Nina’s expression made her cringe. They needed another problem like she needed another genie push-up bra. And Nina could mess with your head in more than just the way of intimidation?
Oh, Jesus and all twelve.
Sloan finished putting antibiotic cream on her stinging eye, one she could barely see out of, with a critical assessment and the purse of his lips. He was so gentle, his hands warming her chilled skin with the tenderness of them. You’d never know he liked women named Lollipop and Candy Bar who had fake boobs and made the bulk of their income in single-dollar bills.
Not that that was a bad thing, she reminded herself—but everyone made it sound so sleazy that she had to chastise herself for even considering throwing stones. Especially coming from where she came from. “The bigger problem being me.”
“You’re granting random wishes, Jeannie. Do you know how many people in a day must use the phrase, I wish? In jest alone there must be millions,” Sloan said, brushing her bangs from her forehead and smiling at her. The crinkle on either side of his eyes was kind, making Jeannie lean back and away from her perch on the toilet seat.
When Sloan was this close, it made her dizzy and left her stomach feeling like a bottomless pit of butterflies. The sensation was unfamiliar and that meant, in her narrow world anyway, it shouldn’t be explored.
Nina washed her hands in the sink and wiped them on a towel. “Not to mention, that was the fourth fucking wish you granted. What if we’ve used all that shit up? Where does that leave Marty?”
Sloan’s sweater stretched across his pecs when he spread his arms wide. “Well, maybe, it isn’t how you phrase the wish, then. The guy straight up wished everyone to hell, right?”
“Yeah, and you’d know that if you weren’t passed out like some sissy-la-la in the backseat of Marty’s fancy Sherman tank.” Nina flashed her fangs at a smugly amused Sloan.
Jeannie put a hand on Nina’s arm and squeezed. “Now, now, MWA. No arguing in front of the patient. She’s fragile.” Turning to Sloan, Jeannie nodded in answer to his question. “He did use very specific words, and poof, they were gone.” She snapped her fingers while guilt ate her from the inside out. If only she’d had that kind of power twelve years ago, Victor would be where all pigs like him belonged.
Jeannie took a deep breath and let the notion sink deep into her bones. She’d literally sent people to hell.
Hell.
What if there’d been no Darnell and Casey? How many lives would she have ruined? How many families would she have torn apart? What if Nina hadn’t been around to make everything better? Jeannie held in a shudder of horror.
“So she grants them telepathically, and frickin’ randomly. So much awesome. Dude, she’s a live cannon. Fuck only knows what she’s capable of. I just know we need to fucking find Marty. I get hinky if she isn’t up my ass about how I wear the wrong color hoodie for my whiter shade of pale complexion.”
The three fell silent at yet another dead end. The only clue they’d had was that book. If the book they’d discovered online held answers, it was of no use to them if they couldn’t locate it. Nina had even gone back to the library to try to read the mind of the librarian who’d checked the book out—but according to her, the librarian’s mind was a complete blank.
Which meant something was rotten in Denmark. Was there someone else out there with the ability to erase your thoughts? Jeannie fought another shudder.
“There has to be a way to stop it,” Jeannie insisted, wincing when she touched the area just above her eye. “If someone else disappears or is possibly hurt because of me, I just won’t be able to live with that.”
Nina bent at the waist and scooped up a wriggling, attention-needy Benito, letting him lick her face. She chucked him under the chin with an affectionate finger. “Tell Mommy she won’t live much longer anyway, once Marty’s man gets ahold of her ass.” She chuckled, sticking Benito under her arm, leaving Jeannie and Sloan alone.
The already mediocre-sized bathroom became much smaller then, making her suck in a nervous breath of air. She rose from the toilet seat and skirted around Sloan, only to catch a glance of her reflection in the mirror. The bruise surrounding her swollen eye was mottled purple and red with shades of yellow to complement the enormous size of it.
Wow. Victor had really slugged her. And she’d missed her opportunity to slug him back. That was neither here nor there now. He’d found her. What was she going to do if he found her again? He knew about her karate lessons. Surely he knew where she lived, too.
How long had he known? How long had he waited to slither from his snake’s nest to come after her and taunt her? Worse, what would she do if she’d put everyone else in danger because Victor had located her?
She had to contact Fullbright.
Sloan came up behind her, letting his hands cup her shoulders for a brief moment before removing them just as quickly, probably due to the memory of yesterday’s freak-out.
Both regret and relief stung her gut in a simultaneous reaction.
His stunning face was full of concern as his blue eyes searched hers. “Christ, Jeannie. I’m sorry you got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve heard the girls talk about all kinds of crazy when they help an accident victim, but I guess I just didn’t pay close enough attention. I’ll be a better wingman next time. Promise.” He winked at her, his lush lashes falling to his sharp cheekbones in a fell swoop.
“Maybe we should just never leave the house again? Seeing as I’m granting wishes like a crooked politician grants clemency—who knows what could happen out there?”
Sloan gave her a look that admonished her statement. “It’s not your fault, Jeannie.”
