The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER TWELVE

All Of Your Choices Must Be Based Upon Whether Or Not They Please Your Master

When the mall opened the next day, Julia and Tristan were there, waiting at the doors. She tried not to picture the Closed sign on her shop's front window and the customers knocking on the glass, confused and angry.

With a sigh, she strolled beside Tristan. They headed for a chic boutique that carried only the hottest fashions. Even in jeans and a T-shirt—and hopefully briefs—Tristan generated quite a bit of feminine appreciation. Not that she cared. He could entice all the women he wanted with his dangerous swagger and otherworldly eyes.

Julia's nails dug into her palm as she recognized her thoughts for the he they were. The jerk had better not be doing any enticing, not after he agreed to the first parameter. The death glare she leveled at him contained enough heat to incinerate him. Surprisingly his gaze never once strayed to another woman.

By small degrees, the muscles in Julia's body relaxed. She wasn't jealous, she assured herself. She was simply guarding her investment. Her tutor. If someone lured him away, who would give her dating etiquette lessons? No one, that's who. I'm pathetic, she thought. Meanwhile, Tristan dove into their adventure with the eagerness of a teenage boy locked inside a room with naked, horny women. Once they reached Coco's, he hopped from one rack to the other, tossing garments her way. "You will try this one. And this one. And this one." He held up a short red Band-Aid—such sheer, barely there material couldn't be called a dress—wicked intention gleaming in his eyes. "This one will be fun to remove."

"I'm not wearing that," she told him with a shake of her head.

"Aye, you will."

"That's just so… sexy. Too sexy for me."

"Julia, Julia, Julia. There is no such thing as too sexy for you."

"I need conservative clothing. I wouldn't feel comfortable with three-fourths of my skin showing."

He arched a brow. "Who is the expert here?"

"You are," she grudgingly admitted.

"Exactly."

He grabbed another slinky dress, this one a flowing, gauzy white. On and on he went until she stumbled under the weight of the clothing. After a while, her arm muscles shook from exertion.

"I need to work out," she muttered.

"I once served a woman who insisted she have at least one hundred gowns to choose from every day," Tristan said, as he hunted through a new rack of garments.

"Well, hel-lo there, gorgeous," a strong, masculine voice said. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Thank you, yes." Relieved, Julia craned her neck until she saw over her bundle. "I need these placed in a dress—"

The salesman never even glanced her way. He stared at Tristan, totally and completely transfixed. She almost laughed. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. The word «gorgeous» should have tipped her off. Men usually referred to her as "Hey, you."

"I'm Gary," the salesman said to Tristan. "I'll be your personal shopper. Or anything else you want me to be."

Gary had beautiful black hair, fashionably styled and cut just 'above his collar. He wore no jewelry save for the black onyx ring on his right index finger. He stood taller than the average man; the top of his head reached Tristan's shoulders. His clothes were perfectly tailored and overall he presented one very attractive package. It was quite obvious he wanted to slather Tristan's naked body with whipped cream and have himself a double-dip sundae. He gave Tristan a full-body, I-wish-I-had-X-ray-vision once-over. Tristan didn't seem to notice. "We need no assistance," he said.

"Yes, we do," Julia spoke up. "I'm buying a hip, new wardrobe and I need all the help I can get."

"Excellent, excellent." Too lost in the fantastical maleness of Tristan, Gary spared her the barest of glances, one that asked, Are you still here? She couldn't blame him for his inattention. She often found herself in the same predicament whenever Tristan neared. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, gorgeous," he told Tristan.

"I did not throw it." Tristan gripped Gary's offered palm, studied it, then dropped it.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get for you?"

"Aye. I am most sure."

Julia doubted Tristan realized he was being hit on, and she wasn't going to be the one to tell him. In fact, she needed to rein in Gary's lust before the situation mutated into one of death and disaster. "Would you mind helping me carry these outfits into a dressing room?" she asked him. At last her arms gave out, and she dropped the bundle with a whoosh. "I'd really appreciate it."

Finally he awarded her his full attention. "I'd be glad to help, darling." With an imperial frown, he snapped his fingers and another sales associate flew to his side. "Take these to dressing room four."

The pretty young girl, no more than twenty-two, bent down, hefted up the clothes, then started moving away, albeit slowly.

"Wait!" Gary called abruptly. The girl froze. With his forefinger and thumb, he pinched a white bubble-knit skirt from the top of the pile. "Unless you want to look frumpy," he told Julia, his tone properly disgusted, "this simply will not do. Your body cries out for something elongating. Think stiletto heels. Slimming black pants. Dark gray top. You're about a size—" He wrapped his palms around her waist, taking her measurements. "Eight, right? A snug eight, I'd say."

