Julia cast a frantic glance at Tristan, then down at their still-joined bodies. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be happening.
Unfortunately, it was….
Both she and Tristan just had a mind-shattering orgasm, and now there was someone waiting in the shop’s vestibule, wanting to know if everything was okay. Invisible flames licked at her cheeks and spread down her neck and collarbone. Her clothes were out of reach, and she had a half-naked man between her thighs, the echo of her screams ringing in her ears.
Why, why, why hadn’t she locked the door and posted the Closed sign?
Just how long had the customer been there? What had he heard? Enough to consider calling the cops, obviously.
Tristan, the jerk, seemed totally unconcerned by their potential audience. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.” That said, he pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot and tightened his grip on her hips.
“Unless I hear from the woman,” the speaker called, “I’m dialing 911.”
“No, no, no!” Julia shouted. “I’m fine. I promise. I’ll, uh, be right there.” She scrambled away from Tristan and dang it, she missed him already.
“Do you need any help, ma’am?” the stranger asked.
“Just stay where you are,” she cried, trying not to panic.
“Allow me to aid you, draga.” Tristan picked up her skirt and helped her step inside it.
“I need my panties, too.” Where were her panties?
“Nay.” Eyes darkening, he shook his head. “You gave them to me.”
“Well, I’m taking them back.”
“Wrong. I will fight to the death to keep them.”
She ground her teeth together. Without her underwear, cool air would continue to kiss her overheated lady parts, a potent reminder of everything they’d just done. How was she going to face this customer without blushing?
She’d once thought having a boyfriend would solve her every problem. Now? She had to accept having a boyfriend created a whole new set of complications.
“You should see the emotions crossing over your face,” Tristan said with a grin. “Embarrassment. Satisfaction. Excitement. Whether you protest or not, you are enjoying each new adventure tossed your way. And I like that you like them.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you?” the man said.
“I’m sure!” Julia cried.
Tristan’s grin faded in a hurry. “This man is alone inside the store and could even now be searching for the box.”
“But he’s a guy. I thought only females could own it and summon you?”
“That is correct, but females can hire males to steal it for them. Right now, I suspect everyone, male and female, of foul intent. So you will wait here, Julia, while I interrogate this new arrival.”
“No, Tristan, I—”
He stalked off before she finished.
Moving at lightning speed, she fastened the buttons on her top. She grimaced when she saw the crimson spots of dried blood dotted across the center. Crap! The sight of blood might send the shopper into superhero mode, inciting him to phone the police after all. “Tristan,” she called.
* * *
THOUGH TRISTAN longed to respond to his woman, he ignored her, keeping his focus on the newcomer. In the center of the shop was a tall, fair-haired man. He was dressed in ripped, faded clothing that showcased a warrior’s muscles. He also carried a red rectangular crate that held strange weapons.
Three other people entered, two female, one male, the bell above the door tinkling.
Tristan never should have relaxed his guard. But, curse it, Julia was too tempting, too alluring for him to resist. When she had taken that candy into her mouth, her expression had looked the same as when she came. From that moment on, he had thought of nothing but bedding her. Who was he kidding? He’d thought of nothing but bedding her long before she’d eaten the candy.
“What do you here?” he demanded of the man with the weapons.
Before the man could answer, a fully dressed Julia shuffled around him. “Hello,” she said, then stopped. “I’m, uh…well, I’m Julia. The owner.” She took a deep breath and made a visible effort of gathering her wits. “How may I help you?”
Tristan lunged to grab her, to shove her safely behind him, but she expected the action and easily sidestepped him.
“I’m here to fix your pipes,” the man said, darting a nervous glance at Tristan.
“Oh, yes.” Julia offered him a welcoming smile. “Morgan Schetfield, right?”
He paused a moment, then nodded. “That’s right. I am Morgan Schetfield.”
Ah. An expected workman. Still. Tristan did not relax his warrior stance. “I require proof of your identity,” he said, taking Julia by the shoulders and forcing her to his side.
She frowned at him. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“It is very necessary.” He gave the man a pointed stare.
“Sure thing.” Morgan muttered something under his breath, then withdrew a thin card shaped much like Julia’s American Express.
Tristan took it, studied it from every angle—which meant nothing to him—and handed the colorful, thin square to Julia.
She glanced over the surface. “He’s Morgan Schetfield, just as he claimed.” After returning the card to its owner, she told Morgan, “The problem is in the back. If you’ll follow me…”
Tristan followed, too. He almost laughed when her cheeks reddened as she entered the bath chamber and spotted both of her shoes strewn haphazardly across the floor. She quickly stuffed her feet inside them.
“What exactly is the problem?” Morgan asked.
Julia explained about the moaning pipes and nonflushing toilet. “Think you can fix it?”
“I know I can.” Morgan jumped into the work, chatting the entire time, inquiring amicably about Julia and her life, asking if she was happy and other such things that were none of his business.
It irritated Tristan that the man showed such interest in his woman. What irritated him more, however, was the fact that the man accomplished something he himself had been unable to do. The cursed man fixed the pipes, just as he had claimed.
Even when his job was done, Morgan regaled Julia with stories about people and places Tristan
