He yearned to spend forever with someone. An equal. Someone who would love him.
Not too long ago, you disdained love and all its complications.
True. But one kiss had obviously changed everything. And why not? He had never felt this pull before. This need to weave his life with another’s. Surely it had nothing to do with Julia herself, but with his desire to conquer someone, anyone, instead of being the conquered.
Aye. That made sense. Little Julia had proven to be more enticing, more exciting, than he’d first imagined, and his warrior’s instinct demanded he conquer her. No more to it than that. She might taste like ambrosia, smell like oraberries, and feel softer than gartina petals, but she meant nothing more to him than the rest of his mistresses.
She was not special.
Determined to prove to himself that he could take her and remain emotionless, he trailed kisses down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, all the while keeping his mind detached. She is nothing. Merely a guan ren.
“I’m going to remove your clothing now, nixa.”
* * *
“YES, I—” JULIA paused. Something wasn’t right. Something had changed. Tristan sounded cold and callous now, completely uncaring. Before, he’d evinced extreme hunger.
She fought her way out of the sensual fire that raged inside her mind, slowly regaining her common sense. Details danced within her grasp, then finally solidified. Tristan wasn’t breathing hard anymore. He wasn’t even winded, yet she labored for every breath. He seemed perfectly skilled, dispassionate and restrained while she arched and writhed for more.
His expression had turned impassive, his eyes devoid of emotion, his lips firm, hard. He didn’t look like a passionate lover. He looked…removed. Like a slave forced to do his master’s bidding.
He didn’t really want her, did he? He merely played his part. Nausea and embarrassment churned in her stomach.
With calm, sure movements, he began to work her shirt over her head.
“No.” Julia jerked back, away from Tristan and the magnetic force of his body.
I’m an idiot. Why had she ever agreed to a kiss?
Like she didn’t know the answer. When he’d checked her for injuries, running his hands all over her body, she’d had to confront every fantasy her mind had ever conjured. Not to mention pure sensation, raw maleness, and total desire.
How she’d craved—how she still craved—more of him. The man had stroked his tongue across her lips while kneading her backside. Her nipples had hardened, and tingles and need had shot straight to her core, nearly incinerating her panties. The only thing she could do? React.
For the first time, she’d known true, consuming desire. Every cell in her body had gone on alert, ready for sensations she hadn’t quite understood but hungered for. Desperately. His flavor…well, chocolate didn’t compare. He’d moved his tongue, body and hands so expertly, bringing optimum pleasure to every inch of her.
As she remembered every little detail, a dreamy sound of promise and passion slipped past her lips. She craved another kiss, another taste.
She craved more.
Just one more….
Julia blinked back to reality, realizing she’d gotten lost in Tristan—again. This time, he hadn’t even touched her.
How could one man affect her so strongly? And how could Tristan remain so unaffected?
Was she that undesirable?
I am, she thought, battling a sudden torrent of self-pity. I truly am. If she’d had more experience, she might have bolstered her confidence with memories of all the men she’d left in satisfied comas of sexual bliss. But she didn’t. And she couldn’t. Tristan probably had more experience than most porn stars, while she probably kissed like a ninety-year-old grandmother suffering from heart disease.
At that thought, what little confidence Julia had left evaporated. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could hold her sudden burst of pain inside. This was exactly why she couldn’t ever kiss Tristan again, no matter how much pleasure his slightest touch gave her. With him, she would always worry that she wasn’t good enough. That she wasn’t satisfying him.
Except, oddly enough, when his lips had first met hers, she hadn’t thought about anything except the hot press of his body and all the wicked things they could do to each other.
No, no. She shook her head. That was a fluke. Had to be. Were this detached lover to kiss her again, she’d worry, worry, worry that her breath smelled bad, or that he didn’t like her bigger-than-average curves, or that she was boring him to death.
What if she’d bored him this time?
Goodness gracious. He wasn’t even kissing her right now, and she was already beginning to worry. Never should have kissed him. Before, she’d suspected he would find her lacking. Now she knew for sure. That’s why he’d become so unresponsive, and he would no doubt spend the entire night laughing at her pitiful attempt.
Julia studied his features, searching for any hint of amusement. She saw a hint of confusion…and a blaze of desire?
No. No way. He didn’t desire her. She was only seeing what she wanted to see, instead of what was really there.
“Come. Let us go to bed,” he said, his honey-rich voice breaking the stretch of silence. He clasped her arm. “Together. You want me. I want you. Why wait?”
She wrenched away from him, using anger as a shield. Anything to prevent herself from flying back into his embrace. “You’ll be sleeping—or whatever else you wish to do—alone. In here. Without me. As planned.” Ugh! Why did she keep pausing between words, as if every new part of the sentence were a surprise to
