The Pleasure Slave (8 page)

Later in the evening, Brian drove her to his home. His parents were out of town, so they were alone. Or so she’d assumed.

They talked some more, and Julia shyly admitted how much she liked him, how she wanted her first time to be with him. He smiled, his eyes cold, and leaned down to kiss her. A heartbeat before his lips met hers and all her dreams came true, she 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, stood in the hallway, three other boys behind him. All of them doubled over with laughter.

“Brian, you’re so wonderful,” one of the boys mimicked. “Man, if I heard her say that one more time, I was going to puke.”

Brian jerked back, his gaze flitting guiltily from hers. “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 laugh and taunt her, Julia had gathered her pride and run out of the house, head high. Each step home, the dam holding her emotions together cracked a bit more. Finally, humiliation and despair consumed her. She had sunk to the ground and sobbed 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 now.

How could a man fall in love with a plain, jittery, awkward woman?

He couldn’t.

But…

Perhaps now, things could change. Her shoulders straightened, and she blinked up at the ceiling, hope unfurling in her stomach. Yes.
Yes!
Things
could
change; Tristan could help her. He possessed a vast amount of experience dealing with the opposite sex, and she could make use of that knowledge. Not the way he wanted, of course, spending hour upon hour burning up the sheets, but in a better way. Better? Make that a more productive way. He could teach her how to attract a man…How to attract Peter.

And if she didn’t desire her neighbor the way she desired Tristan, well, that was her cross to bear. She needed Peter. He was so much like herself, so reserved and lonely, plain and inexperienced. So safe.

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, therefore he thought she belonged in bed—with him. And no other. So how was she going to convince him to help her entice
another
man?

S
UNLIGHT POKED
unwanted fingers through Julia’s bathroom window, brightening the spacious haven and highlighting her fatigue. She stared at her pale, tired reflection in the vanity mirror. Red eyes. Frowning lips. A leisurely shower had done nothing to improve her I’ve-been-up-all-night-imagining-Tristan-naked appearance.

“Coffee,” she told herself. Her voice cracked and her mouth watered in homage to the beverage. “I need coffee.” Then, God help her, she’d talk to Tristan about Peter.

Just thinking about the upcoming conversation caused her stomach to churn with anxiety. She tried to ignore the discomfort and told herself there was no reason to agonize. She had a plan, after all. She was going to treat Tristan as sweet as a brownie-fudge sundae with extra whipped cream. She’d use lots of smiles and a gentle tone of voice.

How could he refuse her?

How could he not?

Focus, Julia. You can do this. You can.
Determination pushing her onward, she wound her still-damp hair in a ponytail, shimmied into a pair of beige dress slacks and a white, button-down shirt, and strode to the door.

Sweet as a sundae, sweet as a sundae, sweet as a sundae…

Two steps into the hall, her foot hit a large, immobile object. She plummeted face first and landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. Air shot from her lungs like a Fourth of July rocket. Dazed, she shook her head, blinked her eyes several times. Finally she recaptured her breath and her vision cleared. When she focused, she realized Tristan’s sword lay just in front of her, glistening menacingly.

“Julia,” he said, concern tinging his voice. “Speak to me. Tell me you are unharmed.”

“What the hell are you doing on the floor?” She glared up at him. “I told you to sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“Nay, you said the guest chamber is mine, not that I
had
to sleep there.”

“Why do you still have your sword? You were supposed to put it up.”

“And just where am I to place such a large weapon in such a small home?”

“In your box.”

“Is that an order?”

“A request.”

“’Tis the same, really.” His lips dipped into a fierce frown and as she watched, the air around the sword wa
vered, thickened like dappled water, and then the silver metal vanished in a puff of smoke. “Done,” he said.

She should have been shocked by the disappearing act, but she was too relieved. She vaulted to her feet, keeping her gaze locked with his. This was not the way she imagined them starting the day.
Sweet as a sundae, remember?
Except, now the whipped cream was splayed across the floor. She forced herself to smile, as if practically slicing herself in half was an everyday occurrence.

“We have to talk.” Gentle voice. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“My attention is yours.” He stood with his legs braced apart, arms folded. A prebattle stance, she was sure. “You may begin.”

Running a hand down the length of her ponytail, she mentally catalogued her planned speech. She drew in a deep breath and then slowly released each molecule of air. “In America, when a man and woman are attracted to each other, they begin to date. Dating might include a romantic dinner, followed by a walk on the beach, or a—”

“Halt there, little dragon,” he said, silencing her words. “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.”

True, but her nervous system might collapse by then. Still she muttered, “Of course,” like a good little brownie sundae.

In the kitchen, beams of sunlight filtered through the
large bay window, enveloping the room in a cheerful ring. She grabbed a blueberry muffin from the counter and turned, holding out the offering like 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.

How sickening, she thought, that one man could be so gorgeous.

“I thank you,” he said, accepting the muffin.

Sighing, she pivoted to the counter and 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, causing shafts of electricity to rush up her arm. “I shall do this duty.”

She gulped and pulled away. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

His features lit with wry amusement. “The knowledge I gained on other planets far surpasses that of Am-erica.”

“Your knowledge stems from almost a century ago,” she pointed out.

“That is sufficient.”

“So you know what to do?”

“I have traveled the ages, little dragon. I can manage to concoct one morning beverage.”

Okay, then. Without another word, Julia plopped down on the stool behind the counter. Her new position
gave her a better view, anyway. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she watched the corded muscles of Tristan’s stomach tighten with every move he made. She watched the way his nipples puckered 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. To cover the sound, she uttered a quick cough. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice, and she was able to study his back in more detail. Thick, jagged scars laced every inch of flesh. Some intersected, some stood alone, but all of them were badges of pain. She’d noticed the slight marks on his chest, but these…What had he suffered?

As she studied his back more intently, she noticed a small tattoo rested on the upper left side of his shoulder blade. A black symbol, almost Oriental in appearance, utterly provocative and endearingly sexy. Another tattoo, very similar in appearance, decorated the curve of his lower back and dipped past his pants.

“What do those symbols mean?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Conquer and destroy.”

How appropriate.

“Do you usually rise this early?” he asked.

She tore her attention from his back and glanced at the wall clock. Six-thirty. “Today is a work day. I have to get up early.”

“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 year-long 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 set
tled 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.”