Her eyes widened in disbelief. Heart thudding, she studied the house. Light seeped from beneath the closed curtains of her front window. “Oh, my goodness. I think you’re right.”
Morphing into superhero mode, he demanded, “Get behind the bushes.” Or antihero. His face was an angry mask of determination, his gaze cold and hard.
“What are you going to do?” While Tristan was unbelievably strong, he was not impenetrable to bullet or knife wounds.
He didn’t repeat himself, and he didn’t reply. Instead, using gentle force, he pushed her behind the bushes. “Remain there until I return.”
* * *
TRISTAN UNSHEATHED his daggers, one from the waist of his drocs, the other from the sheath he tied to his boot; with a stealth born of years on the battlefield, he moved into the house. Broken glass and leaves littered the floor. The talking cube was shattered, lying in tiny pieces across the floor. In the center of the room loomed a tall, thick tree, its branches sprouting in every direction.
Zirra. He bared his teeth. Must be part of her spell. He didn’t understand why she would wanted a tree in Julia’s home, but there it was, leaving destruction in its wake. Broken floorboards, holes in the walls, plaster everywhere.
Fists clenched, he silently and methodically searched every chamber in the house, ascertaining the damage. As he ducked under limbs, he clasped the hilts of his daggers so tightly his knuckles drained of color. Furniture and knickknacks had been destroyed in the sorceress’s magical rage. Julia’s cherished possessions.
If the sorceress were capable of this, what else could the sorceress do?
Fear grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. Zirra hoped to win him back and hurt Julia in the process. And she had almost succeeded. Seeing her, knowing she could reach him anywhere, anytime, brought all of his old resentments to the surface. He’d been so happy at first, to stand inside the Druinn castle, to see his homeland. Yet all of his happiness had faded the second he’d spied Zirra.
Many females had attempted to steal his box from one of his guan rens. Some had succeeded; some had not. Those times of success, he had found himself sucked back inside his prison, an endless void he despised more than his curse, awaiting a summons from his new mistress, whoever she happened to be. He’d never minded, for one guan ren was the same as any other. With Julia, however… He would not allow himself to be taken. Not by Zirra. Not by anyone.
His arms trembled as he returned his weapons to their pouches and lifted a broken portrait of a young Julia standing next to an equally young Faith, this photo slightly different from the other he’d viewed. Julia’s bright eyes smiled up at him with such innocence and trust.
“Oh, my goodness.”
The soft, feminine voice had him whipping around, shoving branches out of his way. Julia stood in the doorway, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with shock and fear. “You were told to wait outside, woman.”
“I was worried about you.”
The words knifed through him, leaving a trail of guilt in their wake. Women had lusted for him, but none had ever worried for him. And yet, the one woman who did care, he had failed to protect. He’d allowed her to be transported against her will, and her belongings to be destroyed. His hands shook as he set the portrait back onto the leafy floor. How did one man, one warrior, battle against a magic he could not see or touch?
“I am fine, Julia,” he said. “Completely unharmed. Come and see for yourself.” Never removing his eyes from her, he opened his arms and simply waited.
With a broken moan, she raced to him and threw herself against him. Her fragrance, still so sweet and all her own, was now laced with fear—for him. “Why would Zirra do this?”
“I think you were supposed to swing from one of the branches,” he croaked. “But fear now. She will not get to you again. All will be well, draga.”
“But my house,” she whispered raggedly. “My things. That tree!”
He continued to cradle her against him. It had been centuries since he had willingly comforted a woman, and it tore him up inside to do so now. He hated to see Julia so upset. He hated to see her tears, and he used his fingertip to gently wipe them away.
“Should I notify my insurance?” A humorless sound escaped her, and the sound tinkled like jagged bells. “What would I even say?”
He gently led her to the couch.
“Sit,” he told her, taking her hands in his. Her fingers were ice-cold, too cold. “Rest for a moment.”
“I don’t want to sit,” she said, her voice hoarse. Wide-eyed, she looked around, as if trying to take in everything at once. Her beautiful paintings were in tatters from the branches. Her lovely emerald-and-sapphire chaise was a broken shell. Trembling, she said, “I know the box is here, but I need to see it, to hold it in my hands.”
He sighed, hating that she would not accept his comfort yet, and released her. “I understand.”
Lips tightly compressed, she inched to the fallen faux plant that had once stood tall, shading the bay window. She unscrewed the vacuous bottom. Upon seeing that his box still rested there, she released a relieved, battered breath and blinked up at him. “It’s still here.” She paused. “Wait. My computer!” Cheeks paling even more, Julia shoved the box back into the planter, rescrewed the lid and leapt to her feet.
She raced from the living chamber, ducking limbs, and into her office, only to find equal devastation. All of her business files and account books were strewn across the floor, knocked over by the tree’s long arms. Her computer was smashed, her newest inventory damaged beyond repair. Horror radiated from her.
She blinked back the sting of tears as Tristan draw near. He didn’t utter a word. Staying behind her, he anchored his arms around her waist, tracing his palms over her stomach, stopping just under her breasts. He rested his chin atop her head, and she felt the ripple of his breath against her hair. “How could something like this have happened?”
