This woman who made his body harden and ache, and who made his blood quicken, thought she needed help winning a male’s affections? Unbelievable. “You have done just fine with me.”
“But you’re different,” she insisted.
“What do you mean? I’m no different from any other man.”
“Yes, you are. I don’t know how to explain it, but you are different.”
Tristan wanted an answer, not an evasion, but the stubborn set of her jaw told him he wouldn’t be acquiring what he sought anytime soon. So he abandoned that particular line of attack for another. “Has Puny Peter ever tried to win you?”
Her chin rose another notch. “No, he hasn’t. But then, I haven’t given him any encouragement.”
“You mentioned love.” He had to push the words past his clenched teeth. “Do you love him?”
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and pinched the edge of the counter, her knuckles bleaching white. “That’s none of your business.”
“If you desire my aid, it had better become my business.” Unless she ordered him to help. But then, the moment she issued an order, this wanting would end.
“Fine. Do I love Peter? No, not yet. But he’s perfect for me. We’re alike in so many ways, and I can grow to love him. I just know it.” Before Tristan had time to dissect her words, she sent him an imploring look through her lashes. “I need your help, Tristan. Please. Help me.”
His teeth gnashed in irritation. Finally she proved that she was just like the others, putting her will before his own. Oh, she hadn’t issued an order, but she’d begged. Manipulated. If he turned her down, she would only insist. “I will do as you request, of course,” he replied, his tone stilted.
“Only if you want to, all right?” Slowly, with an almost imperceptible motion, she leaned toward him. “I’m giving you a choice. I won’t force you to do this.”
Shocked, disbelieving, Tristan could only stare over at her. “You are giving me the right to say nay?”
“Yes.”
How…unnerving. He tangled a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. Such benevolence proved stronger than any command, leaving only one choice. “I’ll do it,” he grated, wanting to snatch the words back as soon as they left his mouth.
“Oh, Tristan.” With a grin, she clasped her hands, jumped to her feet and spun around. Then she plopped back into her chair with a happy whoop. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this, I promise. I’ll be the best student ever.”
“I’ll do it,” he repeated, suddenly inspired. “But on my own terms.”
Her grin slowly faded, and she lost her excited glow. “What do you mean?”
“Our…practice sessions must have set parameters.”
Her neck elongated ever so slightly as she straightened in her chair. “Just what are these parameters?”
“You may not see or otherwise engage in any type of activity with another man until I say you’re ready. Not even Peter.” Which meant she would never see Peter the Coward again!
“I don’t think—”
“I am the expert,” he interjected. “Therefore we will do this at my pace.” As he spoke, warrior instincts long denied sparked to new life. The excitement of a challenge. The uncertainty of the outcome. The urge to dominate. “During a lesson, you will do what I say, when I say and how I say it. No arguments.”
“Now, hold on just a minute.”
He never even paused. “From now on, I will sleep in your chamber.”
She gasped, those emerald eyes flashing with outrage. “That’s not going to happen. I’m asking for flirting lessons, not Dresden crystal.” Seconds ticked by but he didn’t respond. He merely watched her, expectant, determined. Finally she conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine,” she snapped, “you win. Is that it?”
“No. Finally, you will remember the first parameter at all times.”
She folded her arms across her middle, causing her shirt to strain, emphasizing the fullness of each breast. “Is that it?”
“For now.”
“What about this?” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ll agree to your parameters, if you’ll agree to mine.”
Tristan almost smiled. What would she demand? He had to know!
“Go on.” He forced his lips to remain in a straight line, hoping he appeared stern, nothing more. “I’m listening.”
“You may not date, see, or otherwise engage in any type of relationship with another woman while you’re teaching me,” she said, mimicking his domineering tone.
“Agreed.” He refrained from mentioning that because she owned his box, he couldn’t attend to other women. That would have spoiled the fun. “I suppose.”
Those emerald eyes flashed brighter. “You will treat me with respect at all times, especially in the presence of others.”
He didn’t have to fake a frown this time. Her words irked his masculine pride. “That is something you need not ask for.”
“Nonetheless, I’d like to hear your agreement.”
He gave a stiff nod. “You have it. Always.”
“You can tell no one of our arrangement.”
“Agreed.” Who would he tell?
“You will…you will…never wear your sword in my house.” She smiled triumphantly, and he knew she expected him to balk or, at the very least, to bargain.
He wanted to balk. Being without his weapon made him vulnerable to attack, and really, he knew nothing concrete about this modern world, nothing of its people. The knowledge frustrated him, yet he said, “I agree to all of your conditions, Julia.”
She paused, her mouth forming a surprised O. Then, she rewarded him with a second smile, making his heart race. “Thank you, Tristan.”
“Do not thank me yet.” He stood to pace back and forth, back and forth in front of the kitchen counter. “Lesson one is clothing. You should wear them; they shouldn’t wear you. This,” he indicated her slacks and blouse with a sweep of his hand, “is a travesty, and a travesty is all wrong for you.”
A new blush stained her cheeks. “When you did become an expert on fashion?”
“It is a requirement of my field of…work.”
The blush brightened.
