Genie Knows Best (9 page)

Albert slipped inside the domed building a few blocks from the scene of the street fight, managing to make it there without garnering any attention—but also, unfortunately, without capturing the genie.

He’d been so close that if he could have done something about it, he would have, but with the genie doling out magic left and right, Albert had erred on the side of caution.

He’d thought he’d been found out when he, and the entire scenario, had been frozen in place. Luckily, he’d been behind one of those walking carpets because the genie had been
right
there, so close that Albert could have reached out and grabbed him—
if
he could have reached out. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that genie and the badass car he’d driven in on. That’d be one of the first things Albert would wish for when he caught him.

But what had Samantha wished for? Albert couldn’t believe it—or maybe he could. After all, with her charmed life, what did it matter to a woman used to having everything handed to her on a silver platter to use genie wishes for
urban
renewal
? She’d
never
appreciated what she had. What her father had had. But Albert would. Oh, how he would.

He’d wanted to run into that street, pick her up, and shake some sense into her. God, what it must have been like to grow up as she had, every wish granted with one little smile at her father. The man had been a pushover for Samantha, and it had sickened Albert to no end to have to play along while the guy had been alive. But Albert would do anything to get his hands on the kind of money Blaine had, so he’d sucked it up.

But to have to stand there and watch Samantha and her do-good magical lackey spruce up the town… The woman really was clueless.

Albert had thought for sure that the adrenaline and anger boiling up inside him would spill over and free him from being a human statue when, all of a sudden, he’d been able to move and that car had taken off—upwards. It’d hovered above them like some damn flying saucer, rotating silently before blasting off for parts unknown. And he’d lost them again.

He shoved off from the heavily carved wooden door inside the dark building. An arched entranceway led to a large chamber where an enclosed stone staircase circled upward in the middle, the room supported by stone pillars whose tops and arched supports were painted in red bands. Daylight filtered through thin slits high on the walls, but the shadows were growing longer by the minute as he tried to figure out what he should do next. He was running out of time, and now, with Samantha and her genie flying off to God-knew-where, he was running out of chances.

Feeling for the coin yet again, Albert replayed his wish to find them for the thousandth time. He didn’t know why the coin wasn’t working, and he was seriously worried that he was going to be stuck here.

How many different ways could he say that he needed that genie?

God, he was tired. He’d been up for hours, and it’d been nighttime when he’d found the safe open. The mass exodus of adrenaline from finding the safe and following them here was leaving him exhausted. He needed some place to rest. To recharge and refocus. To come up with a plan.

Albert climbed the circular steps in the narrow tower, trying for perspective on both where he was and what he was facing.

He reached the small platform at the top and realized he didn’t have a clue as to what he was facing. The building and he—the entire
town
—were underground.

Long rays of the sun stretched out across the city and hit a wall at the far end. A wall that encircled the entire place. A wall of sand. Albert leaned out from under the roof that covered the platform and looked up. The sky was covered in sand, too. How the hell was
that
possible?

Claustrophobia set in. Forget cement shoes or getting whacked; Henley wasn’t going to have to set his goons after him if Albert didn’t deliver the money because Samantha and her damn genie were going to bury him alive.

Then he saw something black and bug-shaped off in the sky. The car! Samantha and her genie were still here! He still had a chance!

Albert raced down the stairs and out into the street, pulling back against the wall when a two-legged, unusually large-sized rodent turned the corner at the end of the street.

He couldn’t be seen now; he had a genie to catch.

If Kal thought this was seeing to her comfort, then he definitely didn’t have a girlfriend.

The Mercedes landed in front of a tall, dilapidated, gray wood fence covered in white roses. Dead white roses.

With the dull
blah
of the sand walls in the distance behind it and the withered vines covering the structure beside it, the place looked about as inviting as Macy’s after a Black Friday sale.

“Um, Kal?” Samantha climbed out of the car and crossed her arms, wincing when the lantern dinged her funny bone.

Kal walked around the back of the car. “A little bit of magic, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

When he put his hands on her shoulders, she had to wonder what kind of magic he was talking about. But then he swept a hand in front of her, and the scene seemed to unfold from the upper left in a shower of glitter like wallpaper being peeled from a wall, except that color filled in the drabness, as if it were an enormous paint-by-numbers picture.

All but the roses. Those remained white, but they did spring to life like a nature movie on fast-forward. Atop a deep plum fence, their petals turned as pristine and sparkly as the unicorns, but sprinkled with more of Kal’s magical glitter. Soft harp music wafted with the scent of anise and patchouli from the courtyard behind it, where the vines regrew
backward
on a Mediterranean-style tiled roof atop a yellow adobe building. Broken panes in the arched windows rebuilt themselves in beautiful stained glass patterns, with the shutters matching the color of the fence.

Kal walked past her and pushed open the gate to where a yellow brick path led inside. He cocked his head. “Shall we?”

Shall
we
what?

Samantha kept her mouth closed, her eyes forward, and her concentration on the beautiful courtyard ahead of her. Until his fingers brushed her waist as she passed him.

