Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  “I like your eyes. This looks like them.”

  She threw her arms around him. “I wish for two outfits in that photo in your size.”

  The clothes fell from nowhere and landed on the sofa. Black dress shoes clunked on the floor.

  “Thanks.” She nibbled his earlobe. “But you need more. Can you stomach any in brown and tan?”

  He sighed deeply. “You mean almost blah?”

  “Doesn’t have to be. We can keep looking until you find something to please you.”

  After a thorough search and several hours, he located a few outfits that didn’t have him rolling his eyes or grimacing. She wished for two sets in both colors.

  The sun hugged the horizon. Stars dotted the darkening sky. Lights sparkled like jewels in the surrounding areas.

  Never had the view looked as special or as beautiful to her. “We’ve accomplished a lot today.” She stood and offered him her hand. “Time to go home.”

  At Alexandra’s request, or rather with her wish, Ranson transported his new, deadly dull clothes to her house so they wouldn’t have to haul them in her car.

  Before leaving her office, she put on her suit and asked him to wear the blue one he’d chosen.

  He did like the color.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous.” She regarded him hungrily and grabbed his hand. “You need to see how great you look.” She pulled him into an adjoining room and pushed him toward a full-length mirror.

  The outfit wasn’t his beloved plaid with bell bottoms and wide lapels, but it wasn’t half bad, except for making him look like an attorney or undertaker. He’d had both as masters. “Does this make me look mortal?”

  “More like in sync with other men in the business world. Even without clothes you look realer than most guys, right down to your navel. Do all genies have them?”

  “Haven’t a clue. I haven’t seen any naked. Want me to call Sesinando and my other buddies, have them send nude selfies to show you?”

  “Are you teasing me again?”

  He stifled a smile. “Not entirely.”

  She grinned. “In that case, I’m good living with the mystery. Let’s go.”

  She whizzed them to her place in her convertible Benz, top down. A full moon spilled gauzy light on them. Balmy wind pulled at her hair and his. They held hands and laughed.

  If Ranson hadn’t known better, he would have guessed he’d somehow died and passed on to one of her mushy romantic movies, starring her and him. This morning, he’d thought his existence couldn’t get worse. With each passing moment, his present had grown better.

  “Here we are.”

  Her house stood on a hilltop, the structure a modest one-story resembling a white rectangle carved from stone.

  Considering her wealth, he’d expected a palace similar to the Taj Mahal but didn’t care one way or another. Simply being with her was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

  She parked, opened the humongous front door made from what could have been steel, and led him inside.

  His mouth hung open.

  Rather than one story, this place had six, each level progressively lower than the last, all jutting out and hanging off the hill. Below, the Pacific churned. Moonlight brighter than diamonds sparkled on it.

  She bumped his arm. “Like the view?”

  “Wow.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  She escorted him through the palatial living room, dining area, TV-rec room, a gym, the indoor pool, and too many bedrooms to count. In each location, he spied vases, glasses, cups, and various containers, each suitable for him to use as a resting place while she slept.

  At last, she stopped in a bedroom far larger than the others.

  He strode to the window, but, instead of looking out, he glanced down.

  Holy shit.

  The room hung in air over the hill, the glass floor revealing rocks and vegetation below. An animal he couldn’t identify lifted its face to him and bared its teeth.

  Stunned, he leaped back.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t fall off.”

  He looked at her. “Huh?”

  “The room is safe.” She took off her heels and did jumping jacks. “Not even a magnitude ten earthquake will crack the floor.”

  Her hair and breasts bounced. Moonlight slanted across them, turning her and everything else silver and gray, colors he once found dreary. They seemed bewitching now.

  She shed her skirt and jacket with more ease than a stripper. He’d met lots in the seventies who liked his master.

  Once she’d unscrewed her earrings, she padded around the monstrous bed and placed the jewelry on a silver nightstand. “Tired?”

