by Myla Jackson
Well!
Amira rocked back on her bare heels, the duvet still wrapped toga-style around her reminding her that she’d been with a naked man for the past ten or fifteen minutes. The very man who’d come into her life, made her aware of every sexual sensory zone and then left her high and dry without a word. And she already missed his presence again! How pathetic was that? And if she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself believing his cockamamie story.
If his story was true, she owned the man. She snorted. As if anyone owned Mitch West. Much less a woman!
And he was supposed to grant her every wish? Amira tapped a finger to her chin. What would she wish for if she could have anything she wanted? Her brow furrowed. What was she talking about? She could have anything she wanted without a man to grant her wishes. Her father could buy her anything.
Except freedom and excitement. Two things Mitch had in abundance.
And was it a coincidence that the bottle had come from the sarcophagus of Princess Vashti, the namesake of the princess from her father’s fairytale? Now she wished she’d mentioned the story to Mitch. Maybe he would know the significance, if there was any. She stared at the closed door, wishing she hadn’t let him get away so quickly. Not with a hundred questions racing through her mind.
“Damn!” Okay so it wasn’t just the questions that made her want him back. She’d been with Mitch for all of fifteen minutes and she already wanted him. The lingering impression of his cock rubbing against her pussy had her panties all wet with desire. What was she, some kind of masochistic slut or something? She trudged back to the bedroom, intent on dressing and going out to find something to eat. Instead, she fell across the bed and let the duvet fall open. An image of Mitch pinning her to the mattress imbedded in her mind and made her blood run hot.
He’d been strong and pleasantly heavy lying across her. More masculine than any lover who’d ever ventured between the sheets with her.
Amira’s hand rose to her naked belly, loving the sexy feel of her skin beneath her fingertips. She slid her fingers under the elastic band of her panties, threading through the curly hair over her mound and into the forbidden folds of her labia. Annoyed by the confines of the scrap of silk, she quickly shed the panties and delved into her pussy to lubricate her finger. Then she rubbed the warm moisture across her clit.
A groan rose from her chest as she stroked that nubbin of pleasure, that throbbing, ultra-sensitive spot that made her back arch off the bed. She touched it again, imagining a man’s tongue teasing and tasting her down there. The only man who’d gone down on her had been Mitch, several times that one night. The other lovers she’d managed to lure past her father and into her bed had been too intimidated by the bodyguards and the possibility of her father storming in to do much more than fuck her and be gone. She’d loved that Mitch had taken the time and effort to go down on her, to suck her pussy and touch her like no other. She wanted that now. Instead of her hands, she wanted his lips, his tongue and his long, beautiful fingers stroking her.
Heat coiled low in her belly as she coaxed the sensations that would build into an orgasm. How much easier it would be to get off if it were a man doing this with his tongue.
Not any man. Mitch. She must be a glutton for punishment to want Mitch to make love to her. Hadn’t his ultimate rejection hurt enough the first time?
She stroked her clit once, twice, imagining Mitch’s tongue doing the stroking. Another groan rose in her throat. “I can’t help it!” She cried out loud to her empty room. “I wish Mitch were doing this.” As soon as the wish left her lips, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“What am I thinking?” She stared around the room, her body tense as if expecting the jerk to suddenly appear and take over. For a full two seconds, she almost believed it could happen. Then she laughed aloud at her absurd dreaming. Magic wasn’t real. Men didn’t appear out of nowhere ready to grant her every wish. That’s what you had money for. She lay back against the mattress and laughed.
Halfway through her laugh a clap of thunder ripped through the silence and the bed shook beneath her.
What the fuck? She rose up on her elbows. Was New York turning into another California with random earthquakes or what?
A flash of light blinded her and she squeezed her eyes shut, afraid a bulb above her head had exploded. No glass showered down on her. But the mattress dipped alarmingly between her spread legs and a warm wetness stroked her clit.
