The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Always Wear Clothing That Is Pleasing To Your Master. If She Despises Clothing, You Must Remain Naked

Saturday morning dawned cold but beautiful. An early spring wind danced through the air and birds chirped merrily in the trees. Eager blossoms valiantly attempted to bud.

Inside Julia's home, candles glowed with vanilla-scented flames. Freshly polished counters gleamed brightly in the kitchen. Warm, inviting air cloaked every room like an old, comforting blanket.

Julia was ready to vomit.

Coffee hadn't helped. Nothing helped.

Yesterday she had finally worked up the courage to invite Peter to an early dinner. At first, he said no. So she offered to pay. Still he refused. Only the threat of her "brother's" fury had swayed him to, at last, agree. The hint of reluctance in his voice when he finally said yes—a strange squeak that clearly stated he did not wish to dine with her—had pounded against her pride.

Was she that undesirable that she had to threaten a man to eat with her?

"What are you going to wear?" her sister asked cheerfully. Faith had arrived only minutes ago to help her prepare for the "big day."

"I don't know," she answered, "but I can't wear anything until I find my black shoes." Lips tight in a glower, she frantically searched through a sea of makeup on the counter, then a pile of clothes on the floor. Right now, she was wearing only her new matching bra and panties made of opalescent material that picked up different hues of light. The color reminded her of Tristan's eyes. "Have you seen them? I've looked everywhere. They have to be here."

"Calm down, calm down." Faith's tone was reassuring, soothing, but did nothing to pierce Julia's shell of panic. "I'll find them."

"He's supposed to be here in one hour and two minutes, and I can't find my shoes! I'm not dressed, and my hair looks like crap. Calm down? I don't think so!"

Faith clasped her by the shoulders, forcing her to cease her frenzied search. "This is a date, Jules, not an execution. Take a deep breath. That's it. Now slowly release every molecule of air. Good girl."

"What am I doing?" Julia rubbed at her temples, trying to ward off the oncoming ache. "Dating is stupid. Men are stupid. I shouldn't be doing this. Why am I doing this?"

"Because you're searching for a man to share your life with."

"Oh, God." The enormity of the situation hit her all at once. Eyes wide, Julia ran to the bathroom, both hands covering her mouth. At the toilet, she hunched over and emptied out the contents of her stomach. Faith stood behind her in the next instant, holding her hair out of the way.

Why was she putting herself through this?

Julia hated the fact that her sister and Tristan were tagging along. The lucky couple would get to witness every faux pas she committed. So easily she pictured herself spilling vegetable soup down her dress, getting spinach stuck between her teeth and toilet paper attaching itself to her shoe—not her black shoes, though, because she didn't know where the hell they were.

With her eyes closed, she rubbed her temple. Even though Tristan had helped her learn to flirt, she wasn't sure she really knew what to do or say to a man. All morning her old insecurities had beat against her resolve, and now they fought for complete domination. She was going to make a fool of herself; she just knew it. Surprisingly the thought of her foolishness didn't bother her as much as the thought of Faith and Tristan becoming romantically involved. They were both so beautiful, so perfect together, and on this stupid, stupid, stupid double date, they might just realize that fact.

Julia hated the jealousy she was now feeling for her older, gorgeously put-together sister, the woman who had practically raised her, but she had no control over her emotions where Tristan was concerned.

Drained of confidence and strength, she collapsed against the cool tile at her feet. She clutched her knees to her stomach and blinked up at Faith. "I can't do this. I can't. I'm not even sure I like Puny Peter," she admitted.

"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.

"Jealous?"

"No."

"Protective?"

"Absolutely." She sank deeper onto the floor. "And because of that, he and Peter do not get along well."

"Okay, then. Call Peter and tell him you can't make it. That way, you and Tristan can spend the evening here and explore this protective side of his."

Moaning, she let her head sink into 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, 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 do a total makeover."

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 when she finished. "You need to get dressed."

"Not until I find my shoes." Finding those damn black heels had suddenly become her biggest goal in life.

"They're around here somewhere. Don't panic. We'll find them." Together they searched for the missing items and ten minutes later Faith found them stuffed inside the dirty clothes hamper. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"How did they get in there?" Faith asked, holding them up 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. With a grimace, Faith shook her head.

"This is a date, Jules. Don't scare the man away by pretending to be a stick of cotton candy. Where did you get that thing, anyway?"

"Tristan picked it out."

Her sister rolled her eyes. "I swear, if it looks edible, men are going to buy it."

"God, 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 Tristan—and Peter, of course—will drool over."

"What would I do without you, Faithie?"

"Walk around like a vomiting stick of cotton candy, that's what."

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 on his stomach. He'd never been very good with women and didn't have much practice. His nerves kept him from acting out his desires.

He liked Julia, though. She made him feel comfortable.

Her brother scared the hell out of him.

When he'd first moved into the house beside Julia's, he'd hardly noticed her. But each morning as he prepared his plants for summer's harsh rays, 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.

Little things about her 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 always lost his bravado when he reached her house, and he would race home.

