Shame washed over her as she realized that she was comparing the two men, just as she'd been compared to her sister throughout her entire childhood. "Faith plays the piano so beautifully. Why can't you, Julia?" "Faith won first place at the track meet. Better luck next time, Julia." "All of the boys adore Faith. If you'd just try a little harder, Julia."
So Tristan resembled a legendary warrior king, and Peter resembled a toilet-scrubbing servant. Big deal. Beauty always faded. She knew that. Why then did her palms sweat and her heart pound whenever Tristan entered a room? Why did she feel unaffected by Peter, a man who seemed made specifically for her?
Julia didn't have the answers to those questions, and she told herself it didn't matter. Once she spent time with her neighbor, romantic feelings would come. She'd long to strip him naked and have him do the same to her. She'd long to taste his kisses and feel Tristan'suh, Peter's body pressing against hers. Thankfully, a cool breeze drifted by and calmed the sudden fire in her blood.
Surely Peter possessed some quality that overshadowed Tristan. Hoping for a better view, she shoved several branches out of her line of vision. The brittle foliage tickled her check, but at least she now saw him clearly.
He paused, sheers in hand, and turned toward her bushes, his expression curious. "Julia?" he asked, unsure.
Caught in the act of spying! Julia stifled a groan of mortification and crawled out from beneath her hiding place. She jumped to her feet and smoothed away clinging foliage and dirt. "Uh, hi, Peter." She gave him a smile, hoping to cover her embarrassment. "I was just, uh" Where were her wits when she needed them? "Pruning my bushes."
"Really?" He returned her grin and set his shears aside. "Me, too."
"That's great. Keeps your yard looking fresh."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. He rocked back and forth on his feet. His hands dug into his jacket pockets and jiggled change.
"Do you prune often?" she asked, willing to talk about anything at this point. "In the winter, I mean."
"I work in my garden all year round. I find it very relaxing."
Since she knew nothing about greenery, Julia didn't reply, too afraid of what might come out of her mouth. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he continued to grin from ear to ear as he covered the distance between them. Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation, but she remained in place, determined to converse with him even if God himself reached down from heaven and clamped her lips shut.
"I've been meaning to come by," Peter said. His fragrance, like pine needles and dark wood, followed him on a scented cloud. "We've been neighbors for a few months now, but we've never really talked."
Julia forced her mouth to open and her reply to emerge perfectly, precisely. "I'd love to change that. To talk to you, I mean."
His hazel eyes glowed with approval, and he inched another step closer. "I must admit, I've been curious about you. What do you do for a living?"
"I own an antique store downtown. Julia's Treasures. What about you?"
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I do aircraft title searches." He noticed her confusion and added, "When someone wants to buy an airplane, I study the title to make sure there are no outstanding liens. It's the same procedure for buying a used car."
"How interesting."
"Very. I meet fascinating people." He kept shifting from one foot to the other. "Listen, I was thinking"
"Julia will not be going anywhere with you," a low, sexy voice growled behind her.
Julia whipped around, but not before catching a glimpse of Peter's pale, horrified features. She wanted to assure him everything would be all right, but she couldn't think about her neighbor's sensibilities now. Not when Tristan's arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart, and a dangerous, predatory light gleamed in his eyes. He bore no weapons save his fists, yet he looked ready to kill.
"What are you doing?" she whispered furiously.
"Saving you from yourself." The moment he'd heard voices, Tristan had stepped outside only to see Julia conversing with the man she hoped to entice. Raw possessiveness had ripped through him, and he'd had to force himself to resist the urge to grab several blades from Julia's kitchen and slice this puny man in two.
It surprised him, this instant, volatile reaction. He'd never felt more than mild affection for any of his other women, if anything at all, and hadn't cared if they entertained other men when they no longer wished his services. But mild affection did not eat at him right now. Fury? Aye. She had told him an untruth, consciously breaking the first parameter of their bargain by talking with another man. Incredulity? Aye, he felt incredulity. Discarded? Absolutely. Julia hungered for the touch of a manand it wasn't Tristan's.
