Three Wishes (5 page)

“Oh, that’s hilarious.” Cali leaned against the wall of David’s house, invisible to human eyes, and held her sides. “Did you see his face, Andrew? Your charge is terrified of Miriam. Frozen like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake.”

Andrew smiled, but the muscles of his stomach were tense with emotional pain. Couldn’t Cali see how much she was like David? “He’s afraid to love.”

Cali ignored the observation. “Miriam should just forget about him.”

“She feels she has a debt to pay to David and to the memory of his family.”

“If she enters his world, it’ll destroy her.” Cali was no longer laughing. “Men like David destroy. They crush innocence and enslave those weaker than themselves.”

“David won’t hurt Miriam.”

She snorted. “You’re his guardian angel. You have to believe that.”

“I believe he’s in the habit of caring for her. Admittedly, his image of her is as a child. But he’ll still protect the adult Miriam. He’d die for her,” he added deliberately.

He understood David’s feelings because the more he learned of Cali, the more he ached for her. She had courage and integrity, but she saw herself through a dark, distorted mirror. He didn’t just want her to bring him alive, he wanted to heal her hurts.

Cali cast him a look of disdain. “I do not entangle innocents in the deaths of my masters. I won’t use Miriam as a weak point to attack David—and I’m not discussing my plans for his destruction with you.”

“Tell me why, love. No, not why you won’t discuss killing David with me. I understand that. Tell me why he must die. Why have you sworn to kill every man who owns your bottle?”

He saw the flash of pain in her eyes before she veiled them with her lashes.

“You’re hurting, Cali. Let me see if I can help.” He held out his hand.

“It’s an old story, centuries too late for healing.” She looked away from his hand.

He leaned forward and caught her hand anyway. He felt her fingers move in fractional, instinctive acceptance and it was enough, for now. He tugged her down to the beach. The tide was out, the rocks dry and the sun warm. Gulls dived from the cliffs, calling in their lonely, rough voices.

Cali sat beside him on a smooth rock, reclaiming her hand and lacing her fingers together around her drawn-up knee. She gazed out at the sea. Thick lashes veiled her eyes and the corners of her generous mouth tucked in, hiding secrets.

He wanted to coax them from her.

She charmed him in the clothes she’d chosen—a brigand’s costume of white shirt and black breeches and a jaunty red sash. It was a costume of defiance and romance. Cali might try to deny it, but her heart hungered for romance, to indulge her imagination and swashbuckle through life.

Freedom.
His heart hurt. As a djinni, bound by Solomon’s curse to serve humanity, Cali would crave freedom. And he couldn’t give it to her. It was the gift of a human and, as a guardian angel, he knew how rare such generosity was. Humans hoarded power—not necessarily out of greed or ego, but because they feared the future.

What he could give Cali was the gift of friendship. He could listen to her story and share her pain. But would friendship be enough for him?

When he looked at her, the discipline of his guardian role faltered. He wanted her smiles, her trust, her touch.

Heaven, but he wanted her touch.

He’d been alone for so long, living with cold duty. He’d been satisfied to test souls and save them. The distance between him and the world had grown imperceptibly, but he’d noticed the chill. It had become harder and harder to care. He’d felt his isolation. It was as if he no longer lived. But Cali stirred him to anger, compassion and desire. For her, his rusted heart creaked open.

But she didn’t want his heart. He shouldn’t even be thinking of gifting it. Where was his common sense to remind him they were strangers colliding? But he was an angel—the desire he felt was more than sexual, and it was growing. Cali captivated him.

“It was centuries ago,” she said. “In one of the inland trading cities. Mud walls. It will have returned to the desert by now. Men’s arrogance and greed built it. Time and the desert reclaim their own.”

Cali’s voice was husky with memory and her gaze dwelt on the far horizon where sea met sky, but she was sharing her story with him. He tried to breathe more quietly.

“I fell in love,” she said.

His muscles tensed. He hadn’t expected that confession.

“Paul was a poet. He had the voice of a nightingale and so much passion. He cared about people. He saw beauty in the street urchin as well as in the glories of the desert sunset. His poetry gifted other people with the power to see that beauty too. He was a man who drew people’s love and trust. He could make them see and work for a better world.

