Gena Showalter: The Pleasure Slave

Even still, the word naked twisted terror through her stomach.

She gained another step. Did he plan to rape her? She had to know, had to prepare. "What do you want from me?" Each word ripped from her throat. "Why are you here?"

"To please you, of course."

"I don't want you to please me. I don't even want you within a hundred yards of me." Another step.

He studied her and frowned. "Do I frighten you?"

Never admit your fear . Over and over her sister's words drummed through her mind. Never admit your fear . Julia gulped, inched to the right just a bit more.

"Yes. I mean, no! I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anything."

"That is good." He nodded. "For I would never hurt you."

"I don't know you. I've never seen you before. And you're in my house." She gave a half hysterical, half desperate laugh. "I didn't invite you, yet there you stand. No, I'm not afraid. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all."

A mocking smile played at the corners of his lips. "Then why, my fierce little dragon, are you widening the distance between us, even as we speak?"

She froze, unable to reply.

"My word has been given," he said. "I will not hurt you." Then he winked, causing her stomach to flutter. "Unless, of course, you ask me to."

"No, no." She raised her arms higher, placing her weapons of mass destruction, aka her fists, directly in his line of vision. He didn't seem impressed. "I definitely do not want you to hurt me," she said. "I definitely don't want you here, either. I just want you to leave. Please."

Looking confused, he folded both arms over his muscled chest. "I am bound to you. I stay where you are."

Bound . "Let's not be hasty," she rushed on, trying for an easy, carefree laugh. She sounded more like an asthmatic running through a pollen field. "No one needs to be tied up, okay."

"I have already told you no harm will befall you at my hands."

She hadn't believed him the first time he said it, and she didn't believe him now. The man had a freaking sword the size of a small country.

"Come now, little dragon. Tell me what you desire of me. Caresses? Erotic words?"

Julia scoured her mind for something that might keep him from «caressing» her body and talking dirty while he did it. "Look, I just started my period and I have cramps and I haven't shaved my legs in three weeks. I haven't had a bath, for that matter. Trust me, you do not want to caress me."

"Then I will entertain you in other ways." He uttered a resigned sigh. "I am not simply here for your sexual pleasure. I am here to entertain you, converse with you and protect you."

He persisted. "Shall I dance naked upon the table-top? Feed you by hand? Pose so that you may paint my likeness?"

While all of those scenarios sounded quite nice for any other circumstance, they didn't appeal to her now. "My husband is in the living room. He's big. And mean. And he hates when other men come near me. He killed the last one who tried. It was a violent death. Very bloody."

Indifferent, the intruder shrugged. "I am here for your pleasure. Not his. Besides, your husband's strength is no match for mine." His tone held no hint of pride. Only truth. "Unless that is your hope," he added, his pale violet eyes accusing, yet acceptant. "Do you wish me to kill your mate?"

She almost fainted right then and there. "I prefer no one be murdered in my home," she managed to squeak out.

"It will be as you desire."

"Uh, thank you?" He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.

"Decide what you wish me to do. I do not like this waiting. I will do whatever you like. To you," he added, "and no other. Not even your mate."

The man probably planned to torture her— her , mind you, not her nonexistent husband—and he definitely planned to kill her. Yet there he stood, speaking to her as if she were his master and he were her slave.

"I will do whatever you like," he repeated.

Surely that statement was too good to be true. She arched a brow and studied him. "Anything? Anything at all?"

"Aye." His jaw clenched, as if his next words were somehow painful. "Your every desire is mine to fulfill. Whatever will please you, that will I do."

Well, she knew exactly what she wanted. "You want to please me? Then get out of my house. That's all I want."

His eyes widened with surprise, then quickly tapered to half-mast with suspicion.

"You have not yet tasted the bliss of my touch, and yet you command my absence?"

No, stay and kill me , she almost shouted. Dying might be worth the price of this luscious man's touch.

"Look, the sooner you go," she said, surprising herself at the evenness of her tone, "the more pleased I'll be."

"Leave? Without touching you?"

She held up her right palm. "I swear I don't want you to touch me."

Everything about the intruder relaxed. He grinned again, this time wider, more genuine.

"You shall have your wish, little dragon." With that, he disappeared, 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. After a moment's thought, Julia settled upon the second. Hearing the legend associated with the jewelry box must have somehow caused her mind to try to prove it. Hence, all that «pleasure» and «caressing» nonsense. It also explained the 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 insane. Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful.

Regardless Of Personal Feelings, Your Master 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 her, caressing her. Pleasuring her. Several times! When her alarm clock erupted in its shrill ring, she'd simply been too tired to rise.

At least she'd been smiling.

She wasn't smiling anymore.

With her thoughts so fixated on Mr. Body, she'd scratched a late Victorian walnut chair, decreasing its value by at least a hundred dollars. Next, she had dropped a 1950s vase, shattering the precious crystal into a thousand tiny pieces—another 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 a la manure followed her everywhere.

Julia uttered 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 and greeted her ears.

"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.