by Judi Fennell
Samantha closed her eyes and laid her head back. She had to remember that: A) she was exhausted, emotional, and had been transported so far outside her comfort zone that unless she had Kal with her, she wouldn’t have a prayer of ever seeing her comfort zone again; B) the guy she was depending on for her comfort was a genie; C) this fascination she felt for him wasn’t real—oh, it was real in the sense that she felt it, but he was a genie; and D) she couldn’t have a future with a genie.
Who says you need a future with him? What about a few hours? A week? A guy who needs nothing from you and can give you whatever you want; what more could a girl want?
Clarity. Sleep. A cold shower.
She made the mistake of opening one eye just in time to see Sven working oil into Kal’s back. Make that two cold showers.
She drained the daiquiri, glad that Kal was face down on the table so he couldn’t conjure up another one for her comfort. She’d never been into the idea of two men, but the sight of Kal being oiled up was making her so not comfortable right now. Not uncomfortable, just not comfortable.
Wiggling in her chair, Samantha tried to get comfortable, but with him half naked—or more—on the table in front of her with slick, oiled muscles and that gorgeous head of hair her fingers were clamoring to run through, that wasn’t happening.
She’d never had this kind of chemistry with anyone before, and Samantha was finding it hard to remember that she’d just met him. And he was a genie, for Pete’s sake. A genie. Magical, mythological. Here to see to her every need and desire.
Honest.
An utterly dangerous combination on a good day, let alone in her frame of mind.
Samantha rolled onto her side and felt for the mechanism that would lower the back of the chair, hoping to put him out of her line of sight and then her thoughts, but she couldn’t find the damned thing.
She moved again, inadvertently knocking the lantern off the table, but she caught it before it smashed onto the terra-cotta tiled floor. Damn. She could not get comfortable. Huffing, she set the lantern on the tiles and felt around again for the lever. Her fingers had just closed over it when the chair back lowered as if by magic…
She opened her eyes, her startled gaze meeting Kal’s intense one as his fingers were just finishing the movement. She didn’t even have to say anything before he gave her that sexy half smile she so liked.
“It is my job to make sure you’re comfortable.”
He wasn’t talking about the chair.
Samantha gulped and reached for the daiquiri—which was now full again. She could use the cold headache.
As Sven worked up Kal’s back, Samantha gave serious thought to dumping the drink over her own head, but instead, she slammed her eyes closed. She wasn’t into voyeurism, and needed no more encouragement to project herself into the events on that table.
She needed a nap big time. With the memorial service, Albert’s betrayal, finding out her father had had a genie locked in his safe for thirty-five years, the trek to Izaaz with all its attendant issues, the events of the day, and the feelings Kal evoked—not to mention the sight of Sven and Kal—she was pretty much done in. Nothing a nap wouldn’t cure.
She hoped.
Blowing out a breath, Samantha crossed her arms and focused on the soothing trickle of water, willing herself to relax.
***
Kal was trying to relax, but he kept imagining Samantha’s hands on his skin. Wanting Sam’s hands on his skin.
He peeked beneath his arm at her on the chaise. He’d planned for her to get the massage, but then she’d wished for him to, and well, her wish was his command.
Kal grunted when Sven hit a knot beneath his shoulder blade. The ironic thing was that he wanted Samantha’s wishes to be his commands—and not in any way that had to do with The Service or his sentence. She’d looked so adorable making her rundown of wishes, and Kal had felt sick to his stomach as he counted at least seventy-two of them. In the grand scheme of things, seventy-two weren’t that many, but she’d just gotten started and Izaaz needed a lot of magic. It’d been a stroke of demi-genie genius to fix up this part of the spa under the guise of seeing to her comfort, but he couldn’t do the same thing for the rest of Izaaz. She’d have to use her wishes.
He didn’t want her to. And that worried him.
Samantha shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur on her lips. He wished he could hear it, but unfortunately, his wishes didn’t count for anything—and if he wanted them to, he had to keep his eyes on the final prize and off Samantha. Already, she meant more to him than any other master he’d had before. Not wanting her to make wishes? Coming up with an excuse to prevent her from making a wish? He had to be out of his mind.
She couldn’t—shouldn’t—be anything more to him than a means to an end. A way out. The way to regain his reputation and secure the job that should have been his two thousand years ago. He couldn’t risk any of it because of this growing attraction she held for him.
But, gods, did he want to hold her.
Sven hit another nerve, and Kal sucked in a breath.
“You’re tense, min vän,” Sven said softly. “Is it because your sentence is almost complete and you will be able to seize your destiny, or because you don’t know what that destiny is?”
The mystic powers of Nordic elves were legendary, and Kal would have loved to ask Sven what the future held, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
He exhaled and it had nothing to do with Sven’s massage techniques. Always, he’d been certain that once he was free, he’d recoup his loss and take his rightful place in the Djinn hierarchy. Why wasn’t he so sure now?
Samantha shifted again, and Kal knew why. But he didn’t want to admit it because admitting to feeling something for her, something beyond the master/genie relationship, was tantamount to giving up all he’d worked for. A genie who fell in love with his master risked it all: honor, position, magic, immortality. Three simple words took it all away. Kal hadn’t come this far to give it all up now.
