The Djinn's Dilemma (4 page)

Laughter shook the man’s silver head. “If I was a younger man, I’d offer myself as well.”

“If I wasn’t scared of heartbreak, I’d be sorely tempted.” She winked and whirled off to the next table. The exchange spread warmth inside. See, she could still flirt. Now if she could just remember the ability around tall, dark and handsome.

Her gaze flickered over at Rukh. He sat at a corner table facing both exits and glancing through some of the free papers and magazines available at the café. Totally unaware of her. With a sigh, Sarah returned behind the counter.

The door jingled and a thin guy with glasses hurried in, dashed past her straight to the back. Ah, James to the rescue. Within minutes, he was behind the counter tying on a fresh apron. “I’ll share this morning’s tips with you.”

“No need. I’m just glad to be off my feet,” she replied, helping herself to a cup of coffee at last. Amy pushed out the tray with Rukh’s smoothie.

“That’s mine.” Sarah almost shoved James out of the way to grab it. She plated two rum-butter muffins, set her coffee on the tray and took a deep breath. Now or never. She marched up to his table. “May I join you?”

Rukh lay the paper down and looked up. The heat in his gaze burned her skin, seeped in and melted something deep inside. Even though she stood fully clothed, Sarah felt naked and exposed. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her gaze stayed welded to his.

The tray shook in her tight grip, setting up a soft clatter of silverware against porcelain dishes.

He rose and pulled out a chair for her. “Of course.”

Rukh’s nostrils flared as she drew near and settled into the chair. He could smell her sweet vanilla scent, mixed with the headiness of her desire and nerves. A tremor of awareness of his own need shot up from his groin. He almost leapt back to his chair.

“So you work here too?”

She shook her head as she set his smoothie and muffin in front of him. “No, my friend was short-handed, so I was just helping out.”

“You’re a very nice person.” That explained the aura, but not how she had ended up on his hit list. And why was the other djinn targeting her? Worry, and something he couldn’t quite get the bead on, had kept him by her bedside for most of the night.

Damn it, he was an assassin being paid to kill her. Not to watch her sleep, not to marvel at the beauty of dark hair and skin tangled in soft ivory sheets, and definitely not to worry. He’d found the emails confirming the assignment and full payment when he’d returned to his hotel room at the break of dawn. He toyed with his tie. “Thank you for my breakfast.”

She smiled. “My pleasure.”

“But now I owe you dinner.”

Her eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“I’m old-fashioned that way.” He shrugged. “I can’t be beholden to a woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Too bad.”

Laughter tickled his throat. He enjoyed playing word games with her, this back and forth.

He enjoyed watching her blush, and he really enjoyed smelling her lust for him.

Was he bipolar? Ever since he’d read his client’s email, despair—dark and sharp—had cut deep and twisted in his gut like a dagger. Sleep had bailed and anxiety raged. He didn’t think anything would make him feel better…then he’d got around Sarah again. He slapped both hands to his chest. “But I will suffer all day and all night.”

A snort escaped Sarah. “Oh you poor tortured soul.”

Rukh widened his eyes and leaned forward. “I suffer with great pleasure.”

She laughed out loud. “Oh, such suffering should be rewarded.”

“It should,” he said, with a smile. “Have dinner with me.”

She dropped her muffin. It bounced on the tabletop, then rolled to the floor.

“Here, share mine.” Rukh pushed his forward. “Now where were we?”

“Breakfast.” Sarah broke the muffin in half and pushed the rest back toward him. After a moment of biting her full lips, lips he’d love to taste, she jumped up and snagged the runaway muffin.

Rukh settled back in his seat and sipped his smoothie. His eyes traced every line and curve of her body, especially the curves. A part of him just wanted to lick every inch of her.
Don’t go there. Focus. This was a fact-finding mission.

She wrapped the muffin in a paper napkin and set it to the side, before reclaiming her seat.

“Talk to me, Jasmine.”

Her gaze jumped to his, flicked away. “Most people call me Sarah.”

“I’m not most people. Besides, Jasmine suits you. It’s more exotic.” He crossed his arms on the table, moved forward. “Sexy.”

