Trouble With Mitch

by Myla Jackson

  With a sense of urgency pushing him through the mess, Mitch hurried into his bedroom and grabbed clothes and shoes, his heart sinking. Finding Edie and Harry would be harder than he’d originally thought. Since Edie hadn’t been seen since that fateful day when Mitch himself disappeared, she could be anywhere. The way he looked at it, he only had two choices. He could spend a lot of time searching the city for people who probably weren’t there or he could get back to Amira and ask her to wish him to his friends. After their last encounter, Mitch wasn’t sure Amira would be receptive to anything he had to say. But he had to try. Harry and Edie’s lives might just depend on it.

  He’d just pulled his pants up when the rumbling started. Oh no, Amira must have wished for something. As the rumbling increased, Mitch lunged for his shoes and rolled across the carpet. He’d be damned if he went barefoot or wore another man’s shoes.

  A flash of light blinded him and he shielded his eyes, holding his breath for whatever Amira’s wish held in store. A loud bang shook the floor where he lay.

  The light faded with the thunder. When Mitch opened his eyes, he was still in his room and standing before him wasn’t Amira but four people, crowding into his room. It took a moment for two of them to register. Harry and Edie.

  “Mitch!” Edie dropped down beside him. “Are you all right?” She ran her hand over his body as if checking for broken bones or lacerations.

  Harry stepped up behind her, grasped her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, a fierce frown pushing his brows together. “He’s okay, Edie.” Harry held out a hand to Mitch.

  Taking the hand, he got to his feet, shoes in hand. “How did you get here? I thought I’d have to search the world to find you.”

  Harry nodded at Edie. “We got here the quickest way we knew how.”

  Edie grinned. “We wished us here.”

  Mitch nodded at the other man in the room wearing an old-fashioned fedora. “Let me guess, you must be Harry’s partner, Will.” He held out his hand. Harry and Will had been the ones to discover the tomb of Princess Vashti. Back in 1924. Mitch still found it hard to believe the two men had been suspended in time the same way Mitch had been, by being entombed in bottles, released only when a woman rubbed her hands across the glass. Mitch tipped his head toward the dark-haired woman at Will’s side. “I take it you own Will’s bottle?”

  Kate’s lips twisted in a jaunty grin. “You got that right.”

  Will frowned. “You don’t own me, you pushy broad.”

  She pressed a finger to his chest, her gaze narrowed. “Don’t call me a pushy broad.”

  “Will you two cut it out while we determine what’s next?” Harry stepped between the two. “Now that we have Mitch back, we can concentrate on how to break this curse.”

  “And how’s that?” Mitch asked.

  “We have to return everything to the burial site.”

  “Everything?” Mitch asked.

  “Stone of Azhi, bottles, sarcophagus, everything,” Edie concluded. “Who has your bottle?”

  Mitch squelched his groan. “Amira Nassiri.”

  “The perfume princess?” Edie’s brows rose into the hair draped across her forehead.

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d she get it?” Harry asked.

  Mitch filled him in on what had happened that day and how Mr. Baumgartner had given Amira the bottle.

  “I knew he was filching artifacts,” Edie said. “The man should have been jailed.”

  Harry slipped an arm around Edie’s shoulders. “Yeah, well, you can’t jail a dead man.”

  It took a moment for Harry’s comment to sink in, but when it did, Mitch felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “Dead? The guy from the museum is dead?”

  Will removed the hat from his head. “Yeah, someone came in this afternoon and sliced his throat.”

  “Fuck!” Mitch dropped his shoes on the floor and slid his feet into them. “If the sarcophagus was already gone from the museum, someone must have known one of the bottles was missing. That had to be why they chased after Amira.”

  “You’re probably right.” Harry paced out into the living area and stood staring around at the disaster. “Danorah is up to her old tricks. What do you want to bet she was the one to get the sarcophagus returned to Iraq?”

  Mitch tossed a polo shirt over his head and followed Harry into the living room.

  “That might play to our favor,” Edie stepped up beside Harry. “If the sarcophagus is really on its way back to Iraq, that’s half the problem solved.”

