Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  “Especially if I’m eating the food off you.” She squealed. “You’re amazing. What’s this?” She held up photos from the last stack, each a close-up showing men’s navels.

  He grinned. “The day you had lunch with your second mom in El Centro, I called Sesinando and my other genie buddies. Told them you were curious about whether they had navels or not—they do—and I needed some innocent selfies, no cocks or balls. Sesinando wanted to know if his belly button could have a part in your next film or series.”

  She laughed then threw out her arms. “Come here.”

  He hunkered next to her chair and caressed her thighs. “I did good?”

  “Way better than great.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  He liked when she massaged his scalp or stroked him anywhere. She had an angel’s touch, softer than a breeze. “Because of my research skills?”

  “They’re awesome, too.”

  He chuckled.

  She stole the sound with her kiss, her mouth fitting to his in desire, trust, and possibly love.

  Unlike other times when they’d gone at each other with less restraint than Tasmanian devils, their passion today was unhurried and heartfelt. They explored with their lips and tongues. She ran her hands over him. He touched her everywhere he could.

  They undressed each other slowly, the mortal way. Somehow, a quick wish and a fast fuck didn’t seem right.

  Sunlight streamed over her pale flesh, turning it alabaster. Her hair shimmered like starshine. He crushed the tresses in his palm and buried his face in them. Lingering fragrance from her shampoo, her perfume, and a scent that belonged to her alone filled him. “You smell good.”

  She cupped his ass. “You smell better.”

  “I’ll settle for a tie.”

  “Me, too. Make love to me.”

  He stilled. This was the first time she’d used those words. Before, she’d always said screw, fuck, do the nasty, or other slang to indicate nothing more than sex. He cupped her face, needing to know what was in her heart. If it matched the feelings already filling his soul.

  She blinked slowly, as one does when leaving a trancelike state. “What?”

  “You want me to make love with you, not just screw?”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  Crap. He’d pressed too hard, and she didn’t want to tell him the awful truth: she liked him but would never—

  “Yeah. Love me.” She touched his mouth. “Can you? Is it possible?”

  “Are you kidding?” He was ready to weep. “I can’t live without you. I don’t want to try.”

  “You don’t have to. We’ll always be to—”

  “Ms. Prescott!”

  Francine.

  She pounded on the door. “I need to talk to you.”

  Now? She knew better than to interrupt anything that went on in here. Alexandra had given her and the others explicit instructions—unless the building was on fire, they weren’t supposed to bother her.

  He exchanged a glance with Alexandra. “Do you smell smoke?”

  “No. Even if I did, the alarms and sprinklers haven’t gone off.”

  “Ms. Prescott!” More hammering. “At least answer your phone.”

  It was ringing.

  When did that start? He shouted, “Is the building on fire?”

  “No. And I don’t want to talk to you, got it? You. Are. Not. My. Boss.”

  Stunned, he leaned into Alexandra. “PMS?”

  “Beats me.” She faced the door. “Actually, he is your boss, Francine. I put him in charge.”

  “Not any longer.”

  He pressed his mouth to Alexandra’s ear. “Is the staff revolting and taking over your business? Can they do that?”

  “Not to me. We better get dressed.” She reached for her clothes.

  He stopped her. “Make a wish. It’s faster.”

  Within a second, they were dressed.

  The pounding got louder, like Francine was kicking the door.

  Alexandra crossed her arms. “Stop it! I can damn well hear you.” She spoke to him. “If push comes to shove, can my wish transport us out of here and to the house?”

  “Yep.”

  “Get ready.” She faced the door. “I’m not letting you in here or answering the phone until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

  The banging stopped, as did the ringing. “I’m trying! You need to send Ranson out here now. Alone. No questions. Just do it.”

  “Hell no.” She stormed toward the door.

  He couldn’t move. Even on her worst days, Francine wasn’t this bitchy. And he couldn’t divine why she’d singled him out to hate. Unless she wanted her old responsibilities back in making sure no one bothered Alexandra.