Amira’s eyes popped open. Lying on his stomach between her thighs was a blond-haired man dressed in her father’s clothes, lapping away at her pussy. “You!”
“Who did you expect? Brad Pitt? Not that I mind performing for you any other time, but,” he paused, his tongue touching the tip of her clit. “You just couldn’t keep from using those words, could you?” The last words were spoken more in the form of a growl and he went back to touching her in the most intimate way.
When she should have been screaming for security, she fell back against the bed, her body no longer her own, responding to his touch in a most embarrassingly abandoned way. “Why don’t you stop?” she asked as she climbed the dangerously slippery slope to the most extraordinary orgasm she’d ever experienced. At the same time, she didn’t want him to stop.
“I can’t. You wished this, not me.” His fingers trailed a path down her inner thigh, lifting each leg to drape over his shoulder. The movement raised her ass off the bed, the cool air only adding to her arousal.
“What do you mean I wished it?”
His tongue flicked at her clit, teasing and torturing her at the same time, then he drew her into his mouth and sucked on her folds. When he released her, she almost cried out. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He blew a warm breath over her moist entrance and pressed his finger into her, swirling it around.
That coil of heat tightening in her groin erupted into a full-fledged, no-kidding-he-hit-THE-spot orgasm that rocked Amira’s world. For several long minutes, she rode the wave, unable to speak or move for the exquisiteness of her release. When she relaxed against the pillow, spent, she asked again. “What do you mean I wished it?”
He crawled up her body, pressing kisses to the quivery skin stretched across her naked belly, and then tongued the tight beads of her nipples through her lacy bra. “You used those two words didn’t you?”
“Wh-what the hell are you talking about?” She brushed her hair out of her face and stared up at the man. “What two words?”
“The most powerful words you now possess.” He leaned over her, his mouth a breath away from hers. “I wish.”
His lips touched hers, tasting of her sex. As the realization dawned on her, a sick feeling landed like a chunk of lead in her gut. She pushed against him until she could look him in the eye. “You mean all this is because I said ‘I wish’?”
“Give the girl a prize.” He bit her lip, tugging it lightly, sending shivers of sensations through her body, despite her best efforts to ignore them.
“Then stop it!” Humiliation burned in her cheeks. “Stop it now!”
“I can’t.” He licked a line from the corner of her lips to the erogenous zone beneath her ear. “You have to wish me to stop.”
“You’re so full of crap. This is all a hoax. Stop it now before I call for security.” Instead of an indignant tone, her voice faded off in a breathless whisper.
Mitch moved down her body again, tugging aside her bra to take her nipple between his teeth.
If she didn’t stop this now, he’d fuck her completely. And oh, how she wanted it. “I wish you’d stop,” she said, her voice shaking and completely unconvincing, but the words were spoken aloud nonetheless.
Mitch stopped immediately, his eyes pinched closed. “You’re hurting me, woman,” he said through gritted teeth. The bulge in his pants pressed into her belly. “Make up your mind, Princess.”
Anger combined with humiliation. “If this wish stuff really works, I wish you were the hell out of my apartment.”
W
hen Mitch disappeared in front of her eyes, Amira gasped.
* * * * *
Harry landed on his feet, but Edie landed against him, shoving him off balance, sending him flying across the concrete floor.
“Freeze!” A man in a NYPD uniform stood over Harry and Edie, his weapon drawn. Another police officer moved in with his weapon drawn as well.
“It’s all right, Officer. I work here.” Edie climbed to her feet and held out her hand. “I’m Edie Ragsdale.”
Instead of putting away his gun, the officer aimed at Edie while his partner kept his gun trained on Harry. “Turn around and put your hands up, lady.”
“Did you not hear me? I’m not trespassing, I work here.”
“I don’t care who you are or where you work, keep your hands where I can see them?”
“Is there a problem, Officer?” Harry asked from his position spread-eagle on his belly on the floor.
“I’d say there is. A big problem.” The officer jerked his head toward a large lump on the floor behind him.