  “Right,” Kate added. “All we have to do is collect the rest of the stuff that belongs in it and meet it there?”

  “Where are the rest of the bottles?” Mitch asked.

  “Safe in a hidden city in the desert,” Kate answered.

  “The Stone of Azhi?” A nerve twitched at the corner of Mitch’s eye. He hated to think of other men trapped by the stone in one of those damn bottles.

  “Safely stored in the same city.” Kate smiled. “Out of reach of the male population.”

  “Then all we need to do is collect the bottle Amira has and find the sarcophagus.” Mitch inhaled and let it out slowly. Like Amira would give him the bottle willingly.

  “In order to make this happen, we’ll need to split up,” Will said.

  “I’ll take the location of the sarcophagus,” Harry volunteered.

  “I’ll get my bottle,” Mitch chimed in.

  “That leaves me with the stone and the remaining bottles.” Will plunked his hat on his head.

  Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you forgetting something?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Will pressed a kiss to Kate’s nose. “There. How’s that? Now, would you please wish us back to Sand City? Oh, and bypass Hell if you can manage that,” he asked, following with a muttered, “Pushy broad.”

  “Watch it, old man.” She smiled and stood up on her toes to kiss Will full on the lips. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I ever am.” Will touched the brim of his hat. “See you guys in a day’s time at the tomb of Princess Vashti?”

  Harry nodded. “See you there in a day.”

  Kate made the wish, the room rumbled, a flash of light blinded Mitch and the couple disappeared.

  Mitch gulped. “Do you ever get used to all that, you know, popping in and out?”

  Edie smiled, a blush filling her cheeks.

  Harry shook his head. “No. Much as I’m glad the stone brought Edie and me together, I would like to have control over my life again. Are you going to have any problems getting the other bottle?”

  Mitch figured he would, but he’d never admit it to Harry who’d come over eighty decades into the future. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Will Amira help you get back to the tomb?”

  “Sure.” He hoped. If he had to, he’d bind, gag and throw her over his shoulder to keep her in line until this was over. A smile tipped the corners of his lips. The image of the daddy’s little girl bound and gagged was priceless.

  “Okay, then we’re off to find the sarcophagus.” Harry nodded to Edie. “Think you can get it right?”

  Edie’s brows furrowed. “Of course.”

  “Then let’s do it.” Harry grabbed Edie’s hand. “Wish us to within a mile of the sarcophagus. That way we don’t land in the middle of an enemy camp.”

  “I wish we were within a mile of the sarcophagus.”

  Mitch held his breath. Edie had a way of wording things that landed her in trouble with her wishes.

  Thunder rumbled and the bright light flashed. When Mitch could see again, Edie and Harry were gone, leaving him alone in his destroyed apartment. Now had to get back across town to Amira’s apartment. He sure hoped she’d let him in.

  * * * * *

  “I thought you were ditching the bodyguards,” J.C. grumbled, not at all happy about the two men flanking Amira as she entered the club.

  “I tried, but Daddy threatened their livelihood and lives if they lost me for the secon
d time today.” Amira’s lips twisted. “I didn’t have the heart to lose them.” What she wasn’t admitting was that she didn’t have the courage to step outside her apartment building without some kind of backup. If the guys who’d followed her earlier really wanted to find her, they could. And they could be waiting for her to make another break for freedom. Only this time, Amira had no doubt they’d be ready for her.

  “Maybe I should go back home. I don’t feel much like partying.” Amira slung her bag over her shoulder and turned toward the door.

  “No way, girl! Your father rarely leaves the country without taking you along. This is your chance to live dangerously, have a little fun, get smashed!” J.C. was everything Amira wasn’t. Where Amira was an overachiever, J.C. was a rebellious underachiever. If there was a rule, J.C. broke it.

  Amira couldn’t begin to count the number of parking violations J.C. had racked up since she got her driver’s license. The woman really shouldn’t be allowed to drive in the city. It just wasn’t safe for the taxi cabs, pedestrians and bicyclists.

  J.C. hooked her arm and dragged her toward the bar where two tall blond men stood, each with a hand in his pocket like clone GQ ads.

