Genie

by Kitty French

  Half an hour later, and Genie’s search for her uncle proved fruitless. His office door was locked once again and his apartment silent and empty. He’d split the top floor of the theatre into two apartments some years back to give them both individual living spaces. He’d said at the time that it was to give her her own bath to hang her smalls over, but Genie knew in her heart that Davey had gone to the trouble in order to keep her close.

  Together they’d lived and breathed Theatre Divine for the last twenty-eight years – Genie’s whole life. It was their home, their shelter and their first love. Or it always had been, until Davey had fallen head over heels for the fabulously normal and very Californian Robin Delaney. These days Davey and Robin were inseparable and insufferably happy, aside from the fact that Robin missed his sunshine-drenched home on the West Coast and made no secret of the fact that he hoped they’d retire out there soon. Fond as she was of Robin, Genie couldn’t contemplate the idea of losing her uncle to the other side of the world.

  Having checked every possible place he might be without success, she resigned herself to talking to him first thing in the morning and made her way back upstairs.

  Upstairs in the loft a few minutes later, Genie locked her door and flung herself down onto the overstuffed sofa, glad of both the solitude and the comfort. She was tired, but still way too wired after the performance to sleep. Reaching for her bag, she slipped Deanna’s SD card into her laptop and slumped back against the welcoming cushions to review the footage of the lamp’s first appearance. The auditorium swam into focus on the screen, obviously still early in the evening as the lights hadn’t yet gone down and people were milling around in front of the lens to find their seats. Genie's impatient fingers hovered ready to fast-forward, then stilled as the camera panned up to the box, to the man sitting alone with his champagne glass balanced on the edge of the box.

  Stud-muffin. Wasn’t that what Deanna had said? She’d got that much right at least.

  Genie wasn’t surprised to see the camera linger on him for longer than was necessary. The guy was making love to the camera lens without even knowing it was there.

  Brooding? Oh yes.

  Gorgeous? Big green tick.

  Stud-muffin? The phrase could have been invented especially for him.

  But beautiful as he undoubtedly was, it was his expression that had Genie leaning forward in her seat to study him more closely.

  Bleak. Bitter. And very, very complicated.

  The guarded expression in his dark eyes hinted at a million things that made her heart lurch unexpectedly, made her want to physically reach out and soothe that scowl from his brow with her fingertips as he pushed his hands through his hair and sighed heavily.

  A sharp pang of disappointment prodded Genie in the ribs as the camera tracked away from him to settle on the stage as the curtains went back.

  Deanna had also been right on the money about the lamp, though. It looked fabulous centre stage, but Genie was too distracted to give it all the attention it deserved. Keen as she was to review the performance, what she really wanted was for the camera to go back and pick out the enigmatic stranger in the audience.

  She didn’t have to wait for long. Deanna obviously hadn’t been able to resist the urge to pan around the audience part way through the show and rest once again on the VIP box. Genie couldn’t really blame her. She may have been flouncing around in nipple tassels on the stage, but Mr Stud-muffin was by far the most fascinating subject in the room.

  Except when the camera found him second time around, his expression had shifted from complicated to easy as ABC to read.

  He certainly wasn’t bored any more.

  Or bleak.

  A soft gasp escaped Genie’s lips as she watched him, watching her.

  Raw hunger had replaced the bitterness in his eyes.

  Hot, naked desire was written all over his face.

  He reached out for his champagne without taking his eyes from the stage, then knocked it back in one fluid movement and wiped the back of his hand across the full, sensuous curve of his mouth. Jesus. Her blood quickened in her veins and her breath caught in her chest as Deanna tracked in closer on his face. Genie drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down slowly as he caught his knuckle between his teeth and held it there as he studied her. He was turned on, and – belatedly and quite unknowingly - he was turning her on too.

  ‘No!’ The moan of frustration slipped from her lips as the camera moved back to the on-stage action.

  Go back!

