Thankfully, the dressing rooms were quiet. She knew about them because she’d been here before on a lunchtime shopping trip with Betzi, filled with humiliating demonstrations involving dildos that bent like a Gumby doll. One even sang to you . . . Trudging to a dressing room door, Jeannie let the saleswoman unlock it for her, ignoring her reflection in the door’s mirror. Old jeans with holes at the knees and an ugly, lumpy black down jacket looked painfully out of place in a store with all these beautiful things.
She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bench provided, dropping the pile of multicolored fluff on the floor to dig around in her jacket pocket while she sent up a mental order for Nekaar, wherever he was in his realm, to keep his genie mouth shut about the phone call she was going to place. She had a disposable cell and Fullbright’s number memorized, but it was the first time in five years she’d had to make a call to him. Maybe he’d quit.
That would be okay by her. He was cranky and curt. She imagined it was in the effort to not become too attached to any one assignee. Sometimes they ended up dead. After a while, that could wear on you.
But Fullbright didn’t have even an ounce of happy in him. He was all business, all the time.
“Fullbright,” he barked in her ear.
“It’s . . . Jeannie,” she whispered, cupping the phone.
“What’s wrong?”
She gulped, catching a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. Nekaar had worked his magic on her face and her swollen eye in order for her to see properly, but her hair needed brushing, and she noted her clothing choice again. Instead of wearing something that flattered her figure, everything she wore swallowed her curves up. As she’d watched Wanda and Marty, so pretty and put-together, she was reminded of a time when she’d cared about her appearance.
But for twelve years it had been about flying under the radar and keeping her low profile. Doing that meant not standing out.
“Jeannie?” Fullbright snapped with impatience.
She refocused. “He found me.”
“Victor’s resurfaced?”
She heard the surprise in his voice. “In a big way. He clobbered me.” She didn’t need to mince words with him. He liked everyone much better if they kept to minimal chatter.
“When?”
Panic warred with reason. She’d kept telling herself that due to the fact that Sloan had to be with her all the time, Victor couldn’t possibly hurt her again. Sloan was a werewolf—a big, badass one who had the gift of eternal life, at that. But Victor was nothing if not resourceful. He’d caught Sloan off guard once. Why couldn’t he do it again? She wouldn’t jeopardize the man who’d selflessly saved her from bottle doomage. “Yesterday afternoon. He’s going to kill me.”
“We’ll move you. I’ll have a team there in twenty minutes. Where are you?”
“No!” she yelled, then coughed to hide the rise of her voice. “Please don’t. Please. I have a life now. A business . . .” Oh, and I’m a genie now, too, BTW . . . I can make magics and stuffs. Bad magics, but magics nonetheless.
His sigh was grating. Fullbright didn’t cotton to babies. “You won’t have anything if he gets his hands on you again. How the hell did you get away from that maniac?”
She dragged a hand through her hair. “He’d been drinking—he was unsteady. I take karate.” Lies and more lies. But she was between a rock and a hard place. If she didn’t tell Fullbright Victor had found her, more innocent people could end up dead. Victor had a long hit list. She might be at the top of it, but there were others . . . Others she couldn’t bear to feel responsible for if something happened to them.
Yet, telling Fullbright was exposing the very people who had, from the start, set out to protect her, minimal questions asked. What would happen to them if Fullbright found out who and what they were? Or for that matter, what she was now, too. Fullbright would investigate—interrogate every one of them in an effort to find Victor. She wouldn’t allow it, and she wouldn’t compromise their paranormal lifestyle.
Jesus, this was all such a mess. She was taught at all costs to never expose herself, but by doing that, she was risking giving Sloan and the others up.
“I’ve got you on my radar. Meet me outside in five.”
“No! Wait. I need you to listen to me. I have . . . a . . . boyfriend now!” Yeah. That’s what she had. Referring to Sloan in that manner made her cheeks blush and her knees weak. “He’s shopping with me, and I haven’t told him anything because, you know, that breaks every rule you ever taught me. So we have to be discreet.” And not stray too far from my ball and chain, but still keep him out of hearing distance.
