Sexy In A Bottle: A More Than Men Novella

by Andrea Laurence

  Sexy in a Bottle

  A More Than Men Novella

  Andrea Laurence

  Written by Andrea Laurence

  Published by Andrea Laurence

  Copyright 2013 Andrea Laurence

  Cover Art Design by Hot Damn Designs

  KINDLE EDITION

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Andrea Laurence, author@andrealaurence.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to the actions persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Other books by Andrea Laurence

  Harlequin Desire Series

  What Lies Beneath

  More Than He Expected

  Undeniable Demands*

  A Very Exclusive Engagement

  A Beauty Uncovered*

  *Secrets of Eden Series

  Independently Published:

  Sexy As Hell**

  The Walking Sexy**

  Sexy in a Bottle**

  The More Than Men Sexy Trilogy**

  **A More Than Men Novella

  Chapter One

  Valerie could tell a storm was coming. The weatherman’s report had only confirmed what she already knew. The sky was overcast, but in the distance the clouds were starting to darken to an ominous shade of black. The winds were whipping furiously across the tiny coastal island where she made her home. The gray waters of the Atlantic were swelling high in waves that looked like the backs of whales rising from the sea. They crashed against the jagged rock coastline, sending a frigid spray into the air.

  Spring was only a few days away if you judged by the calendar, but warmer temperatures and clearer skies were yet to come to Bar Harbor.

  Valerie tightened the strap on her hood to keep it from blowing back and continued on her path around the island.

  The towering old lighthouse was at the far edge of Misty Rock Island, about fifty yards from the main building where she lived. As keeper, she was responsible for maintaining the light. The lighthouse had been built in the 1890s to ensure ships didn’t run aground on the shallow rocks. The channel was narrow, and if a boat strayed off course, it could spell disaster, then and now.

  The narrow white column of the lighthouse shot up into the dark sky, capped by a black cage of iron and glass. Inside, the reflective panel spun slowly around the light, shooting a bright beam across the harbor. Valerie’s gaze followed the line out over the sea. There weren’t many ships on the water today. The weatherman said the nor’easter that was on its way to the area was going to pack a wallop, and most of them were already returned to port or were about to.

  She was grateful she wouldn’t have to brave the elements to man the light. It had originally been fueled by oil, and then by an old diesel generator. In the seventies a power line had been run from the mainland providing all the electrical needs of the island, but now the newly installed solar panels powered the lighthouse itself. A battery backup system would keep it going even on the cloudiest and stormiest of days.

  Valerie approached the solar panels. She was no expert on the system, but when they’d installed it, the company had given her basic training on how to maintain it and troubleshoot issues. Before the storm came through, she wanted to check all the connections, make sure none of the panels were cracked and that the battery system was fully charged. She didn’t really want to leave the cozy safety of her cottage if she didn’t have to. More than one keeper had been sucked into the sea in a raging storm.

  All looked well, so she circled the tower and headed back toward the house. No matter what, the light would stay on. Whether the same would hold true for the rest of the island, she couldn’t be sure. A sizable shed stood between the lighthouse and the keeper’s cottage. Inside it was the diesel generator that provided backup power to the house. The power line that ran along the sea floor had been damaged in a storm a few years back. They’d fixed it, but it was more of a patch. It was too expensive to run a new line. Whenever a bad storm came through, the patch would fail and she’d lose power for a few days.

  Valerie opened the door and went inside, checking the fuel level in the generator. She hoped she wouldn’t have to start it. The equipment was older than her grandfather and took an act of Congress to get it running. A small propane lantern hung on the wall by the door. She turned it on, making sure it was working and ready to go if she had to run out here in the dark. The flashlights wouldn’t provide enough light if she had to beat the old generator into submission.

  Her preparations done, she pulled the heavy door closed behind her and enjoyed the rest of her daily walk. She loved the wild beauty that surrounded her. The dark green humps of Acadia National Park rose off in the distance. Eagles often circled overhead, scooping fish out of the sea. Whales would swim by, shooting towers of spray into the sky. Most of the time it was a peaceful place where Valerie could escape from the world and appreciate the time she had left.

  But that didn’t mean life on the island was always easy. It could be lonely out here by herself. She took her boat into town once a week for supplies, although lately she hadn’t even done that. A squall had damaged her boat about a month ago. A guy in Bar Harbor was repairing the damage to the engine at a good price, which meant slowly. In the meantime her friend Benny would come check on her. He usually visited once a week, just in case, and lately he’d also brought her supplies. Rarely did anyone actually come to the island, but Benny was a lobster fisherman and it wasn’t out of his way to swing by as he went out to set and check his traps.

  It would be a few days before she saw him again, but she couldn’t complain. Her isolation was by her own design. It was easier on everyone that way.

  The cold was starting to get to her. Valerie would be happy for the warmer months ahead after the long, hard winter. Summer would mean more boats loudly chugging past her island, since the area lighthouses were a draw for tourists. It was a small price to pay for temperatures above forty.