“Julia.” Tristan stroked her hair, kissed the sensitive edge of her ear, all the while murmuring words of comfort.
“I don’t understand this,” she said, closing her eyes to block out the destruction.
“Some people let darkness fill their souls,” he answered, locking one arm under her knees and supporting her back with the other. He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. She didn’t protest when he laid her down on the mattress and removed her dress. After gathering the covers from the floor, he tucked the soft material around her trembling frame, placed a soft kiss on her forehead and turned to leave.
“Tristan,” she whispered, stopping him. “Where are you going?” The thick foliage offered a shadowy canopy.
“I wish to clear the mess.”
“Will you stay and hold me?”
“Aye, draga. Whatever you desire.” The bed dipped as he eased in beside her and gathered her close, every hollow and curve of her body fitting snuggly against him. Her scent mingled with his, becoming theirs—becoming necessary. He breathed deeply. “I know not what I can say to end your torment, but I will help you forget this happened. I swear it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ask For Permission Before You Do Anything
SOMEWHERE IN HER conscious mind, Julia heard a loud crack of thunder and the beat of rain against her window. The sleepy fog clouding her thoughts began to clear. And perhaps it was because of the softness of the mattress, or perhaps because Tristan’s masculine scent enveloped her senses, but whatever the reason, her mind began to catalog all of her secret desires.
Make love with Tristan—him on top
Get a tattoo. Something sexy
Make love with Tristan—her on top
Skinny-dip. With Tristan
Make love with Tristan—him behind her
Wait. Him behind her… A warm male body did indeed press against her backside. She snuggled deeper into him, remembering she had asked Tristan to sleep in her bed. But as she lay there, her body began to tingle, to want. She cracked open her eyelids. Sunlight forced its way
into the bedroom, unwanted and unforgiving. Warm breath caressed her neck, and a bronze, muscled arm draped over her hip. She combatted the urge to slip his hand lower, until he touched her where she suddenly ached for him, where moisture pooled between her legs.
“At last Beauty awakens from her slumber,” Tristan said, his sleep-rich voice purring along her spine. “After all that happened, I feared you would be unable to rest.”
The tree…the little jaunt to Imperia… I don’t want to remember. Get up. Do something. Blinking back the lingering cloud of sleep, she jumped from the bed. There was nothing she could do about the unplanned, otherworldly trip, but she could take care of her house.
She marched into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, changed into clean undergarments, a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. She would clean every room, cut down the tree and perhaps notify her insurance company to replace broken items. Or not. She still had no idea how she could explain the sudden appearance of a full grown tree in her living room.
Seductive as always, Tristan stretched and eased up as soon as she emerged. His eyes were rimmed with shadows, as if he hadn’t really slept at all. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice scratchy.
Caught up in the trials awaiting her, Julia didn’t spare him another glance. “I need to organize and clean. I can’t afford to close the store tomorrow, so everything needs to be taken care of today.”
“There is nothing you need do now except climb back into this bed, draga.”
“Look,” she said and sighed, “I don’t have time for sex. Everything I had in this house is ruined, and I need to clear and catalog the damage.”
As she strode through the house, murky sunlight flittered through the open curtains. Another round of thunder boomed. Julia halted midstep, flabbergasted. The floors gleamed with a fresh coat of polish. Every counter and cabinet was dusted and clean. Except for a few missing antiques, an absent TV, and a few holes in the walls, each room looked perfectly normal. A rug covered what remained of the tree stump.
Confused and shocked, she plopped down on the kitchen stool. She hadn’t dreamed the destruction, hadn’t imagined it, either. That meant… Tristan had cleared away the damage as she’d slept. She hadn’t ordered him to do it; he’d simply taken it upon himself.
How unbelievably sweet. She wanted to cry.
No one had ever treated her with such kindness, and knowing he cared enough to do this for her caused heart to swell with longing, tenderness and…love.
I love him. The realization hit her with the force of a baseball bat, rattling her brain against her skull. She loved him. Loved everything about him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for her.
Girls like us—
Julia shook her head, dislodging the memory of her mother’s words. Girls like Julia…were smart, kind, and go-getters. They could do anything and have anyone!
What did appearance matter? What one person found attractive another might not and vice versa.
Where this strong, empowered version of herself had come from, she didn’t know. But she liked it. And actually, she could guess where some of it had come from—or rather who. Tristan.
He strolled past her a second later, his fingertips brushing the hollow of her back. He wore only a pair of briefs, his muscles on display, and she shivered. His appeal never ceased to amaze and draw her; the strength of his body, the grace of his strides. The majesty of his gaze.
Again, he didn’t await a command from her before beginning the morning ritual of making her coffee—which had not improved, yet she didn’t have the heart to correct or stop him.
“Tristan, I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“I need no thanks,” he said, not sparing her a glance.
“You might not need it, but you deserve it. What you did… I don’t know what to say, really.”