Edie gasped. “Mr. Baumgartner!” When she moved toward him, the officer stood in her way.
“If you take another step, I’ll be forced to shoot you.”
Edie froze. “But he might be hurt.”
“He’s not only hurt, he’s dead. The attack didn’t kill him, but the myocardial infarction did.”
“Oh my God.” Edie stood rigid, her eyes pooling with tears.
Harry couldn’t comfort her while lying on the floor with a gun pointed at him. “Edie, do as the officer says and stay away.”
“But, who would kill Mr. Baumgartner?” Her hands cupped her cheeks, her eyes wide. “I mean he was mean most of the time, but that’s not enough of a reason to kill a man.”
“That’s what we’re here to determine. We’ll have questions for the two of you once our backup arrives, so don’t count on going anywhere anytime soon.”
“But we need to find—”
Harry could see the train wreck Edie was about to create and he headed her off at the pass. “We can wait, Edie.” He motioned her to move farther away from the officers.
Thunder rumbled and a flash of light pierced the gloom of the warehouse.
“What the fuck?” The police officer holding his gun on Harry glanced up, blinking his eyes. But not quickly enough. Harry kicked his feet out from under him.
Will appeared behind the other officer and pinned his shooting arm behind his back, knocking the gun from his hand.
Harry leaped on top of the officer he’d knocked off his feet and pressed a knee into his back, forcing him to lie still. “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you.” He turned to his friend. “Will, you got him under control?”
“Got him.”
“Edie, check for the bottles in the sarcophagus.”
Edie ran up one aisle and down another, her movements jerky. “I can’t believe you attacked the police.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t found the sarcophagus.” The man beneath him bucked, trying to throw Harry off his back. “Will ya hurry it up? I don’t know how long I can hold this guy without killing him.”
“It’s not here!” Edie skidded to a stop in front of Harry, her eyes wild, her hair in crazy disarray around her face.
God she was beautiful. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he thanked the lucky stars and the curse of Azhi that brought them together. “Then we’ll have to find Mitch the hard way. Wish us to where Mitch’s bottle is.”
Edie opened her mouth.
“Careful, Edie,” Harry warned. “Be real careful.”
* * * * *
Amira searched the apartment, the closets, behind the shower curtain. Mitch was gone for good this time, not just pretending to be gone.
She couldn’t explain how he’d been there one minute and gone the next and she wasn’t going to try. Chalk it up to a very difficult day filled with being chased by men then dealing with one intruding into her private space.
And private parts.
Her skin flushed with awareness. Her panties were still damp with her juices.
Now that Mitch was well and truly out of her apartment, she could go back to being normal and bored out of her mind. What was she thinking? Excitement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
She peeked through the peephole in her apartment door into the hallway leading to her own private elevator. No sign of Mitch there.
Well, good. She didn’t need him and his crazy wish theory.
Then why was she aching all over like she had the flu? No, not the flu, but something equally achy and needy inside her welled up and threatened to overwhelm her.
She flopped onto the couch and plunked her feet on the table in front of her, right next to the infamous blue-green bottle that Mitch swore gave her the power to own him. If he was right, she owned Mitch West. A smile curled her lips. No woman owned Mitch. He was a law unto himself, a man who didn’t stick around. But if he was right, this little bottle had some serious possibilities.
“I should have followed him to see what nuthouse he returned to.” Amira lifted the bottle and stared into the bulbous base as if it were a crystal ball and would give her all the answers. “What’s the big deal about a silly bottle, anyway?”
Amira’s cell phone rang from the depths of the sofa cushions. Her heart leapt into high-speed. Could it be Mitch? As quickly as her heartbeat ratcheted up, it slowed. No, Mitch hadn’t called her before, why would he call now?
“Ami, tell me you’re dressed to the nines and ready to play hooky from your bodyguards like you promised.” J.C. Blanchett’s voice blasted into her ear along with the swell of music.
