BOUND TO SEDUCTION

Firebrand - 1

ELISABETH NAUGHTON

CHAPTER ONE

The clank of the cell door opening echoed like a thousand cannons exploding across the night sky.

Tariq lifted his head and gazed through the strands of hair covering his eyes, only to experience the rush of blood boiling in his veins when he saw the condescending face peering down at him through the bars.

“Sleep has not done you well, Tariq,” Zoraida mocked, the opulent blue silk of her gown swishing as she moved into his dingy cell. Behind her, three guards, armed to the hilt, remained outside the bars, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “I fear your will to live hangs in the balance.”

His arms ached from being held above his head as he’d leaned against the stone wall and tried to sleep, and he was weak from lack of food, but he pushed to his bare feet, the chains cuffed to his wrists rattling against the bar embedded waist high in the cold stone at his back. With some unseen force of will, he contained the fury whipping through him at the sight of the sorceress who’d imprisoned him in this hellhole. But smiled to himself at the knowledge his misery would soon be over. And with it, her reign.

“The only life that hangs in the balance is yours, sayyeda. I’m willing to die for my cause. And when I do, yours goes with it.”

Her superior grin faded. Those emerald eyes, as dangerous as chipped glass, narrowed with a hatred he felt burn all the way to the depths of his soul. “You will continue to do my will. As you have for ages. That is the command of your sayyeda.”

“Fuck your command,” he growled. “I’m done being your slave.”

She moved closer, until the sweet, powdery scent of her assailed his nostrils. Close but not close enough for him to reach. Even with his powers bound in this dungeon, she knew better. “Such aggression and hostility from a fierce Marid warrior is not unexpected. But I wonder this. How long will your resolve last when the lives of all you love are on the line?”

“You hold no power over my tribe. My kingdom will persist. Your immortality dies with me.”

Her gaze traveled the length of his bare chest, hovered on the amulet against his throat, then dropped to the scrap of dirty cloth tied across his hips. She looked down his bare legs at the food he refused to eat, still sitting on the tray on the hard, stone floor at his feet, then back to his face. A malicious grin spread across her bloodred lips. “No, djinni. My immortality will continue to thrive. And you will continue to fuel it.” Without looking away, she called, “Guards?”

Shuffling echoed behind her. Tariq’s attention slid from her to the dark corridor outside his cell and the two men being dragged across the dungeon floor. Both wore nothing but scraps of cloth, like him, and both were bloodied and bruised as if they’d been beaten to within an inch of their lives. Long, dark hair fell across their faces, shielding their eyes, but on each, a fire opal—similar to the one he wore around his neck—reflected light into the dank room.

“Bring them closer so he gets a good look,” Zoraida said, still focused only on him.

Both men grunted as they were shoved face-first up against the bars. Then the guards grasped their hair and lifted their heads so Tariq could see his brothers’ bloody, dirt-streaked and swollen faces.

The fury born into his tribe from the beginning of time erupted inside him. He lurched forward, ready to tear Zoraida’s throat out with his bare hands, but the chains clanked again, stopping his momentum. “Release them, you bitch!”

Zoraida stepped so close he could see every tiny pore on her disgustingly perfect face. “You will not stop me, Tariq. And you will do as I command, or I will slit their throats and end their meager existences. The Kingdom of Gannah now rests in my hands, not yours. Continue down this road of so-called honor and everything you hold dear will fall to ruin.”

Blond hair fell over her bare shoulder, the soft curls brushing her milky cleavage as she lifted a finely manicured finger and ran it down the length of his cheek. She was beautiful—blindingly so. But her beauty was a farce. Underneath, she was aged and decrepit. As aged and decrepit as Tariq felt from the years of his imprisonment.

Her expression shifted from enraged to amused. “Of course, if you were to cooperate, I might be amenable to releasing…one.” She shot a look over her shoulder toward his brothers. “Even if he is now…stained.”

The need for revenge enflamed Tariq from the inside out, but he let his gaze drift past her to his brothers. Both were strong djinn warriors, princes of their kingdom, as was he, but they weren’t ruled by fate. They exercised free will. And as such were open to corruption, as he had been. If he—the eldest and strongest of the brotherhood—had fallen prey to the seductive sorceress, then he’d been a fool to think his brothers were safe.

Nasir’s chest rose and fell with his labored breaths, but in his eyes, Tariq saw determination. And the unspoken words: Do not break, brother. His gaze shifted to Ashur, who could barely keep his eyes open. He would not last through another beating by Zoraida’s guards.

Tariq ground his teeth and looked back toward the sorceress. And though it took every ounce of strength he had left, he forced the words past his teeth when he said, “What would you have me do, sayyeda?”

Nasir opened his mouth to protest, but the guard kneed him in the kidneys. Nasir groaned and slid to his knees.

“Eat,” Zoraida said, watching Nasir writhe on the ground as if it pleased her. “Regain your strength. And when you are called upon, service your mistress’s wishes in the manner in which she is accustomed.” She threw a victorious grin over her shoulder toward Tariq. “Without hesitation.”