  Alexandra doubled back, grabbed his hand, and pulled him forward. “He stays in here with me until I say he can go.”

  Heels clicked outside the door. Ranson suspected Francine was pacing.

  “Ms. Prescott, you don’t understand. You don’t have a choice in this. Ms. Quill is here. She told me everything about who he is.”

  He went cold, hot, then cold again. Of all the things he might have worried would happen today or in the future, Ms. Quill’s arrival and snitching him out to Francine wasn’t on the list. He pressed his cheek to Alexandra’s and spoke as low as he could to avoid anyone overhearing. “Did your check bounce? Did you forget to make an installment on what you owe her service for me?”

  “No. I paid in full.”

  “For how long?”

  “A year, because of the discount she offered, with an option to renew.”

  Only a month-and-a-half had passed. This didn’t make sense. “You chose a year solely because of the discount?”

  “I hadn’t met you then. I’ve been meaning to renew for a seventy year period, which is basically the rest of my life, but got so involved with what we were doing, I forgot.”

  He wished she hadn’t.

  The pounding resumed. “Ranson, get your ass out here now.”

  Ms. Quill.

  He gripped Alexandra’s hand.

  She wrapped her arm around him. “No.”

  “Look, lady, you don’t have a choice. Someone else has offered to buy out his contract, free and clear, not rent his services as you have. He’s coming with me. It’s in the agency rules and perfectly legit.”

  Alexandra considered herself the ultimate shark when it came to business. Nothing surprised, cowed, or came close to defeating her.

  Not even this. Never this.

  She refused to let Ms. Quill inside. “Go away and don’t you dare come back.”

  “You know I won’t do that.”

  “Fine. Stay out there and drop dead for all I care. I’ll fight you on this.”

  “You won’t win.”

  “Watch me.”

  The horrible woman shouted obscenities but did leave. Francine remained and spoke through the door. “The arbitrator says you’ll have to bring Ranson to his and Ms. Quill’s meeting tomorrow.”

  Like fucking hell. “Tell him I need a month to prepare—no, two. Make that a year.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s already said the date isn’t negotiable. Either you’re there with Ranson at two o’clock sharp or Ms. Quill will send the cops in here to collect her property.”

  Ranson stepped back, horror, offense, and embarrassment etched on his face.

  Alexandra’s heart broke at his turmoil then rage washed over her, making her shake. How dare anyone treat him like chattel? He was the finest being she’d ever known. “Everything’s going to be all right.” She took his hand.

  He pulled away. “No one’s ever won in arbitration except Ms. Quill.”

  “Then our case will be the first time it happens.”

  “No. I can’t let you do this. My buddies told me what she did to others who tried to defy her. She destroyed them, including several attorneys she got disbarred and had shipped back to their native count
ries. I can’t let her do that to you.” He strode to the door.

  She grabbed his arm and held tight, not letting him leave. “She can’t send me back to El Centro. I refuse to go. And no damn way can she take my license since I don’t have one.”

  Anguish pinched his features. “You know what I mean. I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

  She embraced him and refused to let go. He’d have to put her in a coma to get free. “Please, let me take care of this.”

  “You can’t. It’s not possible. The contract’s iron-clad.”

  She pressed her hands against his back and pushed him into her. “Tell that to the fools I’ve dealt with in the past. They thought they had binding documents, but I showed them. Hug me, please. Now’s not the time to play dead.”

  He held her gently.

  She wanted more, dammit. Everything he could give. “If I wish for the contract to be null and void will it work?”

  He sighed deeply. “Other genies have already tried, asking their attorneys to make those wishes. They didn’t change anything.”

  “No prob. I’ll find another way.”

  “How? The meeting’s tomorrow afternoon.”

  “We’ll have to work fast.”

  Although Ranson was a whiz at research, scouring law books for precedents wasn’t the same as poring over gossip sites for bad press on a competitor. The legalese, alone, was like swimming in quicksand.

