The Pleasure Slave

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.

"They're too tight," she informed him. "I can see the outline of your… your… I can just see things I'm not supposed to see, okay?"

His arms crossed over his chest, and he uttered a patronizing snort. "If a warrior's clothes are loose, they are easily grabbed by his enemy."

"We're not at war."

"Silly dragon. Enemies are all around us, some seen, some hidden."

"Fine," she said on a sigh. "Keep your pants. You still need a shirt, though."

"Mayhap it would be easier if we simply stripped naked and stayed here."

"No!" she shouted, though her body screamed, Yes. Oh, yes.

"Will you find me appropriate attire, little dragon?"

His voice was pure, unadulterated sin, and seemed to suggest he could wear her. Images of her naked body covering him, of her arms draped around his shoulders and her legs wound around his waist, flashed inside her mind. A delicious shiver danced along her spine, and she sucked her lip into her mouth.

"Do not do that," he suddenly growled, all traces of seduction gone.

Confused by his abrupt mood shift, Julia blinked up at him. "Don't do what?" Don't imagine myself draped over your hot, sweaty body? Too late.

"Do not bite your lip. It is bad for you."

"It is not."

"If you continue, I might add another parameter. No biting of the lips—I mean, no biting of your own lip. You may bite me as much as you like," he said. "Now, about the clothing. I require that you fetch me a shirt."

"There's a store a couple miles from here that's open twenty-four hours. They'll have everything you need." Again she glanced down his big, hard body. "I just hope they have big enough sizes."

"We will leave immediately."

Without waiting for her reply, he pivoted on his heel and stalked to the door.

"Wait!" Julia leapt up and bolted after him. She grabbed his arm, a puny action, really, when dealing with a man his size, but it had the desired affect. He stopped.

"You can't go," she told him. Thankfully, she'd only be gone an hour, probably less, and that didn't leave much time for him to get into trouble. He faced her, both brows winged upward. She'd known him such a short time and already she could judge his moods. Arched eyebrows meant one of two things: He was confused, or he was angry. Either way, she suffered.

"Why not?" he demanded.

Angry. Definitely angry. Hoping to soothe him, she gentled her tone.

"Here in America, we can't go into a business establishment without being completely covered. We have a policy of no shirt, no shoes, no service."

"This policy mentions nothing of leg coverings. Does this mean that once you find me a shirt and shoes, I must remove my drocs?"

Hormone overdrive, she thought. "You must wear all three items at the same time."

"I do not like the rules of your world."

"You may not like them, but you still have to obey them. So you'll stay here, and I'll go. No exceptions. When I return, you'll change and then we'll go to my store."

"This I will not allow, for a woman must never travel alone."

"I know how to take down a bad guy."

"Your karate would not hurt a defenseless babe."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Now, if I'm going to open the shop on time, I have to hurry. You'd only get in the way. And for your information, I am a black belt, the most lethal of all." A small lie, really. She did own a black belt—it was leather with silver tassels at the end. "You will stay here." Cringing inside and hating her next words, she straightened her shoulders and stared up at him. "I— command it."

His jaw hardened instantly, and the heat in his eyes became glazed with frost, turning the violet to icy steel. He no longer resembled the warrior she'd come to desire, but the slave he professed himself to be. Disappointment thundered through her, as potent and alive as her sudden sorrow.

"I shall do as you command, of course," he said, his tone devoid of emotion.

How could he look so… cold, almost brutal in his lack of sentiment? I have to do this, she reminded herself. He couldn't leave the house dressed as he was.

Knowing there was nothing she could say to ease his pride, she gathered her purse and keys. Tristan was a hard man, one who obviously yearned for the full measure of his authority. Though the curse demanded he obey her orders, he didn't back down until the end. She couldn't help but admire him and wish she possessed some of his inner strength.

He'll have fun while I'm gone, she assured herself. He'll play with his sword, maybe take a walk… and demand to pleasure every woman he encounters. Fighting back a wave of jealousy, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe leaving Tristan here, alone, wasn't such a smart idea.

