by Nina Merrill
The desert night wind breathed here on the hill, carrying the day's heat upward from the city. Samir found a sheltered place between two rocks, set his leather bag down, opened its mouth, and walked toward it. He had never been quite sure whether he changed size, the bag enlarged, or the two met somewhere in the middle, but by the time he reached the lip of the bag and stepped inside, everything had equalized. He needed the reassurance of his own things around him, the items that were always with him, for he had never known when the binding would shift from one designate to another. Inside the bag, he set a small globe burning for light, and went to stare at his tapestry again. Examining it for changes, and dreading what he might find there, was a daily ritual.
On the wall was the family tree of the Jarrars in all its complexity, knotted into the weave of the fabric, names in tiny script next to each branch and twig. He had enchanted the tapestry many centuries ago to maintain itself as each new babe was born or family lines ended without issue. Over the past ten years, only one branch still glowed golden with life. The others were all dark, an effect of the sorcerer's bitter vengeance.
Laura's leaf was the last one on the tree. Samir sat on a small cushion in front of the tapestry and gazed at it. What would happen to him when her leaf, too, went dark? He wondered if this was the eventual demise the sorcerer had planned for him: a slow dwindling of his life spirit after millennia of servitude.
His hand went to his belly, where he could feel the sky-blue jewel hard beneath his clothing. Sublimation ... was it a gradual end, or more an immolation, a final burst of glory that consumed his soul? He wished he knew.
* * * *
Laura tossed and turned, sleepless. Her mind was filled with Samir's hot, dark eyes and incredible mouth. Had a kiss ever been so divine? But he was a jinni.
Magic kisses couldn't help but be better than earthly ones, could they?
Tangled in the thoughts of beautiful Samir were the ugly images of Lewis and the blonde, Lewis's craven apologies, and Laura's mortification. Time after time she replayed her sobbing barefoot flight to the elevator and out to the hot city streets and the serendipity of a passing taxi.
She'd really liked Lewis. He seemed nice enough, and she'd been only a few days away from telling him the story of the jinni who was her permanent companion. Now she would have to begin again with someone new. If only she made better choices in men. If only she could stop comparing them all to Samir, and finding them lacking.
There was the crux of her problem. She and Samir had made a life together. Now that she was looking at herself more objectively here in the warm darkness of her room, she realized she was unwilling to give up that sweetness for any of the men she had dated so far. When she was a child, Samir had been a special playmate, but as she grew up, she'd learned to trust his judgment and welcome his humor and wisdom, even his sometimes harsh comments about her boyfriends. He'd been right every time. When she struck out on her own after high school, he was the safety net stretching beneath her, but he never interfered when she insisted on doing her job herself, without his magic to help her succeed.
Instead, Samir had focused on making a home for the two of them, whether that was a dorm room at college, a ratty apartment or their house in Phoenix. He saw to it that she had clean sheets, delicious meals, excursions to wondrous places on his flying carpet or whisked away wrapped tight in his arms.
Then there was the divinity of his coffee.
A few times over the years she'd joked he would make someone a fine wife one day, but she was also grateful for the peaceful comfort he created for the two of them. Somewhere along the way their relationship had changed from mistress and jinni to life partners, who did everything together except make love. She had sought physical satisfaction from other men, but something was always missing. Dating always felt like cheating, and at last she understood why.
It was, and probably always had been, Samir she wanted. In every way.
The realization destroyed any hope of coaxing sleep. Before dawn she rose and crept out the back door to stand on the patio. The tequila had been unkind; she needed aspirin and liquids, but for now she wanted fresh air to clear her muzzy head. The night had solved nothing, except to take the edge off the pain of losing Lewis. In its place were the new, disturbing feelings about Samir. She'd always seen him as her companion—a handsome, intelligent man, with a few very interesting magical tricks up his sleeve. An oddity.
Until the moment she had felt his blatant erotic reaction when she'd tipsily licked the guacamole from his bare belly.