She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. Jesus. Being a genie on the lam was stressful.
His laugh was gruff and cutting. She could just imagine him letting his squarely cropped head fall back on his shoulders with a derisive laugh. “A boyfriend, huh? ’Bout time.”
Right. Because snaring a man was what this life was all about. “Look, I have an idea. You knock on the store window and I’ll come outside. I’ll tell him you’re a client.”
“Can’t take a chance the boyfriend’ll see me.” He said the word boyfriend like it was dirty.
Her lips thinned. “Then wear a hat or something. Just do it. You don’t want me to blow my cover, do you?”
“Five minutes,” he warned and ended their conversation.
“Jeannie?” Sloan called. “How’s it goin’ in there?” His question sounded skeptical to her ears.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Reaching down, she clanged the hangers together. “Pretty good. I think I found a couple of things I like.” Gathering some of the items, she jammed the cell into her jacket in order to yank the memory card and flush it down the toilet later, then let herself out of the dressing room.
She looked past Sloan and over his shoulder to see Fullbright was already there. Shit. Think, Jeannie. You know how to rock the improv.
Holding up a couple of the nighties, she unceremoniously dropped them in Sloan’s lap and then pointed to the store’s window. “Oh, look! It’s one of my clients! Be a peach, and hang on to those, would you? A couple of those flimsy things are one-of-a-kind items, and I don’t want them snatched out from under my nose by some blonde with better hair. Guard them with your life, fine warrior, while I go say hello, okay? But wait here. It’s a little awkward being in the”—she lowered her voice—“store of dirty with a man. You know? He’s a repeat client—gotta schmooze.”
No sooner was Sloan turning around to see what she was talking about than she was opening the door and running right into Fullbright.
He thumbed over his wide, grimly clad shoulder. “That him?”
“Yes. My boy . . . friend. Boyfriend.” The word was so stilted and awkward she had to hope Fullbright didn’t notice with his trained ear.
“Shake my hand,” she ordered, peering over her shoulder at a very curious Sloan. She smiled up at Fullbright and muttered, fighting to keep it together, “Victor knows everything about me. He knows I’ve been taking karate. He said he knows where I live.”
Fullbright took her hand in his cold, dry one and squeezed it limply for show. “We’ve gotta move you, Jeannie. You know the rules. To stay in the program, you gotta act fast. Besides, if we don’t, Victor will kill—”
His words were drowned out by the sound of shattering glass, screaming women, and Sloan—with a pair of emerald green panties still clinging to the collar of his leather jacket—all up in Fullbright’s space as they sprawled to the ground in a pile of struggling limbs.
Beautiful.
* * *
“I said I was sorry, okay? I heard the word kill and reacted like all good bonded-to-a-woman men do. I was trying not to eavesdrop, but werewolf ears and all. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t the guy who mugged you the other day?” Sloan had hauled
a limp, dangling Fullbright over his shoulder and taken him to the end of the street, where they now hid in the shadows.
“Because I said he was a client. That’s how.” Jeannie rolled her eyes and brushed shattered glass from an unconscious Fullbright’s face. He was covered in scratches. This had turned into a disaster. He’d make her relocate now, and if she wouldn’t, he’d threaten her with those stupid papers she’d signed.
Sloan knelt down beside her. “He’s no client, Jeannie,” he said low and deep. She didn’t love his tone. It screamed liar. While that was true—it wasn’t something she enjoyed or did out of malice.
She did it to survive.
Sloan’s face hovered close to hers, the dark evening playing shadows over his face. A face that was now hard with condemnation. “I heard him say Victor. Victor was our mugger, wasn’t he, Jeannie?”
The insinuation in Sloan’s voice cut her to the quick. No matter how deserved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Surely Nina had told the others of her suspicions. The clock was ticking on her ruse.
