The Pleasure Slave Read Online Free PDF

she’d always wanted.
    Just admit it, Julia. You simply don’t have the courage to take him up on what he’s really offering.
    She gulped. “What’s your name?”
    “Most call me Pleasure Slave, or simply Slave.”
    Pleasure Slave? “I’m not calling you that.” The name was too erotic, too sexual. “Do you have a name that doesn’t have anything to do with the bedroom? Like John or Phil.”
    A pause, then, “Tristan.”
    “Tristan,” she repeated, liking the sound. It suited him, being both sensual and unique. “That’s what I’ll call you.”
    “If that is your desire.” He gave her a slow, leisurely smile that held a hint of genuine appreciation.
    Her heart rate kicked into overtime, the impact of that take-no-prisoners grin leaving her reeling. Good Lord, the man belonged on the cover of GQ. Julia glanced at his sword. Okay, scratch GQ. He belonged on the front page of Hunky Barbarians.
    “I will hear your name, little dragon.”
    Annoyance replaced her admiration and launched her quickly to her feet. “You can stop referring to me asa tiny fire-breathing lizard. I’m not that unattractive. And for your information, I’m not little. I’m normal. You just happen to be excessively tall.”
    His lips twitched, and his eyes went from lavender to the purest blue. “So I say again—I will hear your name.”
    “Call me Julia,” she replied grudgingly. “Or Jules, if you must.”
    “I shall keep that in mind.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I am now ready to hear what you desire of me.”
    “I want nothing from you,” she hastened to assure him. “Absolutely nothing.”
    Features tightening, he said, “Why did you summon me on three separate occasions if you wished not to make use of me?”
    She shrugged. “The first time I thought you were an intruder.”
    “Ah.” Like the flip of a switch, he lost his dark glower and his lips once again twitched with amusement. “And you thought to defend yourself from an Imperian warrior with this karate of yours?”
    Bristling at his superior tone, she locked her fists on her hips and glared. “My hands are deadly weapons, you know. You would die if I karate-chopped your neck.”
    “I believe you,” he said. “I am quite sure I would die of laughter.”
    Even as her heart accelerated at the sheer masculine beauty he represented, Julia fought a surge of anger. The man had a lot of nerve! First he scared the crap out of her. Then he called her a tiny dragon—did she reallylook like a lizard? Now he had the gall to insult her self-defense skills.
    I would die of laughter, she silently mimicked.
    A hidden part of her wanted to slap Tristan upside the head with a jackhammer. Since physical violence was against the law—and she didn’t relish being locked inside a cell with a woman named Big Bertha—Julia opened her mouth to offer him a stinging retort. His next question stopped her, however.
    “Where is your husband?” He uttered a low, rumbling chuckle that purred and soothed and probably sent women to their knees. “You did not kill him with karate, did you?”
    Uh-oh. Caught. Julia’s animosity toward Tristan drained as her sin surfaced. A piece of lint on the hem of her white tank top suddenly became fascinating.
    “Did you kill him?” All traces of humor vanished from Tristan’s voice. “By Elliea, you did! Where did you place the body?”
    “Look,” she said, twisting the sheer fabric in knots. “I’m not actually married.”
    Tristan blinked. “Then where is your man?”
    “Technically, I don’t have a man.”
    “Not a father? Brother? Protector?”
    Jaw clenched, cheeks red, she shook her head.
    “So you spoke an untruth.” It was a statement, not a question, laced with puzzlement rather than ire.
    “I thought you were an intruder, remember? What else was I supposed to say? We’re all alone so don’t worry about the neighbors hearing my screams while you kill me?”
    “I am glad you do not have a man.”
    Julia