Friends no longer, she feared. Her hands twisted together in front of her. It would kill her if she'd lost Samir's regard over this, but how could it ever be the same between them? She'd ruined everything.
"Oh, Samir,” she said to the gray dawn. “My jinni, I'm so sorry."
His voice came from behind her. “My mistress, I am not sorry."
She hadn't meant to summon him, but the depth of her misery must have made the call plain. Laura fought the urge to turn and fling herself into his arms for comfort. She schooled her features and turned. He looked wind-blown, his tunic a bit askew and hair teased from beneath his helm.
"I was drunk last night."
"But I was not."
This hadn't occurred to her. She stared at him, her mouth falling open a little. He had been the one to initiate the actual kiss, hadn't he? Oh, she'd been curious for years, but...
"I did nothing I did not wish to do,” he continued. “Did you?"
Laura felt hot color stain her cheeks. Her glance fell to her feet. “No."
"Then where is the problem?"
"I used you, Samir. I was hurting, and drunk, and stupid, and—” She stopped. She had to look up, for he was too close, but he was so familiar and so comforting a presence that she simply leaned forward and put her head on his chest. The hot tears flowing now were not for Lewis. They were for her shoddy treatment of Samir. His arms came around her and Laura cried harder. She felt his breath stirring her hair.
"Use me then,” he whispered. “I am yours, my mistress."
Laura lifted her cheek from his chest, where the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat had surprised her. It was such a small distance to cross—mere inches—and Samir's mouth was so beautiful. There was the pale demarcation between the reddened flesh of his lips and the stubbled skin around them. She imagined the sweet rasp of that skin on hers, and put her fingers to his lips, blinking hard to clear her vision of tears.
She touched the arch of his cheekbone. And then she kissed him.
Everything Laura was went into her kiss. Hopes, fears, memories. Quarrels, joy, wonder. Regret, foolishness, awe.
When their lips opened and their tongues met, Samir made a choked sound. Around them a maelstrom arose, hot, dusty, swirling grains of sand and grit flew into the air, rattling the bony branches of the ocotillo bushes and setting the wind chimes ringing. Nothing touched the two twined in its center, though Laura's hair sparked with static as it lashed in the wind. Her arms slid up around Samir's neck and, in an instant, he had wrapped her so tight in his arms that she could scarcely breathe. He was lifting her to her toes as he kissed her back, then her feet left the ground altogether.
There was a flicker, the same flicker she had experienced before when Samir whisked the two of them away somewhere instead of using his magic carpet to fly there. She opened her eyes. The wind was gone and they were in the living room, still twined.
"That's some trick.” She laughed. “Did you call the whirlwind?"
Samir shook his head, a slight frown between his brows. “It is difficult to control the jinni magic at times like these. I cannot help it. You ... excite me."
Laura looked at his tense face and smoothed her palms over his cheeks. “I think you should at least take off your helm.” Some wild rabbit in her belly raced in circles. Could she really be about to proposition her jinni?
Samir raised his hands to his head and lifted off his helm. He held it under hi
s arm and looked at her. She had never seen him look so serious. “I'll take that.” She put it on the coffee table.
Next were the buttons on his tunic, and he stared at her fingers as she opened each button, one by one, from neck to hem. “Goodness. Twenty buttons. I've never counted before.” She tugged off the garment, folding it and placing it on the back of an armchair.
As her fingers touched the buckle of his belt, Samir caught at her hands. “Laura, what is it you wish of me?"
She met his gaze and tried to be brave. She had known Samir all her life, but only in the last twelve hours had she seen him as a sexual being. Yet she wanted nothing more than to take him into her bed, into her body. “P-pleasure,” she stammered at last. Not quite brave enough to whisper what was in her heart of hearts.
Samir looked at her. She thought he looked sad, but it must be her imagination, for he took her hands and pressed one to his chest, where his mighty jinni's heart thundered, and the other over his groin, where she could feel his flesh awakening under his clothing. His mouth curved. “Such as this, my mistress?"
"Exactly such as that.” She tried not to tremble, but did not succeed. She reached again for the buckle of his belt, only to have him stay her hands yet again.
