Julia snorted in disgust. Men were not a prize; they were an affliction. A disease upon society. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single reason she should even want to seduce one. She was better off alone.
Alone. The word echoed in her mind, chafing against her deepest dreams until she admitted the truth she’d hidden for years, only taking it out to play on special occasions. She didn’t just want a man of her own. She wanted romance, complete with moonlight and candles. She wanted promises of love, soft, sweet music and slow dances with wandering hands. She wanted to feel beautiful, admired and gloriously special. And she wanted to make her man feel the same.
Mostly, she wanted a family of her own. Marriage, kids, the works. She wanted to be part of something. Did Peter?
Did Tristan?
She banged her fist against the steering wheel, her knuckles throbbing. Stop thinking about him! But, but…why did he act as if she were somehow important to him? As if her desire for him mattered? Did it? Could it?
Maybe?
Feeling lighter, freer, she exited the car, walked to the back and opened the trunk. As she rooted through the contents, she hummed under her breath. Minutes later, she found the package of black men’s briefs, extra-large, and sauntered into her house.
Tristan lounged on the living-room couch and, even in his relaxed pose, he radiated authority and consuming fury. Her temper might have simmered, but his has not.
She gulped. “I found your briefs,” she told him, placing the package atop the coffee table.
Without glancing in her direction, he replied, “Thank you, mistress.”
His steely tone cut like a knife, shards of guilt uncoiling deep within her. “I didn’t want to order you inside, Tristan, but you gave me no choice. You were angry, and I didn’t want you to take your emotions out on Peter.”
Nothing. No response.
“He’s not as strong as you are,” she continued, “and if you had hurt him, you would have been arrested.”
When Tristan continued to refuse to acknowledge her in any way, a sharp ache cut through her chest. Had she caused irreparable damage to his pride? Had she ruined their growing friendship? And he was her friend, wasn’t he? The only one she had right now. Her busy work schedule hadn’t left much time for girls’ nights out.
“Tristan, please say something.”
“Is that a command?” Clipped tone, each word sharp enough to slice through metal. But at least he’d spoken to her.
“No. I don’t like when I’m forced to—”
“If I refuse,” he interjected, cutting her off, “it will become a command, aye? And no one forced you to do anything.”
“No, it won’t become a command,” she croaked. “If you weren’t so stubborn and argumentative—or, I don’t know, if you ever took a moment to wonder if I could be right about something, you wouldn’t force me—yes, someone can be forced—to use the only card in my deck.”
Only silence greeted her. He didn’t look at her.
“Fine! Be that way.” She marched from the room, head high, calling, “Be a big man-baby pouter and wallow in your misery. I’ve got better things to do.”
* * *
TRISTAN WATCHED Julia walk away, hating his existence more than ever before. But, while he had forgiven her for issuing the command, and he absolutely planned to seduce her when he got her into bed, the hurt remained; he’d lashed out with the only card in his deck: the ability to punish with silence and unconcern.
He shouldn’t have punished her at all. She was right. They were forced to play the cards in their decks, and he had not listened to her…ever. He’d talked over her, and he’d told her how things would be, but he’d never considered the reason for her requests. That, he should have done.
She was an incredible woman, and the more he learned about her, the more he began to care for her. Care. For a mistress. Him.
Curse him, he knew better! She might challenge him, draw him and anger him. She might even confuse him with her illogical speech. And most times, she might simply captivate him. But none of those things mattered. With her, with anyone, everyone, he had to remain distanced. One day Julia would die or mayhap even lose his box; he would continue on to another woman, maybe another world.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Relaxed. Tensed again. The thought of Julia alone, with no one to care for her, did not settle well within him.
Drawing in a deep breath and catching a hint of Julia’s sweet fragrance, he decided to take a moment before he planned his next move.
He leaned forward to study the portraits on the small table in front of him. In one, Julia perched next to a girl who was slightly older. They had the same dark hair, but Julia’s eyes were green, the other girl’s blue. Both looked young, somber and defeated. Julia did not resemble the spitfire he knew her to be. In another, the same two girls were splayed atop a bed of bright emerald foliage, their eyes sparkling, the corners of their mouths lifted in wistful smiles.
’Twas the same smile Julia had worn when she’d walked away from him moments ago. Wistful.
Pang. Pang. PANG. He could not leave things as they were, could he?
He knifed to his feet and bolted down the same direction she’d taken. What he planned to say, he didn’t know. He just knew he needed to speak with her now, now, now.
He found her in the bathing chamber, petting a plant that sat in the windowsill and humming. Pang. She was kind, even to plants.
Water poured from a spout, filling a tub with steaming water. Her hair was plaited high at her crown, a few tendrils cascading down her temples. A long blue robe covered her from shoulders to toes. She looked so tiny, so