  Great. The night was looking up.

  Not.

  Amira smiled, her face already starting to hurt. Why had she agreed to come out? Why wasn’t she sitting behind the closed and locked doors of her apartment? Safe from the goons who tried to nab her earlier. She could be watching old reruns on her plasma TV instead of risking her life in a bar. At home no one could get past security and her bodyguards. No one could get in, including Mitch West. Although he’d gotten past the bodyguards in the lobby in the first time. Amira still wasn’t so sure how he’d accomplished that feat.

  But she wasn’t here to think about Mitch. She was on a mission to forget the man. How better than to dance with another? She turned to Ryan or Bryan. She couldn’t remember his name, nor did she care. “You want to dance?”

  “Sure.” He took her hand, and holding it tighter than necessary, led her onto the dance floor. Once there, he kept hold of her hand, pulling her against him until his knee rested between her legs.

  Okaaayyyy. So he was a little too familiar on first acquaintance. Some men knew what they wanted and went after it. Ryan-Bryan was one of them.

  Amira cut him a little slack, reminding herself she was here to forget Mitch. Mitch who? She leaned against Ryan-Bryan’s chest and forced herself to relax.

  But a little devil inside started comparing. Ryan-Bryan’s gut was a bit on the flabby side, not toned like Mitch’s. Whereas Mitch had solid shoulders, Ryan-Bryan’s could use a bit of work. And Ryan-Bryan had nothing to write home about in the package department rubbing against her belly. No, if she compared apples to abs, pears to pecs and oranges to orgasms, all Ryan-Bryan came up with was a fruit basket of ho-hum fruit. No comparison to Mitch.

  But then Ryan-Bryan wasn’t Mitch and probably didn’t have a different feminine flavor for every day of the week. Ryan-Bryan probably wouldn’t ditch her tomorrow after a great night of sex. So what if he was a little flabby and mostly out of shape? He was still a handsome man. He could turn her on in bed, couldn’t he?

  Ryan-Bryan’s hand slid down her waist to cup her ass.

  Getting a little friendly was he? Amira’s sway to the music slowed as her body stiffened.

  Then Ryan-Bryan’s hand slid beneath her skirt and cupped her pussy.

  All right, he’d stepped over the edge into no man’s land. A place men had to be invited, not a place where they could just bumble in and cop a feel.

  Amira stepped back, her cheeks burning. “Um, I think I’m ready for a drink.”

  “No, don’t go. We’re just getting warmed up here.”

  “Yeah. I could tell.” Amira placed her hand on the arm he had trapped between them, feeling her up. “You’ve got something of mine. I suggest you let go before I break your fingers.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t go all virginal on me. You know you want it.” Then the jerk had the balls to squeeze her pussy.

  “Oh tell me you didn’t just squeeze me.”

  “What’s your problem? I thought you were out to have a good time.” Ryan-Bryan’s face darkened. “You were rubbing up against me like one hot hoochie-mamma. I can take a hint.”

  “Then take this hint.” She jerked her knee up between his legs.

  Ryan-Bryan’s hands dropped from her pussy to his penis and he doubled over, groaning. “Bitch!”

  “Bastard.” Amira left the man hunched over in the middle of the dance floor. Rather than return to J.C. and face the music of having hurt her friend’s attempt to fix her up on a date, Amira hurried toward the bathroom and the privacy of her own toilet stall. She didn’t make it to the edge of the dance floor before a drunken behemoth of a man grabbed her around the waist and spun her around.

  “Let go of me!” she wheezed.

  “Just one dance, darlin’. Come on.” The music was a fast-paced rock song, meant for freedom of movement on the dance floor, not a body-to-body clench.

  Crushed against the man’s chest, she could barely breathe. Lack of oxygen made her head light and fuzzy. If she didn’t get loose soon, she’d end up passed out.

  “I wish Mitch was here holding me instead of this baboon,” she said in a whisper no one could hear over the pounding beat of the bass guitar. If there was a crash of thunder, the drummer drowned it out and the flickering strobe lights made it impossible to tell whether or not the magic thing was happening. As if it really could.

