Disappointment thundered through her, as potent as her sudden sorrow.
“I shall do as you command, of course,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion.
The lack of sentiment made him appear so…so brutal. Like an unfeeling monster capable of any dark deed.
I have to do this. For his own good! He couldn’t leave the house dressed as he was.
Knowing there was nothing she could say to ease his pride, she remained quiet as she gathered her purse and keys. Tristan was a hard man, one who obviously yearned to unleash the full measure of his authority. She couldn’t help but admire him and wish she possessed some of his inner strength.
He’ll have fun while I’m gone. He could explore the house…and break all of her antiques. He could watch TV and learn more about the modern world. He could go for a walk…and demand to pleasure every woman he encountered.
Fighting a wave of jealousy, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe leaving Tristan here alone wasn’t such a smart idea, after all.
Once again, she played with the idea of ordering him back into his box, the only sure way to prevent any trouble. One heartbeat passed. Two. With a sigh, Julia discarded the idea once and for all. How could she, in good conscience, ask another human being to lock himself within a tiny crypt, just to ensure he didn’t flirt with other women?
Tugging her bottom lip into her mouth—and finally realizing how often she actually did it—she slipped on an old pair of tennis shoes. She glanced up, only to find Tristan watching her, his blank expression still in place. What thoughts rolled through his mind?
“I shouldn’t be gone more than half an hour,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Don’t answer the door and please, please, don’t use your sword on anyone.”
“Whatever you desire…mistress.” He sneered the last word. “Remind me. Did I or did I not swear not to use my sword in your home?”
“Tristan—” Trying to convince him to see things my way? Seriously? She closed her mouth with a snap. An apology would do no good. He wanted to go with her. He deserved to go with her. However, she refused to change her mind. As the ticking of the wall clock filled her ears, she slipped into her coat. “I’m doing what I feel I have to do. Here, you’ll be safe. You won’t get lost,” she said. “I promise.”
He turned from her, giving her his back, rage wafting from his pores.
The urge to stay bombarded her, but still she put one foot in front of the other, heading for the door. Regret burned hot, searing her. Step. Step. Step. He would forgive her because…just because!
She exited the house, a crisp gust of wind hitting her full force. Going from contentedly warm to impossibly cold played havoc with her internal thermometer, and she shivered. After pulling the lapels of her coat together, she palmed her keys and hopped down from the porch.
Automatically, her gaze sought her shrubs. Thankfully, they were still alive. Her sister was fond of telling her that she possessed the Black Thumb of Death, anything green and leafy sure to die in her care.
Julia sighed. Tristan wasn’t green or leafy, but she was having trouble taking proper care of her alien, too.
* * *
TRISTAN FOUGHT HIS fury as silence enveloped him. Julia had issued a command, her will superseding his, just like all the others he had served. Her careless disregard for his wishes roused the worst side of him, a bloodthirsty beast who roared and pawed for release.
A beast who lived to make his mistresses miserable in little ways. The only way he could strike back at all. Order him to fetch water, and he would. Straight out of out a toilet. Command him to give you an orgasm, and he would. While allowing his distaste for you to shine through his expression. Demand he kill your enemy, and he would. But he’d pin the crime on you however proved necessary.
For some reason, he didn’t want Julia miserable—yet. He wanted to shake her. Maybe spank her, too. But hurt her in some way? No. So, he would keep the beast on a leash. He would obey her, but offer no extras. No kindnesses or conversations. No teasing. No more dreaming of her soft body positioned beneath his.
He’d hoped Julia was different, but she wasn’t. And that was a good thing. Now he didn’t have to worry about softening.
He shouldn’t place too much significance on any of sweet things she’d done, or the fact that thoughts of her with this other man—this Puny Peter—had awakened Tristan’s deepest possessive instincts. Even now, his blood boiled.
He needed something to do, something to occupy his mind until Julia’s return. He scanned the chamber. Mayhap he would assuage his curiosity about his hostess and search the home from top to bottom.
His eyes lit on the windowed alcove where morning sun flooded into the room, and he nodded. Aye, he would learn the layout of the house and discover more about his newest guan ren.
Mirrors framed in ebony and gold hung on the walls. Pillows with shiny turquoise, emerald and lavender beads were scattered across a raised settee. A cobbled hearth sat devoid of embers. A place with character and hidden depth, like Julia herself. Both were bold and passionate, a maze of untapped delights.
Tristan cursed. I’m already softening again, aren’t I?
How did she do it? How did she do what no other woman had managed and short-circuit his anger? How did she make him want to learn more about her?
He expelled a sigh and turned his attention to boxes stacked inside Julia’s living room, digging inside. The first overflowed with toys, clocks and silverware. The second had books with half-naked men and women on the covers. Intriguing. Had Julia read these tomes?
In still another