“I heard him first when he sat in the shade of the market. People stopped their haggling to hear his poetry. Younger men sat at his feet, learning. I remember the spices in the air, the dust, the heat, the magic.”

She stopped and stared down at her hands.

Andrew picked up a rock and threw it into the sea. It splashed violently. He hadn’t expected to hear Cali’s love story or to listen to a note of yearning in her voice.

A poet! Soft wooing words and a vision for a better life. He was the complete opposite. He used a sword. He challenged and tested. He fought and dealt with the reality of life as it was. His guardian duty allowed no place for dreams.

“I was so young.” A bitter smile twisted Cali’s mouth. “I thought Paul and his vision were irresistible. His words charmed children and old people, matrons and mercenaries. They didn’t beguile Khan.”

She drew up both knees and touched her chin on them. “Khan was the warlord who ruled the city and surrounds. Desert caravans had to pay him tribute for safe passage. He stole my bottle from one of the merchants. When he saw the people listen to Paul, when he heard Paul’s vision of equality and food for all…Khan could have simply killed him.”

Horror crept into Andrew’s blood as he anticipated what a warlord might command of a djinni. He looked at Cali and saw her fragility, the scars of her enslavement to humanity. She was locked up in herself, her physical posture mirroring how she locked herself away from hurt.

He had to clear his throat to get the question out. “What did Khan wish of you?”

“Khan hated Paul. Paul had people’s respect because they loved him. Khan ruled by fear. He wanted Paul destroyed.”

Andrew waited. His fists clenched. He wanted to hold Cali, but he didn’t dare. It would be an intrusion into her memories and pain. She might even take the excuse of anger and stop. For her sake, she needed to share the story and release the festering agony. It was centuries too late, but he wished he had Khan here to rip punishment from his hide. How dare he order Cali to kill the man she loved?

“Khan wished that I make Paul mad,” she whispered. “I used a poison that sent him wandering in his wits, but happy. The people were astonished. They pitied him and treated him kindly, called him a holy fool. But his dreams died, his plans for a better world. His poems were lost. All his bright talent died. I killed him even as he lived.”

Her mouth quivered. It broke his control and he wrapped his arm around her. It was like holding stone. She sat unmoving, rejecting his comfort.

“Khan was delighted. For his next trick, he demanded the Emir’s virgin daughter. It was revenge on the enemy greater than he and…I heard her screams and I gave her a knife. I thought…I thought she’d kill him. I was bound by Solomon’s curse. I couldn’t kill Khan, but she could. She…she killed herself.”

“Cali.” His arm tightened.

“Two innocents. Two bright lives of courage and compassion. I tempted Khan into wishing for the next walled city, and when he walked in triumph through its entrance, I made sure the walls fell on him. I vowed that no man would use me again.”

She straightened. “And that includes your precious David. I will let his nature kill him. The life he has chosen will define his wishes, and I will turn them to his destruction, as I vowed.”

“What of Miriam? She has vowed to save him.”

“She’s too late.” Cali moved out of his embrace, standing and walking to the edge of the waves.

“It’s never too late.” He followed her. “You only have to choose life.”

She turned from the sea and faced him. “I chose death.”

“Because you were hurt, violated in your spirit. I am sorry, Cali.”

“I didn’t tell you the story for pity. I told you so you’d know I’m serious about killing David. You won’t seduce me from my vow.”

“Seduce?”

“Being kind to me. Being nice.”

“It’s easy to be kind to you.”

She shook her head.

Rage surged through him that life had destroyed her self-perception. She should be a bringer of delight, a joy to the heart, laughter and happiness.

“You’re beautiful.” He paused. “I’m not a poet. I don’t have pretty words to woo a woman—”

“I told you. I don’t want seduction.”

“I’m giving you the truth. You deserve pretty words and loving touches. You won’t believe me because I’m clumsy. Words.” His fists closed in frustration. “I look at you and see a powerful woman who ought to radiate generosity and grace, and instead, she’s curled up like a terrified hedgehog, all prickles and vulnerability. You’ve been hurt and you’ve settled for vengeance rather than risk your heart again.”