With a speed and grace at odds with his massive size, Tristan pinned the salesman against the wall, leaving the poor man's feet dangling in the air. He appeared every inch a cold, hard killer, from the predatory gleam in his gaze to the ticking muscle in his jaw.

"There will be no touching my woman. Understand?"

Far from being frightened, Gary closed his eyes in surrender, as if he'd just entered the gates of paradise. "Possessive, are we? I like that in a man."

"Do you understand?" Tristan demanded, enunciating every syllable.

Julia was just about to order Tristan to release the salesman, when Gary spoke.

"Oh, yes, I understand. But what about you?" A slow grin played at Gary's lips, and his eyelids cracked open, revealing a suggestive, eager glint. "Is it permissible to touch you?"

Tristan released him as if he'd just mutated into nuclear waste, and Gary dropped to the hardwood floor with a thud. Thank God she'd taken Tristan's sword away. He might have skinned the salesman alive.

But you gave him a knife, remember?

Her eyes widened. Stupid, stupid, stupid: Sweat popped up on her brow as she glanced around the boutique. People were openly staring, some concerned, others merely entertained. With Tristan's warrior speed, he could slice Gary to ribbons before she uttered a single word to stop him.

"You haven't answered my question, gorgeous." Gary gave Tristan a flirtatious wink. "Is it permissible to touch you?"

"Nay," he growled. "No touching. Not me. Not Julia."

Relief crashed through her like the waves of an ocean. The imminent threat of attack had passed. Everyone would live.

Undaunted, Gary simply continued on. "What about these?" He shuffled through a rack of pants and, with a flourish, swished out a silky black pair. "These will make your woman look fab-oo, darling. Simply fab-oo."

No longer resembling a thundercloud of wrath, Tristan stroked his chin, giving the slacks a thorough inspection. "Nay. I want Julia to wear a gown that is soft and feminine, that flows around her ankles. That means no drocs."

"No pants," she translated.

"If that's what you want, gorgeous, that's what you shall have." With a flick of his wrist, Gary tossed the slacks aside. "This way," he called, sailing off. Julia followed, Tristan close at her heels. "Here you are, dear, and don't be shy. We want to see everything you try on. Absolutely everything."

"I'll show you," she said sternly, and waited, tapping her foot, for him to leave.

He got the hint.

"Of course, of course." Smiling with delight, he waved one hand through the air. "I'll just keep the big man occupied, all righty?"

Her delight far surpassed his, and she gave him a grin of her own. "I would like that, thank you."

Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but she slammed the door shut and clicked the lock in place. Julia slipped out of her jeans and T-shirt. Clad only in her mismatched bra and panties—next item of business: lingerie—she stole a moment to study herself in the mirror. A single bulb hung straight above her, its bright rays unforgiving. She turned left, then right, then left again. A frown pulled at her lips the entire time. No matter what the angle, the image stayed the same. Unattractive. Diets didn't work for her, damn it, and she would never be model slim. A short size eight was not the same as a tall size eight.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall," she muttered, pivoting for a back view. Her frown deepened. For some reason, her butt seemed extra wide today. How was that possible? Did fat cells reproduce? Before she worked herself into a good panic, she turned her attention elsewhere. Her breasts were nice, a definite handful. Would Tristan like them? she wondered, then scolded herself for even caring.

"Mayhap we should forget the gowns and leave you just as you are. No man could resist you like this."

Heart slamming in her chest, Julia uttered a panicked scream and spun… only to find Tristan watching her. Because of his immense height, his head towered over the dressing-room door, giving him a perfect view inside.

Right now, his eyes burned with the same heat that had flared to life right before he'd kissed her.

"What are you doing?" she screeched, snatching a dress and molding the material to the outside of her body. Her bra and panties covered crucial areas, but that didn't save her from embarrassment. Or arousal.

The grin he gave her reminded Julia of a naughty toddler who had just found a piece of fuzzy candy under the couch cushion. "Think you I would not remain nearby in case you had need of me?"

"I don't need you," she rushed out. "I swear." The fire in his gaze blazed all the brighter, as if she'd offered him a scorching innuendo and had every intention of seeing it through. "Oh, but you do have need of me, little dragon," he said softly. "You do." The ominous words sounded like a promise and had nothing to do with changing her clothes. "One day soon I will prove that to you."

