He rubbed his eyes with the hand not holding the teapot and focused again. The man was still there. It wasn’t his overactive imagination acting out. At least he didn’t think so. He reached out to touch, positive the tip of his finger would shatter the hot vision standing right in front of him. He’d almost made contact when the vision spoke.
“Huh!” The man scanned the area before turning his gaze back on him. “Looks like you’re it. One wish and be quick about it. One wish—that’s all that remains on my contract. One wish and I’m free. So, come on. What’s it gonna be? Time’s a wastin’.”
Dillon stared, only half taking in the man’s husky and hurried words. His free hand dropped to his side. More struck by the muscular body of the attractive man standing impatiently in front of him than interested in his words, he continued to study him closely. A genie? Instead of wearing genie-type garb, the man wore a gray polo shirt and tight black jeans. Silver bands decorated his wrists, catching the late morning sun and shining brightly with each movement of his hands. His clothing clung to his body, highlighting his broad chest, lean hips and muscular legs. He guessed without looking the stranger would have a tight, firm ass. Sort of went with the territory. His tan face contained determination, not handsome but arresting with sharp angles and soft lips. Black hair, long and thick, curled in haphazard manner over his shoulders. Dark stubble shaded his strong jaw while a silver ring pierced one ear. Blue eyes glittered from beneath dark brows. Dillon’s gaze slipped to his mouth. Oh yeah. Talk about sin…that soft mouth was made for kissing.
Dillon shuddered, his brain freezing and refusing to move onward. Every muscle in his body tensed as he imagined how that luscious mouth would feel curled around his cock, working it. Teasing. Stroking. Sucking.
“Hello. Hello?” The man clicked his fingers in front of Dillon’s face. “A simpleton.” Pure disgust distorted the sensual curve of his mouth. “My contract’s almost done, one wish left to issue, and I get the village idiot.”
The disparaging tone jolted Dillon back to the present. “I’m not an idiot, merely surprised,” he said, his heart pounding with a combination of lust and amazement. “Who are you?”
“Zanofredo. Genie contract number twenty-one. Enough chitchat. We need to move this along. The sooner I grant you one wish, the quicker my contract terminates. Freedom but for an idiot,” he muttered. “So close I can taste it.”
“Freedom?” Dillon didn’t understand and his mind wasn’t exactly keeping him up to speed. He shifted his stance, trying to ease the fit of his jeans.
“Damn, I was right. You are the village idiot. Listen very carefully. I shall say this only once. Each genie contract stipulates one hundred wishes. We may give out a maximum of three at a time. I have one wish left on my contract. That wish is yours.”
Dillon frowned, listening carefully to the man’s sexy rumble. “Zan…o…fredo?”
“Call me Zane. It’s easier.” No mistaking the impatience this time.
Zane. The name fit the man perfectly. “Yeah, okay. A genie, huh? What happens to you once your contract expires? And how come you’re dressed like the rest of us? Your English is perfect.” Dillon wanted to touch and taste the man’s sarcastic mouth so badly he trembled. He hadn’t felt the same urgency, the same desire, for a long, long time.
Zane’s sigh held clear irritation. One black leather boot thumped the ground, tapping out his impatience. “My teapot has cable and Internet. I like to keep up with the modern trends. Here it is—the quick version of Genie Law 101. We have three options. One, we can voluntarily sign another contract for one hundred wishes. Two, we gain freedom, but only if we elude capture for ten days, or three, Hasim, the genie boss captures us and we are forced to sign another contract. According to legend there is a fourth way but this method has never been used and the knowledge lost.”
“Sounds like slavery.”
The genie shrugged. “Being a genie isn’t a bad life, but after two rotations I wished to try something different. I didn’t intend to sign up for a third time but the genie boss had other ideas and caught me in California. This time I will try harder. I do not want a fourth rotation.”
“But how do you get to be a genie? Are you born that way?”