  Worried. He hadn’t a clue where she wanted him to sleep and hoped she’d let him pick the spot as she had his clothes. Tomorrow, he’d search for a last name. Something classy like Rothschild, Hilton, Rockefeller, Cargill, Ferrari, Benz, Mercedes, Rolls. His head swam. “I could sleep. Just point me to the right spot. I saw several nice cups and containers in the kitchen.” He swung his arm in its direction. “I always clean up after myself in the morning. You’ll never know I was there.”

  Frowning, she pulled off her lacy bra and slipped out of her matching black thong. “Do genies have to sleep in containers? Is that some kind of rule?” She pressed her hand to her chest. “At a certain hour, do you turn into smoke?”

  He laughed. Sounded shrill to him. “Uh, no.” He cleared his throat. “I only turn into smoke when I have to cram into a small space, like a cup or a soda can. That’ll work, too.”

  She padded to him. Ashy light reflected in her amazing eyes, making them more gray than blue. “Do you prefer it?”

  “No.” Who would? “I thought it was what you wanted.”

  “After we played all afternoon?” She slapped his chest and pointed at the bed. “Get your ass over there. I’m giving you a direct order.”

  He didn’t budge. It was one thing to have momentary fun, another to know where he stood for the long haul. “After we mess around and you fall asleep, what then? I need to know where I’m going to be spending my nights here.”

  She wreathed her arms around his neck and stroked his hair. “You’ll be next to me on the damn mattress…unless you’d prefer your own room.” She released him and crossed to another door he hadn’t noticed.

  Once she’d opened it, she cleared her throat.

  He stopped staring at her plush ass and the cute dimples above it. “What?”

  She pointed over her shoulder. “The bed in there is as big as the one in here, and as nice. Pick your poison. Your choice.”

  Never in a zillion years would he have hoped she’d treat him as a full equal in every way. Given his past, he couldn’t quite trust it. “You’re talking about tonight, or maybe tomorrow, or the following week, possibly months, but what happens when we get pissed at each other? Crap happens. Don’t tell me it doesn’t. No one’s in a good mood constantly, not even those women in your romance series. Them especially. They’re always moaning, snarling, or crying. What will you do when you’re angry with me?”

  She slumped. “Do you honestly think I’m that bad? Not as a writer-producer, as a person?”

  “You’re human. Getting upset comes with the territory.” There were always bad hair days, unwanted cravings for booze, food, cigarettes, and the mother-of-all-problems, PMS. He wasn’t crazy enough to mention it. “I deserve to know what you’ll do when things go sour between us.”

  “You seem certain they will.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’ve already accused, convicted, and sentenced me to being the ultimate bitch.”

  He wasn’t being fair. She’d been more than kind to him, and he was letting past crap get in the way. “Before I arrived at your office, I’d had a fairly shitty existence, especially my last mistress. God, talk about a witch. I realize that’s no excuse, but I’m still trying to get my bearings. No one’s ever treated me this nice. I don’t know how to act.”r />
  Her features softened. “I’m sorry. We’ll take this slow. Mistrust all you want. But I give you my word I won’t betray or abandon you. And you’re right. At some time in the future, I will get irritated. It’s my guess even saints have bad days, and I’m nowhere close to them. However, when I want to claw your eyes out or strangle you, I swear I’ll hold back and will simply screech for you to move into the other bedroom or I’ll storm in there.”

  He bet she would and chuckled. “Will you break things?”

  “Count on it. I may slam the door so hard I’ll split the wood. I advise you to ignore me at that point.”

  “I promise I will.” He crossed his heart. “You.”

  She shook her head. “Me what?”

  “A few seconds ago you asked me to pick my poison.” He joined her at the bed. “I choose you. Wait. What I said didn’t come out right.”

  Her face lit up. “Sure it did. You truly want me?”

  More than anyone during his existence. If he’d been the sentimental sort, he would have believed they’d been made for each other, destined to be together to ease their loneliness. “God yeah. No one else. Only you.”