Bile churned in Tariq’s stomach as he looked toward Nasir’s pain, unable to help or even avenge his brother. And every muscle in his body screamed No! to what Zoraida was offering. But if this were the only way to ensure his brothers did not die—for at least one to be free—for them he would agree. He would once again become the pleasure slave Zoraida had condemned him to be. And every soul she sent him into the human realm to corrupt would fuel her immortality that much longer.

But by all that was holy, he would never stop looking for a path to his own freedom. He would find it. And one day soon, he would see her blood stain the ground at his feet.

“As you will it, sayyeda,” he said through clenched teeth.

She stepped to the bars, ran her fingers down Ashur’s cheek, and harrumphed. To the guard holding him upright, she said, “See to it he does not die. At least not yet.” As she moved through the cell door, she added, “You will have your new assignment tomorrow, Tariq. And this time, use all within your power to make sure the woman is satisfied. My immortality and your brothers’ lives depend on it.”

* * *

Mira Dawson drew in a deep breath in the hopes it would settle the nerves bouncing in her stomach.

It didn’t.

Stop being so nervous. You’re just shopping.

Shopping. Yeah, that was it. Just an ordinary, everyday shopping trip.

The lie swirled easily in her mind, and though her subconscious screamed turn the hell around, something more primal urged her on. Running her sweaty hands down the front of her T-shirt, she steeled her nerves, then pushed the shop’s doors open.

The bell above jangled. Vintage clothing hung on the wall to her left. Racks of capes and corsets and short, flirty skirts filled the small central space. Hats decorated with feathery plumes hung on hooks all along the left, rows and rows of stiletto-style boots lined the floor, and ahead, a glass counter filled with antique jewelry finished off the cramped room.

She felt as if she’d stepped back in time. To when women were sex objects dressing to please their masters. Apprehension slid through her, and she was just about to turn around and leave when a woman pushed aside the curtained doorway behind the counter and said, “May I help you?”

Too late to bolt.

Mira forced a smile as her pulse picked up speed. She stepped toward the counter. “Yes. Um, maybe.” She glanced around the shop, making sure it was truly empty, then lowered her voice and added, “I’ve come to inquire about the Firebrand opal.”

The woman’s eyes hardened behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked to be in her mid-forties, round in the face, plump through the hips, more motherly than madam. But her eyes…her silver eyes…were assessing. And knowing. And hinted of dark, seductive secrets.

Mira swallowed the lump in her throat. As the uncomfortable silence stretched out, she realized hightailing it out of this place really was the best idea after all. But before she could move her feet, the woman motioned with her hand and said, “Come.”

Curiosity got the best of her. It was her biggest flaw. She always needed to know how and why things worked, and when she’d heard about the Firebrand opal, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but the—supposed—magical stone. She knew that was the reason she was here now.

Part of the reason, at least. Or so she tried to convince herself.

Mira’s hands shook as she made her way around the counter and stepped through the curtained doorway. The back room was nothing special. An old box-style TV sat on a chipped table. A love seat covered by a blanket was pushed up against the far wall, and inventory boxes were scattered through the small space. When the woman pointed to the couch and barked, “Sit!” Mira did as she was instructed, not sure what to expect.

The woman opened a curio cabinet Mira hadn’t noticed, extracted a wooden box and brought it to the couch. She sat next to Mira and studied her with those weird, silver eyes once more, her hands resting on the top of the aged wood as if protecting an ancient treasure. “How did you hear of the Firebrand opal?”

“A…friend told me about its…unique…properties.”

“And what do you seek from the opal?”

Mira’s pulse beat like wildfire as she remembered what Claudette, the woman who was most definitely not a friend but who’d been seated next to her at the salon, had said about the opal.

Wicked pleasure, mind-numbing fantasies, your heart’s every secret, sinful desire come true.

Though Mira wouldn’t mind experiencing a few X-rated fantasies brought to life, it wasn’t what she wanted most. “I seek…a man.”

The woman’s brow lifted.

“Not just any man,” Mira corrected, feeling suddenly foolish as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “A specific one. Devin Sloan.” Her face heated. “I work with him at my architecture firm. He’s gorgeous.” Defeat rushed through her. “And he doesn’t see me as anything but a friend.”

“The opal does not have the power to make someone fall in love with you.”

Mira knew that. Claudette had said as much. Though Claudette hadn’t actually used the necklace, she claimed she knew someone who had. “I don’t want him to fall in love with me. I mean, I do. Eventually. But I wouldn’t want him to fall in love with me because of a wish. I want him to fall in love with me because he wants to.” Her cheeks literally burned. God, she felt foolish. “All I really want is for him to notice me. I want to…learn…how to gain his attention. And then how to keep that attention, once I’ve got it.”

Because that was the real issue here. She met lots of men, and she dated. She wasn’t locking herself away somewhere. But she’d yet to find one who was as interested in her as she was in him. Which was why none of her relationships ever seemed to get off the ground.

The woman’s eyes narrowed once more. “Are you a virgin?”