“Yeah, you do, midget.” Nina’s voice rasped from the sidewalk, making Jeannie jump. She took two long steps toward them—long, angry steps. “That ain’t the dude I saw with you yesterday,” she confirmed, her lips thin in irritation. “So who the fuck is he?”
“He’s a client,” she insisted, though it was weak and pathetic. All this subterfuge had become too much Mission Impossible for her.
Nina slapped her hand against the side of the brick building, the sound resonating in Jeannie’s ears. “Oh, the fuck you say. Listen, you two go hash this shit out, and I’ll wait for princess here to wake up so nobody loots him. Then I’ll erase his memory. But I’m tellin’ you now, kiddo—we can only put out so many fires before you fucking set one too big for us to catch. Some shit’s goin’ on, and it has nothing to do with being a genie. I can smell it, and I wanna know what it is. If you don’t give it up by the time I get back to your place, I’m gonna squeeze it outta your short ass, yo. Now bounce,” she ordered, pointing to the street.
Nina upset with her was, for some unexplained reason, like a dagger in her genie heart. She reached out a hand to touch Nina’s arm. “Nina. Please don’t be angry—”
“I said go the fuck home!” She shook Jeannie off with a grunt.
Oh, this was so Old Yeller.
She let her head hang low as though Nina had slapped her. From hooded eyes, Jeannie glanced at Sloan, who was still just as cute seriously pissed off as he was when he was just a smiling womanizer.
He clapped Nina on the back. “Appreciate it. See you back at Jeannie’s.” He began to walk toward the street, Jeannie stumbling behind him.
“Could you walk slower?” she gasped, her feet tangling.
“Could you lie less?”
“I’m not—” She cut herself off. She was tired of defending herself. What truly sucked about this whole thing was even though she lied to protect, she was always going to play the part of the bad guy unless she let the cat out of the bag.
She clamped her mouth shut and began a light jog in order to keep up with Sloan. When they rounded the corner to her house, he stopped short, making her ram into his back.
She huffed, trying to fill her lungs with air. Bending at the waist, Jeannie took deep breaths. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the weaker sex or risk breaking our bond. I need to catch my breath.”
Sloan bent at the waist, too, and cupped her chin, his breathing even but for the flare of his nostrils. “Wanna tell me what’s going on before that pack of women gets ahold of you? You stand a better chance if I have your back than you do on your own.”
Closing her eyes, Jeannie battled tears. “Nothing’s going on. I’m tired and I’m a genie who’s taken wish granting to a new low. That’s all it is. So, leave me the eff alone already.”
Instead of reacting with the kind of anger she deserved, Sloan pulled her up by her hand, pushing the stray strands of hair from her face with tender fingers that made her shiver. His eyes held concern. Concern she just couldn’t bear. Concern she definitely didn’t deserve. It was all she could do not to lean into him and soak up the comfort he offered. “We have to learn to trust each other, Jeannie. Who knows how long this could go on.”
Her eyes avoided his. “I trust you.”
“Ah. But I don’t trust you,” he replied, pushing her against the back of the railing leading to her brownstone’s steps.
“I understand. Trust takes time.”
“Apparently not for you.”
“I don’t have a lot of choice. I have to choose to trust someone in all this. Tag, you’re it by default.”
“I don’t have a choice, either,” he answered stiffly, lifting her jaw so she either had to close her eyes or look at him directly.
She gave him a cocky, knowing smile. “Are you sad because today is TGIF? Is that what this is about? Would a blonde make it better? I know. We could always go barhopping. I can wait at a discreet distance if you wanna hit the Grease Your Pole and hang out with Lollipop or maybe even Twizzler. I’ll close my eyes. I’ll drink while you watch them grease. I love Fuzzy Navels.”
Leaning even farther in, he eyeballed her, the lines on either side of his mouth deeply grooved with discontent. “Jesus Christ, would you lay off the funny? I don’t want a blonde, Jeannie,” he ground out, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her so close her spine arched.
“Then what do you want?” she yelped in frustration, stomping her feet childishly as she pressed her hands to the bands of steel that were his forearms. Frustration created by his nearness. Frustration created by the comfort his nearness brought—and the damn consistent tremor of her heart.
