“It’s your career.” His lips stretched with a leer. “Dan thought you should at least have dinner since it's likely you'll be here all night. I disagreed, saying the more desperate you were, the better the results.” He bent and hefted the box. “We’ll see what happens in another couple hours. I'll be in my office right across the hall if you change your mind and take my offer.”
Fear rose in her chest and chilled her skin. “You’re insane.” When he dumped the papers on the table top, she jumped. Stapled contracts tumbled across the glossy surface and slid to the floor.
“Maybe so, but I intend to own this company and take it to new levels that Dan never thought of. You can either come with me or try to live down the media scandal I’ll create. Your choice.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared.
Clinton shrugged. “I’ll begin the process of transferring your clients into my name. Nice working with you. See you around at the local super store. Hope you enjoy being a greeter in a little blue vest.” Villainous laughter followed him out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.
With a cry of frustration, Jovie rushed at the door. Yanking it open, she looked across the hall. Clinton stood in the doorway to his office, his grin wide. “Damn it, Clinton! If you think this ends here, you’re a bigger ass than I thought!” She slammed the door, smacked a palm flat on the wood then turned around and sagged against it.
Fine, if he wanted her to produce, she'd do it. It couldn't be that hard, right? She needed to rise above the situation and make it work for her. Hadn’t she heard that enough times from the slick salespeople she worked with? Put a positive spin on the issue and make it an opportunity for her advantage. Make a few calls, craft a deal the clients couldn't refuse and boom! New contracts.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. No matter how she tried to think about it, it was still a tall order. Not to mention it would be difficult to call clients without a phone. Time for a cup of tea to start the creative process.
Ignoring the mess of the paper-strewn table, she moved to the catering cart and poured a cup of the amber-colored liquid. Immediately, the floral fragrance of the tea wafted around her. She dropped a sugar cube into the hot beverage, watching as the block dissolved under the surface. When she reached for the creamer container, she frowned to see the shiny, silver vessel marred by fingerprints and water droplets. Stupid men who didn't know how to properly clean the silver service. Jovie retrieved a linen napkin from the tray and polished first one side then the other until it shone under the gentle overhead light.
“Much better.” Jovie poured a thin stream of milk into her cup and smiled when the glassy surface clouded. She'd picked up the habit of enjoying tea during her trip to London a few years ago. In the midst of chaos, the act of sitting down and sipping the beverage promoted calm.
As she returned the creamer container to the tray, a cloud of shimmering aqua smoke filled the conference room, obliterating the table, the catering cart and everything else for several seconds.
She coughed when the dust entered her lungs. It tasted faintly of exotic candied fruits yet was perfumed with warm spices and bergamot. Tears streamed to her cheeks from the irritant, prompting her to dab at the moisture with the napkin. When she opened her eyes, the smoke had cleared and a strange man stood before her.
“You’re right.” A subtle English accent danced through the baritone voice. “This is much better.”
“Who are you and where did you come from?” She couldn’t help but admire the man even as her brain screamed out a warning to run.
Skin the hue of a New Orleans café-au-lait and eyes of such a brilliant green they could have been tinted contact lenses, he moved away from the catering cart and prowled the small room. Black hair fell to his wide shoulders in windblown waves. It looked so soft she wanted to reach out a hand and touch it to confirm.
Jovie swallowed hard. That skin made her crave fried pastries. She followed the thought with another—sprinkling him with powdered sugar so she could lick off every white fleck, from those to-die-for shoulders over his probably swoonful abs and… Oh God. Flutters filled her stomach. Her mouth watered as she stared. "Who are you?" Come on, answer me so I can figure out if I'm talking to an illusion.
He wore a soft-looking white t-shirt that hugged a fit chest and showcased muscled arms and broad shoulders. Heat rushed through her bloodstream, making her limbs feel they had the integrity of cooked pasta, but she continued her perusal. How could she not? His torso tapered into a narrow waist and slim hips. Powerfully built thighs stole her breath. Though black denim covered his bottom half, she tried to imagine what those legs would feel like, pinning her to a bed or how his unleashed cock would feel like as it spilled into her hands.
Yeah right. If this man ended up being real, there was no way he'd want to do that with her.
As if aware of her thoughts, the man’s sensuous lips parted with a grin that flashed white teeth. "You never know." The bulge at his fly twitched. “I have been cursed into that vile creamer pot for a century. You have no idea how wonderful it is to be free.”
Curses? A century or so old? Jovie’s mind reeled from the new information. “What are you doing here? In this room? At this company?” She glanced at the still-closed door. “No matter what Clinton told you, I'm not stupid. How did you really get in here?” Was this part of her boss's plan to distract her away from her work?
The man sighed, as if he’d had this exact conversation too many times in the past. “I occupy the space between worlds. A nether realm if you will, sent there by an extremely over-zealous voodoo priestess years ago.” He closed the distance until a mere arm’s length of air separated them. “She had a rather adverse reaction to my ending our affair. Thus the curse.”