"I'll attend to my belt.” Laura recalled how he never permitted her to touch his leather pouch, and stood back watching as he unbuckled the belt and unwound it from its double wrap about his waist. The belt, dagger and pouch went onto the coffee table.
"What do you keep in there?” she asked, for perhaps the thousandth time.
"My things."
As always, the same reply.
He looked at her, arms lifted from his sides, inviting her perusal. “Well?” This time his smile was wider and even more sure.
"Well what?” Laura felt her bravery waning. She bit her lip; somehow the fun and friendly romp she had envisioned was becoming something much more intense.
"Ah, I see. More kisses are in order before we continue.” Stretching out a hand, he caught her behind the neck, and in one tug she was in his arms again. Without the barrier of his tunic she could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt. Her hands were on his chest. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat still shook his body.
She watched as his head came down, inch by slow, maddening inch, until his mouth hovered above hers and the tip of his nose brushed her cheek. He teased her with skimming kisses, until her mouth opened beneath his and he could not resist the invitation. Laura sagged against him as his tongue swept into her mouth and stroked the roof of her mouth, the edges of her teeth, and withdrew to coax her after it. He took the weight of her in his arms, lifting her easily with one arm behind her knees and the other at her shoulder blades.
"Samir!” She gasped as he swung her high into the air.
His teeth flashed white. “Where shall I take you, my mistress? To the shore? The Sahara on a carpet rich with the wool of new lambs? A tiny craft in the very center of the vast ocean? The top of the tallest building in the world? An undiscovered pyramid in the jungles of Central America or Southeast Asia? Where? Only name it, and we shall go."
Laura laced her fingers into the black waves of his hair. She could have any of these wildly romantic things. Her jinni had the power to grant wishes, create elaborate fantasies, make dreams come true—and yet, there was only one thing she wanted.
"Take me to bed, my jinni,” she whispered, blushing.
Samir threw back his head and laughed—a jinni's laugh, tremendous and chesty and ever so slightly ominous. She must never forget what he was: the most powerful being she knew.
"You can have anything you want, and this is what you choose? My mistress, I must teach you to dream larger dreams.” As he spoke, he carried her down the hall, and now he put one knee on her bed and lay her on its tumbled sheets as though she were made of spun glass. He stood back and, giving his body a shiver as a wet dog might, shuddered away his clothing and boots.
Laura propped herself up on one elbow and stared at him. She had never seen anyone so ... naked ... before. Though she had seen naked men, it was always in passing—on their quick way to the bathroom to fetch a condom, or as they moved over her body a moment before thrusting inside. None of them had ever stood over her, hands on hips, inviting her regard. Samir was brown all over, with a small mat of dark hair at his sternum, which arrowed down his belly to the sky-blue jewel lodged forever in his navel. And below that, a male organ so hard its tip curved back to touch his belly—almost to the jewel itself.
Laura sat up and tugged her nightgown over her head, then let it slip to the floor. Her panties followed. She reached out and stroked a hand over his naked chest, crossing a nipple and his muscular abdomen to pause at the jewel, and then on to clasp his erection. Samir sucked in a harsh breath.
"This dream is large enough for me,” she said breathlessly, and when she fell back on the bed, he followed.
* * * *
Samir meant for their first time to be long, and slow, and delicious, the finest display of a jinni's sexual prowess.
In a word: magic.
Instead, Laura's hot palm wrapped around his cock and tugged him forward between her knees as she lay near the edge of the bed. She opened her thighs to him and brought him straight into her, the dilated green gaze never leaving his. Her mouth opened on a delighted gasp as he pushed inside, her neck and back arching. Stretching out her arms, she beckoned him into them, twining herself so close his pubic bone pressed against her mons as he thrust.
He tried to go slow, to plumb her slippery depths with courtesy until he learned the silken fist of her body, but Laura chose otherwise. Her hands grasped him at the base of his buttocks and set the pace, faster, ever faster. And deep—so deep that all of him was warmly, wetly clasped. The slippery sounds of their coupling, combined with Laura's soft cries, were all he heard aside from the rush of blood in his ears.
