by Judi Fennell
So much for meditation. He actively—forcibly—turned his thoughts to the revelation. Something, anything to get that image of her out of his head, because that had never been part of Monty’s plan.
His own, on the other hand… Kal shook his head. The revelation. Focus on the revelation.
The part about changing history bugged him the most. Oracles chose their words carefully, each one wrapped in a layer of meaning like an onion wrapped in its transparent yet strong skin. Berosus couldn’t possibly mean Samantha was to undo Faruq’s arrest, could he? Did he want Kal to transport her back to that point so they could do something to prevent Faruq from getting himself arrested, which would then ripple down through time so that the citizens wouldn’t abandon the town? And if so, what did that mean for him personally? Was that why he still had no clarification on his own request?
Frustration clawed at him—on many levels. Was he going to have to give up the chance at the job he wanted for Samantha? Gods, he hoped not. He was so close he could touch the title. To have to give it up for a master…
Not just any master.
And that was the problem. Sam wasn’t just any master. But she was still a master and a means to an end, and if she wished for him to do something about Faruq, his hands were tied.
It came back to that.
And when she walked out of the bathroom in just the towel and damp tendrils of hair clinging to her neck, he was still tied in knots.
He jumped to his feet, then sat on the wrought-iron chair at the table beside the door. The bed was the last place he should be with Sam in the room.
“Kal, what’s going on?” She nodded at the necklace. “What does he want from me?”
All sorts of answers lined up to be voiced, but they were what Kal wanted from her, not Berosus. And if he knew what Berosus wanted, Kal could skip the vizier post and go straight to High Master. “I don’t know, Sam. Oracles are typically obtuse. I say we sleep on it. Things are bound to look better in the morning.”
Then her towel slipped a half inch lower, and he didn’t see how anything would look better than that.
“Would you like something to sleep in?” Please, gods, say yes, and not a bed covered in rose petals and surrounded by candlelight.
Although…
“A nightgown would be nice, yes. Thanks.”
Kal waved his hand. That was what he’d meant, but covering such perfection was a sacrilege. Just as it would be to sleep in this room and not touch her.
He didn’t know if he could not touch her.
That decided it. He was going to spend the night in his lantern, which showed how dire their—no, his—circumstance really was. Voluntarily sequestering oneself in one’s lantern wasn’t done without careful thought and consideration, but it was a better idea than spending the night out here wanting what he shouldn’t have.
“The robe’s a nice touch. Thank you.”
Kal opened his eyes. Sea green, the plush robe brought out the color of her eyes and covered her better than that djellaba. Saved his sanity, too. Barely.
“My pleasure.”
She started to say something but ended up nibbling on her lip. Gods. That was an image he’d take with him into the lantern where he’d have to do what he’d done over the past one hundred and sixty years to relieve his frustration.
He adjusted the waistband of his sirwal, redistributing the fall of the fabric. “If you don’t need anything else, Sam, I’ll be going.”
Question was, how was he going to get to his lantern without walking past her? Climbing over the bed wasn’t a better idea.
The situation got more complicated when she walked around that bed and put her hand on his arm. “You’re leaving me?”
Not in a thousand years. Hell, it’d taken him two thousand to find her.
“I thought I’d spend the night in my lantern.” Him and his good intentions…
“Oh. Is that what genies do? I thought you didn’t like being in there.”
Normally, no. Tonight a lot of things were different. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s comfortable in there. I have a kitchen and a den, some workout equipment, a bed.”
A very big bed. A very big, comfortable bed. A very big, comfortable, lonely bed.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning and we can figure all of this out. What should I do with your lantern? Keep it here on the table or somewhere else?”
On the pillow was too corny of an answer. And too tempting.
Not that he would be able to do anything about that once he was inside. Which, with the way the water from the shower had dewed on her shoulder, the way that tendril was drying and springing to life right in that soft spot beneath her ear, and the way that hint of cleavage at the vee of her robe was beckoning him, was a really good thing. The only way he would be able to leave the lantern was if she summoned him, so they’d both be safe—her from him and him from himself.
“That’s fine, Samantha. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
And with that, Kal summoned his smoke cloud and whisked himself inside the lantern and out of temptation’s way.
***
Kal disappeared before her eyes, and Samantha felt the loss immediately. If she needed him? God, he didn’t know how on target he was with those words.
Was it wrong to want to wish him to hold her? Just lie next to her and hold her all night and tell her that it was all going to be okay? That it was okay if everyone thought she was something she wasn’t? That it was okay to use him for his magic so she’d look good in the eyes of the citizens of Izaaz and the Oracle?
That she wasn’t totally useless?
Samantha pulled back the silk bedcovering and climbed between the cotton sheets. Fifteen hundred count, if she wasn’t mistaken. Heh. There was something else she was good at: picking out good bedding. Not totally useless.
Samantha flopped back onto the pillow. She was wallowing and that wasn’t like her. And she wasn’t useless. Not really. So she couldn’t fix this place without magic; big deal. No one but Kal could, either—and they had magic. Besides, it wasn’t as if they thought she was the one doing the magic; they expected her to use Kal’s powers to their benefit. That’s how it worked.