Mira couldn’t help but laugh. But it came out stilted and awkward, not confident as she’d hoped. “No. Definitely not.” She was thirty-two years old, for crying out loud. “I’m just not…” Okay, now she sounded pathetic. She drew a deep breath. “For whatever reason, I’ve yet to meet a man who is enraptured by me. And I’m thinking that’s got to be related to the way I react to them. Dating is one thing. Taking a relationship to another level and keeping a man’s interest for more than a couple of dates is something completely different. I guess I just want to learn to be more desirable.”

She thought of Devin. His sandy blond hair and devastating smile. He definitely didn’t see her as desirable, even though she’d had a crush on him forever. He saw her as any other girl in the office. And that chapped Mira’s ass more than anything.

The woman smoothed her hands over the box. Seemed to debate…something. Just when Mira was sure the woman was going to boot her out of the building, she said, “The opal’s power is not to be underestimated. It will burn through you, tempt you, and if you are not careful, it has the power to destroy you.”

Mira didn’t like the way that sounded. Claudette hadn’t said anything about being destroyed. She’d simply said the opal had the power to grant wishes.

The woman opened the box and extracted a silver chain before Mira could ask what she meant. A tear-shaped fire opal, alive with red and orange hues and edged in silver, hung from the bottom of the chain. Light from the opal seemed to glow throughout the room, sending shimmering ribbons of color across the walls. Mira’s eyes widened. The woman held it out to her, and before Mira could stop herself, her fingers were brushing the stone, its warmth searing her skin.

“When you leave here, put this around your neck,” the woman told her. “Once you make your wish, do not try to remove it. You will not be able to until your wish is fulfilled. But heed my warning: Choosing to wear the Firebrand opal opens yourself to consequences you may not yet foresee. Be sure it is a risk you are willing to take.”

Mira held the opal in the palm of her hand, stared down at the red and orange colors dancing like fire as her entire arm warmed. Though the woman’s warning made her pause, the longer she stared at the opal, the less worried she grew.

She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Couldn’t seem to look away from the stone. An uncontrollable urge to keep it with her…always...consumed her. “Wh-what happens to it when my wish is fulfilled?”

“The opal will find its way into the hands of another. That is all you need to know.” The woman rose as if in a hurry. With the box tucked under one arm, she gestured toward the curtain. “Now go. And do not put the talisman on until you are far from my store. I’ll not have its magic unleashed here.”

In a fog, Mira found her feet. She was still having trouble looking away from the stone. When the woman pushed her toward the curtain and out into the store, though, Mira finally snapped out of her trance and tucked the opal into the pocket of her jacket. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? That doesn’t seem right. This necklace has to be worth something.”

The woman’s silver eyes narrowed once more. “You will discover its price soon enough.”

Before Mira could ask what that meant, the woman disappeared through the curtains, and a chilling silence settled over the shop.

CHAPTER TWO

Mira bit her lip as she stared at the opal laid out on her kitchen table an hour later. It wasn’t glowing anymore, and looking at it now, she was pretty sure she’d imagined that to begin with. The thing was nothing but a pretty necklace, really. A trinket.

And yet, she couldn’t get the shop owner’s warning out of her head. Choosing to wear the Firebrand opens yourself to consequences you may not yet foresee. Be sure it is a risk you are willing to take.

She pushed out of her chair, went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea. On the street below, cars honked in the Pearl District of downtown Portland. She should be at work, but she’d taken the afternoon off after visiting that shop, and she knew there was no way she could work from home right now. Not when the opal was all she could think about.

The microwave beeped. She pulled the steaming cup out, dropped the tea bag inside. Looked back at the necklace on the table and tried to think logically.

What consequences? What kind of magic did it really have…if any? Mira had a degree. For a while in school, she’d been pre-med. She knew all about the placebo effect. About sugar pills tricking patients into thinking they were receiving medications that were helping them. In her head she didn’t doubt this necklace was the same sort of mirage. If someone who wore it believed it had power, it gave them a confidence they wouldn’t otherwise have.

She blew on her tea. Winced when her subconscious said, Okay, then why did you go all the way down to that shop? And why do you now have the gemstone?

She brought the tea back to the table. Didn’t sit but stared down at the necklace as she debated her choices. Just because she was aware of something didn’t mean she wasn’t open to trying it. After all, she was also “aware” that the power of persuasion was a big one. And she wanted Devin. Had wanted him for a while now. She’d finally just reached a point where she was tired of waiting for him to realize she was his perfect match. If wearing this silly necklace somehow gave her the confidence to take things with him beyond friendship, then she was willing to give it a try—whether it had real power or not.

She set her tea on the table, lifted the necklace. And told herself to stop being such a pansy. As she slipped the chain around her throat and closed the clasp, then brushed her fingers across the opal nestled just above her cleavage, she reminded herself that she was a smart woman. A successful architect. She wasn’t desperate. She didn’t need a man to complete her, but she wanted one. And if this didn’t work, well, it wasn’t the end of her world. Nothing bad was going to happen, as that shopkeeper had cryptically led her to believe.

“Your wish, my command.”

