaped the woman you became.”

  “Okay.” She traced a fingertip over the table. “I don’t know why my parents had me. Faith was their first, and she was perfect in their eyes. I was heavier set and not as talented. Basically, I was a nuisance to them, nothing I did good enough. During the divorce, they argued over who got custody of us, though not the way you’d expect. Mom wanted us to go with Dad, and he wanted us to go with Mom. We ended up with my mom and never heard from my father again.”

  There was no bitterness in her tone, only acceptance and regret, and it tore at Tristan. He touched her knee, keeping the action gentle and reassuring. There was a vulnerability about her, a sadness that enveloped her and touched his heart—a heart he’d thought long dead.

  “Tell me the rest,” he coaxed.

  “There’s not much more to tell, really.” Tracing her circle around the rim of her glass now, she said, “About five years after the breakup, my mom remarried. Her new husband was a salesman. Not a very good one I might add, because she believed girls like us had to settle for whoever paid us attention. Anyway. He traveled a lot with his job. She liked to go with him. Faith and I spent weeks at a time alone. It’s a wonder child services didn’t take us away.”

  As she spoke, he cupped her knee, offering comfort. “Do you ever speak with your mother now?”

  “Rarely.”

  “I am sorry.” He wanted to wipe the painful memories from her mind, but he also wanted to learn more about her. There would be time for forgetting later, when he filled her mind with passion and pleasure. Right now, he said, “Will you tell me about your first date?”

  She did, her voice trembling with every word.

  By the end of the story, fury raced a treacherous path through Tristan’s veins. Killing the boy who had hurt his woman wasn’t punishment enough. He wanted to tie the idiot to an hendrek hill—naked, of course—letting the tiny creatures slowly eat him alive. Instead, he drew on his battle instincts and kept his emotions under tight restraint.

  He didn’t have to scratch too far below the surface to understand the anguish she had endured. Both her mother and father had rejected her. The first boy she’d shown interest in had rejected her. Because she had desired a boy “too pretty” for her. Now Julia simply expected rejection from anyone she deemed attractive.

  Her past explained so much of her personality, and he sympathized. He, too, had endured many rejections as a child, and he realized now those experiences had hollowed out his chest and filled it with stone. Stone didn’t feel pain. Now, those stones were gone, and he felt her pain as well as his own. He felt deeply.

  The waiter deposited their dessert in the center of the table, then disappeared in a flurry of movement. Tristan toyed with the stem of a plump red fruit. Had he and Julia been alone, he would sweep the dewy softness along her silken skin and lick away the evidence. Since they were not, he pinched the fruit between his fingers and held it to Julia’s lips. “Open up.”

  The pink tip of her tongue emerged, tasted, then devoured. “Mmm, that’s good. Thank you.”

  He gulped.

  “What about you?” she asked, unaware of the fire she continually stirred inside his body. She speared a small corner of the cake with her fork and brought it to her mouth. “What’s your life story?” Her teeth closed over the sugary confection.

  He dragged his gaze from her luscious charms, across the wide expanse of the dance floor, to rest on the far window that paid homage to a night heavy with glowing stars. “This you do not want to know.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said without pause. “Besides, you owe me. I told you about my childhood. Now you have to tell me about yours. It’s only fair.”

  Tristan had never shared this part of himself with another, not even Roake. But he refused to lie to Julia, or sweeten the details. She desired to know about him, and so he would tell her. “There were times when I was young that I wished my father had given me to another. I never knew why, but I always knew he hated me.”

  “Surely he didn’t hate hate you.”

  “Oh, but he did. Why else would he whip me, giving me these and many more?” Tristan clasped her hand and placed it under his shirt, then guided her fingers to his back, to his scars.

  * * *

  “TRISTAN,” JULIA whispered, horrified by the anguish he must have suffered as a child. “I’m so sorry.” She wanted to put her mouth on every scar, to kiss and make them better while she flicked her tongue over one peak, then another. Temptation…

  One she would have given in to if tears hadn’t welled in her eyes. She imagined Tristan as a young boy, beaten, bruised and unloved. While her parents merely neglected and insulted her, his father had physically abused him. She ached for the boy he’d been. How lost he must have felt. How frightened. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

  “Do not cry for me, draga. Anger and frustration still eat at me sometimes, but I did not always know hatred.” Smiling gently, he wiped the moisture from her eyes and the curve of her cheekbone. “I spent the first five years of my life with my mother. She adored me.”

  “How did she die?” Julia asked, curious about the woman who’d given birth to him.

  “She did not.” His eyes darkened to steely gray, revealing secrets and pain. “Where I am from, warriors are looked to with respect and reverence. She was unmated, only a slave, and she could not teach me the art of warfare. When the time came, she entrusted me into my father’s care so that I might acquire the proper training.”

  “A five-year-old child training to be a warrior? I bet your childhood makes mine seem like a fairy tale.”

  “Suffering comes in many forms. Do not discount your own.” He placed his napkin on the table, effectivel
y ending that line of conversation. “Tell me why you have not arranged the upstairs chambers in your home.”

  She flinched. “You saw those?”

  “I did.”

  Cheeks aflame, she told him, “When I bought the house, I imagined myself there with a husband and children. I planned to make the upstairs a nursery, one room for a boy and one for a girl, but one day I woke up and decided I needed to accept my life as it was. Ever since, I’ve pretended the upstairs of my home doesn’t exist.”

  “That is heartbreaking.” Voice hoarse, he said, “What do you secretly crave?”

  “Besides another cherry?” she asked, lifting the last red fruit.

  “Aye. Besides that.” He claimed the fruit and placed it at the portal of her lips.

  Watching him, she chewed and swallowed it slowly.

  Her eyes widened when he leaned over and licked the remaining evidence from the corner of her mouth. “Well, what is your answer?”

  “About what?” she asked, breathless. His nearness warmed her ear.

  “Your other dreams.”

  Oh, yes. “Finding my one, true love, I suppose.”

  “That much I already know.” Under the table, he stroked her knee. “I meant, is there anything you want right—this—second?”

  Ohhhhh. He meant… “Yes,” she croaked. You.

  He grinned, wicked and languid, as if he’d read her mind. “Let’s go home, then, and discuss it…”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Imperia

  “CLOSE YOUR EYES, ZIRRA.”

  Instantly she obeyed.

  Firelight licked the lushness of her features. Freshly bathed, Romulis reclined against the corner wall. The marble slab was cool and seeped past the fibers of his silver Imperian robe. The coolness did nothing to damper his arousal.

  Zirra sat at the edge of her bed, her sheer white gown clinging to her every curve. Had there ever been a woman more alluring? She fairly hummed with mating heat. She radiated it, smelled of it, moved with it. He had lusted for her since the first moment he had seen her, and his desire for her had not lessened over the years. Nay, it had grown.