“Uh, thank you?”
He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he shifted from one foot to the other, clearly impatient. “The time has come. Decide what you wish me to do, female. I do not like this waiting.”
He spoke as if her word mattered. As if she had some kind of authority over him.
“I will do whatever you like,” he repeated. “All you must do is make the order.”
Surely that statement was too good to be true. She arched a brow and studied him. “You’ll do anything? Anything at all?”
“Aye.” His jaw clenched, as if this were somehow painful.
“I asked you to leave and you didn’t do it.”
“Because you didn’t mean it.”
“I always mean what I say.” Sometimes. Probably.
“This time, you didn’t. Had you, I would have been compelled to obey, your every desire mine to fulfill. Whatever pleases you, that will I do.”
Well, she knew exactly what she wanted. “Go back to where you came from—without touching me. That’s all I want.”
His eyes widened with surprise, then quickly tapered to half-mast with suspicion. “Then why am I still here? I think you wish to taste the bliss of my touch.”
The bliss of his touch? The murderous bliss? “Look, the sooner you go,” she rushed out, surprising herself at the evenness of her tone, “the more pleased I’ll be.”
“Let me see if I understand you. You wish me to return to the box, even though you do not actually want me to return to the box? And you expect me to do it without touching you?”
The box? She held up her right palm. “I swear that’s what I want. You gone, without touching me.”
Everything about the intruder relaxed. He grinned again, this time wider, more genuine. “You shall have your wish, little mouse.” With that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving a scented cloud of masculinity in his wake.
Julia’s eyes darted around the kitchen, going from one corner to the other. Okay, what had just happened here? How had Mr. Let Me Touch Your Naked Body simply appeared, then vanished? One second she’d been alone, the next she hadn’t, and now, in less than a heartbeat, she was alone again.
Totally confused, she sank into the chair behind her. There were only two explanations for what had just happened. Either a large man with very quick reflexes and a deadly sword had, indeed, invaded her home. Or she needed intense psychotherapy.
Leaning toward the second. Hearing the legend associated with the jewelry box must have somehow caused her mind to try to prove it. Hence the hallucination of a tall, strong man who spouted nonsense about “pleasure” and “caressing,” and a temporary purple mist, because what fantasy was complete without erotic lighting?
Relief surged through her, but quickly evaporated.
A perverted killer hadn’t invaded her kitchen. Oh, no. She was simply having a mental breakdown. Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful.
CHAPTER TWO
Regardless Of Personal Feelings, Your Mistress Must Be Treated Respectfully
MONDAY MORNING JULIA opened her shop thirty minutes late—a first for her since she usually arrived an hour early. The problem? She’d overslept. All the blame fell on Mr. Half-Naked Body’s massive sun-kissed, delectable, mouthwatering completely lickable shoulders, of course.
All night she had endured vivid, realistic dreams where he did, in fact, please her body, touching and caressing her. Pleasuring her. Several times! When her alarm clock had erupted in its shrill ring, she’d simply been too tired to rise.
At least she’d been smiling.
But she wasn’t smiling anymore.
With her thoughts so fixated on Mr. Body, she’d scratched a late Victorian walnut chair, decreasing its value. Next, she had dropped a 1950s vase, shattering the precious crystal into a thousand tiny pieces—three hundred dollars in the garbage. But best of all, she had stepped in a pile of dog poop on her lunch break. Now, even though she’d scrubbed her shoe clean, the scent of puppy à la manure followed her everywhere.
Julia heaved a sigh. She needed a distraction to keep her mind off this increasingly atrocious day.
As if hearing her silent plea, an eerie whistle drifted from the back of the shop.
“No, no, no,” she muttered. With a grimace, she massaged her temples to ward off the sudden ache. The store’s bathroom pipes were acting up again. She almost stomped her foot. This wasn’t the kind of distraction she wanted. Left with no other choice, she gripped the phone and punched in her landlord’s number.
After the third ring, a gruff, craggy voice answered, saying, “Hello.”
“Hi, Mr. Schetfield. It’s Julia Anderson. I’m calling to see if you’ve hired anyone to fix the plumbing here at the shop.”
“The plumbing’s broke?” A stream of air crackled over the line, and she pictured him smoking one of his cigars. “When did that happen?”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Stay calm. Try to forget that you’ve phoned him three times in as many weeks about this problem. Could be worse, Julia. You could be imagining Mr. Body’s luscious navel and the dark hair that plunged to his—
Argh. Enough!
“We’ve talked about this. Several times! The toilet doesn’t flush,” she reminded him. “The sink turns on and off of its own free will, and the pipes are making that noise again. Something needs to be done, and soon.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, imagining another week of closing the shop to run next door every time she got hit by an urge to pee.
In such a prime location, gaining business from surrounding restaurants and boutiques, she paid an exorbitant amount for rent. An exorbitant amount she didn’t mind paying because she loved the old Mexican-style building. Plus, she hoped to expand one day soon, and there was enough space here to do that. But Mr. Schetfield’s miserly ways were pushing her to the edge of her tolerance.
“I’ll take care of the problem,” he said. “Don’t you worry.”
“Since that is exactly what you told me the last time I called, I don’t believe you.” As