  Genie could barely watch as she willed Deanna to skim the lens back to the box. As the performance ended and the curtains swept shut, Deanna finally did so. And there was the box again, this time quite empty. He was gone. Fuck.

  Genie shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Disappointment warred with confusion and frustration in her gut. What just happened there? How the hell had she ended up feeling like the voyeur when he was the one watching her take her clothes off?

  Chapter Three

  Just after ten the following morning, and Genie wasn’t taking no for an answer. She barrelled into her uncle’s office without pausing to knock, ready to demand answers to the difficult questions that had filled her sleepless night. She hated feeling so on edge, braced for bad news that seemed to be lurking just around the corner. Whatever was going on, it was better to know what she was up against. What her uncle was up against. What they were up against.

  Davey looked up, startled as she flew into the room.

  ‘Uncle Davey, listen…’ Genie burst out, and then stopped again just as abruptly.

  Her uncle wasn’t alone. There was a second man in the room, someone with his back turned towards the door as he lounged in the chair at the desk.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company…’ her words tailed off, but she didn’t miss the dull flush that crept up her uncle’s neck as he looked at her, nor could he hide the strained look in his eyes. What was that? Guilt? Pity? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘Now’s not a good time, G,’ he murmured, and his eyes darted from her face to the man opposite him, and then just as quickly back to her face again, as if there was a chance that she might not notice the guy if he didn’t draw her attention to him.

  Not a chance in hell. Even with his back towards her, this wasn’t the kind of man she, or anyone else, could miss. Broad shouldered and dark haired, he filled his chair and then some, and there was a heady scent in the room that wasn’t usually there. Genie stalled on the spot, uncharacteristically knocked off her stride by the stranger’s presence. As she deliberated whether to stay or go, he twisted around in his chair to see who had interrupted his meeting.

  It was him. Mr VIP Stud-muffin. And shit, if he wasn’t even better in the daylight than in the night shadows of Deanna’s video. He had an undeniable presence, the kind of commanding aura that drew eyes and made people listen, the kind of instant charisma that performers would love to bottle and couldn’t fake no matter how hard they worked at it.

  His eyes settled on Genie, and she watched the frown flicker over his features. She knew why. He was trying to place her. It happened often, people would see her off stage and not instantly recognise her with her clothes on. Not that they could be blamed: Genie’s everyday uniform of battered jeans and tee was a world away from the sequinned nipple tassels and thong. Make-up free, she’d scraped her trademark red hair back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was more student than seductress, and at that moment she was glad of her disguise because Mr VIP was staring at her like a wolf assessing his prey, and despite her hair colour, Genie had no desire to play Little Red Riding Hood.

  Her uncle cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. ‘Please, G. Later?’

  Genie swallowed hard, instinctively stepping backwards to escape the hunter. Who the hell was he?

  Whoever he was, his easy, self-assured laugh filled her ears as she pulled the door closed, and his accompanying words irritated the hell
out of her.

  ‘This is one hell of a place you’ve got here, Mr Divine. Even the cleaner’s sexy.’

  Down on the stage, Genie circled the lamp assessingly, inspecting it for signs of wear and tear after its first live deployment. She didn’t really anticipate any issues, because Deanna was as good as they came at her job, but she knew all too well how vital it was that her central prop was in perfect condition for every single performance. Professionalism demanded that she run her hands over the swooping curves and arches of the prop. As her deft fingers examined, her enquiring mind whirred.

  What was his accent? She’d heard enough to deduce that stud-muffin wasn’t English, but not quite enough to place him accurately. American? Australian? And why the hell was he here for a second day on the run? He’d been closeted up with her uncle for more than an hour now; she knew because she’d have heard him leave in the quiet, closed theatre.

