Gena Showalter: The Pleasure Slave

He smiled, causing the puckered skin around his lips to deepen. "Today only, lass, I'll let you have it for fifty dollars."

"Fifty dollars? When the stones are missing and the lid is broken?" She laughed. "I'll give you five." He made a choking sound in the back of his throat, and when he spoke again, his burr was more pronounced. "No can do. I canna let a prize like that go for such a paltry sum. Not when there's a tale that comes with it." He wiggled his bushy, silver brows. "Verra intriguing."

"Well…" Confident he simply wished to drive up the price, Julia pursed her lips and donned a nonchalant air. "I'm not really into fairy tales."

"Oh, you'll like this one. There's none like it. That I promise you."

After a sufficient pause, she said, "Sure, why not?" His eyes lit with amusement, as if he knew her game. "Story is, that when a woman owns this here jewelry box, she'll find the greatest pleasure ever known."

Julia waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she said, "That's it? That's the big story? Own the box and find great pleasure?" For fifty dollars, she'd expected a story about naked dancers, bowls of cocaine and wild orgies. Disappointment coiled through her. "Just what is the greatest pleasure ever known?"

"I don't rightly know." He scratched his beard, and a rain-scented breeze, like the calm after a storm, accompanied the movement. "I guess pleasure's different for everyone. Who's to say?"

"The last female owner."

"Well, now, she lost her soul long ago, so I canna be asking her, can I?"

"Lost her—oh. I'm so sorry for your loss," she said softly. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

"No, no. No need to be sorry. She was an ancestor of mine, you could say. I like to call her Granny Greedy." He chuckled at his own joke. "Family legend says she created the box and kept it with her at all times, never letting it out of her sight. When she died, the damn thing had to be pried out of her fingers." He barely paused before adding, "What's your name, lass?"

"Julia Anderson."

"Well, Jules me girl, I'll be honest with you. I think you need this here box more than you realize. Great pleasure will put some color in your cheeks. Maybe put a sparkle in your eyes. So are you interested in buying or not?"

Julia tried not to be insulted; she really did. She might not have any hobbies outside of work, and she might spend every evening in bed, reading sexy romance novels and watching made-for-TV movies, but she did have pleasure in her life. At the moment, though, she just couldn't recall where.

"Thirty," a nasally voice said from behind her. Julia spun around. The Mustang's owner gave her a smug I've-got-you-beat-this-time grin. "I'll pay thirty."

"Well, lass?" the salesman prompted, giving her a chance to outbid.

After haggling for half an hour over the price, Julia finally paid seventy-three dollars—plus fifteen for the pipe. She'd been robbed. She knew it, just as she knew her opponent hadn't really wanted the box. He'd wanted retribution, and she hadn't been able to walk away without owning the "greatest pleasure."

The moment she arrived home, an all-too-familiar anticipation filled her. She carefully placed her new purchases on the kitchen table, then gathered a rag and cleaning supplies. The bark of a dog pierced the air and the midday sun dappled through sapphire curtains covering the large bay window on the far wall. Settling into a high-backed gold velvet chair, she focused all of her attention on the jewelry box, cleaning every inch with painstaking gentleness. There was something almost… magical about it. And she would swear to God it purred every time she stroked the corners.

Just as she began adding polish to the outer surface, she zeroed in on a tiny button hidden beneath the rim. Her fingers stilled and her heart drummed erratically in her chest. Excitement pounded through her veins. Would this open the lid? And if so, what would she find inside? Jewelry? Love letters? Nothing?

With shaky fingers, she set aside her rag and pressed the button.

At the moment of contact, lights flickered on and off throughout the house, dancing shadows and light on the rose-tinted wallpaper. A pulsating, purplish mist erupted in her hands and lit her entire kitchen.

Startled, Julia jumped to her feet, dropping the jewelry box as if it were nuclear waste. Instead of shattering, it landed atop the honey-oak tabletop with a thud. She tore her gaze from the box… and froze in terror.

A man—a large man—a very large man—stood just in front of her. He wore nothing more than a pair of black, skintight pants and—Omigod! A long, menacing sword dangled at his waist. A scream rose in her throat at the exact moment a hard lump formed, preventing any sound from emerging.

Terrified, she scanned the kitchen, looking for a way out. The back door was bolted shut. The windows were closed. Sweat beaded across her forehead.

It didn't matter that the man was, well… gorgeous, that his seductiveness hit her like an uncontrollable whirlwind. He didn't belong here, didn't belong in her home. Alone. With her. With her panic intensifying, she assumed a karate position and prayed with every fiber of her being she appeared menacing and lethal.

Why had she never taken self-defense lessons?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I know karate," she forced out. "My body is a dangerous weapon."

He merely arched a brow.

He knows I'm lying . At least she could memorize his description—just in case she survived. Concentrate.

Concentrate. His towering height pushed toward the ceiling. Inky shoulder-length hair framed a strong forehead, a straight nose and high, bladelike cheekbones.

Yet it was his eyes that truly drew her attention. They were pale violet, almost lavender—wait. They were blue, a light aqua. No, no. They were emerald green. But that wasn't right, either. She blinked, shook her head and realized his eyes weren't one color. They were all colors, shimmering like a sea of constantly changing purples, blues and greens. Glowing with a life of their own, catching her attention until she almost forgot where she stood—and why she was standing there.

Look at the rest of him, Anderson.

His skin was bronzed, sexy and ridged with muscle. Lord, what strength! His stomach muscles formed a vee that pointed her eyes lower, lower still, directly between his legs. She gulped. He was like a savage romance novel warrior come to life in her home. Everything about him oozed carnality yet screamed with danger.

He stared at her a long while before taking a step toward her. She recoiled. The chair stopped her retreat. A slow grin lifted the corners of his full, mouthwatering lips, revealing perfect white teeth. For some reason, the smile seemed less than genuine. Almost predatory. Her heart galloped then skipped a solitary beat.

"You summoned?" he asked.

Summoned this gorgeous warrior? In her wildest fantasies, perhaps, but not in reality. She hadn't even known such beauty existed. Besides, the man had a sword that looked like it could chop her in half in less time than was required to blink. He wanted to kill her, or worse, so no! Julia hadn't summoned him.

"Me? Summon you?" Eyes impossibly wide, she shook her head. "I promise I did no such thing."

He ignored her denial as if he hadn't heard her or didn't care. "What do you wish of me?" She had to escape. With the back door locked, she had only one option—the front entrance. Perhaps if she inched around the chair… She managed one tiny step to the right. Two.

"Do I now kiss your naked body or let you kiss mine?" His slightly accented tone dripped with boredom and still managed to be the most compelling, erotic voice she had ever heard. Honey-rich, warm, like refuge on a stormy night.