"Yet you hardly slept last night."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know I didn't fall asleep? Did you enter my room?"
"Nay. I heard you through the door. If you were not sighing, you were punching your pillow." He cast another glance over his shoulder, his pale, otherworldly eyes filled with knowing pleasure. "Did I not tell you, little dragon? Without me, you will be unable to sleep."
"If you heard me, that means you didn't get any rest, either." Ha! She mentally patted herself on the back for that observation.
"I am used to going without slumber. In Imperia, I stayed up most nights to debauch and devour."
I might have to try that sometime. After the words flittered into her mind, she shook her head in surprise. Such a thought wasn't like her. Perhaps a wild side lurked inside her, waiting to break free. Why else would she tingle every time she imagined acting naughty with Tristan? Of course, if she ever tried debauching and devouring, it would have to be with Peter, not Tristan.
As the coffee percolated, filling the house with the fresh scent of caffeine, Tristan sat beside her and consumed his muffin with the gusto of a man just off a yearlong fast. When he finished, he asked for another. And another. And another. He chased each one with a glass of milk.
"Would you happen to have another?" he asked hopefully, after he had swallowed the final crumb of the fourth.
"Sorry. That's all I have," she said. "How can you hold so much food, anyway?"
"By eating it."
She rolled her eyes. "How did you eat inside the box?"
"Magic sustained me." With a contented sigh, he settled more comfortably in his chair. "You may now lecture me."
I'm not ready. "Yes, of course." She cleared her throat. "I need you—" Wait, that didn't sound right. "My next-door—" That wasn't right, either.
"Surely your powers of speech have not deserted you." Heat scalded her cheeks. And as her color deepened, so did his amusement. 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 curiosity."
"It's just that dating is—"
"Oh, no. This is beginning to sound serious. If you wish to ask me on this date of yours, then you may do so. I might even say aye."
He was teasing her. Julia knew it, but let it scrape against her already-raw nerves unchallenged. She yearned to blister his ears with scorching words. Instead, she used her sweetest tone of voice when she said, "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 coffeemaker, stopped, then faced her once again. 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 gartina petals."
"What do gartina petals smell like?" she asked. Please don't let him say moldy cheese.
"Like a gentle rain just after a tempest."
Oh, my. Even though he probably said that to every woman who owned his box, Julia felt herself melt under his spell. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she savored the words, no matter if he meant them or not. "Thank you," she said, her voice cracking slightly.
"You are welcome." Giving her another glimpse of his back, he poured her a steaming mug of coffee. Her mouth watered, but not for the liquid. For Tristan. He was pure male perfection. His muscles were so… yummy. His bronze skin resembled 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 belonged to her. She licked her lips. For a second, only a second, she allowed herself to mentally strip away his clothing. Off came the belt. Down went the pants. Oh, yeah! Such a tantalizing taper of dark hair… so many rippling muscles… a thick, hard erection aching for her touch. Only 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 on a wave of laughter.
Her gaze jerked from his crotch. She stared past him, past the window. "Uh, I was just—"
"Admiring the view?"
"Absolutely not. There are rules on this planet, you know. Rules about being seen in public with an—an engorged appendage. I was simply 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 a 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. Since you have no liking for the subject, I will certainly discuss sex with you."
"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 men. Well, that certainly clenched it. Her mind officially resided in the gutter. "I'll take cream and sugar, please." Seconds dragged by as he placed a steaming mug in front of her. Grateful for the distraction, she latched on to it with a vengeance. She blew on the top, then allowed herself 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!
Tristan eased into the seat beside her and swiveled her chair until she faced him. "Now you have your drink," he said.
"Yeah," she assured him, hoping her distaste remained hidden. She didn't want to hurt his feelings by insulting his beverage-making skills. "I do."
He chuckled, and the deep rumble poured over her as smoothly as melted butterscotch. "You may begin your lecture." Julia slowly pushed out a breath. The moment of reckoning had arrived. Either she asked Tristan to teach her how to entice Peter, or she forgot the plan altogether. 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. He didn't know how it felt to have others make fun of him, call him mean names and torment his every waking hour. She did. She knew. Her emotions bore the scars.
"When I said we should have our coffee first," she told him, "I meant the whole cup." Though the thought of drinking the entire contents of her mug made her shudder. Owning her own shop meant she couldn't afford an overnight stay in the hospital due to food poisoning.
"I do not wish to wait," Tristan said. "I am anxious to learn more about this dating."
"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 her speech one last time. I can do this, she thought just before a jolt of pure panic shot through her body, shaking her resolve. Her heart rate increased; her breath came 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."
"I am no longer hungry."
"What about—"
"Julia." Her name left his lips on a sigh of exasperation.
"Okay." By focusing all of her energy on her next words, she managed to temper her body's trembling.
She kept her eyes to the floor and sat perfectly still. Tristan held his cup to his lips, and she felt him expectantly watchin
g her. Waiting. A woman's need for romance, she thought, facing him, left no room for pride. "Will you teach me how to seduce my next-door neighbor?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
You Live Only To Pleasure Your Master
Tristan nearly choked from fluid inhalation 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 suddenly surrounded Julia. "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 men and women and dating, he'd foolishly assumed she desired to ask him on a date.
Him. "Do you wish to assuage your body's needs, Julia? I am here. Peter—" he spit the name " — is not needed."
She sputtered, opening her mouth, closing it with a snap. "This isn't about bodies and needs. This is about love. So yes, Peter is needed."
