“The lascivious kind, of course.”
She tried to appear reluctant, she really did. “Fine! Fix my pipes and I will let you go down on me,” she said, hoping her tone sounded less eager to him than it did to her. “But only because I’m desperate to have those pipes fixed.”
His eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. “I will take great pleasure in the receiving of my payment.”
As would she, she was sure. “Just out of curiosity, have you ever done any plumbing work?”
“Nay, but my knowledge is—”
“Sufficient. I know.” She anchored her hands on her hips. “I should probably supervise.”
“Let us get to work.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, his deeply tanned muscles rippling with the movement.
Her mouth watered because she knew exactly how sweet that wealth of skin tasted. She’d licked every inch of it only this morning. If only he weren’t so handsome, so beguiling that even the air in her lungs burned for him. Not even six hours ago, the very body she was now ogling had been pressed up against hers, doing wonderful things to her.
The man needed only to remove one item of clothing, and she got hot for him. No, the man needed only to look at her, and she got hot for him.
Almost trembling with the force of her desire, she followed him into the bathroom, then observed as he worked. Once again, she was struck by the raw masculinity of his form and the pantherlike grace with which he moved, even while doing manual labor. But only half an hour later, she was jerked from her sensual reverie when he shouted curses at the pipes.
She gasped when she saw the cut on his hand, where blood welled. Concerned, she rushed to his side, grabbed his shirt from the floor and hurriedly wrapped the material around his hand. Soon crimson soaked through the white, dripping to the floor.
“I need another bandage. This one is useless,” he said, then kissed her cheek.
“I still keep a spare set of clothing in the office—”
“There is not time. I’m bleeding too badly. You must remove your blouse,” he demanded, his attention centered on his wound. “I’ll use that.”
“Of course.” Her concern for him increased. As a warrior, he’d probably endured countless wounds. He knew a bad one from a lethal one. She tugged off her shirt and helped him rewrap his hand.
“Now give me your panties,” he said.
This time she paused and blinked up at him. “What?”
He winced. A little too forcefully, perhaps? “Panties…last hope,” he said, sounding as if he were in a B movie, playing the part of a dying sailor at sea.
She studied his features, her suspicions growing. “Let me see your hand.”
“There is no time. I suffering agonizing pain, woman, and you dare question me?”
Oh, she didn’t doubt he was in pain. It was just the type of pain that was in question. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and no pair of panties in the world would protect his injury. Still, willing to play along, no, eager to play along, Julia glanced around the corner to make sure no customers had entered.
Feeling daring and uninhibited, she removed her panties and handed the scrap of material to Tristan. Cool air touched the heat of her, making her shiver.
“There,” she said, trying to hide her excitement. “Happy now?”
“Nay. I need your skirt, as well.”
Not wanting this to be too easy for him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What for?”
“The explanation is too complicated. I must show you.”
“What does this showing involve, hmm?”
“You, my hands, my mouth, my erection, and five minutes….ten…an hour of pleasure.”
She snorted. “Sounds like you’re trying to get paid for an unfinished job.”
“Not true. I simply require inspiration in order to finish my task.”
Well, how could she argue with that? If the man needed inspiration, a man needed freaking inspiration.
“Because I’m such an giver, I’m going to do this for you. But only because I’m a giver.” A fog of anticipation wrapped around her as she closed the distance between them.
Grinning, he lifted her up and placed her atop the sink’s edge. “I’m feeling more inspired already.”
“I’m certain you won’t be feeling enough inspiration until I’m screaming,” she said.
“I’m certain you’re right.” With slow, deliberate movements, he removed the shirt from around his hand and tossed it to the ground.
She gaped as his wound began to weave back together all on its own. Soon there was no evidence he had ever been hurt, and her jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”
“A function of the curse.” He tugged off her skirt and tossed the material aside with a whoosh. But he held fast to the panties. “These are mine.”
“Okay. That’s fine…as long as you give me something in return. Tit for tat.”
“Hmm, I like the customs of your world. You give me tit, and I’ll give you tat. Twice.”
As if she needed to ponder her response. “Deal!”
He circled a fingertip around her nipples. Despite the fabric of her bra, the heat of his skin seared her to the core, and she gasped.
“I want you, Julia. Are you too sore?”
Yes, but her need proved stronger than her soreness. Besides, the more she needed, the faster the soreness disintegrated into hot flames. “I want you,” she said.
“Then you shall have me.” He placed drugging kisses along her breasts, sucking her nipples through the bra.
“The front door isn’t locked,” she said, then ran his earlobe through her teeth. “Don’t make me scream, okay? I have to know if someone comes in.”
“If I cannot make you scream, draga, I am not worthy to be your lover.” With that, he concentrated fully on her body.
Within five minutes, she was moaning. Within ten, she was begging him to move faster.
By the fifteen-minute mark, she was screaming his name over and over again.
Neither of them heard the doorbell chime.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Protect Your Mistress With Your Own Life
“UH,
