The Accidental Genie (21 page)

“Maybe a little of both.”

He brushed her hair from her eyes with a tender finger. “This is killing me, you know.”

“Saying no to sex?”

Sloan laughed, but it wasn’t the warm chuckle it had been ten minutes ago. “No. What’s killing me is that you’ve equated an intimate relationship with the loss of your independence—like you lose you or something. Don’t ask me how I know that’s what freaks you out. I just do. You seem to think that somehow, if you become involved with anyone, they’ll take everything away from you and make it theirs. That it’ll be something you can’t ever get back. That’s not how deep, equal relationships are. At least from what I’m told—or what I’ve seen with Marty and Keegan. You saw it, too. They had a little power struggle over OOPS, but Marty asserted herself and told my bossy brother he couldn’t have what was hers. He realized he’d gone too far and overstepped into a place Marty’s damn protective of and backed off. His temper flared and he spoke irrationally. She checked it. They worked it out. End of. That’s what I’ve observed as healthy.”

Her next admission was brutally honest, and the first time she’d shared her feelings with anyone other than when she was in therapy. “I’m not as afraid of you as I am of me.”

“Care to explain? Or is that asking too much again?”

Her lips trembled and her heart crashed in her chest, but she was determined to just spit it out. “I’m afraid that thing most women have, the thing that keeps them from losing themselves entirely to someone, is something I don’t have. The thing Marty has. She told Keegan no without an ounce of fear. And to me that said she’s secure about her place in his life, but even more, she’s secure with herself. I don’t have that alarm bell that says, ‘No. You can’t take this from me. It’s mine. Live with it.’ In light of that, I’d almost rather be a one-night stand than become involved.” She swallowed hard when he leaned back and glanced at her with obvious confusion.

“Then we both have our lines in the sand, don’t we?”

She shot Sloan a tentative smile. “Couldn’t we blur them a little?”

“Not this time. Go big or go home.”

“You’re a stupidhead.”

“You’re a beautiful woman with a dilemma.”

“I could have just lied to you to get you into bed, had wild, uninhibited sex with you, and given you the I’ll-call-you-in-the-morning routine. You know that game, right?”

He winked. “Oh, I know that game. I owned that game, which is why I’d have never fallen for it. You can’t pull that with me because I’m the master—you’re nothing but a noob to this rodeo. Know why I know that?”

Her chest rose up and down with laughter. “Werewolves can read souls, too?”

“No, ex-shitheads like me can read when someone’s lying like you. You’d have failed miserably. Not to mention, there’d be no getting away from me even if you did have regrets. Or have you forgotten we’re a magical genie couple.”

There was that. It was why she’d asked in the first place. Because being near him all the damn time had awakened sparks of desire she hoped to fan into a flame. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Sloan dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “Then clearly you didn’t think this through to the end. Oh, and do me a favor? The next time you want to sleep with me—look me in the eye and ask me. When you can look me in the eye and tell me you want me as much as I want you is when I might reconsider.” He dropped back to the floor and sighed. The rustle of the covers below her was a signal he was preparing to sleep, and suddenly, their conversation was over.

And to think she’d opened up a brand-new package of flannel pajamas for this nonevent. Her last-minute plans to woo Sloan to her bed of iniquity had made her do it.

Still, she smiled.

She’d done it. She’d propositioned a man all by herself and he’d said no.

Yay, healing.

CHAPTER

10

“So where are we?” Sloan asked from beneath a clear, cold November night sky. He eyed the glass front of the door with discreet silver etching.

“We’re at the Jeannie-needs-therapy store. A place where she can forget that the king genie, and probably the only man on the planet who can help us, has been nabbed.” Oh, and that Sloan wouldn’t sleep with her. He’d probably sleep with a zombie—just not if that zombie was her.