Mira whipped around at the sound of the deep voice and stared through the archway at the man standing in the middle of her living room. Fear raced through her chest. She took one step back toward the kitchen counter behind her and the knife block she knew was there. “Wh-who are you, and how did you get into my apartment?”

A slow, mesmerizing smile slinked across his deeply tanned face. “My name is Tariq. And you wished for me. That is how I came to be.”

Mira’s heart pounded so hard beneath her ribs, she was sure he had to hear it. She bumped into the counter, inched her hand backward until her fingers knocked into the knife block. “I—I didn’t call for anyone. Leave. Now. Or I will call the cops.”

His gaze dropped from her face to her chest. “Did you not put on the necklace?” He stepped into the kitchen, and Mira’s eyes widened when she took a good look at him in the light streaming through her kitchen window. Shoulder-length dark hair, ebony eyes, a strong, square jaw covered in a dusting of scruff, and a body sporting jeans and a light blue T-shirt that didn’t hide the fact it looked as if it were carved from marble. “Azizity, I am from the opal.”

Holy hell, the guy was psycho. Mira stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t make another move toward her, only stared back with a knowing and heated expression, one that, for reasons she couldn’t explain, shot warmth straight to her center.

No way this was real. She glanced past him to the door, which was still locked, the chain exactly where she’d left it when she’d come home, then to the windows that didn’t show any evidence of having been opened.

“What…? How…?”

“Have you ever heard of a race known as djinn?”

Mira’s eyes grew even wider as they swept back to him. “As in Arabic folklore? Are you saying you’re a genie?”

Correction, not just psycho. This guy was off the flippin’ charts insane.

“Folklore to humans,” he said with only the slightest narrowing of his fathomless eyes. “And genie is such a derogatory word.”

She looked around again, knowing she was either about to get sliced and diced by some escaped mass murderer, or that she was hallucinating. Big-time.

She had to be hallucinating. “I—I don’t see a lamp.”

One corner of his lips turned up in amusement. “We don’t use lamps. Another myth.” He took one small step closer to her, and even from across the distance, she felt the heat of his body stir the air around her. “I am Tariq from the Marid tribe and the Kingdom of Gannah. And I am here to fulfill your wish.”

* * *

Tariq waited for the woman to say something—anything—but she only continued to stare at him with those unbelieving eyes. Eyes that were a unique mix of green and brown, rimmed in gold.

As those pretty eyes grew wider and she still didn’t say anything, he fought from frowning. She had summoned him, dammit. She was the one who had gone looking for the Firebrand opal, and now she was standing stock-still before him as if she’d seen a ghost? He would never understand humans. They wished for things they didn’t want, and then when they had them, they wished for something else.

Bile churned in his stomach over the fact he was being forced to do this yet again, but he reminded himself what was at stake here. For his brothers, he would seduce again. As many times as he had to until they were both free. This one wouldn’t be a total hardship, he realized as he took in the strawberry-blond hair that fell to her shoulders, the high cheekbones, the small mouth, and seductive mole just to the right of her lips. But he’d done this too many times during the long years of his imprisonment to be anything more than only slightly intrigued by the woman in front of him. And until she cooperated and stopped looking at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, he couldn’t get this thing started then finished so he could focus on a plan to destroy Zoraida for good.

“Azizity?” he asked, careful not to touch her, at least not yet. “Are you all right?”

“I—” Her gaze raced over his features; then her face paled, and her eyes rolled back in her head just before her whole body went limp.

“Humans.” Tariq wrapped his arms around her before she hit the counter and fell to the floor. The scent of peaches assailed his nostrils. Smooth skin and sensuous curves filled his hands as he lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than he thought but still deadweight against him as he carried her into the living room and laid her out on the couch.

No, he would definitely never understand this race. Even with the shock he was used to seeing on their faces when he first appeared, he’d never had one pass out on him.

He wasn’t sure what to do, so he went back into the kitchen, grabbed a towel from the drawer, and ran it under a stream of warm water. After ringing it out, he came back to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch next to her.

Soft waves fell across her cheeks. He brushed them back, felt the satiny strands against his fingers, and marveled at the contrast between his dark flesh and her much paler skin tone. Long lashes feathered the skin beneath her eyes, making her look almost angelic. And her mouth—plump and pink—drew his attention. A mouth he would soon be taking, soon be licking, soon be tasting.

A wicked shot of heat rolled through his groin. A dark desire he usually had to work to conjure. But this came suddenly, without force, without the magic he always needed to become aroused. The realization caught him off guard more than the fact she’d passed out on him.

It would make things easier, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything. Pushing the thoughts aside, he ran the damp towel along her forehead. “Wake up, azizity. I’m not here to hurt you, only to pleasure you with your wish.”

And corrupt your soul to feed the immortality of one evil sorceress.

He ignored that thought too. Dwelling on it would get him nowhere. And he was as much a victim in this as she was. More so, because she’d asked for it.

Slowly, her head rolled to the side, the muscles around her eyes tightened; then she blinked several times before opening those mesmerizing eyes and looking up at him. It took several seconds before recognition dawned, but when it did, her eyes flew wide all over again. She pushed up on her arms and scrambled back into the corner of the couch. “Oh my God.”