Jovie shook her head. Still bemused by his sudden appearance and overheated from his proximity, she didn't believe him. “I don’t understand.” A quick glance around didn’t show any holes in the ceiling or floor, no fissures in the walls where he could have come in. The door to the room remained shut. “You came out of the creamer container?” A peek at the tea tray didn’t reveal anything odd, no tiny sign saying "genie inside".
“Yes, doubting one, and I’ve come to rescue you from your problem.”
“My problem? Do you mean Clinton or this mess?” She shifted her gaze to the papers on the tabletop.
"To them and whatever else is troubling you." He snapped his fingers. Several sets of contracts slid over the edge of the table and onto the floor. A mischievous smile tugged at his lips. "Shall we start?"
"How do you know about any of it?"
“I know everything that pertains to your life, Jovie. I’ve watched you for many months, from the first moment you suggested to your boss that this tea service be used for customers. You brought me into the light of day again.” He cupped her cheek with one hand. “I am your humble servant and will do everything in my power to please you for releasing me from my prison.”
She shivered at the brief touch. Her cheeks warmed under his intense gaze. “Why?” None of this could be happening. It must be a hallucination brought on by extreme stress. Slightly hysterical laughter left her throat. Death by paperwork. Yeah, that's the ticket.
“Poor lost lamb.” His hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her neck and he brought her close to his Hollywood-hero body. “Consider me your magical genie, a fairy godfather, a guardian angel, if you will, except there’s really nothing angelic about me, which is probably why I’ve been cursed.”
“What does that mean?” She blinked, staring up into his six-foot height and feeling small and vulnerable even in her heels. “This can’t be real.” Women like her could never land guys like him. Didn't the fashion mags and popular TV shows drill that into the public time and again?
“Then let me convince you.” He snaked his free hand around her waist to press against the small of her back and lowered his mouth to hers.
Tingling sensations flitted through Jovie’
s body in little teasing, buzzing jolts. She felt more alive than she did from the burst of caffeine in her tea. She attempted to pull out of his embrace, but he tightened his arms about her, unmovable as steel.
He lifted his head. “Relax, little one, and let me set your mind at ease. I will change your many papers into gold bars and give you leads for new clients besides. After that, you’ll know the same freedom as I do, at least for a time.” His breath warmed her cheeks, his fingers strong as he held her. "Of course, freedom never comes without a price. Are you willing to pay it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Did she suddenly have a stroke and now lived in a fantasy world?
His gaze intensified. "It's extremely important you agree to all consequences before we start. If you do not, I have no choice but to return to the creamer container."
"I don't know what the rules are for your game."
With his shrug, his gaze morphed into over-the-top sexy again. "Does it matter?"
"No, I guess not." Especially if she were dreaming. "I accept." Wondering if she really had lost her grip on the real world yet desperate for help and understanding, she said, “Okay. What now?”
"I seal the contract with a kiss."
"Oh." With a trembling sigh, she nodded slightly. A soft moan escaped her throat when he kissed her again, this time with more urgency.
She buried her fingers in his silky hair, smelled his earthy, sun-warmed sand scent, and forgot about the tension. Softly teasing, his lips feathered over hers, tickling, nibbling, tasting faintly of the spices she caught in the blue smoke. When she invited him inside, his tongue slid along hers in a rush of heated silk. He searched out all of her secrets and demanded more than she knew she had.
A low-grade fever began in her brain and shoved outward through her veins. She pushed herself closer to the hard wall of his body, felt her soft curves meet with the unyielding strength of his chest, but he set her aside before she could become more intimately acquainted.
A whimper flew from her chest. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.” Because heaven knew she was—and she wanted to explore more. She never thought madness would feel so electrifying.
“Oh, I am, my goddess. However, there is work to be done. I must attend to it before we can play.”
The gentle inflection of the last word caused liquid heat to tickle between her thighs. She shivered, glad for the suit jacket that hid her nipples, hardening from her arousal. “Tell me what to do.”
If this was a dream, she might as well go along with it to the best of her ability. If it wasn’t, simple curiosity demanded she find out where else it would go before she returned to the stressful grind of keeping her job.
Chapter Three
“Ah, first we must discuss payment.” He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her away from the catering cart. Slowly circling around her, his gaze raked up and down her form. “Even you must know nothing comes for free. That is how America works, yes?”
"I guess." Apprehension coiled in her stomach like a snake, eating away at the temporary insanity his touch created. “Do you want money? I don’t have much in my checking account but—”
“Hush.” He let go of her hand in order to lay a finger on her lips. “Keep your money, love. I desire baubles, material objects that can bring enjoyment.”
“Oh.” Her mind raced over the things she owned. She backed up a few steps, unable to form coherent thoughts with him so close. “I know! What about my earrings?” One hand flew to an earlobe. She’d chosen to wear diamond stud earrings, each just under one carat, a gift to herself on her last birthday. “Will they be enough?”
As incongruous as the situation appeared, she desperately wanted him to accept her offering. The common sense part of her brain knew it was impossible for anyone to turn simple paperwork into gold bars, but the hidden, tiny part of her brain wanted to believe in this man, believe in the very fairy tale-ness of the fantasy, even if she really were dreaming. Self-preservation mechanism? Maybe it was a way to cope, but what did he mean about accepting consequences? "Hello, genie-man?"