“No, genies are made, not born. My parents were poor, and when I was fifteen, Hasim approached them with an offer of a job for me. These days, things are more modernized and men and women apply for what they think are ordinary sales jobs. Hasim is very crafty.”
“You lived on Earth?”
“Of course. I was born in Italy. When I accepted the job, I became a genie with powers governed by the wristbands and gained entrance to the magical dimension where we live.”
Dillon frowned at him. “But what about your parents? Do you see them? What do they think about your job? Your name doesn’t sound Italian.”
“My parents are long dead.” Clear impatience simmered in his eyes. “All my family is dead because genies live very long lives. Hasim renamed me because he couldn’t pronounce my original name, and I didn’t mind. Baldassare was a mouthful. I like Zane,” he said firmly in an obvious bid to halt questions.
“But—”
“So many questions. My parents agreed to me serving as a genie, but to protect the anonymity of the genie dimension, once they received payment and completed the formalities to everyone’s satisfaction, Hasim wiped their minds. They didn’t miss me.” He held up his hand to halt the questions hovering on Dillon’s lips. “They agree to this as one of the conditions. After much thought, I agreed to sign a contract because my parents and brothers and sisters needed money and it was best for everyone. I signed willingly. No one is forced to become a genie. Now, your wish. What is your wish? I do not have time for idle chitchat. This time I wish for freedom.”
Dillon thought of his poor computer and the explosion of evil laughter that had spilled from the speakers when the virus grabbed hold of his hard drive. One wish was simple. “I wish a pox on the people in this town who spread computer viruses,” he snarled, anger once again pounding through him. His computer. All that lost work. Fuck, he’d been so tired last night he’d forgotten to back up and this morning…this morning, it had been too late. The damage was done.
“That is your wish?”
“Yes! That’s my wish.”
Zane crossed his arms in front of him, touching fingers to elbow joints, and closed his eyes. His silver wristbands touched and blue sparks shot toward the ground. His head jerked sharply and his blue eyes snapped open. “It is done.”
“What? What is done?”
The silver wristbands on the genie’s wrists opened with an audible click. They fell to the ground, bounced once and vanished.
“I am free.” He crossed his arms again and the color of his shirt changed from gray to blue. “I will go now.”
Dillon grasped his arm to halt him, his heart jumping at the warmth of the other man’s skin. He didn’t want to let this fascinating man leave. Hell, he wasn’t usually so damned wimpy and indecisive, but damn, the man of his dreams hadn’t popped out of a teapot before. This was new territory. “Wait! Don’t go. Can’t I buy you breakfast or a coffee or something before you leave?” He groaned inwardly. Needy, dammit. He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate but he didn’t want this sexy man to disappear as quickly as his armbands, not when he’d just found him. Dillon held his breath while he waited for the other man to say something. The muscles of Zane’s forearm flexed beneath his touch and he realized he hadn’t let go yet. His hand dropped away, his gut jumping with nerves. Somehow he was going to spend time with this fascinating male. He had no intention of letting this sexy hunk walk away before discovering which team the man batted for. Taking a deep breath, he extended his hand. “Hi, my name is Dillon.”
Chapter Two
Zane stared at the blond man in shock. Never before had a man or woman offered to spend time with him, not without an ulterior motive. They didn’t treat him as an equal. Always they showed more i
nterest in his ability to grant their wishes. And they mostly took a long time to decide, weighing the benefits of one wish against another. This man…Dillon…had decided quickly and the wish hadn’t been a greedy one.
“I do not wish Hasim to find me,” he said finally. He’d granted his wish and performed an extra magical task—changing the color of his shirt—to make Hasim think he’d popped to another location. Everything was going according to plan. All he needed to do now was leave on foot and act like a human.
No more magic.
“How does he usually find genies?” Dillon asked. “How does he track them?”
Zane couldn’t help but stare at the way the sunlight colored the man’s hair to gold. Everything about him seemed golden from the gleam of his skin to the small gold stud that glinted at his left earlobe. He wore faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. The fabric stretched across his chest. Dirt and green grass stains marred the front. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes since they were covered by dark glasses but his voice sounded sincere.