“Relax, azizity. All is well.”

Her gaze shot from him to the kitchen and back again. “I wasn’t hallucinating.”

He chuckled. He sorta liked this human. Even with her odd reactions. “No, you most certainly were not.”

“I… You… This…”

Still scared, he realized. There was only one way to fix that. Even though it was a risk, he sensed unless he took this chance, they were going to circle around each other and never get down to business. And that wouldn’t help his brothers.

“Listen to me, azizity. You have the power here. I have none. I’ll show you. Brush your fingers over the opal at your chest.” When she only continued to stare at him, he added, “Go on. Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”

Cautiously, she brought her fingers toward the opal, then touched it gently, caressing the stone in such a way he felt the vibration in the very center of his chest.

Which was weird. Because even though he was bound to the stone, he wasn’t connected to it physically.

Before he could ponder what that meant, he was flying across time and space, then materializing back where he’d started.

Sunshine-laden walls and comfy feminine furnishings gave way to drab gray, cold stone, and iron bars. The guard outside his cell whipped around when he heard Tariq appear, narrowed his eyes, and shot a look toward the chains in the wall.

Contempt brewed in Tariq’s chest. Even in his cell, they didn’t trust him. Not after he’d attacked Zoraida’s guards upon return from his last assignment. And this guard had to realize he was back sooner than anticipated, which meant he’d failed.

Hopefully not. Hopefully his assignment possessed that human characteristic that made his job possible, even if she was different from all the rest.

Curiosity.

The guard took a step toward the door, his jaw hardening. Metal clanged as he pulled the sword from the sheath at his hip. But before he could get the key in the lock, Tariq was flying again.

Relief whipped through him. As awful as it was to be forced against his will, spending time with the woman was a thousand times better than being locked in that cell. Or punished.

He materialized again in the middle of her living room. She was sitting up on the couch, her eyes still wide, a lock of hair brushing her cheek. But like he’d hoped, her fingers were once again brushing the opal near her breasts.

“Where…where did you go?” she asked.

“To my world,” he answered, not moving from his spot. Not yet. He didn’t want to do anything to spook her. “My realm exists on another plane. The opal is the doorway through which I cross. And you, azizity, are the key master who either summons or sends me back.”

“Whoa.” She pressed a hand to her head. “I feel like I’ve fallen into a twisted version of the Ghostbusters Only I don’t remember any of the actors looking like you.”

He chuckled again. Because her reactions were not at all what he expected. “You seem surprised by this. Were you not instructed in what to expect from the Firebrand?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” She raked a hand through her long hair, the soft strands falling against her cheeks and shoulders like waves of silk. “I mean”—she looked up at him—”all I knew was that the opal had power. That it could make wishes come true. Not that it housed a gen—” Her cheeks brightened. “I mean…you.”

Shocked and cautious but observant. Another interesting reaction. “And now that you know, do you wish you’d made a different choice?”

“I don’t know. How does this work? You’re djinn. Isn’t that like…a demon?”

Add smart to her list of attributes. He sat on the ottoman of a nearby plush chair. “Djinn are as old as angels. We are spiritual beings who take on solid form. Like humans, some are good, some are evil, and still some are benevolent. My brothers and I hail from the Marid tribe. We are the most powerful djinn, but we are also the ones you want on your side.”

“Do other djinn…besides you…cross into the human world?”

“Yes. Frequently. Many are fascinated with human behavior. They camouflage themselves, allowing them to remain unseen as they cause trouble. As spirits, it’s easy to influence humans to do one thing over another. Think of it like the devil sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. You can’t hear him, but he’s there.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” she mumbled, glancing toward the floor.

He smiled again. He did like this human. He normally didn’t feel compelled to give this much information, but she was truly interested, and he also sensed without it, they’d never be able to move on. “Some of us don’t relish causing havoc. We grant wishes. Which, you have to agree, is a good thing.”

Her eyes slid to his, and he saw the hesitation in their hazel depths. And for the first time in all the years he’d been doing this, a shot of guilt spiraled through his stomach.

“So how does it work?” she asked. “The wish? Do I tell you what I want and that’s it?”

Guilt was replaced with another wave of heat rolling through his groin. A heat that was again a surprise. “Yes, azizity. Your wish is my command.”

He knew what was coming. Some twisted female fantasy where she had all the control and he was forced to pleasure her in whatever perverse way she wanted. The scenes changed from woman to woman—sometimes he was ordered to act as a Viking, other times a soldier, even others a pool boy—but the end result was always the same. He did whatever, wherever, and however they wanted. No matter how humiliating it may be for him.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked back down at the carpet again, twisting her fingers together. “Oh.”

As he sat in silence, waiting, he couldn’t help but be taken aback by her reaction. Why wasn’t she telling him what to do? Why wasn’t she already commanding him? Her embarrassment was so different from the other females who had summoned him. By this point, most were already naked, laid back like an offering, waiting for him to get on with it. And yet she sat across from him, embarrassed by what she wanted.

“There’s nothing to be apprehensive about, azizity. I am yours to command.”

