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the crystalline pools of his eyes. “I do not know of these places.”
    Not know of the mighty U. S. of A.? “How long were you trapped inside that box?”
    “I last emerged eighty-nine seasons ago.”
    “And before that?”
    “I was blessed with twelve seasons alone, then emerged in Arcadia. Before that? I hardly recall.”
    Seasons must be years, Julia thought. She studied the smooth skin of his face. “Just how old are you, Tristan?”
    “Almost one thousand and five hundred seasons, I think.” He shrugged. “I stopped counting several centuries ago.”
    Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She hadn’t expected that. He was a living, breathing antique, yet he looked so handsome, so virile. “Do you eat lots of bran or something?”
    His chin tilted to the side. “I do not understand.”
    “It’s just that you appear so young. Too young to be so old.”
    Bitterness hardened his features, like clay drying into pottery. “Once the binding spell was cast, I ceased aging. A courtesy of the black-haired sorceress, Zirra.”
    Sorceress? Binding spell? “She cursed you? But…why?”
    “Why does any woman curse a man?”
    Because she’d been spurned hung in the air unsaid.
    “This Arcadia you mentioned,” Julia said. “Is that where you’re from?”
    “Nay. I hail from Imperia.”
    Arcadia. Imperia. Both were names she didn’t recognize. Julia’s stomach tightened as her thoughts spiraled off in a direction she didn’t like. “Are either of those places, um, on Earth?”
    His lips thinned into a tight line. “Nay.”
    Okay. The thought of life on another planet or dimension or whatever stretched her imagination to the limit. Remember, Julia, your own personal pleasure slave issitting mere inches from your reach. So…interplanetary travel? Not too hard to believe, actually.
    “If we’re from—” she had to swallow her disquietude before she could continue “—from different planets, how do you know my language?”
    “Another spell, this one cast by an exiled member of Gillradian society. Whatever land I visit, that language do I speak.”
    “Magic language. Of course. I’m surprised I didn’t guess.”
    His warm, rich chuckle rained over her like a silky caress. “I think you speak another untruth, little dragon.” Still grinning, his gaze circled the kitchen. “What manner of home is this?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It is…so small.”
    “Small?” A laugh bubbled past her throat. “You’ve got to be kidding. This place is three thousand square feet.”
    “Of your feet, mayhap.”
    Considering she’d grown up in a two-room adobe hut, this place suited her to perfection. “I’ll have you know my house is not small. In fact, it’s the biggest house in the neighborhood.”
    “I am sure this is fine for one so tiny as you.”
    “I am not tiny, Conan.”
    He shook his head. “I am Tristan, not Conan.”
    “Never mind.” She waved a hand through the air. “You know, for a pleasure slave, you lack certain pleasuring skills.”
    “Do I?” With a lascivious grace at odds with thesheer size of him, he eased to his feet. “Well, then, I will have to remedy that impression immediately.”
    Julia almost jumped out of her skin. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I know I won’t like it.”
    “You will like it,” he vowed. “I have been pleasuring women for centuries now, and know exactly where to touch you to make you scream.”
    Oh, my holy Lord most high. “I’m sure you do, but I swear to God I don’t need a demonstration.”
    “Oh, I think you do.” And with that, he approached, striding around the table and straight toward her.

CHAPTER THREE
    Always Gain Permission Before
Touching Your Master
    W ITH A SPEED Superman would have envied, Julia’s guilt fled, replaced by confusion, panic and just a dash of eagerness. “What are you doing?” she demanded as Tristan continued his wicked-minded approach.
    He stopped, only a whisper away, and positioned his