But I will not love her. He would not allow the pleasure slave spell to break, for he did not want to return to Imperia alone. Quite simply, he refused to lose this woman. A sardonic chuckle escaped him. How ironic that he preferred to face an eternity of enslavement simply to be with this woman awhile longer.
“Mine,” he muttered, tightening his hold on Julia.
* * *
LIKE THE HOWL of a banshee, the doorbell sounded.
Julia cracked open her eyelids and glanced at her bedside clock. Twelve thirty-four. Lunchtime. She was too warm and content to eat or even move. But the doorbell sounded again and she stretched, hoping to work the kinks from her limbs. Feeling as if she’d just completed a ten-thousand-mile triathlon, she smoothed her hair from her cheeks.
Tristan stirred at her side, claiming her attention. He slept on, a soft smile curving his lips. A soft smile curved her lips. What did he dream?
Inky locks of hair lay in disarray, framing his face. The long length of his lashes cast shadows onto his cheeks. A pink silk sheet draped the lower half of his bronzed body, and yet he’d never looked more rugged.
With a drowsy, contented sigh, she kissed his jaw, so smooth and devoid of stubble. He was so much more than she’d ever expected for herself, but she was finding that nothing less would satisfy her. For the rest of her life, every man she came into contact with would be judged against Tristan. No one could meet his standard.
I made love to this man. Multiple times! Awed, she drew in his scent—their scent. Tristan and Julia. Trislia? Julitan? Peace fluttered inside her, a feeling she’d thought she possessed before—a sort of satisfaction with her life, an acceptance. But she’d deceived herself the other times, convincing herself that her life was fine the way it was. Now she knew the truth. True satisfaction was only found in Tristan’s arms. With him, she felt alive, whole. Desired.
And Zirra might attempt to summon him back at any moment.
Julia wilted. How could she protect him from a woman she couldn’t see? From a woman who resided in another time, another world? She just didn’t know. All she could do was keep his box hidden.
Another round of bells chimed.
“If that is Puny Peter,” Tristan said, his voice sleep-rough as he rubbed a hand along his jaw, “I will have to kill him. Slowly and painfully.”
“Not if I kill him first,” she muttered. Already her breasts were tingling, aching for Tristan’s touch. He’s a drug, and I’m an addict. He’d trained her body well, and now she required his loving at least once a day.
A pounding of fists accompanied the bell this time.
“Whoever it is, isn’t going away,” Julia said with a sigh.
“Is my box secure?”
“Yes. I haven’t moved it.”
Tristan eased to a sitting position, tossing the sheet to the floor with a whoosh. “Stay here,” he said, giving her a lingering, wistful once-over. “I will neutralize this enemy.” He shoved to his feet and stalked to the bedroom door.
“Tristan,” Julia called, still lounging atop the mattress, not caring that she was completely bared to his view. No, she felt powerful and well loved.
Without hesitation, he spun to give her another thorough inspection. Need swirled inside his eyes, making the lavender glow like two supernatural orbs. “Aye.”
“Get dressed before you open the door, okay? Let’s save full frontal for me.”
He gave her a melting grin. “For you, anything.” Turning again, he strode from the room. With every step he took, she watched his tight, bare butt, and her mouth literally watered.
Smiling softly, Julia hopped up and gathered her clothing, then haphazardly tugged everything on. I am a well-pleasured woman. She wanted to sing and shout with the joy of it. When she was completely covered in wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt, she padded barefoot to the front door. Voices, both male and female, filled her ears before she actually reached them.
Tristan, she noticed, was clad only in a pair of gray sweats, but at least his most important features were covered. His hands were clasped behind his back and his feet were braced apart. He had assumed a battle position.
“Let me in,” the woman demanded. “I want to talk about last night.”
“Nay,” Tristan growled, his tone so sharp it could have cut glass. “That is private information.”
“Nothing is private with sisters. It’s a law or something.”
Recognizing the woman’s voice, Julia rolled her eyes. “Faithie,” she said, inserting herself at Tristan’s side. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong,” her sister said, her eyes narrowed. “The barbarian here won’t let me in.”
Tristan flashed Julia a sheepish glance. “I am not finished with you yet, draga, and do not wish an audience.”
She rolled her eyes again and—though she wanted to sink into his arms—stepped around him to clasp her sister’s hand. “Come inside. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
They strolled around a grumpy-faced Tristan and headed for the kitchen. Tristan followed close at their heels. Within minutes, Julia had coffee brewing. A deep, rich cinnamon-mocha aroma floated through the air, making her mouth water.
“What happened to your house between yesterday and this morning?” Faith asked. “There are holes in the wall.”
“I’m redecorating.” It was the truth. She didn’t elaborate, because she didn’t want to explain about Tristan’s box and magic. While she trusted Faith completely, she knew the only way to keep a secret was to actually keep a secret. Besides, her sister might want to have her committed if she mentioned magic, curses and aliens.
Tristan was an alien, wasn’t he? An ET. Or otherworlder. How many inhabited planets were out there, and what did that mean for Earth?
Ugh! That was too much to worry about right now.
Claiming the burgundy-topped stool beside her sister, Julia glanced at Tristan, who reclined across from them, his arms crossed over his chest. He stared at her, his irises hot as fire.
Shaking now, she regarded Faith, who watched them both with twinkling amusement.
“What?” Julia