“From you, they are the perfect thing.” He flashed a disarming grin. “Now, come to me so I may remove them from your flawless lobes.”
Another wash of warmth stole across Jovie’s cheeks at the blatant flattery. “Why do you do that?” As if compelled by an outside force, she stepped close to him once more.
“Do what?” He reached up and, with a gentleness that belied his build, separated one earring from its back then slipped it into a front pocket of his jeans.
“Call me by endearments you can’t possibly mean and compliment me at every turn.” She shivered when he did the same to her other ear. The heat from his fingers seeped into her skin and sent a wave of longing crashing through her body.
He lifted a dark brow while depositing the earring with its mate. “You deserve every endearment I bestow. Trust me when I say I mean them all. Never have I met a woman of your beauty.” He lifted her chin with a forefinger. “Don’t sell yourself short because every other man in your life has treated you with less than respect.”
The flush spread to her neck and chest. No one had ever paid such attention to her before. “What should I call you? I need a name.”
His expression darkened and his eyes grew hooded. “A name is a powerful thing and can be used against a person or being.” He drew himself up and crossed his powerful arms over his chest.
An involuntary gasp escaped from Jovie’s throat. Regardless of his flirting, she was painfully aware of her situation. Instead of the sexy genie-like being, he now resembled a darkly mysterious man capable of virtually anything. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I just want to say your name."
"What's in a name? You can call me anything and I would come running."
Jovie rolled her eyes. "Okay. ‘Hey you’ doesn’t seem appropriate. Neither does ‘sex on legs.’”
“You have a point.” As suddenly as it came, the anger vanished and a smile took its place, giving light and life to his chiseled face. “Please, call me Rand, if you must utter a moniker. Otherwise, I would accept beloved or any other variation of the word.”
She nodded, thrilled at his compliance. “Okay. Rand. It’s different. I like it. Short for Randall?”
Mild panic sprang into his eyes, gone as quickly. "Rand will suffice."
Obviously, he had name issues. Maybe creamer-pot genies got uncomfortable talking about personal things. No big thing. "All right." She relaxed when he lowered his arms. “Uh, how do you plan to clean this up?” A wave of her hand encompassed the paper avalanche on the table and floor.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about such trivial things, my dove.” With his English accent, his pet name sounded hard-core dirty. “Come. Sit. Let me tell you of life in a creamer pot, so you will be prepared.”
"For what?"
He didn't answer but pulled out one of the chairs and beckoned to it. “After watching you all this time, it is nice to be able to talk with my goddess in the flesh.”
An uncomfortable feeling crept along her spine. “Actually, could you limit the sweet nothings? I don’t know you well enough to accept them in the faith you offer.”
“That is because you are unused to such attention.” When she made no move to join him, he crossed the room, his long legs eating up the space. “You are stressed, which is not good for mental or physical health. There can be no doubts when you move on.”
Move on to what? “What are you doing?” She jumped when he undid the three buttons on her suit jacket. “I thought you were going to transform those papers?”
“Oh, I will, but in good time. It’s child’s play for me.” He moved behind her and slid the jacket from her shoulders, slipping it off her arms and throwing it over the back of a chair. “I’m more interested in giving you pleasure. It is the least I can do after fanaticizing about this very moment from my prison.”
Prickles of sensation lifted the tiny hairs at her nape. “This is
n't the time or place—”
“Hush, my peach. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
Curious in spite of the strangeness of the situation, she allowed him to draw her to the chair. She sank into it, opened her mouth to ask another question but was derailed when he spun her around so her back was to him. “Rand, what are you—”
“Shh. You are not allowed to talk. Only listen and feel. Now, close your eyes and I will begin.”
Jovie did as instructed and concentrated on him. She felt his hands gather her hair and lift it. Seconds later the warmth of his lips on her neck caught her by surprise. She flinched then calmed as the deep rumble of his laughter sounded at her ear. “What do you do in the nether world?” She stifled a sigh while he made abstract patterns on her skin with his tongue. “I mean, surely you don’t float around and wait for the off-chance that someone might rub whatever kitchen gadget you’re stuck in.”
“Mmm, not quite.” He blew on the spot where his tongue had just been. “You taste like wildflowers and honey.”
Conflicting sensations of heat and cold collided in her chest while he alternately teased her with his tongue and his breath. “It’s probably my shampoo.”
“I wonder if the rest of you is the same flavor.”
He let her hair fall. She felt his hands on her shoulders as he massaged her muscles. “What do you do all day?” Her head slumped forward while she focused on his fingers kneading into her skin.
“All beings like me who have been stranded into the nothingness can go one of two ways. We can do good works and reward those who deserve them, as if we were partially guardian angels, or we can cause havoc and menace, much like demons I suppose.”
“Why?”
“There is nothing else we can do as we wait for freedom, and believe me, we long for it.” He moved his fingers over her shoulders to caress the skin above the vee of her blouse. “The legends say there is one human for every nether being. If someone else were to clean the cream container, I would not have been freed. You finally found me. I belong to you just as you belong to me. I could go a step farther and say you and I are interchangeable.”
Wishful Thinking Page 2
