Pleasure Slave? "I'm not calling you that." The name was too erotic, too sexual. "Do you have a name that I doesn't have anything to do with the bedroom? Like John or Phil."
A pause, then, "Tristan."
"Tristan," she repeated, liking the sound. It suited him, being both sensual and unique. "That's what I'll call you."
"If that is your desire." He gave her a slow, leisurely smile that held a hint of genuine appreciation. Her heart rate kicked into overtime, the impact of that take-no-prisoners grin leaving her reeling. Good Lord, the man belonged on the cover of GQ.
Julia glanced at his sword. Okay, scratch GQ. He belonged on the front page of Hunky Barbarians.
"I will hear your name, little dragon." Annoyance replaced her admiration and launched her quickly to her feet.
"You can stop referring to me as a tiny fire-breathing lizard. I'm not that unattractive. And for your information, I'm not little. I'm normal. You just happen to be excessively tall." His lips twitched, and his eyes went from lavender to the purest blue.
"So I say againI will hear your name."
"Call me Julia," she replied grudgingly. "Or Jules, if you must."
"I shall keep that in mind." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I am now ready to hear what you desire of me."
"I want nothing from you," she hastened to assure him. "Absolutely nothing."
Features tightening, he said, "Why did you summon me on three separate occasions if you wished not to make use of me?"
She shrugged. "The first time I thought you were an intruder."
"Ah." Like the flip of a switch, he lost his dark glower and his lips once again twitched with amusement.
"And you thought to defend yourself from an Imperian warrior with this karate of yours?"
Bristling at his superior tone, she locked her fists on her hips and glared. "My hands are deadly weapons, you know. You would die if I karate-chopped your neck."
"I believe you," he said. "I am quite sure I would die of laughter." Even as her heart accelerated at the sheer masculine beauty he represented, Julia fought a surge of anger.
The man had a lot of nerve! First he scared the crap out of her. Then he called her a tiny dragondid she really look like a lizard? Now he had the gall to insult her self-defense skills.
I would die of laughter, she silently mimicked. A hidden part of her wanted to slap Tristan upside the head with a jackhammer. Since physical violence was against the lawand she didn't relish being locked inside a cell with a woman named Big Bertha Julia opened her mouth to offer him a stinging retort. His next question stopped her, however.
"Where is your husband?" He uttered a low, rumbling chuckle that purred and soothed and probably sent women to their knees. "You did not kill him with karate, did you?"
Uh-oh. Caught. Julia's animosity toward Tristan drained as her sin surfaced. A piece of lint on the hem of her white tank top suddenly became fascinating. "Did you kill him?" All traces of humor vanished from Tristan's voice. "By Elliea, you did! Where did you place the body?"
"Look," she said, twisting the sheer fabric in knots. "I'm not actually married."
Tristan blinked. "Then where is your man?"
"Technically, I don't have a man."
"Not a father? Brother? Protector?"
Jaw clenched, cheeks red, she shook her head.
"So you spoke an untruth." It was a statement, not a question, laced with puzzlement rather than ire.
"I thought you were an intruder, remember? What else was I supposed to say? We're all alone so don't worry about the neighbors hearing my screams while you kill me?"
"I am glad you do not have a man." Julia gulped, not liking the sudden, possessive perusal he gave her.
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Jealous husbands are a nuisance." Not exactly the answer she expected. In fact, she was offended for married men and women everywhere. Because of Tristan's profession, he probably didn't know much about relationships. To arm him with knowledge, she launched into a speech about vows, monogamy and the joys of commitment. Her sister often said Julia should have been a lawyer. Tristan's eyes soon glazed and a yawn hovered at the edges of his mouth.
"Don't you believe in the sanctity of marriage?" she ended.
"Aye. Yet I must do as my guan ren commands." His steely tone scraped the very air around them.
She had to assume guan ren meant master. "I'm sorry," she said, hoping to soothe him. "Being a slave must be difficult at times."
"Such a life is not difficult," he grumbled. "Such a life is torture. Every minute of every day." Lord, there had to be some way to help him. The prospect of owning another human being was beginning to make her queasy. "Is there any way I can free you?"