Their gazes met and held, an instant longer than casual. She looked away and picked up the paper. “Ah, you’ve been reading about the governor.”

Rukh glanced at the paper. She held up the society page, featuring galas and fund-raisers. Picture after picture of dolled-up women and men in tuxedoes.

He’d been playing a guessing game when Sarah had walked up. Could this chubby matron, dripping in diamonds, be his client? Or what about the handsome man with his practiced smile? The latter turned out to be Governor Jake Adams.

“Just seeing how the rich and famous play,” he said. “Do you know the governor?”

“I’ve interviewed him a few times, but I don’t really know him.” She sat up straighter. “I know his assistant, Eric, and that’s even more useful.”

“You lead an exciting life, and you should have an exciting name,” he said. “So how did you get the name Jasmine?”

“My mother was Jamaican and she picked Jasmine.” Her lips pinched together, then loosened into a smile. “My father, an American tourist, was visiting the islands when he fell in love with her. They got married on the beach at sunrise.”

He could almost hear the island lilt in her voice, the hint of ocean breezes and warm sunshine. “That’s a beautiful story.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She peered down at her empty plate. “I only know the story because Grandmama told it to me. My parents died in a car accident when I was five.”

The pain that filled her face made his heart slam against his ribs. Oh heaven and hell, he was an idiot. He wanted to kiss away her hurt, make her smile, apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, covering her hand with his.

She looked up with a gasp. He was afraid she’d pull away or slap him. She did neither. Sarah stared at him a moment, then dropped her gaze. Her fingers intertwined with his. Warmth bloomed between their hands, spread like spilled oil.

“Thank you. But enough about me. Tell me about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where are you from?”

A parallel dimension. Yeah, that would go over well. “Most recently, Washington, D.C.,” he said.

“And originally?”

Best to claim his charming da’s heritage. “Originally, Ireland.”

“Your accent’s not quite Irish.”

Because it’s Djinnish. He kept his mouth shut and indulged in a small shrug.

“It still sounds very nice.” She blushed. “What does your name mean?”

Mutt. Impure. Gypsy. “Wanderer.”

“Wow, that’s a very…romantic name.” She scooted closer. “What was your childhood like?”

Rukh’s gaze skittered away from her as a chill bit into his bones. He was really glad to be holding her hand, for the skin-to-skin contact.

Memory returned to him, vicious and taunting.

His mother had returned to her djinn world pregnant and died after giving birth to him, a half-breed, with no obvious signs of power. His
family
had dumped him in an orphanage. He’d been the lowest of the lows. Starved and abused, he’d been a scrawny, cowering whelp.

For a fee, the orphanage would farm him and other orphans out to different households as servants. For room, board and a change of clothes, the master would expect him to do housework, run errands, wait on him and others for the time contracted. If he didn’t move fast enough, blows would land and food would be withheld. A few of the masters and mistresses were kind, but very few.

That’d been his life until puberty hit and he came into his powers. A hybrid late bloomer.

“I survived it,” he said.

Sarah realized she’d touched on a sore subject as Rukh’s eyes turned cool and distant. No hint of the guy who’d been flirting and teasing just minutes before. But she’d seen him, enjoyed his company. She knew he existed beneath this frigid aloofness. Man oh man. She had to fix this.

She found herself talking about the Caribbean islands she’d long left behind, of grilling fish right on the beach, of Calypso drums playing deep into the night.

His shoulders relaxed and he laughed. She realized they still held hands.

For a time, she forgot about work, about nerves, about suspicions. She liked the way Rukh laughed—from the heart. It made her shiver with delight. Then there were the sizzling looks that passed between them, the casual way his thumb stroked back and forth across the edge of her hand as they talked.

He reminded her of hot nights, close dancing and heady living. He reminded her of a time when Grandmama made her cure-all teas and told her stories at bedtime, a time when laughter and dreams came easy. He reminded her of Jasmine White losing her virginity at fifteen on a moonlit beach. Suddenly she could smell the spicy-sweet perfume of ginger lilies.

The bakery’s cuckoo clock cooed out nine notes and jerked Sarah back to reality. She jumped out of her chair. “I have to go.”

Rukh snagged her hand, brought it slowly to his mouth. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he brushed his lips lightly across her skin. A soft caress full of promise.