He growled.
His muscles clenched, his blood boiled and his warrior instincts surfaced in full force. The image of removing Peter's heartif he possessed onewith his bare fist mollified him somewhat. What was so special about this neighbor of hers? Tristan glared down at him, but saw nothing that might entrance an exotically sensual woman such as Julia to madness.
Julia pivoted away from him and stared at her neighbor, an apologyand something else? in her eyes. Tristan's rage sparked to life with greater potency; he worked his jaw with a callused hand. Aside from their kiss, she rarely acted as if she wanted him. In fact, she continuously pushed him away, a completely foreign concept. Yet she desired marriage with this man.
What if she truly loved Peter? The possibility angered him more than he cared to admit. Did she not realize love would make her weak? Gave another control over her emotions? Obviously not. Well, as he'd told her only moments ago, he would simply have to save her from herself.
Tristan clasped Julia by the shoulders, melding her body with his own and visibly staking a claim lest Peter doubt the nature of his presence. The puny man's face was pallid by now, and he was backing away. Julia didn't turn or acknowledge Tristan's gesture in any way. At the moment, she was completely oblivious to him as a male, to the raw, masculine intent surging through his veins. He might as well have been a tree stump for all the attention she paid him. Every combative bone in his body demanded he act. Immediately!
By Elliea, he would make her want him.
To Peter, he barked, "You will leave us now."
The puny man blanched further, inched another step backward and held up his hands in a peace offering. "I was just on my way home. I swear to God I barely even looked at Julia."
"Please stay," Julia said with a shaky smile. "This will only take a second. My brother and I just need to chat."
"No, really. I should go."
"Stay!" she commanded with such determination that he froze in place. She whipped around and pinned Tristan with a glare. "I don't appreciate you messing this up for me," she whispered fiercely.
"I require my underwear," he barked, not even trying to quiet his voice.
"Shh," she hissed. "That is not information Peter needs."
"Have you forgotten our bargain already?" His lips thinned, and his nostrils flared. "The first parameteryou will not see or otherwise engage in any type of activity with another man while I am giving you lessons."
Color drained from her face. "Peter and I were just talking."
"Otherwise engaged includes speaking. That you knew. Mayhap I should bend the parameters and carry my sword." He leaned into her until their noses brushed, until their breaths intermingled. "Shall I retrieve the weapon now?"
Still ashen, Julia shook her head. She blinked several times, watching him, gauging, as if she didn't quite believe what was happening. "You're right, Tristan. You are. But it would have been rude for me to walk away without saying anything to Peter."
"You will be forgiven the moment you inform him that I am not your brother."
"Don't ask me to do that. Please."
"I have already asked, thus you will do it." The beast inside him had emerged, clawing and fighting and demanding immediate appeasing. He cared not at all that Puny Peter had already retreated inside his dwelling.
"I can't tell him who you really are," she said. "He might assume you're my»
"Lover?" he finished for her. "If you will not tell him who I am, then explain to him that you cannot see him again until your lessons are complete."
"He'll think that's an excuse, that I don't really like him. I can't damage his feelings that way. He's a nice man, and he doesn't deserve to be hurt."
"So you will hurt me, instead?"
She looked away guiltily.
"I doubt a woman could ever hurt you," she muttered after a long, defeated sigh. "Go back into the house, Tristan. Please." He remained in place. "I said go back into the house. Now!" Glaring down at her, he waited for her to do or utter more words that would prove she was not as heartless as she sounded. She didn't.
"I live with you," he said quietly, "and as of tonight, I sleep in your bed. I will be your lover, Julia, and I will make sure he never once crosses your mind." With that, Tristan spun on his heel and obeyed her command.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Your Pleasure Rests In The Pleasure Of Your Master
Julia cursed under her breath as she stomped to the car. Men were sooo unbelievably stubborn.