He didn't answer for a long time, his features changing expression like the click of a camera. Hope. Disappointment. Anger. Finally all emotion cleared and he said simply, "Nay, you cannot. What is required is impossible. I must find my one true love."
"Why is that so impossible?" Surely this man had loved, and been loved, by thousands. For people like him, gorgeous and self-assured, love acted as a magnetic force. He would have no problem finding his soul mate. If he were plain like her, however, she would understand his difficulty.
That muscle was ticking in his jaw again, and she could tell he didn't want to answer. Then, as if propelled by a force greater than himself, he spoke. "Love is an emotion I am unable to experience."
She blinked up at him. "You're joking, right?"
"Nay, I am not." He was seriousdeadly seriousand since he had a sword, she wasn't going to try to change his mind.
Julia rubbed her temples. What am I going to do with this tall, dark and sinfully delicious pleasure slave? She could panic. No. That wouldn't do. Having grown up with extremely volatile parents, she preferred to calmly wade through her problems. She could return the box to the flea market. No again. The dealer's market only ran once a month, and the vendors always changed. The previous owner might not be there and, more than likely, he wouldn't refund her money. Besides, she felt sorry for Tristan. No telling what another woman might force him to do. Kiss her, lick her, touch her
Julia's back straightened and she squared her jaw. No question about it, she was keeping him. "Look," she said. "I'll be honest. I'm not interested in having a slave, but I'd love a big-brother type." Ignoring his dubious expression, she continued. "Anyway, we need to talk, to iron out some details."
"Such as?" he asked, though his expression made it quite clear he was really thinking, Hush your mouth, wench.
"We need to discuss exactly what we expect from each other. Where you'll stay, what you'll do. That sort of thing." She motioned with a wave of her hand, indicating the chair directly across from her. "Please, have a seat."
Though the scowl he offered her said he'd rather skin her alive with his sword, he folded his long, gorgeous legs under the table. The chair creaked in protest. Giving him a grateful smile, she sat down, as well. "Where to begin?" she muttered. She'd never been in this situation before, with a half-naked man across from her. Should she begin with the sleeping arrangements, or casually work her way around the subject?
A moment later, he grabbed the reins of the conversation himself. "Where am I?" he asked.
"America. Sante Fe, New Mexico, to be exact."
"Santa Fa? Am-erica." One dark brow arched, and confusion flittered in the crystalline pools of his eyes. "I do not know of these places."
Not know of the mighty U. S. of A.?
"How long were you trapped inside that box?"
"I last emerged eighty-nine seasons ago."
"And before that?"
"I was blessed with twelve seasons alone, then emerged in Arcadia. Before that? I hardly recall."
Seasons must be years, Julia thought. She studied the smooth skin of his face. "Just how old are you, Tristan?"
"Almost one thousand and five hundred seasons, I think." He shrugged. "I stopped counting several centuries ago."
Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She hadn't expected that. He was a living, breathing antique, yet he looked so handsome, so virile.
"Do you eat lots of bran or something?"
His chin tilted to the side. "I do not understand."
"It's just that you appear so young. Too young to be so old."
Bitterness hardened his features, like clay drying into pottery. "Once the binding spell was cast, I ceased aging. A courtesy of the black-haired sorceress, Zirra."
Sorceress? Binding spell? "She cursed you? But why?"
"Why does any woman curse a man?" Because she'd been spurned hung in the air unsaid.
"This Arcadia you mentioned," Julia said. "Is that where you're from?"
"Nay. I hail from Imperia."
Arcadia. Imperia. Both were names she didn't recognize. Julia's stomach tightened as her thoughts spiraled off in a direction she didn't like.
"Are either of those places, um, on Earth?"
His lips thinned into a tight line. "Nay."
Okay. The thought of life on another planet or dimension or whatever stretched her imagination to the limit. Remember, Julia, your own personal pleasure slave is sitting mere inches from your reach. So interplanetary travel? Not too hard to believe, actually.
"If we're from" she had to swallow her disquietude before she could continue " from different planets, how do you know my language?"
