“Yes,” Imari said, raising her glass as well. “This is outstanding.”
Hattie blushed. “You two are being silly and letting the food get cold. You’re welcome. Now eat.”
They dug in. Each bite was more delicious than the last, and with the good food came good conversation. Hattie told stories about Lucien as a boy, which Imari found endlessly fascinating. It was hard to picture him as a child, but Hattie’s stories were endearing. Especially the one about him wanting to be an archaeologist and how she’d buried pieces of broken pottery in the backyard for him to find.
But Imari noticed that when a story got too personal, Lucien would interrupt with a memory about Hattie. How she’d lived in Paris and served as the muse for two different artists. How she’d had three marriage proposals at once. The time her coq au vin had won a local cooking award. He told the stories with a rare smile and loving pride in his eyes.
Imari’s heart ached with happiness at how much joy his grandmother brought to his life, but there was another emotion mixed in. Not jealousy exactly, but longing. That someday she might have the same kind of loving, easy relationship with a man that Hattie had with Lucien.
Of course, they were family, but the way they teased each other and laughed and clearly loved each other was so sweet and endearing. Would Imari ever have that? Anything was possible, she supposed.
Unless she was forced to marry Khalid.
They’d been at the table for nearly three hours, but the time had flown. Lucien put his cloth napkin beside his empty plate and sat back. He couldn’t remember when he’d had such an enjoyable evening. It made him keenly aware of just how much his isolation had cost him and his grandmother. He regretted that to his core, even if it couldn’t be helped. “I am beyond full. This was quite the meal, Mémé. You outdid yourself. Everything was perfect, right down to the dessert.”
“Yes,” Imari said. “The dessert was spot-on. What a treat that was. Just like my mother used to make. Maybe even a tiny bit better.”
“What a nice compliment.” Hattie sat back as well, looking pleased with herself. “I’m so glad you both enjoyed it.” She sighed rather elaborately and got up from the table. “I guess I should tackle these dishes.”
Lucien got to his feet instantly. “You did plenty. I will clean up.”
Imari stood, too. “I’ll help. It’s only fair after all the effort you put in, Hattie.”
“Well, now, isn’t this a nice surprise?” Her smile was a little coy, telling Lucien that her sigh had been dramatic for this purpose. “I might just go put my feet up and watch one of my stories. But only if you two come in and join me when you’re done. I’m not ready for the evening to be over.”
Neither was Lucien, but he snorted anyway. “I’m not sure Imari will want to watch Sword and Scepter with you.”
Imari sucked in a breath. “I love Sword and Scepter!”
His brows lifted. “Not you too.”
“See?” Hattie said. “I told you it’s a popular show.”
He took a few plates to the sink. “I don’t get the appeal. It’s basically a soap opera featuring a made-up royal family in a made-up country, and all they do is cause one drama after another while wearing a lot of fancy clothes and expensive jewelry.”
Imari laughed. “For someone who supposedly doesn’t get the appeal, you just nailed the appeal.”
Hattie chuckled. “That is pretty much exactly why I watch it.” She waved at them as she left. “Well, you kids have fun cleaning up.”
“We will,” Imari called back. She joined Lucien at the sink with more dishes. “How about I load the dishwasher and clean the table while you pack up the leftovers, since you know where the containers are?”
“Deal.”
They went to work without saying anything else. The sound of the television filtered in a moment later, filling the silence. The cleanup became a choreographed dance of sorts, each of them moving through the kitchen with purpose, side-stepping each other so that they passed within inches, never touching, but almost.
For Lucien, the tension seemed palpable. He watched Imari when he could without being obvious. When she’d taken him by the elbow in Willa’s shop, she’d been behind him and he’d been unable to enjoy seeing her beautiful face in color.
Now, he wished he could see it again. He moved to the dishwasher where she was putting silverware into the rack, then bent to add the spoon he’d been using to ladle mashed potatoes into a storage container. He deliberately ran his hand into hers. He kept it there a second longer than anyone else would have, just to see her face as she looked at him.
So beautiful. He tried to imprint the moment in his mind, like a photograph he could call up later. Then he moved his hand. “Sorry.”
But he wasn’t, of course.
Her eyes lit up, something he didn’t need color to see. She straightened. “You got mashed potatoes on my knuckles.”
He pressed the tip of his tongue into his teeth to keep from laughing as he stood up. “Did I?”
“Mm-hmm.” She held his gaze while lifting her hand to her mouth. Then she flicked her eyes down and licked the mashed potatoes off.
His throat closed at the sight of her tongue. He put his hand on the counter to make sure he stayed upright. There was one thought in his head. One single, stupid, impossible thought. He wanted Imari.
He wanted her here. With him. In his life. At his dinner table. He wanted her to pester him with questions. He wanted to smell her perfume in this house all the time. To hear her laugh. And sigh. And gasp.
He wanted to tell her everything.
But most of all, he wanted the impossible. He wanted her to love him.