Her eyes grew wide just before she covered them with her hands. “Oh, boy,” she mumbled. “This is so not what I was expecting.”

Heat arced through his pelvis again, and this time…the thought of acting out those fantasies didn’t turn his stomach. In fact, thinking about acting them out with her excited him in a way that left him feeling the slightest bit…confused.

“Fear not, azizity. Tell me your wish, and we will commence at your speed. For however long it takes until you are thoroughly satisfied.”

She dropped her hands into her lap. Frowned. “Why do you keep calling me that? Azizity?”

“It’s a term of endearment where I’m from. It means ‘my darling.’”

Her frown deepened. “I’d rather you call me by my name. Mira. Mira Dawson.”

“Mira,” he said slowly. “It is an old name. Latin. It means peace.” Interesting. Since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any kind of peace. Not that it mattered, since he was a slave. He pushed the thought aside. “I am Tariq.”

They stared at each other across the room long seconds. And he sensed she wanted to rise, to cross to him, but didn’t know how. It was his job to push her. To influence her thoughts and actions so Zoraida could feed from her soul’s corruption. But somehow he knew if he pushed, this one would back far away. And there was no telling how long it would be until the Firebrand opal fell into another’s hands. Time his brothers just didn’t have.

Reluctantly, he pushed to his feet. This action would enrage Zoraida, but in the long run, he hoped it would pay off. “Think about what you want, Mira. And when you are ready, summon me back.”

Slowly, he stepped toward her, giving her plenty of time to see he wasn’t about to hurt her, and reached for her hand. Her skin was soft where his was rough, pale where his was dark. Lifting her fingers to his mouth, he skimmed his lips over her knuckles. Sparks of heat raced all through his body at the simple touch. Heat, he saw from the way her eyes darkened, she felt too.

Again, not what he expected. Not what he was used to. Nothing he even knew how to react to.

Brow wrinkling at what it all meant, he placed her hand at her chest, right over the opal, and for the first time in forever found himself torn between hoping she called him back and wishing she wouldn’t. Before he changed his mind, he said, “Now, send me home.”

CHAPTER THREE

Mira spent the rest of her day doing anything she could to take her mind off what had happened.

As she scrubbed the inside of her fridge, she knew only one thing for certain: Tariq was real. She hadn’t imagined their meeting or his poofing in and out of her living room. He was real. He wanted to grant her a wish. And he was a genie.

Her hand paused against the glass shelf. Holy hell. He was a genie. Even if he didn’t like to use that word, that was exactly what he was. The poof of black smoke when he’d disappeared and reappeared was as much an indication of that as was the fact he was bound to the opal.

She lifted her hand, almost touched the stone at her chest, then stopped short. She wasn’t ready to call him back. Not yet. She needed to think.

Forget thinking. She tossed the sponge into the sink across the room and ripped off her yellow latex gloves. What she needed to do was research.

She wound into her home office, sat in the chair behind her desk, and opened her laptop. An hour later, after filling her brain with enough djinn mythology to make her head ache, she was still confused.

He’d said some djinn were good. That they granted wishes. Yet her research said otherwise. It was the last few lines about his tribe—the Marid—that she couldn’t stop thinking about:

Few in number, very powerful. According to folklore, Marid have the ability to grant wishes to mortals; however, they usually only do so when forced by a master.

Mira sat back in her chair, fingered the chain at her neck. Remembered Tariq standing proud and warrior-like in front of her. Why would a djinni from the Marid tribe—which, according to her research, was the most powerful, the most proud, the most conservative of the six tribes when it came to interactions with humans—grant any kind of wish to a mere mortal? Everything she’d read said members of his tribe stuck together. Why would he care about her wants and needs? About any human’s wants and needs?

Her fingers drifted down the chain, hovered just above the opal. She’d taken it off earlier, then put it back on. The shop owner had said once she made her wish she wouldn’t be able to take it off until her wish was fulfilled. While the thought of it being locked around her neck for any extended length of time made her more than a little claustrophobic, she felt safe in the fact she controlled the situation. And that it was up to her to call Tariq back or not.

He wasn’t going to hurt her, of that she was sure as well. But was he offering her this deal because he wanted to? Or because he was being forced…for whatever reason?

Her thoughts drifted to Devin. Yes, she wanted him to notice her, but she wasn’t willing to do just anything to get him. Before she decided if she was really going to go through with this whole wish-fulfillment thing, she needed to find out more about Tariq.

Slowly, she pushed out of her chair, then paused in the doorway. Her bedroom sat to the left, the living room to the right. Darkness pressed in through the windows, telling her night had fallen while she’d been researching. A smart woman would go to bed, sleep on this decision before acting. But every time she thought about moving into her bedroom, she remembered Claudette’s claims.

Wicked pleasure, mind-numbing fantasies, your heart’s every secret, sinful desire come true.

Followed by the image of Tariq. Tall, broad, so very muscular. Dark and dangerous, radiating a sexuality even Devin couldn’t compete with. Then she heard Tariq’s deep, sexy voice when he’d said, I am yours to command. For however long it takes until you are thoroughly satisfied.