Jeannie’s shoulders sagged and hot tears threatened. “We can only use that excuse for so long, Sloan. I get the impression not everyone’s going to feel like it’s not my fault forever. And I suppose the genie defense will get old fast.”
Sloan’s eyes met hers in the mirror, intense and blue. “You can’t do anything about something you can’t control.”
Jeannie shook her head, noting the side of her hair was matted with blood. “You know, I swear I know that. But if I didn’t feel enormous guilt for not only creating such havoc, but for not having any idea how to get control of it, what kind of person would I be?”
“We’ll just have to keep you close so you can’t telepathically or otherwise grant wishes.”
Jeannie fought a shiver, running her hands along the arms of her old, navy blue sweater. Close. Being so close to Sloan made her heart race. They couldn’t stay this way much longer. She wasn’t emotionally ready to be in such close proximity to a man who was so unbelievably good-looking.
After twelve years, Jeannie? You’re not ready after twelve years? Then just give up right now, Jeannie Carlyle. Give in to the notion that it’s just going to be you and the twins forever. Better yet, why not just lie down and die? It’s easier than doing the work, taking a chance. Her therapist’s voice rang inside her head.
She gave him a shaky laugh, putting the heel of her hand to her head. “I don’t know if close matters. I can do it telepathically, too, Sloan. Who knows the scope of my wish granting?”
“We’ll figure this out, Jeannie. I promise.” Sloan kept saying that, but she wondered if he wasn’t saying it more to reassure himself than anyone else.
“Will I always be like this?”
Sloan gave a resigned sigh, his expression filled with hesitant concern. “Honestly?”
Jeannie closed her eyes and gulped, clutching the edge of her newly installed sink. “The straight skinny.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing you’ll always be a genie. From what the girls have told me, no one’s gone back to their old way of life. There’s no reversing it.”
“So I’m your indentured slave for life?” she squeaked.
His lips thinned in distaste. “I really wish you’d quit looking at it like that. You’re not my slave. I didn’t ask for this, either, Jeannie. It was all an accident.”
She gave him a look of apology, before letting her eyes flit to the floor. “You’re right. You saved me, and because of it, you got stuck with me. But I promise you, whatever it takes, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can be.”
“Jeannie—lay off the whiny.”
She took a shaky breath. “Too much conviction?”
“Too much poor me. I wasn’t doing anything special. I was manning the phones for the girls. It was an accident. Period.”
“But you have a life and a broad to bag somewhere. Surely you have a job? I’m keeping you from those things.” Now that she’d let slip her interest in what Sloan Flaherty did with his time, she took solace in the fact that it wouldn’t appear as though she were prying at all.
She was simply making sure his harem wouldn’t suffer. How could she live with herself if he missed a good pole greasing by a woman named Almond Joy or Sweet Tart? At least she hoped that was how she came off—nothing more than mild curiosity with a dash of concern for his best interests due to the fact that they’d been thrown together, and it was polite to be concerned for your fellow victim of the paranormal.
“I have a job that can wait,” Sloan said, interrupting her internal concern. “As to my life, while much less complicated sans you, it was a little staid and a lot boring as of late.”
A snort slipped from her lips before she was able to stop it. “Oh, c’mon, Sloan. I just can’t see you as boring.”
His nod was curt. “Then maybe you don’t see me. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’m here for the long haul, and we’ll figure this out—together.”
“Can you do that without a flat screen?” A teasing smile lifted the corner of her chapped lips.
His eyebrow rose in haughty disdain. “I’m not really sure. I can only give my solemn vow I’ll try to make do with what you’ve got, as archaic and thrift store as that may be.”
Jeannie giggled, tucking her arms under her breasts. “I usually don’t have a lot of time to watch TV anymore, with the catering business and all. It sort of boomed this last year.”
Sloan fingered one of her hand towels, running his thumb over its shell pink surface. “What made you choose catering?”
She poked at her belly and grinned. She loved to cook. Her mother was responsible for that. It was the one bond they’d had—the one thing they’d agreed on in the millions of things they hadn’t. Their love of a kitchen and a shiny utensil. “My love of a good canapé. Food fills the soul, comforts it, sometimes even heals it. It’s the one thing guaranteed to bring people together because everyone needs it to live. We associate it with all sorts of things. Good memories, sometimes bad, but it’s something everyone can relate to.”
Cooking was how she’d kept the memory of her old life alive. No matter how many things she’d had to change about herself in the name of survival, it was the one thing no one could take from her. There was nothing about gooey macaroni and cheese with a bacon and crumbled potato chip topping that screamed Jeannie Carlyle the way her old hair color or the fact that she was really green-eyed did.
Sloan leaned over her shoulder and captured her gaze in the mirror. “Food, huh? What’s your favorite memory associated with food?”
Her smile held a shadow of regret—one that was a mixture of bitter remorse and the scent of lilacs, her mother’s favorite perfume. “Chicken Kiev and mashed potatoes. It was the last thing my mother and I ever cooked together.”
“She’s gone?”
Jeannie fought the familiar rush of tears whenever she thought about her mother. Her gulp was hard, forcing the muscles in her neck to expand. “She is.”