  Alexandra scrolled through legal research sites on her laptop. “We can do this.”

  He didn’t see how and figured they should be spending their last moments together naked and joined rather than dressed and investigating stuff he didn’t understand. His chest and belly ached so much he could scarcely breathe. To consider never seeing her again after tomorrow….

  An agonized cry rose to his throat. He pushed it back and lowered his head.

  “Baby, please.” She squeezed his hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  His existence would never be the same. He’d look back on these days as his golden hours when, for one brief moment, he’d had hope and love. “Maybe my new master or mistress will let you visit me sometime.”

  “Don’t’ say that!” She left her chair and embraced him. “You’re not leaving me.”

  In less than a day, he’d be gone. He gritted his teeth to keep his sorrow from spilling out.

  For the meeting, Alexandra dressed in the suit, heels, earrings, and underwear she’d worn the day she and Ranson met. A wondrous moment and the beginning of her good luck. Today, she considered the outfit her talisman, along with having him beside her in his fave outfit—the blue suit that matched her eyes.

  Hand in hand they entered a conference room set up with one long table and chairs, no refreshments. It appeared the arbitrator, Ms. Quill, and the prick who’d offered to buy out Ranson’s contract didn’t think they’d be here long.

  She squeezed Ranson’s hand to assure him things would favor them.

  His fingers were limp. His skin gray.

  Oh, baby, you gotta trust I won’t abandon you.

  Last night, she’d devised countless strategies to win but hadn’t settled on one because she didn’t know the game rules. Yet. She sensed they wouldn’t be fair. Since the arbitrator had given her scant notice concerning the meeting, no attorney she knew could help out even with the enormous sum she promised as a retainer. One after the other had told her there wasn’t time to prepare a defense and no one ever won in arbitrations like this except Ms. Quill.

  The hag puffed on her cigarette and sneered at Alexandra from across the table. The arbitrator, a balding man with a bulbous nose, sat to her right. To her left was a nerdy guy who looked about twenty-two, possibly younger. She couldn’t detect any facial hair. He did have a huge zit on his chin.

  He gave her a smug-bored look.

  Turd.

  Ranson pulled out a chair for her. Despite his fear and heartache, he still had better manners than any man or genie alive. She gave him a hopeful smile and took her seat.

  He sank to his chair, shoulders slumped, head down.

  Their opposition looked pleased.

  Alexandra gave the three stooges her hardest stare for even thinking about taking away Ranson’s happiness and dreams.

  The arbitrator cleared his throat. “Let’s get started.”

  “Yes, let’s.” She spoke to Mr. Zit. “Who are you exactly? What interest do you have in Mr. Redford?”

  Confusion swept the kid’s face. “Who?”

  She gestured to Ranson. “Again, why do you want him? He sucks at fixing computers, cars, conjuring fancy food, designing anything, or making even a remote guess as to what your wish might mean unless you’re exceedingly specific. Even then he gets shit wrong.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  He glared at her, anger and hurt in his eyes.

  She didn’t have time to explain she had to bring out the big guns if they wanted to be together, even if it meant insulting him. “In other words, he’s a dud.” She leaned across the table to the little turd. “Answer me. What’s your damn interest in him?”

  Perspiration broke out on his upper lip. He pressed back in his chair. “I might ask you the same. Why would you want him if he’d so awful? Oh, wait.” He squinted. “I see wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. Pray tell, are you going to wish for him to get rid of them?”

  Pray tell? What century was this kid from? “What I do with him is none of your damn business.”

  “Actually, it is.” He pointed at Ranson. “This genie can make a woman look better than the world’s best plastic surgeons or any other genie out there. He’s done an almost good job on you. Pity it’s not better. He must have had too little to work with.”

  Ranson shot to his feet, chest heaving, fists clenched.

  Mr. Zit’s eyes widened. He shoved his chair away from the table.