Her breath quickened.

“Have dinner with me.”

Sarah replayed the highlights of her morning—starring Rukh—during her drive to the
Austin American-Herald
, as she walked through the lobby and smiled at the receptionist, throughout the elevator ride to the third-floor newsroom, and now sitting at her desk. For some reason her mind kept zeroing in on his sensuous lips and intense eyes, the color of sapphires. The rough silk of his hand on hers. Man oh man, she had a bad case of Rukh fever.

Feeling silly, she glanced at Grayson’s office. He was tied up in a meeting with two gray-haired women, probably representing one of the many women’s do-gooder organizations and demanding coverage. Good, they’d keep him out of her hair for a bit. She Googled Rukh O’Shay. No results. The man apparently didn’t have Twitter or Facebook accounts, and stayed out of the news. Was he a modern-day Luddite?

She stole another glance at the office. Good, still busy. Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, Sarah pulled up the paid databases the newspaper gave her access to. Her conscience pinged at her for misusing her time and resources. But Grayson would understand. This wasn’t just idle curiosity, but a safety issue. She should know something about a guy before going out to dinner with him.

Soon frustration had her grabbing a Hershey’s bar from the secret stash she kept at her desk in case of emergencies. She ripped the paper away and chomped down on the dark chocolate goodness as she ran search after search. Still no matches. How could a man not even have a driver’s license? In any of the 50 states?

She even tried an international search in Ireland. Nothing. Rukh O’Shay was a ghost.

Unease gnawed at the pit of her stomach. Who was he? Her earlier suspicions reared up again. Did he have anything to do with the two hoodlums from yesterday?

Her breath snagged in her throat and a bite of chocolate almost went down her windpipe. A round of coughs later, she blinked away tears. Should she cancel the date? Dang, she didn’t even have a phone number to contact Mr. Mystery.

Waves of tingly desire shimmered through her as she thought of him sitting in Amy’s bakery, head back, laughing. No doubt, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous…but when he laughed it was an amazing transformation. Perfect teeth, crinkly eyes, warm husky laughter that rumbled from somewhere deep inside. Wrapped her in sunshine and cinnamon. He stopped being just another pretty face, and came alive.

No, Sarah wanted to go on this date. She’d just have to keep her wits about her and get answers the hard way.

The phone at her desk rang, making her jump. She grabbed it. “The
Austin American-Herald
. Can I help you?”

“Hey, how’s my favorite reporter doing?”

Sarah flipped open her notebook and grabbed a pen as she recognized Eric’s friendly voice. “Feeling out of favor at the moment,” she said. “Took you long enough to return my call.”

“Man, the governor’s been working me to death,” he said. “But here I am, you wanted to wine, dine and seduce me over dinner tonight?”

Laughter spurted out of her. Eric was too funny. “Not exactly.”

“A man can dream I suppose,” he sighed. “So, what do you need?”

“Well, like I said in my messages, we’re doing a story on Transportation Director Alex Gingrich.”

“What’s that got to do with Jake?”

“We are looking into Gingrich’s business practices and his relationship with the governor.”

“Relationship?” Eric said. “Alex is a good manager and a civic leader. They have a good working relationship.”

“According to my sources, they’re a whole lot friendlier.”

He chuckled. “Sarah, Jake is campaigning to be president. Right now, he’s very friendly. He’s friendly with everyone.”

She’d had enough of his stall tactics. “Is that a quote for my story?”

“No. I don’t do quotes. I’m just the lowly underling.” He sighed again. “It must be a slow news day for you to be chasing a tabloid story.”

Sarah took a deep breath, counted backwards from ten, exhaled. People, even nice ones like Eric, tended to get bitchy when cornered. “Hey, just trying to pay my bills.”

“Well, Jake won’t like being interviewed about an ugly rumor like this,” he said. “He might fire my ass for even bringing it up.”

“If he does, I’ll drive you to the soup kitchen and unemployment office,” she said. Eric did everything for the governor, from writing his speeches to picking up the perfect anniversary gift for the Mrs. The man would so not get fired.

“Your sympathy is heartwarming,” Eric grouched. “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do, but he’s really busy.”