His Command

by Sophie H. Morgan

  “I’m planning a party for you—or your employer—to earn a wish. That’s a client in my book. And anyway, I’m . . .” Her breath hitched as his free hand came up to toy with a loose strand of hair. “I’m not . . . ready for anything.”

  Although his fingers continued their slow rubbing of her hair, his eyes sharpened. “Bad breakup?”

  Always with the honesty.

  “You could say that.”

  “Sad eyes,” he murmured. He tucked the lock of hair behind her ear, grazing her cheek. A full-blown pang of desire shivered through her body.

  The air heated, thickened to the point where she couldn’t easily draw a breath. And that was before his eyes shifted molten amber as they followed the path of his thumb.

  She tried to swallow but froze as he lowered his head, angling it until he came to within an inch of her lips. His breath tickled her as she drew in an unsteady breath.

  “Hailey?” he said, quiet.

  “Yes?” she rasped.

  “Don’t wait too long to call.”

  * * *

  Ryder was too revved to sleep. Instead of heading for the hotel, he flashed to a well-known Genie bar on West Twenty-Third. He was in the mood for people, for lights and noise. Jeannie’s was popular with his crowd, boasting the best burgers, friendly waitresses, and cheap booze, but beyond that, Ryder had practically lived in the place since he was a teenager.

  He pushed open the chipped black door and met with a mix of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” pool balls clacking, glasses clinking, and about fifty of New York’s finest Genies blowing off steam. He inhaled the scent of grease and batter, salt from the nuts, and yeast from the beer. Home.

  The bar was open plan, but fed off into seated sections all around the square bar that sat central and was lined with every alcohol known and unknown. The jukebox near the entrance pumped out everything from the current rock to cheesy Motown. Uneven dark wooden flooring changed into dark glossy green at the walls where pictures of old New York scattered between chrome lighting.

  Ryder headed toward the bar, greeting a couple of coworkers breaking balls at the pool table. The mob soon thinned to reveal a man in his early sixties, a bar towel slung over one black-shirted shoulder, his dark auburn hair gleaming in the dim lighting as he built the perfect pint for a customer.

  “Dad,” Ryder shouted over the noise. “Is Leo in?”

  “You don’t say hello to your old man?” Cam Wood handed over the pint and nodded his thanks as the customer passed back a bill. “That fancy company knock all manners out of your head?”

  Ryder just grinned. “They had to make space for the Genie rules, and I wasn’t going to lose Joe DiMaggio’s batting average.”

  “Ah, that’s my boy.”

  “Excuse me,” a woman in stacked heels and a miniskirt called from the other side.

  Ryder ducked under the bar’s counter before his father answered and headed over. “What can I get you, love?”

  She batted her lashes. “Drink-wise?”

  Ryder settled onto his elbows, ignoring the stickiness of the maple. “How ’bout we start with a drink and go from there?”

  The woman ordered a vodka on the rocks, a white wine, and for him to call her, leaving her number inked on his skin.

  Ryder studied the numbers before erasing them with a thought. As the ink disappeared, Cam raised his eyebrows at Ryder’s side. “Not like you to turn down a woman.”

  “Not my type.”

  “I thought ‘female’ was your type.”

  “Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

  “Let’s not get our hopes up.” His dad grabbed him for a squeeze and slapped him on the back. He smelled, as he always did, of the musk Ryder’s mom had bought him every anniversary. “You coming for a meal on Sunday? I got a ham and the game’s on at six.”

  “Count me in.” Ryder glanced at the customers waiting. “You want help?”

  “Nah, I got Lou in the back on break. She’ll be here in a minute.” Cam patted Ryder and gave him a shove. “Go. Leo’s in his usual spot.”

  Ryder headed for the back of the bar, an alcove-ridden area where the music wasn’t quite so deafening. In the farthest corner, a half-drunk pint on the table in front of him, sat his brother. Deaf to the noise, Leo had a book in one hand as he lounged against the cushions in the corner booth, the other hand tapping the table absently.

  Seriously. His brother should’ve met Hailey first.