“Say that you trust me to take care of you.”
“I do trust you,” she said, and she meant it. “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted another person.”
A smile teased his beautiful mouth. “That pleases me.”
“So…how did you manage this?” She swept her arms in a wide arch, indicating the entire house. “I never heard you.”
“Over the years, my skills as a maid were perfected. Freesia, a woman I once served, forced me to scrub her home from top to bottom anytime I displeased her. I displeased her often.”
“How horrible!”
“Horrible is an apt description, aye,” he replied. “Your office—”
She gasped. “My office! Oh, no, no, no. Please tell me you didn’t clean my office.” If he’d inadvertently thrown away her flash drives or account files… “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but—”
He cut her off before she could work up a good panic attack. “I left that chamber for you, as I did not know what was trash or what was treasure.”
“Thank you. For everything.” The scent of coffee drifted to her nostrils, as relieving to her as his words. While he looked savage and untouchable on the outside, Julia saw the tender, kind man he was on the inside. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him.
The absoluteness of her feelings rang inside her like a carillon of bells, a culmination of joy and sadness, longing and pain. She wanted to laugh and sob at the same time.
If she told Tristan about her feelings, he might pity her, or worse, might nonchalantly dismiss her love as insignificant.
No, no. This was Tristan she was thinking about. He wouldn’t be so cruel. Otherwise she never would have fallen in love with him. But he might not return her feelings in any way. After all, he’d clearly stated he placed no value on the emotion. And at the moment, she couldn’t blame him! Not while she was caught up in a storm of confusion, self-doubt, and longing.
Julia sighed. She’d always imagined falling in love would feel like she’d gifted her heart with flowers and candy.
Where are my freaking flowers and candy?
She had two choices. Suppress her feelings for Tristan and pretend nothing had changed, or give him everything she had to offer.
The answer formed before she even finished her thought. Give everything. He was the man she wanted, the one she’d thought she could never have. She felt as if she’d waited for him her entire life. His smile brightened the worst of her days. His generosity touched her heart. He made her tingle and sweat, made her crazy with desire. Even now, moisture pooled between her legs, hot and demanding.
Determined to savor every day she had with him—without revealing her feelings—she turned her thoughts to seduction. Simply saying, “Hey, you. I want to get it on,” didn’t seem appropriate. So how did she let him know she was ready to pick up where they’d left off?
“You know, Julia, I have been thinking.” At the counter, he shifted his weight, his forearms resting on either side of her. He’d brushed his teeth, too, his breath minty fresh. “Since Puny Peter is no longer a part of your life, we must make a list of requirements for your new man.”
She felt…shock? Anger? Hurt? Yes, all of those things. She wanted to make love with him, and he wanted to help her pick another man to seduce.
What about last night? What about the wonderful things you said to me, did for me? Her heart drummed a painful, hollow beat in her chest. She heard each thump, an echo of her stupidity and pain.
“I don’t have time to make a list,” she bit out, not sure how else to respond. “I have to clean my office and see what’s salvageable.” She would have pushed to her feet, but he held her in place with a glare.
“Your office can wait until later. As this is to be a lesson—aye, they are starting again—I am in charge. What I say, you do with no arguments, and I say we will stay here and make a list.”
“All right, fine,” she snapped, choking back tears.
“I have taken the liberty of securing ink and paper.”
“Of course you have.” Her words floated across the distance, shrouded with feigned enthus
iasm. She gripped the offered pen and pages and dropped them in front of her. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I have given this much thought,” he said, “and I believe requirement number one should be handsome.”
Since Julia wasn’t in the mood to play along, she muttered, “No. I’m putting ‘can’t be ugly on the inside.’”
Tristan made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like choking. “He must appeal to each of your senses.”
She shook her head, writing instead, “He must appeal to my emotions.”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “Is it important that your man give you jewels and furs?”
“Money doesn’t matter. I like to support myself.”
For some reason, her words made him smile. “Most women melt when a man hears beyond her words to what she truly desires. How feel you about this?”
Julia nibbled on the end of the pen as she pretended to think it over. “If ever I experience it, I’ll let you know.”
He gritted his teeth, saying, “What about witty? A man who can make you laugh is like a rare gem.”
“A man who listens when I speak is even better.”
“You need someone who is strong, a man well able to protect you.”
“If he can rearrange my furniture, even more better.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, clearly exasperated. “Do you want a man who shares your interests?”
“It’s not a requirement. But never drinking straight from the milk carton is.”
Tristan began pacing, a dark storm cloud seeming to hover over his shoulders. He held his hands behind his back, his gait stiff. Uttering a frustrated sigh, he shoved a hand through his hair. Stray locks tumbled across his forehead. “Some men offer thoughtful surprises. Does this please you?”
“A thoughtful surprise…like remembering to put the toilet seat down? Then yes.”
He growled low in his chest. “Will you take this seriously?”
“Fine. You want serious? Here it is. I want a man who cares for me. Who will make me ache and my senses reel. Who wants me as much as I want him. Who tells the truth and treats others with kindness.”
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