  “Hold on.” Alexandra grabbed Ranson’s arm. His growls didn’t stop. She’d always love him for his outrage and wanting to protect her. “It’s not fair for a man your size to pulverize a wimp like him.”

  He added a grunt to his growls. “Who said life was fair? Give me a minute, no a millisecond with him. That’s all I fucking need to tear him apart.”

  “It’s okay. Calm down.” She patted his hand and spoke to the turd. “As you can see, he isn’t easy to control. Sure you want to buy out his contract?”

  His face had gone paler than hers. “Once I start experimenting on him, he won’t—”

  “What?” She shot to her feet. “What in the fuck are you talking about? Who the shit are you?”

  Ms. Quill blew out smoke. “He’s the guy who cracked the DNA code for genies, and manufactures new, and better, ones in his lab. He’s a genius.”

  “Dr. Mengele would be proud.” Alexandra frowned at him. “What’s Ranson have to do with your foul crap?”

  He tented his fingers and tapped them against each other. “Once I discover how he’s able to make old, ugly women look so amazingly young and pretty again, I’ll replicate it in my newest genie specimens. Of course, he may not survive the—”

  “You lousy bastard.” She lunged at him across the table.

  The kid yelped.

  Ms. Quill tapped her ashes on the floor. “Someone call the cops.”

  “No.” Ranson pulled Alexandra back and held her close. “It’s okay. I don’t mind him experimenting on me. I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

  She clutched his jacket and wanted to die. If anyone hurt even one hair on his head…. “Screw this.” She pushed him away and faced her opposition. The suits in Hollywood made these putzs look as threatening as puppies and kittens. “How much are you offering so you can slice and dice him for your pleasure?”

  The arbitrator’s face turned red. “No need to be crude.”

  “Sorry. How much is he offering to torture a genie who’s done nothing but bring mortals happiness?”

  Ms. Quill blew smoke rings. “Six hu
ndred million.”

  Ranson gasped.

  Alexandra patted his ass. “Is that all? I’ll offer nine hundred million.”

  Ranson teetered.

  The kid lifted his chin, which made his zit look enormous. “I just changed my bid to nine-hundred-and-fifty million.”

  “Okay, let’s stop playing and get serious. I’ll offer half my wealth for Ranson’s contract. That’s twenty-two billion.”

  Ranson grasped his chair back. “What?”

  Alexandra focused on the kid. “Care to meet my offer and exceed it?” She knew he couldn’t. Two months ago, she’d had her staff research him, thinking he might want to invest in her pictures. Given his debt to investors and his penchant for high-living, he didn’t have a fourth her net worth.

  His mouth moved but no words came out.

  “I’ll take your silence as a no.” She spoke to the hag. “I’m buying out Ranson’s contract. I want it free and clear. No encumbrances on his future.”

  Ms. Quill pointed her cigarette at her. “Free and clear doesn’t mean you can rent him out to people you want. The no-compete clause still holds.”

  “You can marry it for all I care. I’m setting him free.”

  Ranson plopped into his chair. “What?”

  She gave him a soft smile. “Your life’s your own, baby. Always will be from now on.” She faced Ms. Quill. “As far as What You Want is concerned, I’m also buying you out.”

  The hag dropped her cigarette. “What?”

  “I’m offering a billion for the place and for you to disappear and never bother another genie again.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  Damn, she had nasty teeth.

  “Sold!” She pointed a gnarled finger. “You better not go back on this. Everyone here heard you.”

  “Don’t worry. I keep my promises.” She cradled Ranson’s cheek. “Don’t I?”

  He stood, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her hard, deep, and long.

  The only answer she wanted.

  Epilogue

  A year later…

  Things were hopping at Wishes for Hire, the new name for What You Want. Seconds after Alexandra had signed the papers to purchase the place, she’d delivered them to Ranson. “The agency is yours, no one else’s. Run it as you and your genie buddies see fit.”