So why was she upset about it?
They needed help, and she could provide it. No one expected anything different. She, however, did. Albert’s words stung. The truth in them. So she’d seen a chance to help out and she had; how was that any different than what she did with the charities back home? There was a need for her services, and she fulfilled it.
But she wanted to be more than that. Wanted something she could be proud of—she wasn’t very proud of herself for allowing Albert to run Dad’s company. She should have stepped in. Should have manned up, as the saying goes, and taken the responsibility. But it’d been easier not to. Easier to allow Albert to do it while she sat at Dad’s bedside.
Well, she didn’t have that excuse now. Dad was gone, the company wasn’t, and Albert would be as soon as she got home. Then it would all be up to her. The question was: Was she up for the challenge? Was she up for more than just being a mouthpiece?
She punched the pillow, trying to get more comfortable, but sadly, not only didn’t it work, but she didn’t think anything would make her more comfortable.
Saying she was going to take over was all fine and good, but if she’d thought Albert’s learning curve had been steep, hers was going to be almost vertical.
Then again… she had a genie to help her.
But was that what she really wanted? How did using Kal to do her job make her any less useless than she was now?
She flopped back onto the pillow. She’d think about that tomorrow; today had been enough to wrap her brain around.
Samantha pulled the sheets up. The skylight was open and it was getting chilly. She was about to close it when a shooting star arced across the sky in the center of the opening and she decided to keep it open. Maybe she should make a wish.
Samantha snorted. Make a wish. That’s hadn’t solved any of her problems yet, merely created new ones.
She ran a finger along Kal’s lantern. He was in there. What did he see when he looked out? What was it like looking at the inside of a lantern day in and day out for years?
Four thousand of them.
She rubbed her forehead. She had to stop thinking. Her emotions were getting the best of her. She needed to get some sleep. She’d been up for over twenty-four hours; no one thought clearly after being awake that long, especially with all the upheaval she’d been through. Kal was right. Everything would look better in the morning.
Funny how he turned out to be right about that—but not in the way either of them had thought he’d meant. And then, only for a little while. A very little while.
17
Kal tossed for the eight hundred and twelfth time. Counting had become second nature over the centuries and tonight was no different.
He just hoped he didn’t get to one thousand and one.
Between Berosus’s riddle and Samantha in that towel, he made it to eight hundred and seventeen before he finally got out of bed. Naked, he stretched the aches and stiffness out of his back. He’d fallen asleep for forty-five minutes after relieving himself of pent-up desire. Sadly, that relief had lasted all of about ten minutes. Not even an hour’s reprieve.
If only she’d offer him the lantern and his freedom, he wouldn’t have to suffer like this. He could fly out of here and focus on the rest of his life.
But now all he could focus on was her. He kept visualizing her in that towel. That damn towel. A three-foot-long piece of plain, white cotton fueled his imagination in a way that even the outfit he’d conjured up for her couldn’t. Being with Samantha until this Servitude was over was going to be rough.
That thought—of it being over—socked him in the gut enough to double him over. And before he had a chance to analyze it and try to talk himself out of the logical conclusion he’d eventually come to, something else socked him in the gut harder than that thought.
Samantha was crying. It was soft and it was faint, but it was definitely a sob. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Her face must be right there next to the lantern, her lips so close he’d be able to touch them if not for the thin copper between them, but she could have been on the other side of the world for all the good it’d do him.
There was nothing he could do for her. He was stuck inside the lantern. Gods, what had made him think spending the night in here would be a good idea?
When she sobbed again, the wrench in his heart reminded him why—and mocked him at the same time.
Kal strode to the lantern wall and waved his hand, the habit still ingrained despite the fact that his magic hadn’t worked in here in two thousand years. Frustrated, he yanked the pull string on the copper shade that darkened the inside of his prison cell, and it retracted into the slot in the ceiling.
Not exactly a window, this section of his lantern was transparent from the inside, but the special alloy kept those outside from seeing in. Only Dirham’s rainbow paintings created enough light to penetrate to the outer world.
He was seeing anything but rainbows right now.
Samantha’s face, twitching as she fought whatever bad dream she was having, was so close he could almost reach out and stroke her cheek. A tear traced across the bridge of her nose, and Kal put his hand against the cool copper surface, trying to wipe it away.
“Wake up, Sam.”
She sniffled and her tongue wet her lips.
“Samantha! Wake up, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out, and Kal let himself enjoy it for a moment—until another tear tracked down her cheek. This one she swatted away, her fingers jerking against his lantern, toppling it onto the bed with her.
Kal groaned as he braced himself against the movement. As it was, the beer he’d taken only a few swigs of earlier fell off his bedside table and banged him on the shoulder, frothing all over his bed. Well, he hadn’t been getting much sleep there before; what did it matter now?
She sobbed again.
Kharah! That was a sound he couldn’t stand. “Samantha. Wake up, honey. Wish me out of here.”