“I’m cursed, Andrew.” She whirled and punched his chest. “I have no hope, no freedom. I live in a damn bottle.” He caught her wrist as she slammed him again and, off balance, she landed against him. “Don’t tell me I can be and have what I want. I can’t. I can’t and you’re cruel to make me remember.”

“To remember what?” He held her close, one hand smoothing over her back. “To remember the pain or the joy of love? Would Paul want you to dwell on the pain?”

“Paul? He wouldn’t know. I was a girl he met in the marketplace. He’d only just learned my name and begun to smile at me. My knees used to go weak—from a man’s smile. We never even kissed.” She pushed her face into his shirt. “Our love never had a chance because I’m cursed.”

“Cali.” He tried to ignore the surge of possessive satisfaction that the poet hadn’t kissed her. “Forget the curse. You’re making your own life harsher by punishing yourself for what you couldn’t control. Allow yourself joy. Stolen moments can be the sweetest.”

“How would you know?” She leaned back to glare at him. “You’re an angel. You don’t have to steal anything.”

“Don’t I?” He regarded her ruefully. “I think I’ll have to steal your kisses.”

Her eyes widened.

“No answer?” He caressed her face, tracing the soft curves, feeling the flutter of her lashes. Her trust was as fragile as a moth. Except he was the moth, impossibly drawn to her bright flame. “Your skin is soft and you smell of roses.” He kissed her, keeping the touch light. “Your lips are softer. You taste of summer.”

She stared at him blankly, but her fingers caught at his shirt, bunching it.

“I was wrong to call you hard yesterday. You are soft, seductive.” He kissed her, adding a little more pressure.

Her lips parted.

Sweeter than peaches.
Her taste intoxicated him with the pleasures of summer. Long, lazy delight. He learned her mouth. The satin lips and moist cavern. Her sweet breath and shy tongue. She wasn’t accustomed to play.

He shifted his hold, pressing her closer, trying not to frighten her with his own driving need. He was so greedy for touch.

Her fingers released his shirt and her hands crept around to flatten against his back. Through the shirt, his skin burned at her claiming. His arms tightened and his kisses became more insistent. Her head tilted back as he kissed a line down her throat. He licked the wild pulse in its hollow.

She shivered and clutched his shoulders. “Andrew?”

He heard her uncertainty and gentled his hold, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. “See, love? I’m a thief too, stealing kisses and pleasure.”

“I’m trembling.”

“I know.” He recognized her desire and it fed his own. But kisses were one thing. Seduction required consent—and that couldn’t be given while she was emotionally vulnerable. Tempted though he was.

He kissed her black hair, then rested his cheek against it. Overhead, the seagulls called.

It wasn’t passion his Cali had to be seduced to accept, it was tenderness.

Cali rested against Andrew, stunned at her blazing response to his kisses. She could taste him on her lips and feel the rapid thud of his heart. She shivered at her awareness of their bodies touching, of their breathing and heartbeats settling into rhythm. She half wanted to tear herself away and dive into the cold sea, but the other half wanted to dive into him.

His cheek moved against her hair and his arms shifted from tight need to a cherishing hold.

The comfort further undermined her resistance. He might have stolen a kiss, but now he freely gave the gift of his embrace and she fell into it. His large body aroused and reassured her. She relaxed and let his strength support her and felt his satisfied sigh.

Oh God, I’m relying on him.
She pulled back.

For a second he resisted.

She panicked and dematerialized, slipping away from him.

“Cali.” The urgent plea faded as Andrew also dematerialized.

Shock sparked through her as his spirit body stroked along hers. It was like two clouds on the verge of merging. But where she was small and amorphous, Andrew had a shining quality and a definite shape.

She realized he was trying to surround her, bottling her up to prevent her escaping him. It triggered centuries of sensitivity to her captivity. She lashed out, but in this form she had neither hands nor feet, nor would they have connected with Andrew’s spirit form. Instead she attacked with pure energy.

Streaks of lightning cut at him. When he flinched, she fled.

