He wiped the bead of sweat from his brow. “Mayhap we should cease the lessons for the day.”
What! “We can’t stop now. I’m eager to learn about…um…playful bantering.”
“Very well,” he allowed. He sucked in a fortifying breath, easing the tension around his lips. “Show me what you’ve got. What we’re working with.”
For the second time, Julia closed her eyes. I can do this. As soon as she thought she had the right words, she focused on Tristan and said, “Let’s do breakfast tomorrow. Should I call you or nudge you?” A line she’d heard on a movie.
His lips twitched, and he shook his head. “Try again.”
“I’m a really good cook. My specialty is breakfast in bed.”
“Now you are just being ridiculous.”
“Nice pants. Can I talk you out of them?”
“Julia, please. Are you trying to seduce me or kill me with laughter?”
“Fine! No more cheesy pickup lines. But I need an example of something that works.”
He lowered his chin, his gaze hot. He cupped one side of her face and whispered, “How can I think of what to say, when you steal my thoughts?”
Oh. Ohhh. Now that was sexy. Goose bumps broke out over her skin.
“Your turn,” he said.
Letting her voice drop low and husky wasn’t a choice but a reaction to his words. “I don’t want to tease you with words, Tristan. I want to tease you with my mouth. Licking and nibbling your skin. Tasting and savoring your essence.”
He quit laughing.
Tristan used his body, a slight shifting of his weight and a subtle proving of his dominance, to force her back to arch. The carnal scent of his fragrance enveloped her, filled her. Consumed her. He glared down at her, pressing her even farther back against the desk. “Where did you learn to say such a thing?”
Far from intimidated, she clapped her hands with an almost giddy pride. “I don’t know. So it worked? I actually bantered playfully with you? Oh, this is fun. Teach me more.”
His glare deepened. “Mayhap you are ready for a more advanced training session, after all.” Pure, molten heat, hypnotic in its intensity, stole over his features. “Something hands-on.”
Hunger claimed her—owned her. “I think I’m ready for hands-on,” she croaked.
“All right. But first, we’re going to have a very erotic conversation. There will be no teasing. No innuendos. Your goal is to tempt me to kiss you. Think you can succeed?”
She hoped so, but… She shook her head. “I don’t know where to begin. Will you give me another demonstration?”
“Aye.” Moving with tantalizing slowness, he nudged her legs apart with his hips, caught her wrist and pressed a soft kiss upon her pulse.
She shivered, struck by the majesty of him, the raw intensity of his attentions. “I—I thought this was supposed to be about words.”
“I’m getting there.” He traced his other palm up, up, up her thigh until the pads of his fingers brushed the lacy red trim of her panties. “You are honey and cream, Julia.” His lashes slowly swept downward, then lifted at an even slower pace. “Do you know why?”
Caught by his mesmerizing voice and the searing heat of his fingers, she barely managed to say, “No. No, I don’t know. Tell me.” Please.
“Your skin reminds me of cream. Smooth and delicious, made for licking. The more I taste, the more I must have. And your hair—” He released her wrist and tugged her long tresses from the rubber band. Every strand cascaded down her shoulders and back. “Your hair is the color of honey. Soft, sweet honey that will caress my chest as you ride me. Your lips, too, are like honey. So succulent. I long to savor them over and over again.”
His body heat seeped past her clothes, into her skin, but his words, oh, his words…they enveloped her in a cocoon of sensual euphoria. His eyes beckoned with knowing intent, and she found herself leaning into him, craving more, needing more.
“Now it is your turn,” he whispered, and dropped his hands to his sides.
She mourned the loss of his touch. “You’re beautiful, Tristan. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Yet her description lacked a sense of accuracy; it failed to accurately describe the man she knew him to be.
“Beauty is subjective and easily claimed.” Using the tip of his finger, he traced a path along her jaw. “Tell me what you see when you look at the man I truly am.”
Lure him with words. Her eyes closed to half mast, so that she saw him more with her mind than her actual sight. “When I look at you, I see pale violet eyes that sometimes hold a hint of sadness, but always kindness. I see a gentle, compassionate warrior who is able to give more with one simple kiss than most give in a lifetime. I see an innate sense of duty that few possess. And a capacity for love that is staggering, if only you would tap into it.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Julia—”
“I’m not finished.” In that moment, she forgot her decision to deny her attraction to Tristan. She forgot about Peter, forgot everything except the truth. “Sometimes, when I look at you, my hands ache to move up your chest, to feel your heart beating beneath my palms so that I can assure myself you aren’t a dream, that you are real. The ache is so powerful I shake with it.”
“I imagine your hands on me, as well,” he said, his voice cracking. “Except, you move lower, to the heat of me.”
“Your erection?” she asked softly.
His pupils flared, swallowing his irises. “My erection,” he confirmed. “You stroke me until I can take no more while I do the same to you. You writhe beneath my hands, screaming your pleasure. Only then do I part your legs and slide into your wet softness, binding our bodies as one.” He nuzzled her cheek with his own. “What think you of that, draga?”
“I think—” Gah! What did she think? Nothing. Her mind was focused