Then she couldn’t focus on anything but what his touch did to her, how good he smelled, and how tall and broad he was. How feminine she felt next to him. How much she wanted to be held by him. Wanted to hold him.

Obviously, she was over Albert. Hell, with what Kal could do to her with just one look, she’d obviously never been
into
Albert.

Funny that what should be one of the worst nights of her life was turning out to be one of the best. Was that why Dad had told his attorney to give her the letter at the memorial? To give her something to focus on besides losing him? Had he wanted to ensure she’d have someone in her life who’d see to her safety and comfort as he had? She wished she could ask him.

Wait.
Could
she ask him?

“Um, Kal.” Samantha turned around in front of another gate, this one white wrought-iron, the adjoining fence covered in purple roses. “You’re going to have to explain the rules to this genie/master thing. Everything’s happened so fast that we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it. What can I do? What can you do? Can we bring my father back?”

Kal took a step closer than he needed to—not that Samantha was complaining. “For mortals, Samantha, there aren’t many rules. You already know you have to be specific and wish for something before I can grant it. But, I’m sorry.” He ran the backs of his fingertips down her cheek. “I can’t bring your father, or anyone, back from the dead. I can’t cure illnesses or injuries, though I can conjure the medication that will help them if it exists. And because Karma plays a part in the checks and balances of The Djinn Code to keep us on task and honest, since I can’t bring anyone back from the dead, I also can’t kill anyone.”

She’d figured that was the case, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. She’d so hoped to be able to have her father again. But she had to admit that the word
honest
took away the disappointment. Aside from her father and Wanda, Samantha couldn’t name one other honest person in her inner circle.

But now there was Kal. And that honesty made him more attractive to her than his looks or his kiss or what he could do for her combined, because, after all, he was a genie; there was nothing she could possibly do for him or give to him that he couldn’t do or give to himself. He had no reason not to be honest with her, and luckily this Code of his demanded it.

And that, more than his fingers on her cheek, put a little hitch in her breath. A little swirl to her tummy. A little zing beneath her skin.

Sure, the chemistry was there between them, but the look in his eyes—warm and gentle and, dare she say, compassionate?—was what turned her knees to mush and made her yearn to lean on him. To wrap her arms around him. To share this moment in time with him.

She was about to take that infinitesimally small step into his embrace when a door slammed open nearby, shattering both a window and the moment. Though she knew she should be happy for the interruption, given the upheaval going on in her life and the fragile state of her emotions at the moment, Samantha wasn’t so sure she was.

“
Välkommen
.” Blue eyed and tan, with blond hair to his shoulders and looking like the mountain he had to have been carved from, the “interruption” walked toward them in a white wraparound robe with a blue sash, Japanese wooden flip-flops, and carrying an armload of white towels. “I am Sven. You vish for massage,
ja
?”

Did it have to be from him? Most women might find Sven the stuff dreams were made of, but Samantha had had better luck with wishes than dreams lately, and Kal was the main reason.

She glanced at him. He was dark to Sven’s lightness, and she couldn’t stop the excited flip in her belly when their gazes met. So much for fragile emotions and significant moments; that chemistry was alive and well between them and on its way to full-on combustion.

“Sam? Would you like a massage?” Kal asked.

She would actually, but only if Kal was the one doing the massaging. Given her recent thoughts, now probably wasn’t the best time to answer that question. Especially with Sven as an audience.

She shook her head and walked toward a stone basin that was filled from a waterfall flowing over a rock wall beneath a flowering mimosa tree. The tree’s feathery, pink flowers swayed in the steam rising from the water. Beside it, on an alabaster pedestal, a self-strumming ebony harp’s harmony mingled with the melody of the gurgling water. On the other side stood Sven’s massage table beneath a bamboo pergola covered in purple morning glory.

She fluttered her fingers in the water. Too bad it was warm. She’d been hoping for ice cold, but then, the water would have to have come from a glacier not a thermal pool, and with the way Kal was looking at her, she wasn’t so sure even a glacier would do the trick of cooling her down.

“I think I’ll park myself here.” She sat in one of the white rattan lounge chairs in front of the hot tub, set the lantern on the table beside her, and fluffed a cushion behind her head. “I could use a nap since I’m still on California time. It’s pretty late for me.” And she could give her brain and her hormones a time-out.

Kal conjured up a daiquiri on the table next to her then nodded toward the basin. “What about a soak in the thermal pool?”

Yes, that’s what she needed: to get drunk and naked in hot, frothing water around him. She brushed the glitter off the tabletop. “No thanks. The nap will do.”

“There’s food in the next room. Whatever you want.”

“Seriously, Kal, I’m fine. I ate a lot earlier tonight. Today. Whatever.”

“You’re sure? All you have to do is make a wish.”

She
knew
that. That was half the problem. “Actually, Kal, I do wish for something. I wish
you’d
get the massage.” Hmm, semantics did have their uses. That ought to put an end to his questions.

Only… it raised more when Kal walked out of a dressing room—or rather, the
un
dressing room—a few minutes later clad in only a towel: namely,
Albert
who?
and
What
had
happened
to
her
tongue?