By ordering Tristan back inside the house without hunting Peter down and telling him the truth, she'd damaged Tristan's pride, treating him as a slave instead of a man. Yet her actions had been unavoidable. Allowing Peter to believe she had a live-in lover was not the best way to win his affections. Besides, she'd wanted to avoid all confrontation, thereby avoiding Peter's execution.
In Tristan's black mood, Peter might have accidentally said something to set him off. Tristan would have unsheathed his dagger, and Peter would have dropped to the ground in a fetal ball, crying for his mommy and sucking his thumb. Then Tristan would have killed him.
Julia snorted in disgust. Men were not a prize; they were an affliction. A disease upon society, and at the moment, she couldn't think of a single reason she had decided to seduce one.
She was better off alone.
Alone.
The word echoed in her mind over and over, chafing against her deepest dreams and desires until she succumbed to the truth. She didn't really want to be alone. She wanted romance, damn it, complete with moonlight and candles. Promises of love and forever. Soft, sweet music and wandering hands. Hot, gyrating bodies. She wanted to feel beautiful, admired and gloriously special.
Because Peter was as plain and shy as she was, he would know how it felt to want those things and would do everything in his power to give her what she craved. She knew it. Of course, she now had to defuse his fear of infuriating her "brother," which might prove difficult considering Tristan had practically hacked him in two with a mere glare.
Oh, lighten up, Julia. She'd built her business with nothing but her wits, and she could build a relationship with Peter doing the same. So what that her seduction had taken a wrong turn. So what that she couldn't see him or otherwise engage in any type of activity with him until her lessons with Tristan ended. She'd wait, and when the time was right, she'd smooth things over. Perhaps by then Peter would find her so irresistible he'd fall on his knees and beg her to date him.
Feeling lighter, freer, she hummed under her breath as she rooted through the trunk of her sedan. Minutes later, she found the package of black men's briefs, extra-large. Slipping the item under her arm, she sauntered into her house. Tristan lounged on the living-room couch and, even in his relaxed pose, he radiated authority and consuming fury.
Her light mood vanished. She gulped. "I found your briefs," she said, placing the package atop the coffee table.
Without glancing at her, he replied, "Thank you, master."
His steely tone cut like a knife, and shards of guilt uncoiled deep within her. "I didn't want to order you inside, Tristan, but you gave me no choice. You were angry, and I didn't want you to take your emotions out on Peter."
Nothing. No response.
"He's not as strong as you are," she continued, "and if you had hurt him, you would have been arrested."
When Tristan still didn't move or acknowledge her in any way, she struggled against a sharp ache in her chest. Had she caused irreparable damage to his pride? Had she ruined their growing friendship?
"Tristan, please say something."
"Is that a command?"
"No."
Only silence greeted her.
After a brief hesitation, she slipped from the room.
Tristan watched her go, hating his existence more at this moment than ever before. She'd dishonored him, embarrassed him and dismissed him. Circumstances he'd endured a thousands times before, but all the more potent now as they mingled with his need to possess and conquer.
He was letting himself care for her, and he knew better.
Curse him, he knew better! She might challenge him, draw him and anger him. She might confuse him with her illogical speech. And most times, she might simply captivate him. But none of those things mattered. He had to remain disciplined, had to keep himself distanced. One day she would die, or mayhap even lose his box, and he would continue onon to another woman.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Relaxed. Tensed again. The thought of Julia alone, with no one to care for her, did not settle well within him.
Drawing in a deep breath, and catching a hint of Julia's sweet, lingering fragrance, he leaned forward and studied the portraits on the small table in front of him. In one, Julia perched next to a girl who was slightly older. While Julia's eyes were green, the other girl's were big and blue. Both looked so young, somber and defeated, and Julia did not resemble the spitfire he knew her to be. In another, the same two girls were splayed atop a bed of bright emerald foliage, their eyes sparkling and staring up toward the heavens, their lips lifted in sad, wistful smiles.
'Twas the same smile Julia wore before walking away from him moments ago.
He could not leave things as they were.
He knifed to his feet and followed the direction she had taken. What he planned to do with her, or to say to her, he didn't know.