"Another spell, this one cast by an exiled member of Gillradian society. Whatever land I visit, that language do I speak."
"Magic language. Of course. I'm surprised I didn't guess."
His warm, rich chuckle rained over her like a silky caress. "I think you speak another untruth, little dragon." Still grinning, his gaze circled the kitchen. "What manner of home is this?"
"What do you mean?"
"It is so small."
"Small?" A laugh bubbled past her throat. "You've got to be kidding. This place is three thousand square feet."
"Of your feet, mayhap." Considering she'd grown up in a two-room adobe hut, this place suited her to perfection.
"I'll have you know my house is not small. In fact, it's the biggest house in the neighborhood."
"I am sure this is fine for one so tiny as you."
"I am not tiny, Conan."
He shook his head. "I am Tristan, not Conan."
"Never mind." She waved a hand through the air. "You know, for a pleasure slave, you lack certain pleasuring skills."
"Do I?" With a lascivious grace at odds with the sheer size of him, he eased to his feet. "Well, then, I will have to remedy that impression immediately."
Julia almost jumped out of her skin. "I don't know what you're planning, but I know I won't like it."
"You will like it," he vowed. "I have been pleasuring women for centuries now, and know exactly where to touch you to make you scream."
Oh, my holy Lord most high. "I'm sure you do, but I swear to God I don't need a demonstration."
"Oh, I think you do." And with that, he approached, striding around the table and straight toward her.
CHAPTER THREE
Always Gain Permission Before Touching Your Master
With a speed Superman would have envied, Julia's guilt fled, replaced by confusion, panic and just a dash of eagerness. "What are you doing?" she demanded as Tristan continued his wicked-minded approach.
He stopped, only a whisper away, and positioned his hands on both sides of her chair. His hard body ignited a fiery heat deep inside her, a heat that, once kindled, might never be doused.
"I am giving you a demonstration," he said huskily, "of the pleasure I can give."
Omigod, omigod, omigod. Her heart pounded sporadically in her chest, a pitter-patter of conflicting emotions. Did he plan to kiss her? Or more?
Before her tongue could turn to mush, she blurted out, "There will be no pleasuring me in this house!" The prospect of bodily delight both frightened and intrigued her. He was a stranger, after all, but dear God, he was handsome.
He uttered another sexy, rumbling chuckle. "As I am yours to command, I will simply have to see to your displeasure."
"Wait! That's not what I meant."
When he leaned down, his lips softening for a kiss, she hastened to add, "I meant to say you will pleasure me right now."
"That is all I desire, little dragon. That is all I desire."
Irritated with himand herselfshe wrapped her arms across her chest. Why did this always happen to her? Why did her brain refuse to work properly in the presence of a romance-minded man?
"You will please me," she said carefully, "by staying on your side of the kitchen."
One of his dark brows arched. "You are sure?"
"No. Yes. Yes, I am sure. You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."
"Such is your command, and such will I do."
Tristan moved two small paces back. His very presence flustered little Julia, and he would be lying if he claimed he did not like her reaction to him. The slight trembling of her body, the parting of her lips. The deep color in her cheeks. Oh, he liked. He liked very much indeed.
The knowledge made him curse inwardly and he struggled to fortify himself against her appeal. Over the years, he had served many women of many different worlds. Except for a rare few, all of his guan renshis female mastershad been selfish and vapid, expecting him to give total and complete obedience while they gave only commands and empty promises. Those demands always began immediately. Some hadn't wanted him sexually, but they certainly took full advantage of their ownership.
Clean this, slave. Massage me, slave. Caress me until I scream with pleasure, slave. He'd heard every demand imaginable.
Nay, he shouldn't like this woman, not any part of her.
Still little Julia had yet to request anything except his absence. And his friendship.
Mayhap he had lived inside the box too long, and that was why she seemed so alluring. Or mayhap she simply reminded him of his homeland with her flashing dragon eyesgreen, lush and intense.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things would be different with this woman, that she truly wanted nothing more from him than his company. However, cynicism soon overrode his optimism. How many times had he dared hope for a measure of compassion only to find indifference?