  Too late now. No way was he letting Leo within an inch of the smart-mouthed female with the luscious long legs and the eyes that made him want to give her the world. Not that he was possessive or anything, but he and Leo had grown up having to share everything. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

  Ryder flicked the book as he slid in beside Leo. “You get this is a bar, right? Meant to be socialized in?”

  His twin held up his middle finger as he continued to read.

  “I hope it’s at least got sex scenes.”

  Leo rolled his eyes, but marked his place and threw the book on the table. He raked his hands through his hair, the exact shade of black as Ryder’s but expensively layered and cut short. “Did you see Dad?” he asked in a voice a shade rougher than Ryder’s.

  “Yeah, he told me about Sunday.”

  His brother picked up his pint, swirled it. “The anniversary was hard on him.”

  Ryder’s stomach twisted at the memory, the image of the white marble gravestone. “He misses her. Hell. I miss her.”

  Leo stared at the drink in his hand. “Sometimes I think if we’d gone to WFY sooner . . .” His lips pursed before his shoulders lowered on a sigh. “Anyway, I said I’d bring the beer.”

  Ryder was more than happy to drop the subject. “All right. I’ll bring the fun.”

  A roll of Leo’s eyes accompanied his muttered “Jesus.”

  “Nah, he’s busy. I could try Elvis.”

  “You raise people from the dead now?”

  Ryder spread his arms along the back of the booth. “Hey, my last wish informed me he was living in a secret department of the WFY HQ.”

  “That’s still better than the time that woman tried to wish for three more wishes.” Leo’s nose wrinkled. “When I told her that only works in fiction, I got a lamp at my head. She tried to chant me into it.”

  A satisfied sigh from Ryder. “Don’t you love ’em?”

  “That’s one word.” Leo put his glass back on the coaster and smoothed his tie, a navy silk that sat neat and correct with the jeweled tie pin Ryder had given him. His eyes, a duplicate of Ryder’s brown but with golden lights instead of amber, studied Ryder. “I heard something interesting today.”

  “That your middle fingernail grows the fastest?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Leo slid him an exasperated look tinged with affection. A familiar look since they’d been old enough to smack each other. “Are you dealing for wishes now?”

  Alert. Security lights on, perimeter guards be aware.

  Without thinking, Ryder conjured a bottle of beer from his dad’s storage. He uncapped it. “No.”

  Leo pointedly stared at the beer. “If Dad sees you using, he’ll throw you out, son or no son. You know the rules.”

  He did. It was the only way the bar could function, by a strict once-you’re-out-you’re-out policy of no shirt, no shoes, no special powers.

  Ryder shrugged.

  Leo kicked him under the table. “So?”

  “What? I said no.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t explain why Annie from contracts says you had her draw up a contract to give a mortal a wish in exchange for her ‘services.’”

  “Why does Annie from contracts care?”

  “It’s gossip. You know how that travels.”

  “Faster than a laxative, apparently.”

  Leo kicked him again.

  Ryder kicked back. “What? I can’t do something nice?”

  “You always do something nice. But how abo
ut saying no for once?”

  “You sound like Luka.”

  Leo’s features took on a horrified cast. “I do not. If anyone does, it’s you.”

  He’d had worse said about him. Ryder swigged again. “Look, it’s related to that auction I did the other night.”

  Leo stared at him, waiting.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Ryder warned. “Luka’ll have my nuts.”

  “’Cause I’m such a blabbermouth I’d run my mouth off tomorrow.”

  “Hey, you’re the one gossiping with Annie from contracts.”

  A glare from his twin made Ryder smile. He shrugged one shoulder. “She’s paying off part of her bid through a use of services. Completely legitimate and aboveboard.” Except for the fact that Ryder had fixed the auction so Hailey had won, of course.

  “Services?” Leo held up a hand. “All right, if this woman’s work involves a selection of condoms and a price per night, trust me, it ain’t worth it.”

  “Please. Does this face look like it needs to buy sex?”

  “It looks like it needs to buy soap and a razor.”