Samantha took a sip of her drink, trying to cool down while his hard, cut muscles flexed and contracted as he climbed onto the table to lay on his stomach, and the hot tub behind her bubbled its invitation to get naked—which Kal already was, and only by a few judicious towel adjustments did he remain decent while her thoughts were anything but.

“You doing okay, Sam?” Seeing him with his arms crossed beneath him, his shoulders bulked up more than they already were, and his smile just this side of come-hither, Samantha was definitely okay and moving right along to rapturous.

She nodded and took a big gulp of the daiquiri. Ouch. Cold headache. But at least it got rid of the fire burning through her.

Samantha closed her eyes and laid her head back. She had to remember that: A) she was exhausted, emotional, and had been transported so far outside her comfort zone that unless she had Kal with her, she wouldn’t have a prayer of ever seeing her comfort zone again; B) the guy she was depending on for her comfort was a genie; C) this fascination she felt for him wasn’t real—oh, it was real in the sense that she felt it, but he was a
genie
; and D) she couldn’t have a future with a genie.

Who
says
you
need
a
future
with
him? What about a few hours? A week? A guy who needs nothing from you and can give you whatever you want; what more could a girl want?

Clarity. Sleep. A cold shower.

She made the mistake of opening one eye just in time to see Sven working oil into Kal’s back. Make that
two
cold showers.

She drained the daiquiri, glad that Kal was face down on the table so he couldn’t conjure up another one for her
comfort
. She’d never been into the idea of two men, but the sight of Kal being oiled up was making her so not comfortable right now. Not
un
comfortable, just
not
comfortable.

Wiggling in her chair, Samantha tried to
get
comfortable, but with him half naked—or more—on the table in front of her with slick, oiled muscles and that gorgeous head of hair her fingers were clamoring to run through, that wasn’t happening.

She’d never had this kind of chemistry with anyone before, and Samantha was finding it hard to remember that she’d just met him. And he was a genie, for Pete’s sake. A
genie
. Magical, mythological. Here to see to her every need and desire.

Honest
.

An utterly dangerous combination on a good day, let alone in her frame of mind.

Samantha rolled onto her side and felt for the mechanism that would lower the back of the chair, hoping to put him out of her line of sight and then her thoughts, but she couldn’t find the damned thing.

She moved again, inadvertently knocking the lantern off the table, but she caught it before it smashed onto the terra-cotta tiled floor. Damn. She could
not
get comfortable. Huffing, she set the lantern on the tiles and felt around again for the lever. Her fingers had just closed over it when the chair back lowered as if by magic…

She opened her eyes, her startled gaze meeting Kal’s intense one as his fingers were just finishing the movement. She didn’t even have to say anything before he gave her that sexy half smile she so liked.

“It
is
my job to make sure you’re comfortable.”

He wasn’t talking about the chair.

Samantha gulped and reached for the daiquiri—which was now full again. She could use the cold headache.

As Sven worked up Kal’s back, Samantha gave serious thought to dumping the drink over her own head, but instead, she slammed her eyes closed. She wasn’t into voyeurism, and needed no more encouragement to project herself into the events on that table.

She needed a nap big time. With the memorial service, Albert’s betrayal, finding out her father had had a genie locked in his safe for thirty-five years, the trek to Izaaz with all its attendant issues, the events of the day, and the feelings Kal evoked—not to mention the sight of Sven and Kal—she was pretty much done in. Nothing a nap wouldn’t cure.

She hoped.

Blowing out a breath, Samantha crossed her arms and focused on the soothing trickle of water, willing herself to relax.

***

Kal was trying to relax, but he kept imagining Samantha’s hands on his skin.
Wanting
Sam’s hands on his skin.

He peeked beneath his arm at her on the chaise. He’d planned for her to get the massage, but then she’d wished for him to, and well, her wish was his command.

Kal grunted when Sven hit a knot beneath his shoulder blade. The ironic thing was that he wanted Samantha’s wishes to be his commands—and not in any way that had to do with The Service or his sentence. She’d looked so adorable making her rundown of wishes, and Kal had felt sick to his stomach as he counted at least seventy-two of them. In the grand scheme of things, seventy-two weren’t that many, but she’d just gotten started and Izaaz needed a lot of magic. It’d been a stroke of demi-genie genius to fix up this part of the spa under the guise of seeing to her comfort, but he couldn’t do the same thing for the rest of Izaaz. She’d have to use her wishes.

He didn’t want her to. And that worried him.

Samantha shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur on her lips. He wished he could hear it, but unfortunately, his wishes didn’t count for anything—and if he wanted them to, he had to keep his eyes on the final prize and
off
Samantha. Already, she meant more to him than any other master he’d had before. Not wanting her to make wishes? Coming up with an excuse to prevent her from making a wish? He had to be out of his mind.

She couldn’t—
shouldn’t
—be anything more to him than a means to an end. A way out. The way to regain his reputation and secure the job that should have been his two thousand years ago. He couldn’t risk any of it because of this growing attraction she held for him.