  It had to be in the low thirties this afternoon, and the wind made it even worse. She tried to take several laps around the island every day for exercise, but the icy sting of her nose and cheeks urged her to make it a short walk today. She was about to cut a diagonal path across to the house when a glitter caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

  Valerie turned back to the edge of the water, where something gold was sparkling against the gray and brown rock. Things occasionally washed up on the island, but it was more likely to be trash or an animal carcass than something shiny. It looked like some kind of gold chain for a necklace. She crouched down and pulled off one glove to reach into the frigid water. She ignored the sting, pulling up the chain and finding a large golden pendant with it.

  The square pendant was at least two inches tall and wide, inset with a brilliant blue square stone that was nearly as large. Around the edge were symbols carved into the gold, but she didn’t recognize them. It certainly wasn’t anything she’d ever run across before. Strings of sea muck and plants sullied its brilliance. She ran her fingers across the gemstone to clean it, and it seemed to flash like the strobe of a blue police signal as the dwindling daylight caught it.

  It was beautiful. And judging by the heavy weight of it in her hand, it wasn’t just some piece of cost
ume jewelry. Surely that couldn’t be a real sapphire, though. Or could it? Occasionally someone turned up a few gold coins or artifacts from old shipwrecks. Maybe it was some forgotten pirate treasure or rich woman’s jewelry lost in transit to the New World.

  Valerie stood up and slipped the necklace into her pocket. Maybe she could get online and do some research on it after dinner. Speaking of which, she needed to go back inside and check on her chowder.

  She’d taken two steps when she heard a deep groan behind her. It was an odd noise, nothing like she was used to hearing out here by herself. She spun on her heels, expecting to see an old harbor seal laboring to drag his body onto the rocks. Instead she saw a man. A naked man.

  She blinked her eyes a few times to make sure she wasn’t getting delusional out on this island alone. Valerie had just walked past that exact spot a minute before, and there’d been nothing there. She certainly would’ve noticed a naked man lying in front of her.

  Valerie rushed to his side. The man was sprawled on his stomach on the rocks, his face turned away from her and disguised by wet strands of black hair. The only things he wore were two gold cuffs, one on each wrist. His skin was dark brown, his body hard and muscular. She couldn’t see any blood or injuries, which made her feel better for noticing the high, round curve of his ass. His body was near flawless, rousing an instant reaction in Valerie that brought more guilt than desire to mind.

  She pressed a hand to his shoulder to gently shake him and hissed. His skin was hot. Blazing hot. He had a dangerously high fever. She shook him, and when he didn’t respond, she tugged hard at his arm and waist to roll him onto his back. The massive weight of him finally turned, flopping him back against the rock and turning his face toward her.

  He had a hard, square jaw lined with a dark, short goatee. His nose was wide at the bridge, connecting with a slash of heavy, black eyebrows across his forehead. His full lips moved just as his eyes danced rapidly beneath his eyelids.

  Valerie checked his pulse, which was slow but stronger than she expected. She searched him for more injuries. Everything from the thick cords of his neck to the hard cut of his abs to the massive girth of his thighs seemed to be unharmed. No cuts or scrapes that required first aid, so that was a relief.

  It made her feel better for letting her gaze run over his large and proudly thrusting erection. The man was well-endowed and seemingly…unaffected by the cold, despite being unconscious. It startled her. Coming to this island, she’d thought she might never see a naked man again. Being exposed to such a flawless, powerful specimen made a dormant part deep inside her clench tight.

  He groaned again, bringing her back to her senses. She needed to stop ogling and get him into the house. He was naked and soaking in frigid weather with a raging fever. Unfortunately if he didn’t wake up, all she could do was bring him blankets. The man easily weighed twice Valerie’s slight frame.

  "Hello?" she said loudly, shaking his shoulder again. "Sir? Can you hear me? Are you injured? Sir?"

  He opened his eyes.

  The bright blue irises were a sharp contrast to the man’s other dark features. They went straight to Valerie, immediately focusing on her and reminding her of the glittering blue stone in her pocket.

  "Sir, are you hurt?" she repeated.

  The man shook his head. Valerie pulled her hand away from his shoulder, and he quickly shot one arm up to grip her wrist. Valerie gasped at the sudden move, but there was no escaping his ironclad hold. Her heart started to beat more rapidly in her chest, although it wasn’t from fear. It was the intense way he looked at her. She didn’t feel afraid. She felt warm. Confused. And worried about her heart beating too quickly. Her doctor told her she needed to avoid excitement, and an intense, naked man washing up on her beach was more excitement than she’d had for a while.

  "Can you walk?" she asked. "We need to get you inside and warmed up."

  "I am not cold," he said matter-of-factly. His voice was low and deep, an accent she couldn’t identify curling his words.

  "You’re burning up with fever," she insisted. The man was obviously disoriented. Perhaps he’d been lost at sea for a few days.

  "It is nothing to be concerned about. I am a djinn, born of fire. It is always so."