The next morning and afternoon had been filled with Nekaar’s unsuccessful attempts to help her control her magic and teach Mat how to fly and become invisible. He’d brought the
Djinn Book of Magic
or something like that, complete with laws and bylaws and more laws. A book that also contained spells she’d have to learn, curses she should avoid, and even a section devoted to choosing the right harem pants for your frame. It was harder than studying for the SATs.

They’d begun with small things like wishing her dead plants back to life. According to Nekaar, she should be able to harness her magic and keep it in control.

Jeannie had told him to tell that to the jungle she’d created in her bedroom, complete with a palm tree. Her fingers didn’t allow her to keep anything in the air for more than a couple of seconds before it broke or grew flapping wings. And when she’d attempted to curse her—as Nekaar called it—fashion-apocalypse wardrobe and change it to something cute and flirty, it caught fire.

Mat hadn’t fared any better with flying. He could only top three miles an hour, according to the speedometer attached to him, and getting him started was on par with attaching jumper cables to a dead battery.

He chugged and sputtered, hacked phlegm-filled coughs, left trails of dust, and could only stay in the air for less than a minute. And forget invisibility. He was as invisible as an elephant in the room.

There was lots of lavender smoke, a whole lot of swearing, and the end result? She sucked at being a genie and her sidekick magic carpet really was brokeback. Nekaar had assured her it was just practice, and after more lessons, both she and Mat would excel at their new skill set, but Jeannie had her doubts. If she didn’t get control of this madness soon, for sure she was going to minimally create the apocalypse.

The long day had finally taken its toll on her and she needed to walk, not just to take care of business, but to let off some steam and fight her damn caged-tiger demons. Risking someone might make an errant wish while she was in public troubled her, but Nekaar assured her he would hover from his realm and protect any innocent bystanders by creating a spell that shielded her from granting a single wish.

But that spell would only last for a couple of hours, he informed her; making haste was advised. Yet, Jeannie had no choice but to do what she planned to do next.

Jeannie yanked the door to the store open with determination, trudging in with Sloan in tow. Soft music played, adding to the atmosphere of the seductively dim lighting.

His eyebrow rose when his eyes instantly went to the worst possible display. “Dildos?”

She grabbed aimlessly at a package that read, T
HE
C
RIPPLER
II. “You have an aversion to sparklies? Or is it the color pink?”

Sloan looked confused. “No. I just . . .”

“You just what? Thought that ugly girls don’t like to wear pretty lingerie or masturbate?” Oh! Oh, yes. She’d said it. Anything to keep her cover.

He leaned into her, his whisper silky and hot, his body big and radiating the sort of warmth that almost made her purr. “No. I just thought purple was more in your color wheel.” He looked at the display and grabbed The Crippler II in purple.

Okay. He won this round of lewd and lascivious.

Putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her flush to him, Sloan eyed the racks of lacy underwear, row upon row of lingerie in pastels, and bras with fuzzy marabou on them. “I like,” he said, with a smile in his voice.

She waved a dismissive hand up at him and ran her fingers over an ivory camisole like she cared what kind of fabric it was made of. “And to think I so worried you’d rather be at the army-navy store.”

His smile was deliciously amused when she turned and pulled from his embrace. “So you’re into this kind of stuff?”

Jeannie gave him an uncomfortable shrug. “Sort of.” Total lie. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought anything but Hanes underwear. The ones that didn’t give you a wedgie were some of her personal favorites. This stuff was all too revealing and much more suited to someone who had far more confidence than she ever would.

But she’d needed to get Sloan away from her house, and somewhere she could call Fullbright at a location where Sloan’s big wolfie ears couldn’t hear her do it—yet still manage to be in their accepted range of coupledom.

How she’d explain Fullbright when he showed up with guns blazing was a whole other problem she couldn’t dwell on. But he had to be kept informed. If Victor was on the hunt again, the hell he’d hurt more people while she was still alive to prevent it. If he was looking for her, he was looking for all of them.

She grabbed a bunch of whatever lacey item was in front of her and turned to Sloan, who was watching her intently. Her face was red. She just knew it. After last night’s conversation, looking at lingerie made it appear as though she were baiting him.