Because he had no doubt that with a woman like her by his side, the wretchedness of his life would lose its impact. After all, he could touch her without reaping her soul. For whatever reason, it was true. They’d touched enough times for it not to be a fluke.
And Hattie already loved her. Thankfully, Imari seemed to genuinely like Hattie as well.
Imari tipped her head. “You’re giving me an odd look. Is licking mashed potatoes off one’s hand a breach of angel-of-death etiquette?”
“No,” he whispered. He turned to the counter and stared at the food container. “I was just lost in thought is all.” Foolish thoughts. The kinds of thoughts that could get him into a trouble there was no returning from.
“You do that a lot.”
He shoved those thoughts down. “Do I?”
“Yes. What were you thinking about?”
The urge to unburden himself was overwhelming, but the desire to keep her safe won. “Nothing.” He took the container to the refrigerator.
She snorted softly. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He put the mashed potatoes away, shut the fridge, and turned to look at her. She was bent, putting a lid into the dishwasher. The overwhelming urge returned. He fought it once again. “You shouldn’t like me.”
She closed the dishwasher and looked at him, frowning. “What?”
“Do you like me?”
“Is this third grade?”
“Do. You. Like. Me?”
“Yes, I do.” She leaned against the kitchen counter. “Very much. You’re a conundrum for sure, but you’ve been so kind and generous to me. You opened your home to me. You saved my life. And you’re helping me eliminate my wish merchant problem. How could anyone not like a person who did all that for them?”
He wanted to grab her and kiss her, then shake some sense into her. He took a step toward her, but it was only so he was closer to the exit. “When this is over, you should forget about me.”
She moved into his path. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Then you’re not as smart as you look.” He tried to go by her, but she moved again, blocking him.
She crossed her arms, dark sparks flashing in her eyes. He’d made her angry. Good. Angry would keep her safe. From him. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
Two,
maybe three inches was all that separated them. “I’m not a very nice man.”
“You’re lying again.” She looked up at him, tilting her head inquisitively. “Do you like me?”
He ground his teeth together. It was so much harder not to kiss her when all it would require is a slight bend forward. “No.”
“Then you don’t want to kiss me?”
He reared back slightly, swallowing hard. “N-no.”
She leaned in. “I think you do.”
He glared at her, hands fisted, head and heart at war. What was wrong with this woman?
Her hands went to her hips. “Well?”
“Fine.” He bent forward and captured her mouth with his. Fireworks went off behind his closed lids, fireworks that mimicked all the colors in her apartment. He threaded his fingers into the silk of her curls and took hold of her head so he could tip her face toward him even more.
A soft little half-moan left her throat, and she moved closer to him.
Every inch of him turned into starlight and atmosphere. He was lost in the galaxy of Imari, blinded by her brilliance, and running out of air. He could die this way and find peace. But there was life in her, warm, pulsing, undeniable life.
His want for her grew. Except, as the kiss deepened, and she pressed into him, with those soft mews of pleasure filling his ears, he realized it wasn’t a want so much as a need. This woman made him feel alive again.
Him. Death’s merchant. The reaper of souls. A War Angel.
She was a miracle.
And she would run from him as soon as she realized what he was.
He broke the kiss, pulling away sharply, but not before he caught one last glimpse of her in all her colorful glory. Her cheeks were flushed and her lids heavy. She was panting a little. And her lips were red and ripe and he wanted to kiss her again.
And again.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispered. She put her hand to her throat as if feeling the thrum of her pulse. “You tell me to forget about you? That you’re not a very nice man and that you don’t want to kiss me? Then you do and I can’t remember my name.”
“I…” But he had no reason, no excuse.
She took a step back. “Lucien, if you don’t tell me what in the name of Hades is going on with you right now, I am leaving.”
“You don’t mean that.”
She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “I have never meant anything more in my life.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You’ll leave.” Or worse.
“I’m already going to leave, so you have nothing to lose.”
But she did. He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t consider himself a weak man. Except around her. He exhaled slowly. “I am…not the angel of death.”
He couldn’t look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him. “Then who are you?”
“Perhaps we should discuss this in my—”
“Who are you, Lucien?” Her voice was soft and reassuring.
Not the tone he’d been expecting. He raised his gaze to her. There was no going back. “I am a grim reaper.”
For a moment, fear glinted in her eyes. Then she laughed. “Come on.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s what I am. Who I am.”
She hesitated. No doubt thinking that through. “So you’re not just death’s messenger…”
“No. I am a reaper of souls.”
She took a breath, setting her shoulders back like she was making herself come to terms with that information a little faster than she might have under different circumstances. “Okay, then that’s what you are. No big deal.”
“Except…” He sighed. He had to tell her the whole truth. “My powers haven’t been reliable in many, many years.”
She shrugged. “So you’re retired. Who cares? You have a pretty great life. You’ve got all those snazzy cars, this great house, your nightclub is super popular, and you have your grandmother with you. I don’t know why you’re so glum.”