Samantha curled her legs up and tucked her hands beneath her cheek like a child, and Kal wondered what her children would look like. The thought slashed into him deeper than the sharpest jambaya. He exhaled again, allowing Sven to think it was from the knot he’d just released, although, knowing Sven, he probably knew the truth.
Zift. Kal had spent lifetimes with his masters, had watched them marry, have children and grandchildren, all things he’d never have. Before Faruq had yanked the killim out from under him, he’d been fine with it; the honor of his position and the career he would’ve had had filled any void.
But after watching it happen again and again, knowing he was so far from anything he wanted… it’d been rough. And now, imagining Samantha carrying someone’s child… Gods, that hurt in a way that made Sven’s deep-muscle massage seem like a feather over Kal’s skin.
Samantha snuggled into her hands, and Kal wanted her to do that against him so fiercely that he waved his fingers so the robe on the other divan floated over to cover her. Lying there in that outfit, she was sexier than when he’d first magicked it onto her, and seeing her in it took this torture to a whole other level. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t. After a hundred and sixty years of celibacy and with Samantha and freedom within his grasp, Kal had wanted it all.
As she tugged the robe over her shoulder and snuggled into it, Kal realized that now he was close to risking it all.
13
Samantha was in the half-wakeful stage between dreaming and reality and was hoping to hold off on reality for as long as possible because, in her dream, she was the one oiling Kal down.
Her fingers twitched, and she wanted to run them over his shoulders. Down his arms. Over his abs. Feel the strength in his muscles, feel them contract when she touched him.
“Samantha.”
Of course, if he said her name like that in reality, half whispered with a hint of yearning, she might just wake up and let reality in.
She tried to answer him, but she couldn’t utter the words. Her lips were too dry, and with the way her breasts were tingling, all she’d probably be able to get out was a moan.
Not a good thing, moaning in your sleep when the two guys not fifteen feet away would be witness to it. So much for the curative effects of a nap. She shifted on the bed. Chair. Whatever.
“Samantha.” A little louder now.
Samantha opened her eyes. Had he really said her name?
But… no. That couldn’t be. He was still face down on the table and Sven was working on his shoulders, but, man, the guy sparked some extremely realistic dreams. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Her face—and the rest of her—burning, Samantha shifted in her chair again. She could not get comfortable, and it was all Kal’s fault. His job might be to see to her comfort, but he was also responsible for her discomfort.
Why’d he have to be so nice to her? So protective? So unselfish?
So… honest.
She looked at him. Hot, too. Couldn’t forget that. Hell, she wouldn’t be female if she forgot that.
Not that it—he—was all that easy to forget. Broad shoulders and supple, sleek, well-defined biceps, strong enough to lift her to just the right height, rippled beneath his skin when Sven kneaded them. Long, muscular legs and the tight mounds of his butt beneath the towel. A glimpse of toned flank when he shifted… mouthwatering.
If he ever decided to give up being a genie, he could change his name to Adonis and no one would bat an eye. Well, actually, she’d bet women everywhere would bat an eye. Swish their hips or shimmy their shoulders just to get his attention.
And he was all hers.
Despite the thick robe, Samantha shivered. He was hers, her genie, and there’d been no mention in his rules about not fraternizing. All she had to do was wish, he’d said. She was wishing all right. She wished to be the one stroking his back. To thread her fingers through his hair. Massage the oil into his skin.
Her breath fluttered. So did her tummy. Could she? Should she?
She held her breath. The water gurgled behind her, and the feathery pink flowers floated above her. Sven’s fingers still kneaded Kal’s back, but no magical answers rained down from the sky. No letters magically appeared on the cushion in front of her, telling her what she should do. The only way that would happen was if she wished them to, and since Kal would be the one granting that wish, it seemed kind of pointless to wish for something when doing was so much better.
Samantha set the robe on the chair next to her and walked to the table, pantomiming to Sven that she wanted to take over. Some wishes didn’t have to be spoken to come true.
Sven’s blue eyes twinkled when he smiled. He nodded, allowing Samantha’s left hand to replace his, then the right. With a quick squeeze on her shoulder, Sven disappeared through the wall of morning glory, no magic involved in that at all.
When Samantha’s palms flattened on Kal’s back, however, magic poured through her.
His skin was perfect. Smooth yet rough. Masculine. Stretched tight over sleek muscles yet with enough give that she knew it’d be perfect to rest her cheek against. She knew how it smelled, wished she knew its taste—and couldn’t condemn herself for wanting to know.
No, the only thing she’d condemn herself for was if she didn’t find out. And this time, she knew going in that it wouldn’t be forever. This wasn’t the fairy tale. Not with a genie. But it just might be magical.
She ran her palms from the base of his neck out to his shoulders, her fingers tracing his collarbone. His pulse throbbed there. So did hers.
“Samantha.”
It wasn’t a question.
She traced her fingers along his spine, massaging the muscles on either side, and traced around his shoulder blades, her fingers gliding over the coiled muscles. Kal groaned, the deep longing causing an ache to start between her thighs.
