But half an hour later, she was jerked from her sensual reverie when Tristan began shouting curses at the pipes. She gasped when she saw that he had cut his hand. Concerned, she rushed to his side. Blood seeped from the wound, running with constant force.
She had to bite back her fear as she grabbed his shirt from the floor and hurriedly wrapped the material around his hand. Soon crimson soaked through the white, and dripped to the floor. "I need another bandage. This one is useless. Do you still keep a spare set of clothing in your office?"
"Yes. I'll just go get"
"There is not time. I'm bleeding too badly. Remove your blouse and hand it to me," he demanded, his attention centered on his wound.
"Of course."
Her concern for him increased. She tugged off her shirt and helped him rewrap his hand.
"Now give me your panties," he said.
This time she paused and bunked up at him.
"What?"
He winced. A little too forcefully, perhaps?
"Give me your panties," he repeated.
She studied his features, and suspicions grew in her mind.
"Let me see your hand."
"There is no time. I have need of your panties."
"What kind of need?"
"I am in pain, woman, and you dare question me?"
She didn't doubt he was in pain. It was the type of pain that was in question. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and she knew her thin, lacy thong would offer no protection for his injury. Still, willing to play along, Julia cast a quick glance around the corner to make sure no customers had entered. They were still alone.
Feeling daring and uninhibited, she removed her pink lace thong and gave the tiny scrap to Tristan. Cool air touched the heat of her, making her shiver. Delightful bumps popped up all over her skin.
"There," she said, trying to hide her growing excitement. "Happy now?"
"Nay. I need your skirt, as well."
Not wanting this to be too easy for him, she crossed her arms over her chest.
"What for?"
"Come here and I will show you."
"No way. You only get paid when the pipes are fixed. And they aren't fixed."
"True, but this is just to inspire me."
Well, how could she argue with that? If the man needed inspiration A fog of anticipation wrapped around her as she closed the distance between them. Grinning, he lifted her up and placed her atop the sink's edge.
"That is better," he said. With slow, deliberate movements, he removed the shirt from around his hand and tossed it to the ground.
She stared down at his palm. As she watched, his wound was even then healing itself. The tissues were weaving together, interlacing and sealing. Soon there was no evidence he had ever been hurt. Her jaw dropped.
"How did you do that?"
"A function of the curse."
He tugged her skirt from her body and dropped it with a whoosh. He held fast to her thong.
"This is mine."
"Okay. But you have to give me something in return."
"Hmm, I like the customs of your world. What do you say I keep your panties and in return I give you your woman's pleasure twice?"
As if she needed to think about that!
"Sounds like a good bargain to me."
Through the fabric of her bra, he circled his fingertips over her nipples. Just as it did every time he touched her, the heat of his skin seared her to the core. She gasped.
"I want you, Julia. Are you too sore?"
Yes, but need pulsed through her anyway. It was like melting, dissolving into hot flames.
"I want you," she said, "and I'm willing to bet you can make me forget any discomfort I might feel."
"Such will be my personal mission."
He placed drugging kisses along her breasts, making her bra moist, causing delicious friction, then he flicked each nipple with his tongue.
"Did you lock the front door?" she asked suddenly.
He shook his head and gave her a soft, sweet kiss that captured her breath.
"Nay."
"Then don't make me scream, okay? I have to know if someone comes in."
"If I cannot make you scream, little dragon, I am not worthy to be your lover."
With that, he slipped inside her. Five minutes later, she was moaning. Ten minutes later she was ordering him to move faster. Fifteen minutes later she screamed over and over again, the sound echoing off the walls. Neither heard the bell above the door chime.
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Never Slacken From Your Duties
Julia zipped along the highway. She and Tristan were almost home, almost in bed. She patted her purse, sighing contentedly when she felt the comforting bulge of the jewelry box. She glanced over at Tristan, and her relaxed mood vanished. His eyes were closed, and his skin was unusually pale. Sweat beaded on his brow. At the corners, his lips were tinged with blue.
"Tristan?" she said, alternating her attention between the road ahead of her and the man beside her. He didn't respond. Her stomach knotted with fear. "Tristan?" She yelled his name this time, and the sound echoed throughout the sedan. She punctuated the word with a shake of his thigh. "Tristan!"
Tristan was lost in a world of darkness and light, one or both, he couldn't decide. He only knew his body burned, an inferno of flicking flames. He was trapped in some sort of prison, lying on the cold, hard ground.
Suddenly Zirra was straddled over his body, cruelly using him to gain her pleasure, yet denying him his own. He was almost glad he was to be denied release, for even while he prayed for it, he despised himself for giving her any part of him.
Nay, his mind shouted. This isn't real. This isn't happening. Fight it.
"Do you see how I control you?" she said huskily. "Do you see?"
"Aye."
"I know you like this. I know you like me. How can you not?"
His jaw locked mutinously.
"Say it," she demanded. "Tell me how you're glad of my domination."
"I am glad."
The lie tripped from his lips by force because the spell dictated that he please her, and his admission would surely please her, though he tried desperately to hold back the words. Zirra did not deserve such an avowal, untruth or not. She deserved only words of hate.
"What a good little slave you are," she praised, raking her nails down his chest, not as a lover would, but as a master does to someone unworthy of tenderness. "Now tell me how much you love me."
"I love you," he growled, adding silently, I loathe you.
"Liar," she snarled, baring her teeth in a fierce scowl. "You are a liar. The spell would be broken if you spoke true. How dare you lie to me, to your master. You will be punished, doubt me not."