  The only gin Valerie knew of was the kind that came out of a bottle, and while it could chase off a chill, it couldn’t stand up to the freezing North Atlantic. Perhaps this guy had too much to drink before he fell overboard. Or at the very least, hit his head. She wasn’t going to argue with him, though. He could tell her he was the Queen of England and she’d nod and smile to get him into the house. "Are you well enough to move?"

  "I am." The man sat up, still clutching her hand in his own. The heat of his body was making her wrist tingle like tiny needles dancing over her skin. The warmth had started to radiate down her arm, chasing away the chill of the icy wind. She wanted to pull away, but she didn’t, helping steady him as he climbed to his feet.

  "Let’s get back to the house and get you in some dry clothes. Then we can figure out what to do from there. You need to rest. I’ll contact the coast guard and let them know you’re okay. They’re likely out looking for you. And maybe we can get you a ride back to town before the storm hits."

  The man listened to her, his head cocked oddly to the side like an intrigued puppy. "I doubt anyone is looking for me. I have been lost in the depths of the ocean for decades at least."

  Valerie frowned. The man standing in front of her wasn’t a day over thirty, and a hard, strapping specimen at that. Her gaze ran down his body again, this time lingering a moment too long when she realized her patient was still sporting a massive erection. The heat rushed to her face when her eyes met his as a smile curled the corners of his wide mouth.

  Who, exactly, had washed up on her beach? And how much trouble had he brought with him?

  Raj watched his mistress turn crimson at the sight of him. A djinn is a powerful creature. Potent and virile, their magic runs through every inch of their bodies, including the parts that made her hazel eyes widen and quickly shift away. As the possessor of his amulet, she could ask anything of him. His powers were at her command, including his sexual ones, if she chose. He would not mind that at all.

  He’d been locked up for a long time. Fifty years at least, although he’d need a calendar to be certain. Judging by the dress of his mistress, it had been decades. She wore the pants of a man, paired with the heavy-soled boots of a soldier. Her feminine curves were hidden by a bulky coat, and the auburn strands of her hair whipped loosely across her fresh and unpainted face. Her weary expression was one she seemed to wear often, the lines deep and marring her soft, delicate features. There was a faint gray ringing her eyes and sadness in the green-gold depths watching him. She seemed a strange juxtaposition of strong and fragile, wary yet curious. How much had the world changed since he’d seen it?

  The last female he’d seen had worn a demure, polka-dotted dress with heels and perfectly styled hair and makeup. That had been the fashion in 1934.

  He’d been summoned from his captivity to find himself in the midst of great tension that spanned the globe. His master had been at the forefront of the conflict and had twisted Raj’s gifts to suit his purposes. He’d demanded the greatest army ever assembled, a silver tongue to coax and enchant everyone he spoke to and a name every man, woman and child on earth would remember.

  Fearful the amulet would fall into the hands of his enemies, he’d ordered the necklace, and Raj with it, tossed off a warship into the ocean.

  Over the years Raj had wondered how that worked out for the short, angry man. Most of his power-hungry masters found themselves suffering at the cruel hands of their own desires. He was curious to discover what his new mistress would ask of him.

  "Do you remember your name?" his mistress asked, the color finally fading from her creamy, pale cheeks.

  Bending slightly at the waist, Raj bowed formally to her in introduction. "Mistress, my name is Rajan. I am in your
service and shall grant you any three wishes your heart may desire. You need only ask."

  The woman removed her steadying hand and took a slight step back. The distance was minute, but he noticed it immediately and it caused a physical pain deep inside his chest. Even if he only spent minutes with his mistress, each nerve in his body was attuned to knowing her every need and fulfilling it. At one time, when he was a free djinn, he could train his focus on whomever he chose. Now the gold at his wrists was a reminder that he did what was demanded of him by the one that held his leash.

  He could sense distrust in his mistress, but she tried to hide it. She did not believe him, and she was not the first. Over the centuries it seemed magic had become a dwindling commodity. The world had slowly grown more cold and mechanical and, with it, cynical and distrustful. But even those in the past that had been skeptical had made a wish. The wildest, most unbelievable wish they could fathom to test him. He tensed, waiting for her to name something grand to push the limits and force him to stretch the magical muscles that had begun to slowly atrophy in his golden prison.

  Instead she studied his face carefully, concern drawing the corners of her pink lips into a frown. "Let’s get inside. You may not be cold, but I am." She turned her back on him and started stomping across the stretch of uneven rock toward a small white stone building.

  No wish. That was curious. "As you desire," he said, following behind her.

  Through the doorway he found a small, tidy home. It was filled with worn but comfortable-looking furniture, polished wood floors and walls, and a pleasant, warm light from a collection of lamps. There was a large stone fireplace along one wall, but despite the cold weather it was dark and empty.

  His mistress tugged off her coat and gloves, hanging the jacket on a hook on the kitchen wall. Removing the bulky clothing revealed the round, feminine curves beneath. Although she wore pants, there was nothing masculine about the tight fit and the way they clung to her thighs and hips. She had a long-sleeved top that molded to her breasts and highlighted her small waist. He was not used to women dressing this way, but he found he could not complain.