  She looked at him with wonder and promise.

  The moment was so sacred, he feared he might cry. That wouldn’t do. Her sad childhood and adolescence told him she needed a guy who’d protect her no matter what. Even if safeguarding her destroyed him, so be it. She came first. He cupped her face and lifted it to his. “Wish away my clothes.”

  She did as he asked.

  Naked and wanting, they dropped to the mattress as one. Limbs, minds, hearts, and souls entwined.

  Chapter Four

  Ranson chose Redford as his surname in honor of Robert Redford, his fave star in the seventies. Beloved and heady times, but the present was turning out way better.

  True to her word, Alexandra craved him in her bed each night, despite his snoring. She also informed her staff they had to go through him to get to her. “Tell Ranson what you need to discuss and he’ll get back to you with my decision.”

  Several staffers shot dirty looks at him, Francine included, though she did offer an approving look at his new duds.

  Maybe plaid, wide lapels, and bell-bottom trousers had seen their day, fashion-wise.

  At night, he and Alexandra indulged in their wildest fantasies. Two weeks into their relationship, she begged him to tie her to the bed and have his way with her.

  Naked and aroused, he regarded her as a Dom in a romance novel would. She’d certainly had him read enough of those stories for him to know the proper behavior. “Wish for it.”

  Her smile was slow and sexy. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Wait.” He arched one eyebrow, mimicking the dude on the cover of My Way, Baby, a BDSM romance he’d just finished. The sex scenes had made his cock harder than granite, precisely as it was now. “I want you on all fours, head lowered, ass lifted, ready for discipline.” He growled as he figured an alpha male would. Oddly enough, he sounded cool, rather than weird. “Go on. Make your wish.”

  She giggled and did.

  Once she was in position, he weakened at her sumptuous nudity—plump, wet folds, pendulous breasts, taut nipples, the satiny furrow between her cheeks, and her tight, rosy ring.

  She clawed the comforter. “Punish me.”

  Faced with the prospect, he couldn’t budge. “Uh….”

  “Please.”

  He wanted to love her not hurt her. Who made up these games? In a book, they were okay. In real life…? “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  “Fucking A.” She spoke through her teeth. “I wish for you to punish me, dammit.”

  Before he could blink, he was kneeling beside her on the bed, hand raised to smack her ass.

  “Hold it!” She looked over. “Not too hard. And when I say stop, you will.”

  For that directive, she deserved a spanking. “Seriously? After everything we’ve done together, do you truly believe I’d keep going when you’re screeching for me to stop?”

  “Sorry, baby.” She made kissing noises. “Go on. Do your thing and mine.”

  His first swat nearly killed him with anxiety. The crack sounded louder than a gunshot to him. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Will you live?”

  Okay, that’s it. He tried to be a nice guy. Dedicated to her pleasure, he paddled her good and hard. “Enough?”

  “No.”

  Shit, his palm stung, but he soldiered on.

  She wailed. “Do me, do me, do me!”

  He wasn’t following. “More of the same? Harder? Softer?”

  “Fucking! Do the nasty with me!”

  Finally, something he was good at. He mounted her as Xander had done to his lady in You Will Be Mine, screwed them both to exhaustion, and held her in his arms as they slept.

  At the office, she taught him the ins and outs of her business. “When it comes to competitors, always make them think you know less than you do.”

  Her suggestion seemed counterintuitive. “Shouldn’t I, or you, or we put on a strong front? Dominate them from the get-go like Zeke did with Sapphire in I’m Your Destiny?”

  “That’s romance. This is war.” She sat next to him at her desk and squeezed his thigh. Still dressed, they were behaving today. “Look at how predators in nature fool their prey. The Venus Flytrap for instance. It looks like an innocent flower until the poor insect lands on one of its lobes. Then bam, they snap shut, trapping and devouring the thing.” She stroked his balls. “Get my drift?”

