Free The Pleasure Slave by Gena Showalter Page A

self-confidence she’d possessed—and there hadn’t been much to begin with. She’d been shy before, but she’d soon become the tongue-tied idiot she was now.
    How could a man fall in love with a plain, jittery, awkward woman?
    He couldn’t.
    But…
    Perhaps now, things could change. Her shoulders straightened, and she blinked up at the ceiling, hope unfurling in her stomach. Yes. Yes! Things could change; Tristan could help her. He possessed a vast amount of experience dealing with the opposite sex, and she could make use of that knowledge. Not the way he wanted, of course, spending hour upon hour burning up the sheets, but in a better way. Better? Make that a more productive way. He could teach her how to attract a man…How to attract Peter.
    And if she didn’t desire her neighbor the way she desired Tristan, well, that was her cross to bear. She needed Peter. He was so much like herself, so reserved and lonely, plain and inexperienced. So safe.
    The question was, would Tristan be willing to helpher? She absolutely refused to force him under the Pleasure Slave code of behavior. Unsure, Julia stared out the window, a pillow clutched to her chest. Stars twinkled in the black velvet sky. Tristan had made his intentions toward her very clear. She was his master, therefore he thought she belonged in bed—with him. And no other. So how was she going to convince him to help her entice another man?

CHAPTER SIX
    A Slave Must Never Hesitate
When Given An Order
    S UNLIGHT POKED unwanted fingers through Julia’s bathroom window, brightening the spacious haven and highlighting her fatigue. She stared at her pale, tired reflection in the vanity mirror. Red eyes. Frowning lips. A leisurely shower had done nothing to improve her I’ve-been-up-all-night-imagining-Tristan-naked appearance.
    “Coffee,” she told herself. Her voice cracked and her mouth watered in homage to the beverage. “I need coffee.” Then, God help her, she’d talk to Tristan about Peter.
    Just thinking about the upcoming conversation caused her stomach to churn with anxiety. She tried to ignore the discomfort and told herself there was no reason to agonize. She had a plan, after all. She was going to treat Tristan as sweet as a brownie-fudge sundae with extra whipped cream. She’d use lots of smiles and a gentle tone of voice.
    How could he refuse her?
    How could he not?
    Focus, Julia. You can do this. You can. Determination pushing her onward, she wound her still-damp hair in a ponytail, shimmied into a pair of beige dress slacks and a white, button-down shirt, and strode to the door.
    Sweet as a sundae, sweet as a sundae, sweet as a sundae…
    Two steps into the hall, her foot hit a large, immobile object. She plummeted face first and landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. Air shot from her lungs like a Fourth of July rocket. Dazed, she shook her head, blinked her eyes several times. Finally she recaptured her breath and her vision cleared. When she focused, she realized Tristan’s sword lay just in front of her, glistening menacingly.
    “Julia,” he said, concern tinging his voice. “Speak to me. Tell me you are unharmed.”
    “What the hell are you doing on the floor?” She glared up at him. “I told you to sleep in the guest bedroom.”
    “Nay, you said the guest chamber is mine, not that I had to sleep there.”
    “Why do you still have your sword? You were supposed to put it up.”
    “And just where am I to place such a large weapon in such a small home?”
    “In your box.”
    “Is that an order?”
    “A request.”
    “’Tis the same, really.” His lips dipped into a fierce frown and as she watched, the air around the sword wavered, thickened like dappled water, and then the silver metal vanished in a puff of smoke. “Done,” he said.
    She should have been shocked by the disappearing act, but she was too relieved. She vaulted to her feet, keeping her gaze locked with his. This was not the way she imagined them starting the