She shifted again, her hand stroking across the lantern—just enough to open the lid.
Kal was out of there before she took another breath and accidentally closed it. Which she did with the next sob. This one was accompanied by a little moan.
Kal materialized from his orange smoke into the bed beside her, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled her toward him, cradling her face against his shoulder. “Sssh, sweetheart. Don’t cry. It’s just a bad dream.” She smelled so good. Lilacs had become his favorite flower.
She shifted and her cheek was soft as it brushed against his lips, her hair silky beneath his fingers, her nightgown sensuous against his body—
His naked body.
Kal realized his predicament right before it got worse—or better, depending on your take on the situation, but the situation was that Samantha had curled into him and wrapped her arm around his waist.
He had every intention of untangling himself to find that damned towel and put some kind of barrier between them. That silky negligee he hadn’t been able to resist conjuring for her was nowhere close to being called a barrier, and even the towel would be doubtful, but at least it’d be thicker than silk.
But then Samantha murmured his name and Kal’s intentions went on hiatus.
She snuggled into him, her breath moist and warm against his throat, and completely new intentions showed up.
Desire swamped him. He wanted to pull her atop him, plunge his tongue into her mouth, his cock into her warm, tight wetness, and give them both the best dreams they’d ever had. But if he did, he’d be the biggest ass any genie had ever been.
She rubbed her cheek against his chest, and Kal shuddered. Gods, what she did to him.
“Sam? Honey? I don’t think this is a good idea.” Well, actually he did, but it really shouldn’t be. He needed to find out what was bothering her. They needed to talk.
She sighed against him, and when she turned her face just a bit to the left—atop his heart—Kal knew there wasn’t going to be any talking.
He’d thought the sound of her sobs socked him in the gut? That had nothing compared to the feel of her lips against his skin. He palmed the back of her head, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her curls.
Almost.
“Samantha. Please. Sweetheart. Wake up. This isn’t a good idea.” His good intentions tried to come to the rescue, but then her head lifted of its own volition and green eyes opened slowly. Watery green eyes.
“Kiss me, Kal.”
“Samantha, I really don’t think—”
“Kiss me, Kal. I wish you’d kiss me.”
When she put it like that—
Kal kissed her. And he wasn’t kidding himself that it had anything to do with the fact that she’d wished it—because he would have done it without the word wish.
He speared his fingers through her hair and deepened the kiss. He couldn’t help himself; it was as if he were starving and she the only sustenance around.
Samantha slid her hand down his back, over the curve of his ass, and he couldn’t stop the thrust that happened naturally. She groaned and it undid him.
He changed the angle of his head, and his tongue danced with hers, the fire sweeping over him so fast it was as if dragons were feuding around them, but Kal had no intention of dousing it.
Samantha’s hands were everywhere, sliding up his spine, fanning out to trace over his hipbone, stroking down toward his groin, stealing his breath as her fingers came so utterly close to his cock, only to tease him at the last moment and flutter along his thigh. Then they slid over his hip again, spanning his cheek, and she pulled him against her.
He went willingly, his achingly hard cock pulsing against her. Kal wanted to rip that gown from her body and plunge inside her. Instead, he cont
ented himself—as much as possible—with tasting every part of her mouth, eating at her lips, the contact fast and furious and almost beyond his control. She shifted, and, oh gods, the sweet, undeniable torture that ran along his entire length.
Kal groaned into her mouth, unable to stop it. Uncaring that he couldn’t.
She kissed him. Wilder than before. Wetter.
Kal couldn’t take the torture. “Touch me, Sam,” he groaned, dragging his hand from her hair down along the column of her throat and over her shoulder to find the sweet perfection of her breast cupped so lovingly in that flimsy piece of silk and lace.
He stroked his thumb over the nipple. Samantha stiffened for a tiny second, then melted against him, thrusting her breast against his fingers. Against his chest.
Her leg slid along his.
Her hand skimmed lower.
This time she didn’t tease him. She found the head of his cock, her fingers circling in a motion that drew panted gasps from him. Had him jerking for more, and he felt the moisture seep from the tip.
“Gods, Samantha. What you do to me,” he growled against her throat, inhaling the soft, musky scent of her arousal intertwined with the lilac.
She wiggled closer, freeing her leg from the gown. He should have made it a short one, dammit, but he’d been trying to be conscientious. Responsible. Not a lech.
Kal raised his knee, hiking the gown higher on her thighs, brushing the dampness at their apex. So much for that. And he didn’t give a damn.
He nudged her onto her back, cradled between the side table and the pillow. His lantern was probably caught somewhere beneath her, and he didn’t give a damn about that, either.
He cupped her breasts, his thumbs playing over her nipples, his fingers stroking the sides, and he felt the sweet tightness in them, saw the evidence of how much she was enjoying it.
But he had to ask. Had to know. Had to hear her say it. “You like that, Sam?”
She licked her lips and nodded, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes so dark that they were blending in with her dilated pupils.
“Say it, Sam. I want to hear you say it.”
