Page 42 of Tristan’s Temptation

She swallowed. Nodded. Her body was molten, her limbs like rubber. She prayed she could walk the short distance to the door.

He came around the car, opened her door and helped her out. He kept hold of her hand as they walked toward the Palace. His palm was slightly damp. She could only hope he was suffering as much as she.

They were greeted by a butler in formal attire. “Name?”

Tristan cleared his throat. “Trillo.”

“Ah yes.” The butler’s gaze flicked from Tristan to Shannon. It took some effort but she forced herself not to wonder what the ever-so-proper gentleman was thinking of her. “Mr. Trillo. This way please.” The butler opened the door and led them up a wide, sweeping staircase and down several corridors to an intricately carved door. They saw no one else in that short time. Not a soul. “You are in the Pasha Room.”

A jolt of excitement sizzled through her body. She glanced at Tristan but his demeanor gave nothing away. How on earth had he known about her fantasy? She flushed as she realized how, exactly, he’d known. She’d left a trail of breadcrumbs in her Virtual Life account.

“Please ring when you are ready for dinner.” The butler nodded and left them there in the hallway.

And they were alone.

Anticipation, desperation, mind-numbing hunger swamped her soul.

“Tristan.” Shannon gripped the arm of his coat. “I don’t think I can move.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s okay, Shannon,” he said. “Let me take care of everything.” He swung her up in his arms and pushed open the door with his shoulder.

How it thrilled her. Tristan’s arms around her, the feel of his masterful embrace, being held close against his hard, hot chest. And he was hot. Heat rolled off him in waves. She couldn’t resist the opportunity of her position to suckle the sweet flesh of his neck.

He stumbled but caught himself. His chuckle reverberated through her body. “You will pay for that, my minx.”

She laughed and repeated his earlier words. “I hope so.”

On the threshold of the room, he paused. “Close your eyes.”

She pouted. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, silly. That’s how it works. Close your eyes and imagine your deepest, darkest fantasy.”

Shannon stilled. Dear heavens. She’d never told anyone her deepest, darkest fantasy. It had always seemed far too intimate. Far too raw. That he knew of it frightened her to death. She shivered.

“Trust me,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.” She did and he kissed each lid in turn. “You’re safe with me.”

And somehow, she knew she was.

He stepped into the room and stopped cold. His muscles clenched around her. Instinctively, she opened her eyes.

Her breath snagged in her lungs.

The room was everything she had imagined. An illicit thrill shot through her as she took in the scene. It was lush and luxurious and decadent, swathed in silks and satins. Velvet pillows adorned a wide divan and were scattered around a low-lying table. An elaborate high-backed chair held court in the center of the room. Its purpose was obvious in the well-positioned straps. Nearby, a small table was decorated with all manner of toys—feathers and whips and…

She shuddered. “I don’t think…”

He chuckled. “Then don’t. Don’t think.” Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. “Simply enjoy.”

She buried her face in his shirt, quivering. Cowardly. Suddenly afraid. Not of him. Of herself. “Tristan…”

He silenced her with a kiss then turned her and pulled her back against his chest. “Shannon. This is your fantasy. Embrace it. I’m here to bring you pleasure.”

She frowned. “There’s a real difference between fantasizing something and actually doing it.”

“I know.” His grin was wicked. He gestured to the chair. “Shall we, my captive?”

She trembled at his words, at the vision, the illicit imagery they evoked. But he was there behind her. His palms skated down her arms and warmth flooded her. She allowed a tiny nod. Yes. This was her fantasy. It always had been. To be tied and forced to passion.