Then he'd seen her hiding behind her bushes, as nervous as he was, and he decided to go for it. And almost been murdered in the process 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 mean Peter's death. He'd never seen an expression quite so fierce, or a man quite so intimidating. Tristan obviously loved his sister, and like any devoted brother, would protect her and crush anyone who hurt her.

But today, Peter would have her all to himself. And he would make sure he didn't do anything she could tell Tristan about that would send the giant hulk into a rage. Then he thought, So what if I act ungentlemanly? What's Tristan 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.

A rush of uncertainty filled her, and her brows winged upward. "Do you think it's sexy enough?"

"Oh, yeah." Faith nodded, an assured grin lifting the corners of her lips. "They'll be mopping up his 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."

Julia's smile became one of eagerness as she padded to the living room. What would Tristan think of her in a dress? Would he beam and say she looked beautiful? Oh, of course he would, 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.

And Peter would love it, too, of course.

Tristan was sprawled out 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 slave girl wielding a fan. She shivered and had to stop herself from screaming to the heavens, 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. With one finger, he made a circular motion for her to spin. She did as instructed.

"Again," Tristan said, wanting another view of Julia's backside. His groin tightened 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?" Expectant and eager, she twirled for the third time.

"It is too long," he said with a deceptively lazy undertone. Confusion flashed across 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."

"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 forced herself to ignore the twinge of desire that action caused and marched back into her room, announcing, "He hates it!"

"Hmm." A frown shaped Faith's mouth. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Well, try this one."

Oh, yes, she thought, eyeing the red halter dress. Perfect. Tristan had seemed particularly fascinated with it at the boutique. She shimmied her body into the clingy fabric until it hugged every curve. Knowing she would receive a compliment this time, she strode back into the living room.

"Okay, what about 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."

"Too red?"

"Your hearing is excellent."

"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.

"He says 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 neck sash. It wasn't red, and it wasn't long. It was the epitome of class.

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

Forty-five minutes later, Julia wanted to smother Tristan in the sea of clothing he had 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?"

He shrugged as if to say, You should damn well pick out your own clothes. At a loss, she and Faith 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 settled on a lavender floral-print skirt with a matching button-up blouse, both of which coordinated with her bra and panties. The outfit hugged her curves and swayed when she walked. Not her first choice, but by God, it would be her last.

She left her hair down around her shoulders, 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.

Again he shrugged, but the heated once-over he gave her said plenty. He liked the outfit! Delight chased away her bad mood, and confidence budded within her chest.

Faith cast him a why-are-you-acting-like-such-an-ass glance, then turned back to Julia. "You are stunning, Jules. Simply breathtaking. Don't let the opinion of one demented idiot make you think otherwise."

"I think she is lovely," Tristan said, "no matter what she wears."

Julia beamed her appreciation.

Faith looked radiant in a sophisticated black pantsuit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple twist that cascaded tendrils 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. Her mouth watered, and she shivered.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

"That's him." Instantly butterflies unleashed a flurry of wings within her stomach. Even her desire for Tristan was overshadowed in wake of her fear. Calm down, she commanded herself. But the command didn't help. Still shaking, she smoothed her hair in place, drew in a deep breath and slowly glided to the entry way. 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 bunked over at her and said, "You're like the rarest of cacti that bloom a flush pink only once a year."

"I—thank you."

"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, and the strong scent of his cologne wafted to her nostrils. "I've been waiting for this moment since you called."

Tristan chose that moment to step up behind her. Almost absently, she leaned into him. "We are ready," he growled.

Color instantly drained from Peter's face, leaving him pallid and waxen. Shaky.

"Uh… we?" he squeaked.

"Peter," Julia said, hoping to soothe him, "you've already met Tristan, who has promised not to bite you."

If possible, Peter's features became more pallid.

"I've met him." Inch by inch, he crept backward.

"And this is my sister, Faith," Julia said with a wave toward her sister.

"Nice to meet you, Peter." Faith moved forward and smiled a sexy, fall-at-my-feet kind of smile. Peter ground to a halt. Lost in the sheer femaleness Faith radiated, he drank her in for a silent moment, his eyes half-lidded with admiration. Then, recalling Tristan was Faith's brother, as well, he became agitated once again and pulled at his blue-striped tie. Gulping, he looked back to Julia. "Did your brother say we are ready?"

"Brother?" Faith asked.

"I thought it would be nice if my family joined us," Julia interjected with a warning glance to her sister.

What else could she say? Oh, by the way, Faith. I lied and told him we're all family. Or, Peter, darling, they're forcing me to bring them.

"I hope you don't mind," she ended up saying.

"Perhaps we should do this another day," he said. "I mean—"

"No!" Julia wasn't sure she could endure another morning of predate jitters. "Today is fine. You'll have fun." I hope.

Faith inserted herself between them and batted her eyelashes up at Peter. "Please, call me Faithie. Everyone does."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Peter began again. "I have an appointment early tomorrow morning and 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. Understand?"

A jumble of horror and fear, Peter simply nodded.

"Peter," Faith said, breaking the mounting tension. "I'd love it if you walked me to your car."

"Excellent idea," Julia said, desperate for a reprieve. Any type of reprieve. "You three go ahead. I need to turn out the lights." She spun away before they could protest. When she heard the car doors slam shut, she sucked in a breath. I can do this. I can.