“He tracks us when we use magic. Every time a genie grants a magical wish, it creates a signature footprint, invisible to the naked eye. Hasim uses the footprints to track and recapture genies.” Especially experienced genies. The genie boss had summoned him to court wishing to know if he wanted to sign a new contract. He’d tried to trick Zane into renewing his contract before the old one had expired. Hasim had arranged for twelve nubile maidens to serve sweetmeats, fruit and cool drinks. They had waited on him, giving him their full attention, feeding him by hand, peeling grapes. They’d entertained him, and all before the genie boss had started his pitch. Bottom line, he needed Zane more than Zane needed him. He’d lost a couple of genies recently. One had gained their freedom while the king had allowed one to retire after ten tours of duty. Hasim didn’t like to train newbies, and of course everyone knew it was bad luck for numbers to drop below fifty.
“Do you retain your magic when your contract expires?”
Zane nodded, attempting to hide his unease. “Eventually the magic fades but initially I will have my powers. Hasim will know where the silver amulets disappeared—my last location.” He’d assured the genie boss he intended to sign up again for another tour of one hundred wishes. He’d lied and done it with an impassive face and great skill. Hasim had believed him, thinking him sincere. He’d seen it in the man’s bloated face.
“Right then,” Dillon said, whipping his T-shirt over his head to bare his chest. Zane catalogued the sculpted flesh and muscles and the fine dusting of hair that arrowed downward, disappearing beneath the waistband of the man’s jeans. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to actually look at a man. One of his rules—don’t mess with the people for whom he granted wishes. He’d learned that after making a big mistake in the past. The new rule had kept life simple, but now…now he had options—as long as he evaded the boss for the next ten days. It wouldn’t be easy. A pissed Hasim was a vindictive one. If the unthinkable occurred and he failed to retain his freedom, he would suffer greatly with a beating and possibly torture—not enough to stop him from carrying out his job but enough to make him miserable. The boss possessed great creativity when it came to punishments.
Dillon scooped up the items of silver, including his teapot, and placed them inside the T-shirt, using it like a basket. “Come with me. You can tell me about being a genie while we eat breakfast. Besides, won’t your boss expect you to leave Sumner?”
“That is true,” he conceded. The previous time he’d left the area of his last wishes, popping to the other side of the world to a country called America. Most genies who desired freedom popped to another place. Hasim had captured him in a place called California. Zane scowled at the memory. He’d found a man he liked, a man he would have enjoyed spending more time with, but he’d grown careless and let the man charm him into using too much magic, allowing the boss and his team of merc-magicks to track him. Ultimately his fault, even though he still blamed the man for enticing him. This time he intended to do things differently.
No magic for a start.
No exceptions.
Not a single one.
The man raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Zane hesitated, wanting freedom so badly and yet dithering. Being a contracted genie wasn’t a hard life or a bad one, but waiting between gigs became a bit of a drag. And sex. Let’s face it. There wasn’t much of that because of being constantly on call with his job. He wanted to find someone special to spend time with, to give and receive love in return. For once he’d like to know a man made love to him for the hell of it, because he wanted pleasure as much as Zane did.
A man like Dillon—that was what he wanted—a man who treated him like a human instead of a golden goose.
“All right,” he said, suddenly aware of the hunger pangs in his stomach. He would experience what it felt like to spend time with an attractive man. Then another thought occurred. “I have no currency to pay for my meal.” He had American dollars since they were readily convertible no matter where he ended up, but it would be best not to change them to local currency in this small town where the bank workers might remember him.
“No problem, mate. My treat,” Dillon said. “Let’s go.”
Zane followed the human, glad to leave the vicinity. Under the rules of the genie charter, the genie boss couldn’t start tracking until an hour had elapsed and he couldn’t use magic to find him—apart from following magical footprints. Genies had an hour to return and sign on the dotted line. “This place…it is private?”