She rematerialized inside her bottle, wrapped her arms around herself and shook with a mix of pain and panic.

“It’s all right, love.”

“You can’t come in here.” It was her prison and sanctuary. “Get out.” She pushed at him, then recognized the burn across his cheek and the scorched shirt. “I hurt you.”

“I deserved it. I scared you, chasing after you. I went too fast.”

Her fingers hovered over the burn on his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her fingers trembled. She fisted them and spun away. “I have ointment.”

The jar was in the bathroom and collecting it, rather than summoning it to her, gave her a few seconds of privacy in which to regain her composure. Being with Andrew undid all her hard-learned lessons of survival. He undermined her control and made her someone she didn’t know. Someone uncertain, vulnerable—

No. I’m not vulnerable. Never again.

The jar of ointment was on a high shelf. She stretched up. The jar was carved from rose marble, cold and heavy. She held it with two hands and walked out of the bathroom to face Andrew’s anxious gaze.

He hadn’t moved. But his expression gave away his fears. He’d thought she might run again.

To where?
David bound them both. Andrew as his guardian angel and she as servant-djinni to his wishes. She would have to face Andrew at some point and defeat him, if she was to keep her vow to kill David. She had to remember—she and Andrew were on opposite sides. She couldn’t believe that he cared about her.

“Sit down.”

He sat on a long divan, a daybed where she often read or lounged, writing music to play on her guitar. The guitar sat in a corner of the room in the shadows. Light came through filigree windows from the pattern etched into the outside of the djinni bottle.

She took the lid off the jar and smoothed some ointment over the burn on Andrew’s face. He watched her eyes. She avoided his.

“How is your chest?”

For answer, he stripped his shirt off over his head.

There was no burn.

Cali glanced back at Andrew’s face. The burn there had already faded.

She replaced the jar lid with a snap. “If you can heal yourself, you should have said. I’m wasting my time.”

“I wanted your hands on me, the indulgence of your care.” He sat half-naked on her divan and dared to woo her.

“Put your shirt back on.” She returned the jar to the bathroom and washed her hands. The lavender soap had the sharp fresh scent of dewy mornings. She splashed cool water on her face and tasted it on her lips. The touch of her tongue reminded her of Andrew’s kiss. She blinked at her reflection in the mirror and saw the water spiking her eyelashes almost like tears. A rough scrub with the towel took care of that resemblance.

Andrew had to leave. She stalked back into the main room, intent on kicking him out.

He hadn’t put his shirt back on.

“Leave.” The muscles of his chest tempted her to look. Then her hands wanted to follow her eyes and trace the definition of his muscles, to smooth over his shoulders and appreciate his strength. But she was strong. She was a djinni—she offered temptation, she didn’t succumb to it. “Out. I didn’t invite you to my home.”

“Your bedroom.”

“Just go.”

He stood slowly. “I stole a kiss, but what I really want from you has to be a gift. Desire has to be given freely, has to be shared, or there’s no satisfaction. Touch me without the excuse of healing. Trace patterns on my skin. Watch me respond to you. I want you, love.”

Color burned under her skin. She could imagine touching him. Her body responded to her thoughts. Fear and fascination kept her silent, anchored between caution and desire.

“What if I promise not to touch you?” Andrew offered. His voice was so low the vibrations rumbled along her nerves. “My pursuit scared you. What if I stand here and you do as you will? You can trust me. You just have to learn me.”

“I can’t trust you. And you can’t trust me.”

For answer he took her hands, kissed each palm with solemn approval and placed them on his chest.

The warmth of his skin heated her clear through. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, the racing of his heart. His eyes were intent, willing her to accept his invitation. To touch him.

Her fingers curled just enough that the nails grazed his skin. His eyes closed. His mouth tightened in control and need.

It was his responsiveness that undid her.

He stood like a rock, feet wide to stabilize himself as her hands explored and massaged his chest and shoulders. She traced the veins on his arms, saw his nostrils flare and knew he’d opened his eyes and was watching her.

“I like touching you,” she said huskily and returned her hands to his chest and teased his nipples. The heat in his eyes excited her as much as his ragged breathing, and under it all was the singing knowledge that he controlled himself to give her power. This choice was hers.