Her blood warmed. Shot sparks of need through her limbs, into her abdomen to spread rolling waves of heat across her hips and between her thighs. She gripped the doorframe for support.

“Oh God.” She would not survive a night fantasizing about him and that. She needed to know more. Now.

On unsteady legs, she made her way out into the living room, flipped on a lamp, and sat on the edge of the couch. Thankfully, it was Friday, and she didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. So it didn’t matter if this “discussion” lasted awhile or not. She didn’t have to be up early. And if the discussion turned into something else…

She swallowed hard at the erotic visions taking shape in her mind. The ones not of her and Devin, as she’d often dreamed, but of her and Tariq. Both naked and sweaty and breathless.

Her pulse picked up speed, and she swiped a hand over her suddenly damp forehead. Told herself to get a grip. That wasn’t why she was calling him back. Before she could change her mind, she brushed her fingers over the opal and held her breath to see if he’d appear.

A cloud of black smoke filled the center of the room then slowly dissipated, leaving Tariq standing in the same clothes he’d worn earlier. Only this time, those obsidian eyes, that fall of dark hair that just brushed his shoulders, and that insanely sharp jawline covered in scruff shot a thrill to her very core, not fear and apprehension as it had before.

“Mira,” he whispered, the corners of his lush lips curling ever so slightly. “Your wish, my command.”

Heat and need rippled right back through her abdomen, brought a flush to her cheeks. Every time he used the word command, she seemed to grow hotter.

She cleared her throat. Could tell from his waiting expression that he thought by calling him back it meant she wanted to begin their…what? Deal? Wish? Yet she hadn’t even told him what she wanted. And when she did…

Her blood went white-hot when she thought of what she wanted. And how he would work into that wish.

On shaky legs she stood, and when he took a step toward her, that thrill turned to excitement, but she held up a hand to stop him—and her. “Wait. I have some questions first.”

His eyes narrowed in speculation. But his expression cleared and settled before she could wonder what he was thinking. “Ask me anything. I am yours to command.”

Command. There was that word again. Only this time it didn’t sound sexy as it had before. It sounded…forced. She dropped her hand, swallowed the nerves, feeling both foolish and a little disturbed. But this was important. She didn’t want to be with someone—even if it was just a wish—who didn’t want to be with her. Even if he was a super-hot genie sent to fulfill her every desire.

“I did some research while you were gone,” she said. “And I believe you. What you told me…it’s crazy.” She looked around the room, only half-believing she was saying this. “Twenty-four hours ago, I never would have thought this was possible, but now…everything is different.” She looked back at him. “But before we move on to my, ah, wish, I need to know one thing.”

When he only stared at her, she shifted her feet and forced herself to go on. “Are you here by choice? Or are you being forced by some…master…to fulfill my wish?”

Her heart thumped hard. So hard she was sure it had to be bruising a few ribs. And under his heated stare, she couldn’t read him. Didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. Or feeling—if anything. Did djinn even have feelings?

“You researched me,” he said slowly, still staring at her.

“Yeah. Well, not you specifically,” she managed, though her throat was thick with nerves. “But your tribe. And everything I read says those from the Marid tribe keep to their own realm. They don’t cross over into the mortal world like the Jinn and Jann tribes do. Like the Shaitans and Ghuls.” She swallowed back the rising sickness when she remembered what she’d read about the last two djinn tribes. While the Jinn and Jann were mostly just curious about humans, the Shaitans and Ghuls preyed on both the living and the dead, loved to torment and destroy whenever they could. She’d been so relieved Tariq was not one of them.

“You researched me,” he said again.

“Yeah,” she repeated, twisting her hands together. “Does that bother you?”

“No, Mira,” he said softly. “It does not bother me. It…surprises me. No one in all my long years of servitude has ever gone to the trouble of trying to learn more about me.”

His admission sent pleasure through her chest, and a smile curled her mouth. But the elation was dampened when she realized he’d used the word servitude.

The warmth dimmed. “So you are being forced to be here with me.”

He took a step toward her and, before she could think to stop him, ran his palm across her cheek, cupping her face and looking down at her with eyes that were soft inky pools of…confusion.

Heat rushed in again.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, the simple touch sending tongues of wicked fire licking through her torso. “You are unlike any mortal I have ever met.” His gaze drifted down, and he ran the fingers of his other hand across the opal nestled in the top of her cleavage. “While it is true I am bound to the Firebrand and am forced to serve, for the first time in forever, I feel…tempted.”

Tempted was good, right? It meant at least part of him wanted to be here with her. Or so she hoped.

She held her breath. Waited. His gaze lifted back to hers. And someplace deep inside her went dark with desire at the longing she saw reflected in his sinfully wicked eyes. Longing she had put there.

“Who are you, Mira Dawson? And why do you have this strange effect on me?”

* * *

Tariq wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, fantasizing, or just plain finally going nuts after all the years Zoraida had kept him locked up. But even if this was some schizophrenic hallucination, he didn’t care. Mira had researched his tribe. She’d truly cared whether he was forced to be with her or not. No one—not a single human he’d granted wishes to in all those years—had once thought of him. What he wanted, what he needed. Not a single one had looked at him as anything more than a lowly genie.

