Peter paused, shears in hand, and turned toward her bushes as if he’d heard a noise. Her heart drummed. If he spotted her…
He frowned. “Julia?” he asked, unsure.
Gah! Caught in the act of spying! Julia stifled a groan of mortification and crawled out from beneath her hiding place. She jumped to her feet and smoothed away clinging foliage and dirt.
“Uh, hi, Peter.” She offered him a bright smile, hoping to cover her embarrassment with faux cheer. “I was just, uh—” Where were her wits when she needed them? “Doing some non-creepy. You know, crawling around in the dirt. For exercise. You get it.”
“Really?” He returned her grin and set his shears aside. “That’s the exact reason I decided to do a little gardening today.”
“Smart. It keeps your body and your yard looking fresh.” No. No way I just spoke those words. I didn’t. I’m dreaming. This is a dream. A nightmare.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, her humiliating, non-dreamed innuendo echoing inside her head. His too, probably. He was rocking back and forth on his feet, his hands jingling the change in his jacket pockets.
“Do you prune often?” she finally asked, willing to talk about anything at this point. “In the winter months, I mean.”
“I’m new to it. Well, kind of new to it. I gardened with my grandmother as a child. She died recently and I thought I’d grow some of her favorite flowers in tribute.”
“That’s so sweet.” Since she knew nothing about greenery, Julia said nothing more, too afraid of what might come out of her mouth. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he continued to grin from ear to ear as he covered the distance between them, closing in on her.
Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation, but she didn’t run for cover. Whatever happened, she would converse with this man, and that was that.
“I’ve been meaning to come by and see you,” Peter told her. His fragrance—pine needles and lemon zest—followed him on a scented cloud. “We’ve been neighbors for a few months now, but we’ve never really made words together.” A flush stained his cheeks. “I mean, we’ve never really talked. I’d, um, really like…I mean, I’d like to change that. I realized none of us are promised a tomorrow, and I need to live while I have the chance.”
If she could come up with a flirty response, and deliver it without messing up, she wouldn’t need Tristan’s help. Right? Right. Julia forced her mouth to open so she could shove her reply off her tongue. “I’d love to have a conversation with you, too.”
“That’s good. Great!” His hazel eyes glowed with approval, and he inched another step closer. “I must admit, I’m curious about you. What do you do for a living?”
“I own an antique store downtown. Julia’s Treasures. What about you? What do you do?”
“I work for the Santa Fe division of Powell Aircraft doing title searches on planes.” He noticed her confusion and added, “When someone wants to buy an airplane, I go over the title to make sure there are no outstanding liens. It’s the same procedure used for buying a preowned car.”
“How interesting.” In a boring kind of way.
“Very. I meet fascinating people every day.” He shifted from one foot to the other, as if his nerves were fraying more with every second. “Listen, I was thinking—”
“Julia will not be going on a date with you,” a low, sexy voice growled behind her.
Julia whipped around, but not before she caught a glimpse of Peter’s pale, horrified features. She wanted to assure him everything would be all right, that the muscular man would not be committing murder as his gleaming eyes seemed to suggest. But her neighbor’s sensibilities ceased to matter when she noticed Tristan’s arms crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart, and a dangerous, predatory light in his eyes. He bore no weapons save his fists, yet he needed no other. He had the skill.
“What are you doing out here?” she whisper-yelled.
* * *
“I AM SAVING you from yourself.” The moment Tristan had heard voices, he’d stepped outside…only to overhear Julia conversing with the man she hoped to entice. Raw possessiveness had ripped through him, and he’d had to fight the urge to grab several blades from the kitchen and slice this puny man into ribbons.
It surprised him, this instant, volatile reaction. He’d never felt more than mild affection for any of his other women, and he’d never cared when they’d entertained other men. How could he ask for monogamy when he refused to give it? But it was not mild affection he felt right now. Fury? Aye. Julia had told him an untruth, consciously breaking the first parameter of their bargain by talking with another man. Incredulity? Aye, he felt incredulity. Discarded and rejected? Absolutely. Julia hungered for the touch of a man—and it wasn’t Tristan’s. He growled.
His muscles clenched, his blood boiled and his warrior instincts surfaced in full force. Imagining removing Peter’s heart with a bare fist mollified him somewhat. What was so special about this neighbor of hers, anyway? He appeared lacking in every way.
Mayhap he’s kind?
Kindness was overrated! Except, it really…wasn’t. He’d learned it was the only thing that mattered.
Julia pivoted to face her neighbor, an apology swirling in her irises. Tristan’s rage resurged and redoubled, and he worked his jaw with a callused hand. Aside from their explosive kiss, she’d rarely acted as if she wanted anything to do with him. In fact, she continued to push him away, a completely foreign concept. Yet she desired something concrete with this man.
What if she truly loved Peter? The possibility bothered Tristan more than he cared to admit. Did she not realize love would make her weak? It would give someone else control over her emotions?
As he’d told her only moments ago, he would just have to save her from herself.
Tristan clasped Julia by the