  Amira stared longingly at the exit. She’d insisted on her bodyguards remaining outside the establishment. Now she regretted that decision. Basically, she was screwed and stuck with the behemoth baboon crushing the life out of her.

  The big guy jerked to look over his shoulder. Had one of the bodyguards actually read her mind and come to her aid? Amira held her breath, unable to see beyond the guy holding her in a death grip.

  “Fuck off!” he yelled at whoever was behind him. Then a fist flew out of nowhere, slamming into the man’s jaw, sending him staggering into Amira.

  He regained his balance by shoving her to the side.

  Free at last, Amira ducked around several couples gyrating on the dance floor before she turned back to glance at her rescuer. His blond hair shone like spun gold in the flash of a black light. Then the big guy was throwing punches.

  Amira gasped, sure one punch from the behemoth would leave Mitch with a skull fracture at the least, possibly brain damage. “No!” She pushed back through the crowd, jostled and shoved out of the way.

  Meanwhile Mitch ducked and the baboon’s punch missed his jaw by a hair. With the amount of force the bigger guy had loaded behind his swing, and the fact he was just punching air, kept his momentum moving forward and he crashed head first into a beam. The beam shook, but held.

  The mighty baboon didn’t, sliding to the floor in a colossal heap.

  Mitch’s gaze met hers across the floor, the music slowing to a sensual pace as if to match his smoldering glance.

  Her breath still coming in short pants, Amira couldn’t blame it on her lungs being crushed by a monster anymore. No, she had to blame it on her reaction to seeing Mitch again. Damn the man! He was a womanizing heartbreaker and he’d leave her aching and needy again like he’d done last time. Why did she put herself through the heartache?

  Without thought, her body moved to the sultry tune, her hips swaying side to side.

  The distance closed between them. Whether she’d been the one to move or Mitch, she really didn’t care. All she wanted was to feel his body next to hers, touching in places more suited to mattress dancing than a public night club.

  “It’s not safe here,” he murmured against her ear, his hand bunching in her hair, bringing her ever closer.

  “You’re telling me.” She knew she should step away from the man who made her blood boil, but her body betrayed her, snuggling closer until they melded as one.

  H
e pushed her long, heavy hair behind her ear and captured her earlobe between his teeth, a growl rumbling with the sound of the bass drums. “Let’s go back to your place.”

  Her head dropped back, exposing her neck to his mouth, sensitized skin begging him to touch her. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” Though her words denied it, her body burned, begging for release from the binding constraints of clothing. Relief from the oppressive agoraphobia of too many people in the room and the erotic pressure of Mitch’s cock against her belly. There were too many layers separating her skin from his.

  Amira moaned, glad the music drowned the noise she made. She should be happy she danced with Mitch in a crowded room. At least here, she couldn’t crawl in bed with him and fall for him all over again. Here, she could pretend she didn’t know him, that he was just another man in a crowded bar. Have a sexy dance and leave him there, maybe a little stiffer than when he arrived. It would serve him right for leaving her wanting more and never calling her.

  He edged her toward the door. “Come, let’s get out of here.”

  For a moment, she let him lead her across the floor in the direction of the exit. She wanted to be alone with him. Wanted to make love to him. Wanted him shoving his full erection deep inside her.

  The red exit light flashed like a warning, pulling her out of the lust-induced haze and back to reality. “No.” Her heels dug into the parquet flooring, sliding across as Mitch put pressure behind his grip and dragged her a few steps more.

  “Amira, we have to leave. You’re not safe.”

  “I’ll stay as long as I like.” As her bodyguards moved toward her, Amira smiled. “But you can leave.” She nodded at her bodyguards.

  They hooked Mitch’s arms in meaty grips and hauled him out of the club.

  As he left, she could hear him yell over the pounding music, “She’s not safe, I tell you!”

  “Who was the hottie?” J.C. held out a drink to Amira. “You know, if you didn’t want him, I would have taken him.” She eyed Mitch’s backside as he cleared the entrance and disappeared into the night.

  A flash of irritation bubbled up in Amira’s throat. “You can have him, he’s only interested in one-night stands.”