She’d experienced it whenever he was near, but it had been nothing compared to this. He smelled so good. He looked so good. He felt so good. Their lengths molded together like this made her dizzy. She wanted to cling to him, burrow against him and just let go.
Sloan’s heart pounded, too, crashing against her chest. She heard it invade her ears, soar through her nerve endings, and make her blood pulse hot. Felt it throb in harsh beats.
His lips descended on hers before she had the chance to even consider her deeply rooted fears about such close contact with a man.
And it was delicious. Demanding. Probing. Hard and soft. Jeannie sighed into his mouth before she could stop it.
His stance widened as he enveloped her smaller frame with his strong arms, her thighs pressed to his before they were cradled between his legs, hard and flexing, rippling against hers until she thought she’d pass out from the bliss of it.
Jeannie’s lips moved beneath his, relishing the fresh scent of his breath and the slick slide of his tongue delving between her lips. A moan slipped from her mouth when he hissed his appreciation. Their tongues dueled with one another’s, gliding, tentatively touching before sweeping into scorching oblivion.
Hot, wet heat swept over her, making her nipples hard, hard enough to scrape against the fabric of her thick coat. She squirmed against Sloan, inhaling every inch of him.
Sloan’s hands slid under the ends of her jacket, pulling her closer, devouring her lips as he pressed into her, ground his hips against hers in an agonizing rhythm. And Jeannie responded completely unafraid, wanton and wickedly needy.
It had been a long time. A long, long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch, and every nerve in her body responded to the sweet heat Sloan evoked in her. Her arms went around his neck.
She luxuriated in the stretch of her muscles when she closed the final distance between them, pulling Sloan tightly to her. She drove her hands into his hair, clutching the silky strands, gasping when his hand touched the flesh just under her sweater.
Oh, this kiss. Oh, this man kissing her. She wanted to take this moment and freeze it. Freeze it so she’d
always remember what it was like to want someone this much without fear.
Sloan hiked her leg around his waist, pulling her, drawing her deeper into the vortex of his kiss. Naked images flashed before her eyes. Hot, sweaty, dirty images of Sloan. In her bed.
In her.
A dog’s sharp bark piercing the night had them pulling apart and readjusting Jeannie’s jacket with hasty hands. “Yoda! Hush,” a woman ordered, then chuckled as she strolled past them with a small, snarling dog. “Young love. Grand. So grand,” she chirped her appreciation and waved at them.
Love. Jeannie looked down at her feet and gulped.
Sloan tipped her chin up, his blue eyes flashing all sorts of emotions Jeannie didn’t know how to read. His jaw pulsed and his teeth were clenched.
“Jeannie Carlyle!” Nina hollered from out of the dark, making them pull apart in guilt. When she came into view, her nostrils were flaring. “Get the fuck upstairs now before I drag you up by your flippin’ hair!” she roared, flashing her fangs at Jeannie.
“Hey! What the hell, vampire?” Sloan yelled back at her, pushing Jeannie behind him, the protective gesture making her smile. But only briefly.
Because Nina was angry. Like, wow, looked downright murderous angry, and she wasn’t calling her shawty or midget or kiddo. She’d used her given name. Jeannie’s stomach sank.
“You, shut the fuck up, ass sniffer. You’re gonna wanna hear what I have to say.” Nina stomped up the steps, the sound of her work boots sharp in Jeannie’s ears. “Now, Jeannie!” she bellowed.
She didn’t even think twice. Nina ordering you to do something was like getting a personal visit from God. You didn’t ask why he’d stopped in. You just dropped everything because he had. She ran up the steps, ignoring the confusion on Sloan’s face.
When she flew into her living room, everyone was staring at her, and it wasn’t because she was having a fabulous hair day. The stares were a mixture of condemnation and confusion. The looks on their faces, faces she’d in such a short time grown to want approval from, broke her, stabbed at her very soul.
The Accidental Genie Page 20