“What is a mall?”
“A big building filled with clothes, food and other things being sold to the public.”
“Ah, a market,” he said, both wistful and resigned. In Imperia, he’d loved taking females to the market. The way they’d blossomed with excitement, looking at him with adoration anytime he’d made a purchase…
A pang of longing rent his chest. Here, he had no money, so he had no way to make a purchase. He’d have to find another way to earn a look of adoration from Julia.
Could he?
They would soon find out…
* * *
“THE MALL IS currently closed. We’ll go this evening after I close my own shop,” Julia said, then paused. She had to open her store in a little less than an hour. And just what was she going to do with Tristan while she worked, hmm? She could leave him here where he’d grow bored and possibly execute something. She could send him back inside his box, but he might hate her for the rest of her life. She would hate anyone who kept her captive.
Guess she’d have to take him with her. A shiver of anticipation slid down her spine, followed by a shudder of dread. First, however, he needed new clothes just as badly as she did.
Having a pleasure slave grew more complicated by the second.
Looking him over, Julia chewed on her bottom lip. “Before you can leave the house, we’ll have to find you more appropriate clothing.” Preferably something less sexy, something that covered every inch of his bronzed, come-and-lick-me skin. “We might have to hit a supercenter.”
“What is wrong with my drocs?” he demanded.
She gave him another once-over. In those leather tights, with no shirt, he resembled an exotic dancer playing the part of a rogue pirate, and perversely, she wanted him to stay that way. Except, equally perverse, she didn’t want any other woman seeing him like that.
“They’re too tight,” she informed him. “I can see the outline of your…your… I can just see things I’m not supposed to see, okay?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and uttered a patronizing snort. “If a warrior’s clothes are loose, they are easily grabbed by his enemy.”
“But we’re not at war.”
“Silly dragon. Enemies are all around us, always. Some are seen, some are hidden.”
“Fine,” she said on a sigh. “Keep your pants. You still need a shirt, though.”
“Mayhap it would be easier if we stripped naked and stayed here.”
“No!” she shouted, though her body screamed, Yes. Oh, yes. “Will you stop doing your pleasure slave thing? Unless this is part of my training?”
A muscle jumped beneath his eye, an indication of anger, but still he purred, “Will you find me appropriate attire, little dragon?” His voice was pure, unadulterated sin, and seemed to suggest he could wear her.
Images of draping her naked body over his, of her arms slung around his shoulders and her legs wound around his waist, flashed inside her mind. A delicious shiver rocked her on her feet as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
“Do not do that,” he suddenly growled, all traces of seduction gone.
Confused by his abrupt mood shift, Julia blinked up at him. “Don’t do what?” Don’t imagine licking your muscles? Too late.
“Do not bite your lip. It is bad for you.”
Um, what the what? “It is not.”
“If you continue,” he said, purring again, “I might add another parameter to your lessons. No biting of the lips—I mean, no biting of your own lip. You may bite me as much as you like. Now, about the clothing. I had decided to wear a shirt. You may fetch me one.”
“Oh, I may, may I?” She rolled her eyes. “There’s a supercenter a couple miles from here. It’s open 24/7, and it will have everything you need.” Again she glanced down his big, hard body. “I just hope they have big enough sizes.”
“We will leave immediately.” Without waiting for her reply, he pivoted on his heel and stalked to the door.
“Wait!” Julia bolted after him. What had gotten into him? She grabbed his arm, a puny action, really, when dealing with a man as massive as Tristan, but it had the desired effect. He stopped and faced her, his brows winged upward.
She’d known him such a short time and already she could judge his moods. Arched eyebrows meant one of two things: he was confused, or he was angry.
Confusion didn’t make sense in this case. So what reason did he have to be angry?
“You can’t go,” she told him. Thankfully, she’d only be gone an hour, probably less, and that didn’t leave much time for him to get into trouble on his own.
“Why not?” he demanded.
Oh, yes. He was definitely angry. Hoping to soothe him, she gentled her tone. “Here in America, we can’t go into a business establishment without being completely covered. We have a policy of no shirt, no shoes, no service.”
“This policy mentions nothing of leg coverings. Does this mean that once you find me a shirt and shoes, I must remove my drocs?”
Yes! No! “You must wear all three items at the same time.”
“I do not like the rules of your world,” he grumbled.
“You may not like them, but you still have to obey them. So you’ll stay here, and I’ll go. No exceptions. When I return, you’ll change and then we’ll go to my store.”
Stubborn, he shook his head. “I will go. I will protect you.”
What if she left and he attempted to follow her? What if he got lost? Or told someone about his box, and that someone tried to break into her home to steal it? Cringing inside and hating her next words, she straightened her shoulders and stared up at him. “I—command you to stay here. Now, if I’m going to open the store on time, I have to hurry.”
His jaw hardened in an instant, and the heat in his eyes cooled, glazing with frost, turning the violet