But she knew the dressing rooms here, and they’d afford her just the privacy she’d need to make her call. So let Sloan think what he wanted. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go try these on. I think I can get into the dressing room and still manage to be within our range. You chick watch, okay? Or better still, imagine this”—she held up a teeny tiny scrap of silk—“on a hot blonde. Dream away, lover. I’ll be right back.”

He slid his big body into a chair in front of a set of mirrors and smiled again. Clearly, a store of this nature was like homecoming to him. “You bet.”

Thankfully, the dressing rooms were quiet. She knew about them because she’d been here before on a lunchtime shopping trip with Betzi, filled with humiliating demonstrations involving dildos that bent like a Gumby doll. One even sang to you . . . Trudging to a dressing room door, Jeannie let the saleswoman unlock it for her, ignoring her reflection in the door’s mirror. Old jeans with holes at the knees and an ugly, lumpy black down jacket looked painfully out of place in a store with all these beautiful things.

She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bench provided, dropping the pile of multicolored fluff on the floor to dig around in her jacket pocket while she sent up a mental order for Nekaar, wherever he was in his realm, to keep his genie mouth shut about the phone call she was going to place. She had a disposable cell and Fullbright’s number memorized, but it was the first time in five years she’d had to make a call to him. Maybe he’d quit.

That would be okay by her. He was cranky and curt. She imagined it was in the effort to not become too attached to any one assignee. Sometimes they ended up dead. After a while, that could wear on you.

But Fullbright didn’t have even an ounce of happy in him. He was all business, all the time.

“Fullbright,” he barked in her ear.

“It’s . . . Jeannie,” she whispered, cupping the phone.

“What’s wrong?”

She gulped, catching a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. Nekaar had worked his magic on her face and her swollen eye in order for her to see properly, but her hair needed brushing, and she noted her clothing choice again. Instead of wearing something that flattered her figure, everything she wore swallowed her curves up. As she’d watched Wanda and Marty, so pretty and put-together, she was reminded of a time when she’d cared about her appearance.

But for twelve years it had been about flying under the radar and keeping her low profile. Doing that meant not standing out.

“Jeannie?” Fullbright snapped with impatience.

She refocused. “He found me.”

“Victor’s resurfaced?”

She heard the surprise in his voice. “In a big way. He clobbered me.” She didn’t need to mince words with him. He liked everyone much better if they kept to minimal chatter.

“When?”

Panic warred with reason. She’d kept telling herself that due to the fact that Sloan had to be with her all the time, Victor couldn’t possibly hurt her again. Sloan was a werewolf—a big, badass one who had the gift of eternal life, at that. But Victor was nothing if not resourceful. He’d caught Sloan off guard once. Why couldn’t he do it again? She wouldn’t jeopardize the man who’d selflessly saved her from bottle doomage. “Yesterday afternoon. He’s going to kill me.”

“We’ll move you. I’ll have a team there in twenty minutes. Where are you?”

“No!” she yelled, then coughed to hide the rise of her voice. “Please don’t. Please. I have a life now. A business . . .”
Oh, and I’m a genie now, too, BTW . . . I can make magics and stuffs. Bad magics, but magics nonetheless.

His sigh was grating. Fullbright didn’t cotton to babies. “You won’t have anything if he gets his hands on you again. How the hell did you get away from that maniac?”

She dragged a hand through her hair. “He’d been drinking—he was unsteady. I take karate.” Lies and more lies. But she was between a rock and a hard place. If she didn’t tell Fullbright Victor had found her, more innocent people could end up dead. Victor had a long hit list. She might be at the top of it, but there were others . . . Others she couldn’t bear to feel responsible for if something happened to them.

Yet, telling Fullbright was exposing the very people who had, from the start, set out to protect her, minimal questions asked. What would happen to them if Fullbright found out who and
what
they were? Or for that matter, what she was now, too. Fullbright would investigate—interrogate every one of them in an effort to find Victor. She wouldn’t allow it, and she wouldn’t compromise their paranormal lifestyle.