“I am dangerous.”
More hesitation. “In what way? How unreliable are your powers?”
“Very.” He glanced toward the living room where the sound of the television suddenly seemed louder.
Imari’s lips parted as she watched his eyes. “Are you saying…Hattie?”
He nodded. “Yes.” It was good to tell her the truth, to have it out there. But that was all that was good about this.
Imari swallowed hard. “You killed your grandmother.”
It wasn’t a question. “I reaped her soul. Accidentally. I was able to get it back, but her life was forfeit. She can only exist in her current state.”
“How did you accidentally reap her soul?” Imari’s tone wasn’t quite so soft and reassuring now.
He braced himself. “By touching her.”
Imari’s eyes widened. “That’s what’s wrong with you? That’s why you didn’t want to touch me? Or be touched? Wait, why have we touched at all?” She rubbed the spot between her eyes. “Okay, I need to calm down. Nothing’s happened to me. I’m fine.”
She was talking to herself, it seemed, but he had to say something. “Yes. Thankfully.”
She glared at him. “Thankfully? Don’t you think you should have mentioned this earlier?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth thinned to a hard, firm line. “I should punch you. But violence is not the answer. Although I think it would make me feel better. But that would be touching you.”
She was angry, but she wasn’t leaving. That gave him hope he had no right to. It also lightened his mood considerably. “If you think it would help, I’m willing to endure it. Especially if it would make you feel better.”
Her glare sharpened. “Don’t be cute.”
He almost laughed. “I’m not capable of that.”
She shook her head slowly. “Still lying, I see.”
Could he have killed her? Imari wasn’t sure. She was immortal, after all, but this wasn’t some standard mortal way of dying, like having a fatal illness or being in a car accident or falling over a cliff.
This was a real, live grim reaper she was dealing with. His job was collecting souls. And she had one of those.
But they’d touched now more times than she could count, and she hadn’t felt the slightest hint of her final destination looming in front of her. Not a single day of her very long life had flashed before her eyes.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t angry. She was. And she did kind of want to punch him. But kissing him was much more enjoyable. And it was easy to see by the conflict on his face that confessing this truth to her had cost him dearly.
What kind of response he’d expected, she wasn’t sure, but it hadn’t been a good one. That alone explained so much about him. The pain in his eyes. The torment that seemed to rock him constantly. The seeming need to isolate himself.
But then he’d accidentally taken his grandmother’s soul. Imari couldn’t imagine how she’d go on if she’d been the cause of a loved one’s demise.
Even more painful, Hattie lived with him. No doubt having her close was a comfort, but it was also a constant reminder of what he’d done to her.
Imari’s heart broke for Lucien. For this burden he carried. The weight of it must be crushing him, she thought. No wonder he was afraid to touch and be touched. That he never left the house. And yet somehow, he’d found the courage to not only do all he’d done for her, but to share this burden with her.
She could very easily love a man like this. She might already, just a little.
Instinct drove her forward. She embraced him, pulling him against her. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through.”
He sucked in a breath and stiffened, his voice thick and cracking when he spoke. “You still want to touch me?”
She pulled back enough to see his face. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m immortal. All jinn are.” The mood need
ed lightening. And he needed to know all was not doomed. She lifted one shoulder and gave him a mischievous look. “Your powers clearly aren’t broken enough to do me in.”
But his expression shifted to one of dismay. “This isn’t something to make light of. If I were to harm you, I could never forgive myself.”
“You can’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
She stepped back, then took his hands and placed them on her face. “Look. You’re touching me and I’m not dying.”
“This isn’t a joke.” He tried to pull away, but she held his hands there.
“No, it’s not.”
He shook his head, the odd look in his eyes unreadable. “You don’t know what this does to me.”
“Then tell me.”
He swallowed. “When we touch, I can see color again.”
A new wash of shocked revelation swept through her. “What do you mean again?”
Another sigh left him before he spoke. “My color vision was taken from me when I became a reaper.”
She grimaced. “Are you serious? No color? None?”
“Just black, white, and shades of gray.”
“That’s awful. That’s unlivable. How could they do that to you? Color is everything. Color is the world around us. It’s emotion. It’s beauty and joy and happiness. It’s life.”
“That’s how. Because it’s life. And life was not my job.” His hands relaxed to cup her face. “I was assigned to a division known as the War Angels. Our job was to patrol the battlefields of the world, reaping the souls of the soldier and civilian casualties. Being unable to see color, specifically the color red, was supposed to make our job easier to bear.”
She layered her hands over his. “I cannot imagine how hard that was.”
“I’m glad you don’t have to.” He leaned in ever so slowly and put his forehead to hers. “I can’t believe I can touch you. It’s been so long…”
Since he’d touched anyone. She understood that’s what he was saying, but it didn’t detract from the specialness of the moment.
Then he pressed his lips to the same spot. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
The Reaper Rescues The Genie Page 11