“One of my friends runs the restaurant. We can go in the back way. I’ll ask Jamie for a private table. He won’t mind.”
“That is acceptable.” Zane fell into step, deciding to trust the other man for the time being. He didn’t know much about him since a genie didn’t have a choice about who found their teapot. He knew he was in a country called New Zealand. From cable communications, he knew the country was a newish colony, discovered by explorers in 1642. It was isolated by distance, yet with modern communications, determination and ingenuity the population thrived. Yes, New Zealand was a fine place to hang out.
The human led him through a maze of stalls and around the edge of a large, mainly grassy square. Zane, although keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings, experienced great pleasure from observing the other man. He had an almost overwhelming desire to touch, to cup the tanned skin of the man’s biceps and feel if it felt as smooth and warm as it appeared. And his scent…a masculine blend of musk and greenery. The sexy cologne tempted him to lean in close and take a bite.
“Holy shit.” Dillon halted so suddenly Zane walked into the back of him. “My wish. That man has pustules all over his face. I wished for a pox on people who spread viruses. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant!”
Zane wanted to howl in frustration. Not now. He hadn’t pegged the man as a wisher who complained. “That is what you wished,” he said, his voice stiff with both tension and a hint of disappointment. He wanted sustenance. Drink. He wanted privacy with the human. And most of all, he wanted to avoid capture. He must leave now.
“That man unleashed a virus on my computer,” Dillon whispered in a fierce tone. His jaw clenched, a tic springing to life beside his mouth. “I don’t know who he is or why he did it, but he will pay.”
“Oh my god! Ritchie, look at your face,” a young woman shrieked. When she turned, Zane saw pus-filled lumps covered her face too. In fact, when he glanced to his left and right, he noticed many people bore the pustules on their faces. Some appeared more like a mild rash while others, like the ones in front of them, were full-blown eruptions.
Dillon frowned in a thoughtful manner, wondering about the variations. “Holy shit,” he said again, clapping his free hand over his head in consternation. “They can’t all be guilty of the crime.” He stared at another couple and their two children who wandered past, oblivious to the fact ugly pimples covered their faces.
“Can we go now?” It was dangerous out here, still way
too close to the magic footprint he’d left. And knowing Hasim, he’d probably misread his timepiece and arrive early.
Dillon set the silver-filled T-shirt aside, stepped close and grasped his shoulder tightly. Zane froze at the sensation of warmth seeping through his shirt. The heat spread across his chest and danced downward to his groin, the faint tightening and filling of his cock bringing a delicious frisson of pleasure. His small gasp drew Dillon’s closer attention. The man stared at him but Zane couldn’t see his eyes since the glasses still screened them. Dillon opened his mouth as if he intended to say something before closing it again. “You’re right. We need to go,” he said. “We can talk about this over breakfast.”
Searing disappointment swept through Zane even though he agreed with the need to leave the area. He’d thought…well, never mind what he’d thought. Dillon picked up the silver again, the muscles of his shoulders bunching with the move, drawing Zane’s attention. Before he had a chance to savor the sight, the human hurried off. Leading the way, he set a brisk pace, still keeping to the edge of the marketplace until they emerged at the far end of the square. With a quick glance both left and right, Dillon darted down a small alleyway that ran between two red brick buildings. They rounded a rubbish bin that took up most of the alley before he spied a white door. It opened at the touch of the human’s fingers and he stepped inside, gesturing for him to follow.
Zane hesitated on the threshold, wondering if he were doing the right thing by placing his trust in this man when every instinct told him to flee. Hasim and his team would search for magic fingerprints and when they failed to find them, they’d ask questions. This time he’d taken pains to dress the part, to blend, but the boss was sly and clever. He’d heard whispers of corruption.
“Coming?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Zane stepped inside and closed the door behind him, hoping he was doing the right thing.
Last Wish Page 2