"Love?" Tristan scoffed, not liking the idea of another man holding Julia's affections, and liking even less that he cared. "You are being ridiculous."
"Why?" She bristled, and if she'd had a sword, he felt certain she would have sliced off his favorite appendage. "Because I'm unattractive?" she demanded to know. "Because I don't always say the right thing?" He bared his teeth in a scowl. How dare the woman say something so ludicrous about herself.
"You are perfect just the way you are and anyone who says otherwise needs to swing from a pike. I am simply unsure this neighbor of yours can appreciate you."
Her shoulders relaxed, and the lines around her lips softened. "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. Why has he not beaten down your door and demanded 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."
"That's the most illogical thing I have ever heard. Besides, this is America. We do not beat down doors."
"Over the centuries I have learned that origins matter naught. If a man has not the bravery to fight for his woman, then he is no man at all."
"He'll fight for me one day," she said, her words assured but her tone doubtful. Hesitant. "So will you help me or not?"
Tristan watched Julia's chest rise and fall with her breaths. Throughout the night, a dark carnal craving had grown within him, and he now wanted her with a hunger that surpassed reasoning. He wanted to enjoy her complexities and contradictions for what short time they had together. And even knowing she longed for another man failed to abate his hunger. Nay, he yearned for her all the more. He desired this amusing, compassionate woman, and by Elliea, he would have her. So would he help her win another man? Nay!
"Why can you not lure this Peter on your own?" he demanded, one brow arched. "Have you tried and failed?"
"No, I haven't tried."
"Why not?" A long while stretched. She ran her tongue over her teeth and fidgeted in her chair, her cheeks glowing with rosy embarrassment. "I don't know how," she finally whispered.
"How do you not know how to please a man, little dragon? You are of age."
"I'm shy."
"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," he grumbled.
"But you're different."
"I am 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 acquire what he sought any time soon. So he abandoned that particular line of attack for another.
"Has Puny Peter ever tried to win you?"
Her chin rose a notch. "No, he hasn't."
"You mentioned love. Do you love him?"
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, watching as her fingers pinched the edge of the counter. "That's none of your business."
"If you desire my aid, it had better become my business."
"Fine. I'll answer you. 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 he had time to dissect her words, she sent him an imploring look through her lashes. "I need your help, Tristan. Help me."
His teeth gnashed in irritation. Finally she proved that she was just like the others, putting her will before his own. And he was helpless to do anything to change the circumstances, helpless to do anything but obey. "I will do as you demand, of course," he replied, his tone stilted.
"No." Slowly, with an almost imperceptible motion, she shook her head. "I'm giving you a choice. I won't force you to do this. If you help me, it will be because you want to, not because you're my slave."
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 drawled, wanting to snatch the words back as soon as they left his mouth.
"Oh, Tristan." Grinning, 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?"
"Like any teacher and student, we must set the parameters of our relationship."
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 are ready."
Which meant she would never see Peter the Weakling again!
"I don't think—"
"I am the expert," he interjected. "Therefore we will do this at my pace. During a lesson, you will do what I say, when I say and how I say. No arguments."
"Now hold on just a damn minute."
He never even paused. "You will allow me to sleep in your chamber."
She gasped. "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. 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? I'll agree to your parameters, if you agree to mine."
Tristan almost smiled. He forced his lips to remain in a straight line, however, hoping he appeared stern.
"I am 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 wasn't allowed to attend to other women. That would have spoiled the fun. "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."
"You can tell no one of our arrangement."
"Agreed." Who would he tell?
"You will… you will… never wear your sword in my house."
She smiled triumphantly, and he knew she expected him to balk or, at the very least, to bargain. He wanted to. Being without his weapon made him vulnerable to attack, and he knew nothing of this world, nothing of its people. The knowledge frustrated him, yet he said, "I agree to all of your conditions, Julia."
She paused. Surprised flickered in her beautiful fey-green eyes before she once again rewarded him with a smile. "Thank you, Tristan."
"Do not thank me yet." He stood, then paced back and forth in front of the kitchen counter. "Lesson one will be how to dress properly. If the garments I found in your closet are any indication of what you normally don to impress a man, you need guidance. And this," he indicated her slacks and blouse with a sweep of his hand, "is attire only a man should wear."
"We can go to the mall. It will have the largest assortment of clothes to choose from."
"What is this mall?"
"A big building filled with clothes, food and other necessities for the public to purchase."
"Ah, a market," he said, his tone both wistful and resigned at the same time.
"We'll go this evening after I close the shop," she said, then paused. She had to open her store in an hour.
Just what was she going to do with Tristan while she worked? She could leave him here where he'd grow bored and execute something. She could send him back inside his box, but he'd hate her for the rest of her life.
She wanted so many things from him, but hate wasn't one of them.
She was going to have to take him with her, she realized with a shiver of anticipation and a shudder of dread. First, however, he needed new clothes. Having a pleasure slave grew more complicated by the second. Looking him over, Julia chewed on her bottom lip. "Before you can leave the house, we'll have to find you more appropriate clothing." Preferably something less sexy, something that covered every inch of his bronzed, come-and-lick-me skin.
"What is wrong with my drocs?" he demanded. She gave him another once-over. In those leather tights, with no shirt, he resembled an exotic dancer playing the part of a rogue pirate, and perversely, she wanted him to stay that way. Except, equally perverse, she didn't want any other woman seeing him like that.
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