She decided to change the subject before her tongue turned to rubber and her body to a quivering bundle of need. If only he didn't smell so seductive or look so erotically dangerous. So… yummy. "Wh-where's Gary?"

In the space of a heartbeat, Tristan lost his passionate glow. The hollows of his cheekbones brightened with horror, and he offered in a strangled whisper, "That man desires me, Julia. As a lover!"

"I know," she replied, and prayed he missed the sudden trace of laughter in her voice. He didn't. His eyes narrowed.

"You know?"

"Well, yeah."

"And yet you left me alone with him?"

Her lips pressed together, and again she answered, "Well, yeah."

Watching her, he drummed his fingertips atop the door ledge. "Mayhap I should do to you what I did to him."

A gasp slithered out of her throat. The hard slash of his brows had her picturing severed limbs and blood-soaked wood floors. "You didn't kill Gary, did you?" Only silence greeted her, causing her veins to crystallize with ice. "Tristan, please tell me you didn't kill him."

"I did not," he grudgingly—finally—admitted. "I bolted him inside a storage chamber."

"Dead or alive?"

His shoulders straightened, and his expression grew shuttered. "I will not kill your people, Julia." A measure of relief swept through her, but the relief quickly faded, replaced all too soon by consternation as she recalled the state of her undress. She shooed him away with her hands. "Go set him free, Mr. Peeping Tom."

"I am Tristan."

"Look, this is a woman's dressing room." When he didn't immediately walk away, she added, "That means no men allowed."

"During your lessons," he said with an edge of determination in his voice, "I am in charge. Buying new clothes is part of a lesson. That means right now, you obey me. And I wish to stay."

He had her there, damn him. She couldn't break a parameter, not when she'd broken one this very morning. So being desperate, she opted for the only option available. Her eyes imploring, she said, "Please, Tristan. I'm begging you. Go find Gary and set him free before we get into trouble." And before she died of mortification.

Tristan stiffened, eyed her with a riotous emotion she couldn't identify, maybe didn't want to identify. Yet she caught a glimpse of shadowed pain, so much pain she wondered how he survived. "Are you okay?" Concern washed through her, and she closed what distance between them she could. Only the width of the door kept their chests from touching. She clasped the warmth of his hand within her own. "What's wrong? You're suddenly so pale."

Fury and incredulity etched the lines of his face. "You begged me," he stated coldly. "You begged me to leave."

"Of course I did." What did that have to do with anything? Exasperated now, she gave him a stern, no-nonsense glare. "Will you please just go? I want to get dressed."

Without another word, he turned and stalked away. Hurry, hurry, hurry, echoed in her mind as Julia jerked on her jeans and T-shirt. She tried not to ponder what Tristan had really thought of her poor excuse for a body. Covered at last, she randomly grabbed ten of the dresses he'd chosen, plus swiped several pairs of slacks from a nearby rack and rushed to pay.

She was just accepting her change when Tristan approached her side, Gary close behind him.

"It is as you wish," Tristan said stiffly.

"Thanks." She gave the salesman a quick glance—he looked irked but alive—then focused all of her attention on Tristan. "I want to hit a few more stores before we head home." She'd taken the day off, and by God, she was going to get all of her shopping done. "What about your gowns?"

"I've already paid for them."

"I wished to see you wear them." Was there a bit of a whine in his tone?

"I'll show you later, okay?" When I can change behind a proper door!

"Do you not know the meaning of the phrase 'in charge'?" he growled.

"Apparently not," she muttered.

With deliberate leisure, he leaned his hip against the counter. "Mayhap I need to give you a lesson in obedience, as well as enticement."

Julia swiped a stray tendril of hair from her eyes.

"Just try it, tough guy, and you'll get a lesson in karate."

"I must admit, I am growing more and more intrigued by this karate of yours. Do you, mayhap, practice the sport naked?"

"Only on rainy days," she replied dryly. "Now let's go."

Laden down with sacks, they visited three more shops, buying shoes and accessories and yes, slinky lingerie, which she bought while Tristan was distracted with the "amazing delicacies" of corn dogs and French fries found at the food court.

No matter where they went, he hovered behind her. She needed protecting, he said, therefore he protected her. End of story. If a man glanced her way in a manner remotely unfriendly (or friendly) her charming, playful pleasure slave morphed into a demon from hell. He scowled. Growled. Clenched his fists.

Exasperating. Simply exasperating.

At home, she planted him in front of the TV and took another relaxing bubble bath. Like any man, Tristan became fascinated with the remote control.

Go figure.