  His nuts and cock ached she was turning him on so much. He steeled himself against her allure in order to learn this stuff. Disappointing her wasn’t an option. He’d cut off his dick first. “Is what you’re saying similar to the cute little creature in Jurassic Park looking curiously at the guy in glasses when he got his Jeep stuck in the mud? At first, he thought the animal—reptile—whatever it’s called was only annoying, but then its wings, or headdress, or whatchamacallit, flared out, it screeched, then jumped him. Blood and guts everywhere.”

  “Exactly.” She rubbed his cock. “Even after everything I’ve accomplished, my male competitors still think they can lord it over me because they pee standing up. Jerks.” She gripped his family jewels.

  He grabbed her wrist and eased her hand aside before she castrated him. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

  “No matter how much they piss me off, I never show what I’m feeling. I play to their stupid misconceptions instead, batting my eyelashes, so to speak, laughing at their stupid jokes, puffing them up.”

  “Then you go in for the kill.”

  “Damn straight.” She slipped her hand between the buttons on his shirt and massaged his naked pec. “That’s what you’ll also do.”

  Her soft, hot palm and roaming fingers did wicked things to him, warming, thrilling. His head fell back. “You mean flirt?”

  “No.” She blew out a breath then played with his nipple. “Be whatever they think you are, even if you’re not. Pretend to be clueless. Force them into an impossible position then take everything fucking thing they have.” She slid her hand beneath his waistband.

  He’d never known business could be so arousing. “Got it.”

  “Of course you do. You’re my right-hand man.” She snaked her tongue in his ear.

  Someone moaned. Might have been him. He hauled her onto his lap and practically devoured her mouth.

  Later, she told him what and who she needed him to research.

  She lolled on the sofa, drowsy from her numerous orgasms.

  He lumbered to her desk.

  “No.” She waved him back to her. “Work can wait until later.”

  “How much later? We’ve already eaten up half the day playing on the sofa, floor, the chairs, the cocktail table, your desk….” His cock was raw. Her pussy had to be, too. Although he loved messing around with her, he needed a breather to regain his strength. At times like this, he realized females were the superior sex. Despite countless orgasms, they could keep
going and going and going.

  She made a pissed sound. “Fine. Give it five minutes then I want you back here.” She patted the sofa. “Don’t make me wish for it.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Argh.” She beat the cushion. “I’m too young to be a ma’am.”

  “Way too hot, too.”

  She pushed up and looked at him, tenderness, affection, and desire in her eyes. “Thanks.”

  He would have done anything for her, even fought in a senseless war, not that there were any other kind. But for her, he’d endure.

  Damn. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him. Since he’d never been in love, he hadn’t a clue how the emotion should feel. If it matched his sheer delight and boundless joy in being with her, then he was a goner. “You bet.” He winked.

  She gave him a sleepy grin and snoozed.

  Using the databases she’d suggested and ones he found on his own, he worked feverishly, compiling data.

  Who would have thought digging up dirt on people and discovering their weaknesses could be so fascinating. To Ranson’s surprise, he was good at this. Even better than at making women look younger.

  A week later, he presented his reports. They covered her desk and stood inches high.

  Her eyes rounded. “Wow.” She leaned away from the stacks. “Does this cover all my competitors, plus the action-adventure stuff I want to get into?”

  “Haven’t cracked that nut yet, but I will.” He gestured to his work. “These reports represent your five biggest competitors.”

  She pressed her hand to her throat. “Only five? I have like twenty.”

  “Thirty-two worldwide. I’ll get to the others next. I’ve color-coordinated these five according to the owners’ ages.” He touched a black folder on the first stack. “This is the youngest. A Harvard grad.” He sniffed. “Thinks she knows everything, but we’ll show her. The folder colors fade from black to gray with that competitor being the oldest. He’s on his last leg and looking for a buyout. My guess is you’ll own his company quicker than it takes you to eat lunch.”