Sloan’s sleek dark head dipped low in understanding. “Mine, too.”
Jeannie turned away from the mirror. If she had to look at her lying face for one more second, she’d vomit right on Sloan’s dirt-streaked black cowboy boots. She leaned back against her sink and looked up at him to avoid the subject of losing a parent. That had hurt far more than losing her old life. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Werewolf? Do werewolves have jobs?”
“We do. We have jobs and families and friends and all the same things humans do, believe it or not. And I work for Pack Cosmetics.”
Pack Cosmetics? “Like the plant where they manufacture it?”
Sloan clucked his tongue at her. “It’s because I’m pretty, right?”
Her look was confused. “What?”
“You think I work at the plant rather than, say, a desk job involving a suit and tie because I’m pretty, which completely means I can’t be smart.”
Guilt washed over her in a wave of judgmental remorse. “I suck. I guess, if I’m honest, that is what I thought.”
“You do—suck, that is,” he teased with an easy smile. “Actually, I have a degree in marketing. I work in corporate, where they pay me a lot of money to market their product.”
“Ah. So you’re the spin doctor, huh? No wonder you’re so good with the ladies.”
“I was good with the ladies long before I was good with the makeup and perfume.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“All of my adult life, but it’s only just recently that I took my career more seriously and became president of marketing. When Keegan decided to relocate headquarters from Buffalo to Manhattan, I decided I wanted a change—so I relocated.”
Jeannie planted a hand on her hip and gave him a mock saucy look. “Are you going to stand there and try and convince me that you left Buffalo for Manhattan because of work? Or had you just tapped all that Buffalo had to offer in terms of women, and you needed a new hunting ground?”
“Okay, so there was that, too.” He grinned unapologetically.
Which made her grin. “So what made you choose a cosmetics company?”
“I didn’t. It chose me. My pack owns it.”
Jeannie clapped a hand to her forehead. “Duh. Pack Cosmetics. What a clever way to hide out in the open. So do you hire only werewolves? Or are there trolls and ogres in your employ, too?”
Sloan’s laughter filled her bathroom, the acoustics of it warm and deep. “No trolls that I know of. But I think we have an ogre in accounting.”
Jeannie frowned.
“Joking. Most of us are werewolves, but we employ humans, too.”
“Wait. Does the whole world but me know you guys exist?”
His smile was crooked and adorable and it made her heart skip beats. “Nope. Our human employees don’t know about us. We’ve been blending with humans for centuries.”
“That’s a huge secret to keep.” Secrets wore you down. Kept you up at night. Made you hate yourself.
“I disagree. I think the alternative is far worse. It would involve a witch hunt chock-full of silver bullets and a lot of entrails.”
“A silver bullet really ki—” She bit back the word kill. “Silver really works?”
He held up his hands and gave her a sheepish glance. “Really-really.”
“Are you guys immortal like Nina and Wanda?”
“We are. And we self-heal, which is why that crack on my head by that sonofabitch is now gone.” He leaned down and let her glimpse his forehead where just an hour ago blood had spilled from his perfect flesh.
Awe made her reach out to brush his hair aside and touch it. Her fingers hovered, afraid.
Sloan took her wrist between his fingertips, wrapping them around it with a gentle touch. “It’s okay, Jeannie,” he whispered low, placing her fingers to his skin.
Jeannie held her breath, and for the first time in twelve years, didn’t even consider snatching her hand back. There was no threat to Sloan’s grip. Ther
e was no demand she do as he bid.
She relaxed then, letting her fingers connect with his warm flesh. When his thick, black hair brushed her fingertips, Jeannie fought a loud intake of breath. The soft ends bristled and shifted, making her stomach twist in excitement.
But then her throat closed up. The smell of him. The kid gloves he used with her without even realizing how important, how crucial it was to do so, overwhelmed her—touched her. Jeannie let her hand drop to her side and gulped. “The eternal-life thing—that has to be hard, huh?”
His eyes went dark and his expression sobered. “I haven’t been around as long as some, but long enough to lose people who were important to me because of age. People who watched me stay the same while they changed as most humans do.”
How dreadful and wonderful at the same time. Jeannie shook her head in yet more awe. “So you don’t age?”
“We do. Just not quite the way humans do. It takes us much longer.”
“How old are you?”
Sloan cracked another grin. “Old enough to know you aren’t ready for this conversation yet.”
Jeannie made a face at him. “Oh, and I was ready for ‘you’re a genie, suck it up—and while you’re at it, have some ugly harem pants and chain mail thinly disguised as a push-up bra’?”
He laughed low and delicious, sending a wave of rippled delight along her spine. “Small doses. That’s what the girls of OOPS recommend, and I’m not going to piss them off, because I’ll have to go on living with them even when you don’t.”
Since Sloan had mentioned eternal life, it dredged up another question she was afraid to hear the answer to. She asked anyway—because she was a masochist like that. “Am I immortal, too?”
“Most genies are, according to the myths I read online, but again, another mystery to solve.”
The Accidental Genie Page 13