  Cleaner. Pfft. A typical, arrogant man making typical, arrogant assumptions. The fact was that Genie very often swept the stage after performances because the glitter got places glitter had no place to be. It was an occupational hazard, but it drove their chief cleaning lady crazy. Wilma had been with them for as long as Genie could remember, as necessary a part of the theatre as Davey or Genie herself. Anyway, what she did wasn’t the point. What he did was the burning question, and on cue, the staff door to the side of the stalls opened and her uncle and the stud-muffin appeared.

  Spontaneously, Genie found herself sliding into the shadows behind the lamp. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but then she wasn’t a girl who was big on following the rules for the sake of it. Peering meerkat-like over the handle of the lamp, she watched as her uncle extended his hand and smiled.

  ‘It was good to meet you at last, Mr Kingdom.’ Davey pumped his guest’s hand up and down with a little too much enthusiasm for Genie’s liking. And, err, hello? Mr Kingdom? No way was that his actual name. She couldn’t see stud-muffin’s face because once again he had his back turned to her, but she could hear his voice as clearly as any actor’s on the stage, as it echoed around in the theatre’s helpful acoustics.

  ‘You too, Mr Divine, you too. I’ll be in touch.’ Australian. Not a strong accent, but an unmistakable hint.

  ‘Soon, I hope?’ There was an edge of desperation to her uncle’s tone that rang Genie’s alarm bells.

  ‘For sure.’

  It struck her suddenly that once stud-muffin left the building, she was reliant on her uncle to put her in the picture about what exactly was going on here. Would his inherent instinct to protect her stop him from being completely candid? She couldn’t risk it. Genie had long ago learned to trust her gut, and right now it was telling her to get her ass out from behind the lamp and find a way to get her uncle’s guest alone. Painting on her game face, she sauntered out of the shadows and feigned surprise at finding company in the room as she skipped down the side steps towards them.

  ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she smiled, wiping her palms on her backside.

  Both men looked her way, one in clear discomfort and the other with predatory interest.

  Her uncle’s smile didn’t quite make it as far as his eyes. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec love, let me just see Mr Kingdom out.’

  Uh-uh. That wasn’t going to work. ‘Let me. I’m heading that way anyway.’ She smiled brightly to mask the lie. ‘I’ll come up and find you in five.’

  Short of insisting, she’d left her uncle nowhere to go but back through the door he’d just appeared from, and although his frown told her he was ill at ease, he left and clicked it closed behind him. Genie inclined her head for their guest to follow her out through the auditorium, just in case her uncle had paused on the other side of the door to listen. As she reached the reception kiosk, she finally turned to look stud-muffin in the eyes. Mistake number one. He had killer eyes. Dark, so dark it was hard to make out any colour around the pupil. Intense, and at that moment trained on her so hard they grazed her soul. She wanted to look away and found she couldn’t.

  What big eyes you have.

  All the better to see you with.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The simple words were the only ones she could scramble together. If the man said he was Jesus himself, she’d probably believe him. Or the devil incarnate.

  He shifted his weight onto his other foot and folded his arms across the broad expanse of his chest as he regarded her in silence. Her uncle had addressed him formally, and yet he wasn’t dressed in business attire. His clothes clung to him like a possessive lover: well worn jeans and a navy tee that obviously knew his body intimately.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, honey,’ he said, choosing not to answer her question. There was that hint of arrogance again in the amused set of his jaw as he ran his hand over the dark beginnings of stubble there. Genie’s eyes followed the movement. He had good hands. Strong, golden tanned, with short, squared off nails.

  What big hands you have.

  All the better to touch you with.

  ‘What’s your business with David?’

  Genie knew that her line of questioning was far too direct, but he had her on the back foot with all this eye-fucking.

  He raised one nonchalant shoulder and the curve of a smile played over his lips. His lips. Fuck. He had the kind of mouth you want to watch slide over your nipple.

  What a big mouth you have.

  All the better to eat you with.

  Genie wanted to be eaten.

  This wasn’t going to plan.

  ‘Are you his security guard as well as his cleaner?’

