The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Protect Your Master With Your Own Life

"Uh, excuse me," a deep, slightly accented male voice called. "Are you okay in there? I heard screaming. Should I call the cops?"

Julia glanced at Tristan, then down at their still-joined bodies. This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening.

But it was… She'd just had a mind-shattering orgasm. Tristan had just had an earth-shattering orgasm. And there was someone in the shop's vestibule, wanting to know if everything was okay. Her cheeks erupted into flames. Here she stood, her clothes a few feet away, a half-naked man between her thighs, and the echo of her screams ringing in her ears. Why, oh why, hadn't she locked the door and posted the Closed sign? Just how long had the customer been there? What had he heard? Enough to want to call the cops, obviously.

Tristan, the jerk, seemed totally unconcerned with the thought of having an audience. Smiling, he pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot and continued to grip her hips in his hands.

"Hello?" the voice said again. "I'm dialing 911 right now."

"No!" Julia shouted. "I'm fine. Really. I'll, uh, be right there."

She scrambled away from Tristan.

"Do you need any help?" the stranger asked.

"No, no. Stay where you are."

"Allow me to aid you, little dragon." Tristan picked up her skirt and helped her step inside.

"I need my panties, too," she whispered.

"Nay." Eyes darkening, he shook his head. "You gave them to me."

"Well, I'm taking them back."

"I will fight to the death to keep them."

Her teeth ground together. Without her underwear, cool air continued to kiss her exposed skin, a potent reminder of everything they'd done. How was she going to face this customer with that knowledge fresh in her mind?

She'd once thought having a boyfriend would solve all of her problems. Now she learned a boyfriend created a whole new set of complications she'd never imagined.

Tristan watched the play of emotions cross Julia's face. Embarrassment. Satisfaction. Aye, even excitement. Whether she protested or not, she was enjoying each new adventure tossed her way. And he liked that she liked them.

"Are you sure I can't help you?" the man said.

"I'm sure!" Julia cried.

Tristan's good humor quickly fled as he recalled this man was alone inside the store and could even now be searching for the box. At the moment, Tristan suspected everyone, male and female, for a woman could easily pay a man to do her dirty work.

"You will wait here, Julia, while I interrogate this new arrival."

"No, Tristan, I—"

He stalked off before she could finish.

Her fingers moved lightning fast over her shirt, re-fastening the buttons. She grimaced when she saw the crimson spots of dried blood dotted across the center. Too late to do anything now. She refused to greet her customers in her bra. If he'd just come back for a moment, she could change into her spare outfit in the storeroom. "Tristan," she called.

Tristan ignored her. In the center of the shop he spotted a tall fair-haired man. He was dressed in ripped, faded clothing that showcased a warrior's muscles. He also carried a red rectangular crate that held… weapons? Weapons to kill or to break inside the safe? Or mayhap both. Tristan's gaze scanned the item in question. It appeared fine. He searched the rest of the store. Three other people, two female, one male, were wandering around the shop, inspecting the merchandise.

Tristan finally settled his concentration on the muscled man with the red crate and cursed himself for placing Julia in danger. He should never have relaxed his guard. But, curse it, the woman was too tempting, too alluring for him to resist. When she had taken that candy into her mouth, her expression had looked the same as when she came. He had thought of nothing but bedding her from that moment on.

"What do you here?" he demanded of the man with the crate.

Before the man could answer, Julia shuffled around him.

"Hello," she said, then stopped. "I'm, uh… well, I'm Julia. The owner." She took a deep breath and made a visible effort of gathering her wits. "How can I help you?"

Tristan lunged to grab her, to shove her safely behind him, but she easily sidestepped him.

"I'm here to fix your pipes," the man said.

His voice was oddly familiar, Julia thought. But it was his eyes… they were deep blue, bottomless, and as clear as ice chips. They struck a deep chord of familiarity within her. However, she'd never seen him before in her life. She would have remembered. He was gorgeous, almost too beautiful to be real, as if he were wearing some exquisitely detailed mask.

"I believe you're expecting me," he added.

"Oh, yes." She offered him a welcoming smile. "Morgan Schetfield, right?"

He paused a moment, then nodded.

"That's right. I am Morgan Schetfield."

Tristan still did not relax his warrior stance.

"I will need to see proof of your identity," he said, taking Julia by the shoulders and forcing her to his side. Her frown flashed in his direction.

"I'm sure that's not necessary."

"It is very necessary." He gave the man a pointed stare.

"Sure thing,"

Morgan said easily. He muttered something under his breath, then withdrew a thin card shaped much like Julia's American Express. Tristan took it, studied it from every angle and handed the colorful, thin square to Julia. She glanced over the surface.

"He's Morgan Schetfield, born December second, nineteen seventy-five. His license expires in exactly three months. Anything else you need to know, Tristan?" she asked dryly.

"That is sufficient." But he planned to watch both Julia and the man until he was assured of Julia's safety.

"The problem is in the back," Julia said. "If you'll follow me…»

Tristan followed. He almost smiled when her cheeks reddened as she entered the bath chamber. He did gloat. Both of her shoes were strewn haphazardly across the floor. She quickly stuffed her feet inside.

"What exactly is the problem?" Morgan asked.

Julia explained about the moaning pipes and unflushable toilet.

"Think you can fix it?"

"I know I can."

Morgan jumped into the work, chatting the entire time, inquiring amicably about Julia and her life, asking if she was happy and other such things that were none of his business. It irritated Tristan that the man showed such interest in his woman. What irritated him more, however, was the fact that the man accomplished something he himself had been unable to do, making the plumber appear a hero in Julia's eyes. The cursed man fixed the pipes, just as he had claimed. Even when his job was done, Morgan continued to smile up at Julia, laughing and talking about people and places Tristan knew not. Tristan did not like it. He suppressed the urge to pound the plumber's face into the cracked tile floor. Let us see how well the man smiles when his teeth are ground into powder.

Contrary to her initial unease, Julia was perfectly content with Morgan; not the shy, nervous woman she had once described herself. She no longer seemed weighed down with self-doubts. She appeared confident. While he was proud of her inner growth, he did not like her ease with this other man.

By the time Morgan left, Tristan was seething with emotion. He was not jealous. Nay, he was furious. Julia was his, and he would not allow another man to poach on his territory. Julia quickly eased him from his upset. When the last customer left, she wrapped her arms around his neck, drew him to her and whispered all the things she wanted to do to him. Only to him. By the time she uttered her last word, a sheen of sweat covered his entire body.

"Let us go home," he managed. Her lips lifted in a slow smile, and she nodded.