  Ryder couldn’t help but chuckle. He set the bottle down and started peeling the label, concentrating on the edges. “I met her before the bidding started.” First the edges, then the middle, slowly so it didn’t rip. “She fell ass over head into my arms. And she looked so . . . sad.”

  Leo groaned. “Aw, God. It’s the puppy thing all over again.”

  “Shut up.”

  “How many puppies did we take in when we were kids because they looked sad?”

  Ryder mumbled.

  “Sorry?”

  He glared at his brother. “Twelve. And all of them went to good homes.”

  Leo laughed. “So she fell into your lap and you, what, decided to give her a wish to make her happy?”

  “Kinda.” Ryder chipped away at the label. “I fixed the bidding so she won.”

  The laugh Leo boomed out drew attention from some sort of bachelorette party across the way. Four pairs of interested female eyes centered on their table as Leo wiped fake tears from his eyes. “You are something else, brother.”

  “It was an impulse.” Ryder drilled his fingers on the table, uncomfortable.

  “Knowing you, Ry, I’m sure it was.”

  “Hey, she was bidding on me at first.” Just remembering her fervent determination to win had lust tightening his belly. “But she’s not rich, and everyone’s got a limit. You know what society women are like. All silk and no soul. Trust me, she deserves a wish more than they do.”

  “So, and let me know if I guess wrong, you offered to pay the rest of the bid?”

  “It’s only five grand,” Ryder grumbled, uncomfortable he was so predictable. “And as far as she knows, WFY is pulling the strings.”

  “Uh-uh.” Laughter gleamed in Leo’s eyes. “Saint Ryder to the rescue.”

  Why did everyone keep saying that?

  “Anyway,” Ryder continued, glaring, “it turns out she’s some sort of high-end event planner so she’s gonna help me out with your party.”

  That wiped Leo’s smile clean off, leaving behind a glower. “I told you I don’t want a party.”

  “Yeah, but I want a party. And by the way, it’s going to be at your house.”

  “Gee, can’t wait.”

  “Embrace life, bro. It doesn’t suck.”

  “Hmm.” Leo tapped his fingers on the table as the music switched to a slow ballad. Cyndi Lauper purred how she’d always be there time after time as his gaze latched on to something in Ryder’s face. “This woman must be something, huh?”

  Ryder lifted his beer, nonchalant. He choked as he drank his beer too fast, but he styled it off as a sarcastic smile. “She’s only a woman, Leo.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s helping me plan your party.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And if she’s marginally attractive—”

  “I knew it.”

  Ryder glared, defensive and not enjoying the sensation. What did he care if Leo poked at him about Hailey’s looks? He knew his motivation hadn’t been all about her legs that were the perfect length to wind around his waist, or the full, soft lips that flattened when she was annoyed with him.

  It had been her eyes and how they triggered the same well of emotion that had made him adopt twelve puppies—though he thought he might keep the dog comparison to himself. Strangely, women never liked being compared to dogs. Go figure.

  “Hey.” Female and slightly slurred, the voice drew his attention to a curly blonde. She stood a foot away, a pink tutu and a hot pink sash over a skin-tight black dress. That sash might as well say Easy Pickings instead of Bridal Party.

  Leo’s smile was calculated to charm. “Hey.”

  “You’re, like, those twins, huh?” The woman put a hand on her impressive chest. “The Genies.”

  “The ones with a magic touch.” Leo might have been less of a socializer than Ryder, but they both shared the same quick-to-quip attitude. Always went down well with women.

  Sure enough, this one looked ready to faint, the flush in her cheeks as much from close proximity to Genies, Ryder would wager, as a staggering amount of alcohol.

  “My friends,” the woman said, gesturing, wobbling in her heels, “thought you might wanna, like, join us.”

  Behind her, the group drinking frothy pink drinks raised their glasses and cheered. One blew a kiss.

  “I don’t know.” Leo shifted in his chair until he caught Ryder’s gaze. “Would we want to join a group of fun-loving, beautiful women on a bachelorette night?”

  Read: women who’d be feeling emotional and lonely and interested in making themselves feel good.