She leaned forward a fraction and tugged his nipple with her lips.

“Sweet heaven, love” he ground out. His hips thrust against her. “Let me hold you.”

She released his nipple to look up at him and smile. “Sit down.” A push reinforced the order and he fell back onto the divan. She followed him down, straddling his lap and kneeling up to kiss his mouth.

He groaned and took her mouth fiercely. His hands remained by his sides, his arms rigid with tension as he held to his promise not to touch her.

“You taste good,” she whispered.

He tried to recapture her mouth with his, but she settled firmly in his lap and leaned back to unbutton her shirt. His eyes glittered and he thrust his hips, rubbing himself against her. She had to clutch his shoulder for balance, abandoning the shirt half-buttoned.

It was wicked the way he made her feel. She pulsed and ached, and the torment of his big body moving under hers only made it worse.

“If I hold you, you can finish unbuttoning your shirt. I’d like to see your breasts.”

She looked down at them. Their full swell was shadowed, the nipples just hidden. If Andrew would only stop moving, stop exciting her, she could think. She gave him the truth.

“I want to rub my bare breasts against your chest.”

He shuddered to a stop. “Do it.”

She ripped the remaining buttons and shrugged the shirt off. The air was cool but the heat coming off Andrew’s body scorched her. She knelt up, put her hands around his neck and dragged her nipples up his chest and through the slight abrasion of his chest hair. Back and forth. The exquisite sensation mesmerized her.

Andrew tipped his head back as he strained for control.

She hesitated. She felt powerful and wild, wanted. It let her give him permission.

“Touch me, Andrew. Please.”

Color burned the skin over his cheekbones. His large hands closed on her hips and locked her against him. Even through the layers of clothing she felt his arousal. He was hard, hot and massively ready. She rocked forward and his hands tightened. Then they slid up her body, from the thick cotton of her black breeches to her naked skin, up along her waist, with his thumbs skimming inward and then reaching her breasts.

He cherished her breasts, cupping their fullness and caressing the sensitive nipples with agonizing thoroughness till she panted and begged for him.

“Yes.” He pulled her up and his mouth closed hungrily over her breast. He sucked strongly and her whole body contracted before exploding.

She was dimly aware of being lifted and settled sideways on his lap. Slow strokes of his hand over her stomach and breasts drew her back and her mind crept out of its pleasure-dazed fog to the realization that she was being cuddled and petted, and she liked it.

“Andrew.” Her fingers traced his square jaw and threaded into his hair.

He nuzzled into the caress. One hand splayed possessively over her stomach.

“Thank you, Cali.”

“For what?” She was the one who should be thanking him. Her body was simultaneously light and heavy with satisfaction. She could rest in his arms forever.

“For trusting me.”

Her languid contentment faltered.

“You climaxed in my arms as I watched. Only being inside you could be better than that.”

He kissed her fiercely while Cali fought the internal tremors at the thought of a shared climax. She would hold him tight, take him deep. But trust was a word and concept that had been abused in her life. Men used her.

Cold flowed from her heart to her veins even as Andrew caressed her breasts and throat and felt the hectic pulse of her blood.

When he released her lips, she said, “You didn’t get any satisfaction. Do you want my help to climax?”

There was an endless moment of shock and silence, and then he put her away from him. “You don’t owe me anything, Cali. This isn’t a transaction. Your trust honored me. Your pleasure delighted me.”

She wriggled off his lap and stooped for her shirt.

“Regrets?” The bitten-off word held his anger and bewilderment. “You were with me, love.”

She shook her head, pulling on the white linen shirt and wrapping it around her.

“You were.” He stood.

The impact of his maleness had her fighting not to retreat, and fighting not to throw herself at him and claim total possession.

“I can’t let myself trust you,” she said painfully.

He stared at her for a fraught ten seconds, time enough for them both to remember how she’d trusted him.

“Damn.” He vanished in a violent shockwave as if lightning struck and destroyed the foundations of her home.

“My prison,” Cali said.

It wasn’t just Solomon’s curse that locked her away. It was her own inability to trust.