In a short time she went rigid beneath him, her head falling back and her breathing harsh. Samir slowed his pace, stroking the tiny bud at the apex of her thighs with his body as well as he was able while she climaxed and her skin flushed a luscious pink. When she opened her eyes, they mirrored her sweet confusion and the height of her pleasure. She smiled until his thumb slid between their bodies and caressed her into an immediate second climax. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to stifle her loud cries of pleasure. This time her eyes never left his, and an invisible but deep, erotic connection tugged him over the edge into his own massive orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, showers of his fluid bathing the inside of her body.
"Oh, my God,” Laura panted.
Samir moved to the side and lay on his back next to her. He tried very hard to erase the smug smile on his lips. He had at last made love to the woman of the millennium, his personal goddess. Nothing would ever be more satisfying.
Not even the princess for whom he had been cursed could compare. He didn't even remember her face.
"Did the earth move?” Laura teased, wriggling close to him and putting her head on his muscular upper arm.
"Quite likely. I could feel magic escaping."
"That's called an orgasm,” Laura laughed.
"I know the difference."
"Oh, excuse me. Sir."
He curled his finger beneath her chin to make her look at him. “You are happy?"
She smiled the best, sleepiest smile he had ever seen on a lover. “I'm happy. I'll never walk again, but I'm happy."
"I shall make you breakfast. And coffee."
Laura gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “You shall let me sleep first, my jinni. I didn't sleep last night for thinking of you and that ... amazing ... kiss."
Samir didn't even try to hide his satisfied smile this time. Laura pressed a swift kiss on his mouth, then scooted up the bed until her head rested on a pillow. She beckoned him after her, arranging herself spoon-fashion in the bend of his body and legs, tugging his arm across her. “Then we shall see what I want most, breakfast or ... or not.” Her laugh
was the most wonderful thing he had heard in many years, made wholly new by pleasure. And her breast in his palm was the softest, roundest, ripest fruit he had ever held.
When Samir woke next, the room was in full Arizona daylight, hot and white. The bed was empty, except for him. The house was silent. He glanced toward the master bath, but the door stood open. He rose from the bed and padded through the sunny house looking for Laura. She was not in the kitchen, or the spare room, or the room she had made for him, filled with sunlight and Persian rugs.
But there, on the floor in the living room, was his leather bag, its mouth open.
Samir groaned. Without a doubt, Laura was inside it. He hurried toward the bag, and, as always, it welcomed him.
Yes—there she was. She was standing, naked with her hair sex-tangled, and pink marks of passion still on her body, in front of the Jarrar family tree. Her fingers traced branch after branch and he could see her lips moving as she read the names of ancestors, cousins, aunts, grandparents, family hundreds of generations removed.
"My mistress, please do not—"
"Samir! Oh, Samir, I meant only to take a peep inside the bag but I—” She turned to him, her face stricken with mingled shame and alarm. “I dropped it and then I—fell in, I think, and I saw ... this.” Her hand waved at the one glowing branch of the massive tree. “And I found these.” Her fist opened and in her palm he saw two ancient, desiccated Brussels sprouts. “And him.” She pointed to a ratty, old teddy bear, lying on a cushion. “Samir, I—"
"Come away from there!” He heard his own dismay and struggled to control his reaction. “Please, my mistress."
"Is this where all the Brussels sprouts I didn't eat went? Did you have to save them all?"
He shook his head in impatience. Leave it to Laura to obsess about the details. It was what made her an excellent accountant. “I must have missed a few when I cleaned. This was the quickest place to hide them where your mother wouldn't notice."
"These are decades old!” Her gaze kept turning back to that one glowing branch, and he crossed the floor of the bag to pull her away from the rug. “And Teddable! I remember when Mom made me throw him out. He was so old and dingy and worn. But you saved him.” Her sad eyes grew large. “Samir, what is this place?” She caught at his wrist as he drew her toward the mouth of the bag, and halted him.