  Any other night Ryder would already be there, pouring on his charm and talking the blonde out of her tutu, her dress, and whatever skimpy underwear she had on under there. It was what he did, how he lived. The ultimate free-loving, easy-going, doesn’t-even-buy-green-bananas-because-he-never-commits guy.

  Even if at the minute hanging with his brother seemed more fun than drinking with four random women.

  Still, Leo would never let him live it down if he let the opportunity slip by. He’d think it was some kind of sign that Ryder was hooked on Hailey or something. As if. This bait didn’t swim that way.

  So he put on his game face and stood. He offered his arm with a grin, subtly checking his watch and marking the time as he did so. He’d give it half an hour before leaving Leo and the women to it, his playboy rep firmly intact. “Why’re we still sitting over here?”

  8.

  Hailey was ten minutes early on purpose.

  Like any meeting where power plays were key, this one was made even more so by being in a restaurant of Serena’s choosing and at her request.

  “I’d like to talk to you alone,” she’d said when she’d phoned Hailey the day before. “Can we meet?”

  “Of course.” Hailey had affected a blasé tone, even as she’d made an oh-shit face to a gesticulating Max. “Where would be best for you?”

  Of course Ethan’s polished fiancée would choose the Ritz-Carlton, scene of Hailey’s most recent embarrassing moment. Or moments, if you counted the ass-over-head maneuver and her entanglement with a sexy Genie who refused to stay in the ‘client’ box she’d repeatedly tried to shove him into.

  It had been a few days since Ryder had crowded her against the doorjamb, and every time her mind wandered, it was to a place where he’d taken the moment further.

  Every time she wondered if she’d have let him. If she should, if only to prove to herself Ethan didn’t hold that much power over her. Ryder, with the mischievous eyes and the teasing, slow grin, promised pleasure with every caress.

  She bet he tasted like sin and mangoes.

  Luckily, there had only been a brief mention of the charity auction in the Genie gossip newspaper, the Star, the winner’s name printed without any more information. Nothing about her background or where she worked, thank God. />
  Even so, Hailey still had had to buy out every copy for a week at the newsstand closest to the office, just in case of any follow-up articles. Megan adored the rag and had loudly complained of it being sold out.

  Hailey was now living on beans after forking out a hundred dollars for papers, but she wasn’t ready to deal with what her friends would say about her bidding on—let alone winning—a wish. Such an impulsive move. Not like her at all.

  Then they’d look at Ryder. And then they’d think they knew everything, when even Hailey had no clue where and when her life had leapt off course.

  It made her jumpy, wondering when he of the amber eyes was going to pop up. He was the unexpected, and considering the reward riding on this wedding, she couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by humor, honesty, a dimple, a cute butt, nice pecs, a wicked laugh, knowing hands . . .

  Ahem. Not sidetracked.

  After a pep talk from Max, who had threatened to accompany Hailey—as if she was ten and needed her mom to come with her—Hailey had headed into battle.

  She’d decided to walk to work off the sins she’d indulged in over the past few days, especially when the temperature hovered around a refreshing sixty. The day was washed with autumn colors, a palette of orange and green, red and gray. In the air hung that crisp just-rained scent, though it wasn’t forecasted.

  It cleared her head enough that by the time she was seated in the Ritz’s restaurant for high tea, a favorite of hers, Hailey had her business head screwed on. She felt calm, rational, completely unbiased. Her hair was smoothed into a simple twist, her makeup emphasized her eyes, and she wore a skirt suit of graphite gray. If she had had a label, it’d read understated, elegant businesswoman.

  Postscript: Take your pity and shove it where you’ve had fat sucked out.

  Maybe not completely unbiased.

  Hailey smiled at the waiter who brought her sparkling Perrier. “Thank you.”

  She took a sip and swallowed, trying to bash the nerves into submission, but it was a little like playing Whack-a-Mole. To distract herself, she passed the time by discreetly snooping on the other patrons.

  The restaurant was the height of elegance, business people schmoozing clients and high society taking a break, doing lunch. Nothing louder than quiet chatter would be accepted here, not when it was a little past noon and high tea was happening.