Jesus, this was all such a mess. She was taught at all costs to never expose herself, but by doing that, she was risking giving Sloan and the others up.

“I’ve got you on my radar. Meet me outside in five.”

“No! Wait. I need you to listen to me. I have . . . a . . . boyfriend now!” Yeah. That’s what she had. Referring to Sloan in that manner made her cheeks blush and her knees weak. “He’s shopping with me, and I haven’t told him anything because, you know, that breaks every rule you ever taught me. So we have to be discreet.” And not stray too far from my ball and chain, but still keep him out of hearing distance.

She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. Jesus. Being a genie on the lam was stressful.

His laugh was gruff and cutting. She could just imagine him letting his squarely cropped head fall back on his shoulders with a derisive laugh. “A boyfriend, huh? ’Bout time.”

Right. Because snaring a man was what this life was all about. “Look, I have an idea. You knock on the store window and I’ll come outside. I’ll tell him you’re a client.”

“Can’t take a chance the
boyfriend’ll
see me.” He said the word
boyfriend
like it was dirty.

Her lips thinned. “Then wear a hat or something. Just do it. You don’t want me to blow my cover, do you?”

“Five minutes,” he warned and ended their conversation.

“Jeannie?” Sloan called. “How’s it goin’ in there?” His question sounded skeptical to her ears.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Reaching down, she clanged the hangers together. “Pretty good. I think I found a couple of things I like.” Gathering some of the items, she jammed the cell into her jacket in order to yank the memory card and flush it down the toilet later, then let herself out of the dressing room.

She looked past Sloan and over his shoulder to see Fullbright was already there. Shit.
Think, Jeannie. You know how to rock the improv.

Holding up a couple of the nighties, she unceremoniously dropped them in Sloan’s lap and then pointed to the store’s window. “Oh, look! It’s one of my clients! Be a peach, and hang on to those, would you? A couple of those flimsy things are one-of-a-kind items, and I don’t want them snatched out from under my nose by some blonde with better hair. Guard them with your life, fine warrior, while I go say hello, okay? But wait here. It’s a little awkward being in the”—she lowered her voice—“store of dirty with a man. You know? He’s a repeat client—gotta schmooze.”

No sooner was Sloan turning around to see what she was talking about than she was opening the door and running right into Fullbright.

He thumbed over his wide, grimly clad shoulder. “That him?”

“Yes. My boy . . . friend. Boyfriend.” The word was so stilted and awkward she had to hope Fullbright didn’t notice with his trained ear.

“Shake my hand,” she ordered, peering over her shoulder at a very curious Sloan. She smiled up at Fullbright and muttered, fighting to keep it together, “Victor knows everything about me. He knows I’ve been taking karate. He said he knows where I live.”

Fullbright took her hand in his cold, dry one and squeezed it limply for show. “We’ve gotta move you, Jeannie. You know the rules. To stay in the program, you gotta act fast. Besides, if we don’t, Victor will kill—”

His words were drowned out by the sound of shattering glass, screaming women, and Sloan—with a pair of emerald green panties still clinging to the collar of his leather jacket—all up in Fullbright’s space as they sprawled to the ground in a pile of struggling limbs.

Beautiful.

*   *   *

“I
said I was sorry, okay? I heard the word
kill
and reacted like all good bonded-to-a-woman men do. I was trying not to eavesdrop, but werewolf ears and all. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t the guy who mugged you the other day?” Sloan had hauled a limp, dangling Fullbright over his shoulder and taken him to the end of the street, where they now hid in the shadows.

“Because I said he was a client. That’s how.” Jeannie rolled her eyes and brushed shattered glass from an unconscious Fullbright’s face. He was covered in scratches. This had turned into a disaster. He’d make her relocate now, and if she wouldn’t, he’d threaten her with those stupid papers she’d signed.