She could order him back into his box. One heartbeat passed. Two. With a sigh, Julia again discarded the idea. How could she, in good conscience, ask another human being to lock himself within a tiny crypt? Tugging her lip into her mouth—and for the first time realizing how often she actually did it—she slipped on an old pair of tennis shoes. She glanced up, only to find Tristan watching her, his expression still blank.

"I shouldn't be gone more than half an hour," she said, a catch in her voice. "Don't answer the door and please, please, don't use your sword on anyone."

"Whatever you desire… master." He sneered the last. "Didn't I already swear not to use my sword in your home?"

"Tristan—" She closed her mouth with a snap. He didn't want an apology, he wanted to go with her. However, she refused to change her mind. And as the ticking of the wall clock filled her ears, she slipped into her coat. "I'll be back soon," she said. "I promise."

He turned from her, giving her his back.

The urge to stay bombarded her common sense. Regret burned hot as she forced one foot in front of the other. Outside, a crisp gust of wind hit her full force. Going from contentedly warm to impossibly cold played havoc with her internal thermometer, and she shivered. After pulling the lapels of her coat closer together, she palmed her keys and hopped down the porch. Her gaze automatically sought her shrubs. Thankfully, they were still alive. Her sister was fond of telling her that she possessed the Black Thumb of Death. Anything green and leafy that was left in her care was sure to die. Julia sighed. Tristan wasn't green, but she was having trouble taking proper care of her alien.

Tristan fought against his fury as the silence of the house enveloped him. Julia had commanded her will to his again, just as he'd expected. Just as all the others he had served. Her careless disregard for his wishes made the beast inside him roar and paw for release. But he was a warrior, first and foremost, and a warrior knew when to allow the beast release and when to force him to heel.

Right now, he would heel. He would obey and offer no more of himself than was demanded.

He'd wanted Julia to be different, he thought with clenched fists. She wasn't.

He would do well to remember that.

He would do well not to place too much significance on the sweet things she'd done for him, on the fact that thoughts of her with this other man, this Puny Peter, awakened his deepest possessive instincts.

Even now, his blood boiled.

He needed something else to do, something to occupy his mind until Julia's return. He scanned the chamber. Mayhap he would assuage his curiosity and search the home from top to bottom. His eyes lit on the tapered window alcove that allowed the morning sun to flood into the room, and he nodded. Aye, he would learn the layout of the house, and discover more about his newest guan ren.

Ebony framed mirrors with gold-plated edges hung at each corner of the wall. Bright pillows of turquoise, emerald and lavender were scattered across a plump lounging dais and a thick carpet draped the polished wood floors. A cobbled hearth sat devoid of any embers, but glistened all the same. A place of depth and hidden sensuality, most assuredly. The woman who had decorated this room was not cruel or malicious. She was bold and passionate and a maze of untapped delights.

Unbidden, he felt himself once again soften toward her, helpless against the sensation. How did she do this to him? How did she tie him in so many knots?

He sighed. The overflowing boxes that had failed to gain his notice yestereve now received his full attention. He bent before the closest one and shuffled through the contents. There were toys, clocks and silverware. In another were books—all had pictures of half-naked men and women and garnered much interest from him, for these were exactly the positions he craved with Julia. Him looming above her half-clad bosom while her lips parted with passion.

In still another box were dishes, porcelain flowers and vases, all carefully packaged. A treasure connoisseur, she was, and no wonder she had purchased his box. She had recognized the value—of him? His respect for her grew.

What else would he learn about Julia? Inspection finished here, he journeyed throughout the house, bypassing the kitchen, for he'd already seen it. Too, he'd surveyed the downstairs bedchambers. So he found himself padding up the creaking stairs and following a path that led to two bedchambers with closed doors. He opened the first… and cocked his head to the side, unsure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The chamber was filled with old toys and a cradle. A tomblike silence greeted his ears. The walls were white, the floors unpolished. And the next chamber appeared exactly the same. Toys, a cradle, a crib. Cracked paint and splintered wood. Below, she had carefully arranged her trinkets and furnishings to reflect a certain ambiance. Yet here she had left the room in disarray, choking the life from the light.

A loud, shrill noise ruptured the silence, like a messenger of death come to claim him. Alert, ready for battle, Tristan raced down the stairs.