  Stud-muffin’s sarcasm snapped her out of her fairytale fantasy sharpish. It was becoming clear that he was almost as unlikely to tell her the truth as her uncle was.

  ‘I’m not his cleaner,’ she said, wishing her hands hadn’t planted themselves on her hips, Mae West-style. ‘I’m his niece, and the assistant manager of this theatre.’

  She wasn’t, officially, but she was as good as.

  ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Then you really ought to know who I am already.’

  Genie’s fingernails dug into her palms in agitation. It occurred to her that he ought to know who she was too, given the way he’d looked at her last night. It seemed that they were both in the dark. Drawing in a measured breath, she relaxed her shoulders and changed tack. Maybe she’d get more out of him with honey than vinegar.

  Flexing her fingers out, she folded her arms lightly beneath her breasts and tipped her head a little to the side. His eyebrows raised a fraction in response, and to his credit he didn’t lower his eyes from her face for even the slightest moment.

  ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me,’ she said, throwing in a rueful smile for good measure. ‘Late nights and early mornings don’t agree with me.’

  His shoulders relaxed a little, mirroring hers, and his dark eyes acknowledged her change of tone with interest. ‘You better get back to bed then, baby,’ he murmured. ‘Want me to come and sing you a lullaby?’

  He shrugged when her eyebrows inched up her head. ‘Sorry, was that rude of me?’ His expression told her he knew damn well it was and he couldn’t care less.

  ‘And presumptuous too, given that I don’t even know your name,’ she shot back, keeping her tone light, even though his overt flirting had rattled her composure.

  He held his hand out across the space between them. ‘Abel Kingdom.’

  Genie licked her lips and reached out her hand towards his.

  ‘If I shake your hand, it doesn’t mean you get to sing me to sleep,’ she said, and then inhaled sharply when his fingers closed around hers. Heat. Strength. Erotic.

  ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’ he said, holding on to both her hand and her gaze for longer than necessary. Did his thumb just stroke over her palm? She couldn’t be certain.

  ‘Funny guy, huh?’ Genie extracted her hand slowly. ‘Abel Kingdom.’ She said his name out loud and let it hang in the air between them. ‘Is that your re
al name?’

  ‘Am I to add private detective to your long and wildly varied job description?’

  Genie glanced away for a second, unable to gather her thoughts whilst looking at him. ‘Just looking out for my own.’

  His eyes had turned serious when she looked up again, and he pulled a card from his back pocket. ‘It’s my real name.’ He put the card in her hand. ‘Tell me yours.’

  She sighed, unsure if she wanted him to connect the dots. The card in her fingers was still warm from being tucked against his ass. Tracing a finger over his name, her eyes skimmed the words. Abel Kingdom. Director. Kingdom Fitness and Wellbeing.

  ‘Fitness?’ Genie said, intending it to be a question, and before she could check herself her eyes moved instinctively over his biceps. His clothes did nothing to disguise the fact that he was hot as hell and had a body that would no doubt look even better naked.

  When she met his eyes again he nodded.

  ‘As in gyms?’

  He nodded for a second time, shrugged one shoulder. ‘That kind of thing, yeah.’

  Genie’s mind ran in circles. What did her uncle want with a gym owner? He certainly wasn’t in the market for a personal trainer. She needed to know more.

  ‘Want me to tell you about it over dinner, green eyes?’

  He couldn’t have asked a more timely question, yet still she stalled. He spoke again when she didn’t.

  ‘Do you have a pen?’

  She leaned over reception and reached one from the desk, holding it out to him when she turned back around. Instead of taking the pen he offered her his forearm. ‘Write your number down. I’ll text you about dinner.’

  Genie looked at him quizzically. ‘You want me to write my number on your arm?’

  He nodded innocently.

  ‘You don’t have a mobile I can just key it into?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not one with any life in, anyway.’

  ‘I could write it on a scrap of paper?’