Amira stifled a groan. She’d forgotten about her promise to meet J.C. for drinks at the swanky nightclub she hung out at. Another attempt at rebellion against her father’s heavy-handed control of her life. Given the current circumstances, as bizarre as they sounded, Amira wasn’t so sure ditching her bodyguards was all that good of an idea. “I don’t know, J.C.”
“Oh, hell no. You’re not backing out on me now.” J.C. huffed and breathed hard into Amira’s ear, probably working out on her treadmill. Never having worked a day in her life, J.C. worked out at least three hours a day. Despite her obsession with her body, she was the closest friend Amira had. The daughter of the second richest man in the city, J.C. had been Amira’s friend since they’d gone to private school together. “I have two guys lined up to meet us there in just under an hour. Now you and I know I could handle two men, but they are expecting two women. Don’t let me down again, Amira. I won’t take no for an answer. In fact, I’ll be by to pick you up at our usual place around the corner from your apartment in…fifty minutes.”
“But J.C.—”
The line went dead. J.C. had hung up, never giving Amira the option to tell her thanks, but no.
Not that Amira thought any of what Mitch had told her was more than a bunch of bullshit , but if any of it was true, she could be in for a whole lot more trouble.
No. None of that stuff was true. He’d just been trying to scare her. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Mitch’s appearances and disappearances. Didn’t there?
Amira rose from the sofa and marched into her bedroom, determined to find the perfect dress for her night out with J.C. She’d flirt and dance with the mystery man J.C. had drummed up for her and forget she’d ever seen Mitch or felt his tongue against her—
Start now, Amira. Start forgetting Mitch now.
Chapter Four
Mitch jogged halfway across Manhattan to his apartment. By the time he climbed the steps and fished his spare key out from under the fake potted plant in the corridor, he thought his little toe was broken and he’d walk with a permanent limp. Used to every item of clothing fitting to tailored perfection, Mitch swore he’d never again wear someone else’s shoes if he could help it.
Without wasting too much time, he hurried toward his apartment. As he rounded a corner in the hallway, he ran into Edie’s father,
Frank Ragsdale.
Too breathless to speak, Mitch blocked the man’s path. “Mr. Ragsdale, wait.” He bent at the waist, propping himself against one wall as he hauled in air.
The older man frowned. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve only met once. I’m Edie’s neighbor.” Mitch sucked in another breath. “Have you seen Edie?”
“Not in two weeks. Not since she ran off after that Harry.”
“Ran off with Harry?”
“Yeah, that man had her tied to the bed naked and she still wanted to go after him.” The old man snorted. “Don’t know what’s come over kids nowadays.”
Could it be they survived the fight with Danorah? “Do you know where she went?”
“How should I know? The girl’s gone nuts over that boy. She was here one minute, mumbling about helping Harry find Will and Mitch, the next, she disappeared. Dangedest thing I ever saw.” He shook his head. “I hope she’s all right. Can’t believe I gave her my blessing.”
“Uh, sir. I’m the Mitch she’s looking for.” The way it sounded, Mitch would need a lot more than plane tickets to find the missing pair. He’d need someone who could wish them closer. He’d need to get Amira to wish him to where Harry and Edie were.
“Thanks, Mr. Ragsdale. I’ll let you know when I find her.”
“Good thing. Then maybe nobody will bug me.”
“Bug you?”
“Yeah, seems like twice a day I get phone calls from people looking for Edie.”
“They leave a name or number?”
“No, when I ask, they hang up.” Frank shook his head. “Rude, if you ask me.”
“Good seeing you, Mr. Ragsdale.”
When Mitch turned to leave, Frank laid a hand on his arm. “When you see her, tell her I love her, will ya?”
“You bet.” Mitch entered his apartment and switched on the light. The place was a shambles. His leather sofa and recliner had been slashed to shreds, his entire CD collection had been dumped across the floor. Anger squashed the sick feeling in his gut. This had to be Danorah’s work. The bitch! If he ever got his hands on the woman…