“Fear not, azizity. Tell me your wish, and we will commence at your speed. For however long it takes until you are thoroughly satisfied.”
She dropped her hands into her lap. Frowned. “Why do you keep calling me that? Azizity?”
“It’s a term of endearment where I’m from. It means ‘my darling.’”
Her frown deepened. “I’d rather you call me by my name. Mira. Mira Dawson.”
“Mira,” he said slowly. “It is an old name. Latin. It means peace.” Interesting. Since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any kind of peace. Not that it mattered, since he was a slave. He pushed the thought aside. “I am Tariq.”
They stared at each other across the room long seconds. And he sensed she wanted to rise, to cross to him, but didn’t know how. It was his job to push her. To influence her thoughts and actions so Zoraida could feed from her soul’s corruption. But somehow he knew if he pushed, this one would back far away. And there was no telling how long it would be until the Firebrand opal fell into another’s hands. Time his brothers just didn’t have.
Reluctantly, he pushed to his feet. This action would enrage Zoraida, but in the long run, he hoped it would pay off. “Think about what you want, Mira. And when you are ready, summon me back.”
Slowly, he stepped toward her, giving her plenty of time to see he wasn’t about to hurt her, and reached for her hand. Her skin was soft where his was rough, pale where his was dark. Lifting her fingers to his mouth, he skimmed his lips over her knuckles. Sparks of heat raced all through his body at the simple touch. Heat, he saw from the way her eyes darkened, she felt too.
Again, not what he expected. Not what he was used to. Nothing he even knew how to react to.
Brow wrinkling at what it all meant, he placed her hand at her chest, right over the opal, and for the first time in forever found himself torn between hoping she called him back and wishing she wouldn’t. Before he changed his mind, he said, “Now, send me home.”
CHAPTER THREE
Mira spent the rest of her day doing anything she could to take her mind off what had happened.
As she scrubbed the inside of her fridge, she knew only one thing for certain: Tariq was real. She hadn’t imagined their meeting or his poofing in and out of her living room. He was real. He wanted to grant her a wish. And he was a genie.
Her hand paused against the glass shelf. Holy hell. He was a genie. Even if he didn’t like to use that word, that was exactly what he was. The poof of black smoke when he’d disappeared and reappeared was as much an indication of that as was the fact he was bound to the opal.
She lifted her hand, almost touched the stone at her chest, then stopped short. She wasn’t ready to call him back. Not yet. She needed to think.
Forget thinking. She tossed the sponge into the sink across the room and ripped off her yellow latex gloves. What she needed to do was research.
She wound into her home office, sat in the chair behind her desk, and opened her laptop. An hour later, after filling her brain with enough djinn mythology to make her head ache, she was still confused.
He’d said some djinn were good. That they granted wishes. Yet her research said otherwise. It was the last few lines about his tribe—the Marid—that she couldn’t stop thinking about:
Few in number, very powerful. According to folklore, Marid have the ability to grant wishes to mortals; however, they usually only do so when forced by a master.
Mira sat back in her chair, fingered the chain at her neck. Remembered Tariq standing proud and warrior-like in front of her. Why would a djinni from the Marid tribe—which, according to her research, was the most powerful, the most proud, the most conservative of the six tribes when it came to interactions with humans—grant any kind of wish to a mere mortal? Everything she’d read said members of his tribe stuck together. Why would he care about her wants and needs? About any human’s wants and needs?
Her fingers drifted down the chain, hovered just above the opal. She’d taken it off earlier, then put it back on. The shop owner had said once she made her wish she wouldn’t be able to take it off until her wish was fulfilled. While the thought of it being locked around her neck for any extended length of time made her more than a little claustrophobic, she felt safe in the fact she controlled the situation. And that it was up to her to call Tariq back or not.
He wasn’t going to hurt her, of that she was sure as well. But was he offering her this deal because he wanted to? Or because he was being forced…for whatever reason?
Her thoughts drifted to Devin. Yes, she wanted him to notice her, but she wasn’t willing to do just anything to get him. Before she decided if she was really going to go through with this whole wish-fulfillment thing, she needed to find out more about Tariq.
Slowly, she pushed out of her chair, then paused in the doorway. Her bedroom sat to the left, the living room to the right. Darkness pressed in through the windows, telling her night had fallen while she’d been researching. A smart woman would go to bed, sleep on this decision before acting. But every time she thought about moving into her bedroom, she remembered Claudette’s claims.
Wicked pleasure, mind-numbing fantasies, your heart’s every secret, sinful desire come true.
Followed by the image of Tariq. Tall, broad, so very muscular. Dark and dangerous, radiating a sexuality even Devin couldn’t compete with. Then she heard Tariq’s deep, sexy voice when he’d said, I am yours to command. For however long it takes until you are thoroughly satisfied.
Her blood warmed. Shot sparks of need through her limbs, into her abdomen to spread rolling waves of heat across her hips and between her thighs. She gripped the doorframe for support.
“Oh God.” She would not survive a night fantasizing about him and that. She needed to know more. Now.
On unsteady legs, she made her way out into the living room, flipped on a lamp, and sat on the edge of the couch. Thankfully, it was Friday, and she didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. So it didn’t matter if this “discussion” lasted awhile or not. She didn’t have to be up early. And if the discussion turned into something else…
She swallowed hard at the erotic visions taking shape in her mind. The ones not of her and Devin, as she’d often dreamed, but of her and Tariq. Both naked and sweaty and breathless.
Her pulse picked up speed, and she swiped a hand over her suddenly damp forehead. Told herself to get a grip. That wasn’t why she was calling him back. Before she could change her mind, she brushed her fingers over the opal and held her breath to see if he’d appear.
A cloud of black smoke filled the center of the room then slowly dissipated, leaving Tariq standing in the same clothes he’d worn earlier. Only this time, those obsidian eyes, that fall of dark hair that just brushed his shoulders, and that insanely sharp jawline covered in scruff shot a thrill to her very core, not fear and apprehension as it had before.
“Mira,” he whispered, the corners of his lush lips curling ever so slightly. “Your wish, my command.”
Heat and need rippled right back through her abdomen, brought a flush to her cheeks. Every time he used the word command, she seemed to grow hotter.
She cleared her throat. Could tell from his waiting expression that he thought by calling him back it meant she wanted to begin their…what? Deal? Wish? Yet she hadn’t even told him what she wanted. And when she did…