She slid the tips of her fingers along his back and down his obliques to his waist, every solid muscle contracting at her touch and causing an answering contraction in her belly. Just touching him turned her on, and the memory of what it’d felt like to kiss him made her hotter.
She wanted to kiss him again. Wanted him to kiss her again. Wanted to feel wanted and desired by the one man who wanted nothing from her but that.
She changed the angle, her palms now resting against his skin, and she pressed upward. Kal inhaled long and deep, then released it even deeper. Her fingers danced along the sides of his rib cage, and she felt the quick hitch of his breath.
“Sam. Please.”
Oh she pleased. She slid her hands beneath his arms, stroking them over his chest, but the table got in the way.
“Roll over, Kal.”
He exhaled a shuddering breath.
“Are you going to make me wish for it?”
He turned before he even answered her, grabbed the back of her neck before she registered it, and kissed her senseless before she had to ask for it.
Samantha fell into the kiss. Plastered across his chest, her outfit, so flimsy and nonexistent, felt as confining as the djellaba she’d worn earlier. She wanted to be free. Wanted to feel his skin against hers.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, and Samantha angled her head to take him deeper. Danced hers against his, stroking it, tasting him.
A groan rumbled in Kal’s chest and, oh, what that did to the tips of her breasts. The material chafing, Samantha rubbed against him, the friction of the fabric a poor, but necessary, substitute for his skin.
God, she wished he’d touch her.
And then, suddenly he was. Had she uttered that wish out loud or could he read minds?
Samantha didn’t know, and, oh God, she didn’t care. She wanted this.
His fingers stroked along the sides of her aching breasts, his thumbs circling on her nipples as his tongue did the same thing to hers. Samantha’s legs gave out, and she had to brace herself on the table so she wouldn’t fall on top of him—which would be a tragedy only because he’d have to stop doing all the delicious things he was doing.
He tweaked the pebbled tip and a straight shot of desire down to her core.
“Kal,” she panted against his lips.
“Yes, Sam?”
“I want you.” She surprised herself with that, because it wasn’t like her to be so up front, but oh God, with him… She really did want him and saying it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
So did the nip he gave her jaw. “Good. Because I can’t get enough of you.”
Yeah, she got that. Samantha dug her hands into his hair and captured his lips, then ran the fingers of one hand down his chest, playing with his nipple every bit as torturously deliciously as he’d done to hers.
He groaned and fell back onto the table, pulling her with him, and kissed her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth.
Samantha’s eyes flared open—and she saw him watching her, twin flames of desire burning eyes so dark they were almost black.
She flicked his nipple again and was rewarded by his groan. She slid her lips to his throat, the musky, damp taste turning her legs to jelly.
Kal’s palm found her butt, and he helped her stay vertical.
“It’s like you can read my mind,” she breathed against his skin.
Kal flexed his fingers. “No, that’s Sven’s talent. Mine is knowing how I want to touch you.” One finger slid between her legs, and Samantha moved her hips just enough that it’d find the place she so desperately needed it to. “Gods, Sam, do you know how long I’ve imagined this? How long I’ve wanted you?”
She shook her head, running her teeth along his collarbone. He hissed.
“No, Kal, I have no idea. I didn’t know you existed before today.” A serious shame.
“But I’ve known all about you.” He slid the backs of his fingertips along her arm, capturing her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “I’ve wanted you for
years.”
Butterflies did the polka in her belly, fluttering away any reservations she had about any of this. She propped her chin on his chest and met his gaze. “Now’s your chance.”
The gurgle of water punctuated a silence broken only by Kal’s harsh indrawn breath. “You’re sure, Sam? No question?”
She shook her head and threw caution—and her normally conservative scruples—to the wind. “The only one I have is… are we going to do this here?”
Kal smiled that half smile that turned her insides to mush. “No, Sam. The question is, where shall I put the bed?”
She let her fingers trail over his abs. “I like the way you think.”
“That’s my line.”
“No lines, Kal.” Her voice was serious.
Kal’s eyes lost their good-natured twinkle and grew just as serious. “That’s right, Sam. No lines. No pretenses. Just you and me and what’s between us.”
She wished he’d kiss her already.
And then he was. If he wasn’t reading her mind, she must have uttered that out loud, and frankly, she didn’t care.
He wrapped one arm around her back, pinning her to his chest, then spread his other hand over her backside and lifted her so that her legs were between his.
Oh he wanted her all right.
Samantha wiggled against him, her body completely aware of where this was leading, her mind in full agreement, and her hormones singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
Kal drew his fingers up the crease of her backside slowly, the gauzy fabric heightening the sensation, the action pulling her thong just a little snugger against her. Samantha could feel herself growing damp, could feel the ache growing until she wanted to straddle him.
But Kal wouldn’t let her. He hooked one leg over hers and repeated the action.
She panted against him in sweet torture. “Kal…”
“What is your wish, Sam?”
She shook her head. “Not a wish. A desire. I have to do something. Touch you. See you. Move.”
“All right, Sam—”
“Not here, Kismet! In that courtyard over there!”
