Nay, love might not be a monster, but he still wanted no part of it.
He simply wanted Julia.
Raw, primal passion lay buried underneath her prudish exterior, he knew it; with one kiss, he could make her burn.
Could he make her forget Peter?
He squeezed the dagger hilt tight, grateful for the sting. A trickle of hot blood flowed down the limb. Peter must be forced from her mind. The puny man did not deserve her radiance. ’Twas time Julia realized it.
I will give her another lesson. Lesson number two would be anticipation and, as her tutor, it was his duty, nay, his obligation, to make her study.
Yes! He hardened, his erection already throbbing.
Following the scent of spices, he strode into the kitchen. The sight of Julia ensnared him, stopping him in his tracks. A jolt of tenderness crashed through him as he watched her pad from the stove to the sink and drain a pot of water, her expression one of intense concentration.
His mouth watered for another taste of her. “Is our meal ready?”
With a startled gasp, she whipped around. A spot of red sauce dotted her chin. “Everything will be done in about fifteen minutes.”
He nodded. Instead of closing the distance between them, locking his arms around her and crushing her lips with his own, he stayed in place and said, “I would like to bathe ere we eat.”
“Oh.” She placed the pot on the counter. Steam wafted up, a billowing cloud that momentarily shielded her lovely features. “Can you wait until later?”
“Nay.” For what he had planned, he needed his body scrubbed clean—clean enough to eat off.
“All right. Fine.” She sighed. “You know where the bathroom is.” Then she paused. “Do you know how to work a shower?”
“Aye.” At least, he hoped he did. A few minutes later, he found that he did, indeed, know how to work the strange knobs. They were similar to those used in a Gillradian bathhouse. He adjusted the setting until water streamed down, pounding against the tub.
Tristan stripped and entered the stall. The warm liquid caressed his sensitized skin like the hand of a lover. He was still hard, still ready, and as he stood underneath the spray, his arousal became a source of pain. He wanted Julia’s hands on him, her fingers curled around his cock while her tongue flicked at his nipples. Then, when he could stand the torment no more, he wanted her mouth and hand to trade places, wanted to feel the hot wetness of her tongue stroke his swollen length over and over, again and again.
He ground his teeth. If he did not halt these imaginings, every ounce of his willpower would vanish. He might pounce on her. Was she ready? Would he frighten her? Inadvertently hurt her?
Instead, he mentally stripped her down and imagined her joining him in the shower. Her smooth, pale skin glittered with moisture. A water drop clung to her pretty pink nipple. Another droplet caught in the dark patch of curls between her legs.
She gifted him with a secret little smile before swirling her fingertips around his navel…then dipping lower. Pleasure ripped through him, and his muscles constricted.
He could no more stop his next action than he could refuse to take another breath. With the fragrant steam billowing around him, the rivulets of water streaming down his chest, he reached down and clasped his shaft, imagining it was her hand instead. He stroked himself with a tight fist, going from base to tip then back again. He could almost feel her teeth scraping skin as she licked him all over. Only when he imagined her moaning with the rapture did he find release.
What he didn’t find? Satisfaction or contentment. A hand job was a paltry substitute for Julia. At least he’d calmed and felt in control.
Tristan emerged from the tub on a haze of mist. Using a thin strip of cloth, he strapped his dagger to his thigh, then wrapped a bigger cloth around his waist. A desire to see Julia, to hear her voice, filled him and he found himself striding back into the kitchen. Praise be to Elliea, it was time to begin her next lesson.
When he spotted her at the table, waiting for him, dishes and food in place on the tabletop, something in his chest constricted. How he wanted this woman. All of her.
“I am ready,” he said, his tone leaving no doubt as to just what he was ready for.
Her lashes swept up and down as she looked him over. Her mouth drooped a bit and a distraught light entered her eyes. “Uh, Tristan—”
He cut off her words before they formed. No doubt she’d considered ordering him to return to the bathroom and remain until he’d changed into clothes. “Everything looks and smells delicious, Julia.”
She tore her gaze from his lower body and gulped. “I hope you’re hungry.”
He dropped his chin and lowered his voice to a seductive rasp. “I’m always hungry.” For you.
* * *
“THAT’S GOOD.” Oh, yes, that’s very good. Julia snuck another peek at Tristan’s bronzed perfection. Droplets of water trickled from his dark hair, riding down his hard, sculpted chest and over the ridges of his abdomen. A plain white cloth shielded his upper thighs, waist and penis.
There. She’d actually used the word in association with him. Penis, penis, penis. The swell of victory gave way to a rise of longing. Longing welcomed lust, and her mouth went dry.
How could she make it through dinner without jumping him? This wanting…it continued to grow, uncaring about her mental or emotional needs, and she had no defenses.
“I hope you like lasagna,” she managed to squeak out.
“I will like anything you