But not her. Right now, staring up at him with those hypnotic hazel eyes, she was looking at him as if he was a man.

Which was a huge misconception he should remind her of. He was not a man. Had never been a man. He was djinn. The heir to his kingdom. A lethal warrior who had commanded armies. One who had eventually been captured, tortured, and condemned into slavery. But none of that mattered right now—not even his failures. All that mattered was her. And this tiny moment of relief he’d found because of her.

“I’m…no one special,” she said softly, breaking his train of thought. “I’m just…me.”

She was more, though. Something in the center of his chest said she was much more.

“Tell me your wish, Mira.”

She looked down at his T-shirt. And again he watched a blush creep across her cheeks. A blush that excited him with each passing second. “I…it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Nothing you wish for will shock me.” Especially because he was already starting to think of all the ways he could pleasure her. And was actually looking forward to them. Which was a first for him. A big first.

“This might,” she mumbled. Then, drawing in a breath, she looked back at his face. “I want to learn about…seduction.”

When he opened his mouth to ask how she wanted to be seduced, she held up a hand, stopping him. “Before you ask, no, I’m not a virgin. I’ve had boyfriends. And I like men. I like sex. But…”

She hesitated. Bit her lip. Looked back down at his shirt. And he waited because he sensed this was hard for her. And because the way her top teeth sank into her bottom lip was so damn sexy, he had a wicked, all-consuming urge to take a bite out of her himself.

“Oh, man,” she said. “This is so embarrassing.” Then she squared her shoulders and met his eyes again. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m the first one in my family to go to college. My parents were both blue-collar workers who couldn’t afford to send me to school and worked extra jobs so I could go. I sacrificed partying and boys in favor of studying so I could make them proud. Then, when I graduated, I was focused on getting a job to prove to them their sacrifices were worth it. And I did. I got a great job. I love my job. And it was enough. Until my dad got sick a few years ago. I found myself torn between work and helping my mom when I could, but all the while I was starting to feel as if something was missing. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends, but no one special, you know? I guess a relationship didn’t matter much to me before, so maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Then my dad died last year, and my mom went to live with my aunt in Idaho, and suddenly I found myself…”

“What?” he asked before he could stop himself, mesmerized by her words, her voice, that she was sharing something so personal with him.

She looked back up at him. And there was such regret in her eyes, he couldn’t look away, even if he’d wanted to.

“Alone,” she said softly. “I’m alone.”

His heart thumped as she closed her eyes, shook her head. Opened them with a look of longing that speared straight to the center of him. The same longing he felt on a daily basis.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said, “but I’ve a feeling something I’m doing consciously or subconsciously when I meet men is sending the impression I’m not interested, even though I am. I’m not asking you to turn me into some Playboy bunny, I’m just asking you to help me learn how to be more…desirable. I want to know that when I do meet that right man—if I haven’t already—that I’m confident and skilled enough for him to want me just as much.”

His pulse picked up speed. Was she asking him to…?

“I’m assuming that, typically, you’re the one who does the”—her cheeks turned red all over again, and she swallowed, looking at his throat rather than his face—”pleasuring. But if you don’t mind—and you’re up for it—I’d like to be the one to do that. Maybe you can tell me what I’m doing right. Or wrong. If, that is, it’s okay with you…”

She finally met his gaze full on, and his breath caught at the hope he saw reflected in her eyes.

“So your wish,” he managed in a voice that didn’t sound like his own because he was still too surprised to think clearly, “is to…?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “My wish is to pleasure you. What do you think?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Tariq could barely breathe.

She wanted to pleasure him. And she wasn’t ordering, she was asking. For permission.

No one had asked his permission for anything in longer than he could remember. No one but her.

“Well?” she asked again. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought he had to be hallucinating. But he wasn’t. He was in the human realm, and she was real. Real and so completely unexpected, he knew he needed to thank her. To show her just how much what she’d wished for—how she’d wished for it—meant to him.

“Mira,” he said in a raspy voice. “Close your eyes.”

She hesitated. Assessed. But when her lashes fluttered closed, he found himself touched again at how easily she trusted him.

He stepped close, wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her flush up against him. She sucked in a breath but didn’t open her eyes, and his pulse picked up speed because she felt so sinfully good. Smelled like heaven.

He shouldn’t be enjoying this, not when his brothers were suffering, but he couldn’t help himself. He pictured their destination. Gathered his powers. And when Mira felt them flying and gasped, he tightened his arm around her and whispered, “It’s okay. Just hold on to me.”

Her eyes popped open as soon as their feet met solid ground. And he watched with amusement as she pushed out of his arms, whipped around, and those mesmerizing eyes of hers grew wide all over again. “Where…? “How…?”

He smiled as she took in the swaying palms above, the turquoise water lapping the sandy beach, as the warm breeze blew her silky hair across her cheeks. He normally didn’t transport humans when he crossed into their realm. It could be risky. Especially if they moved during flight. But after what Mira had done for him, he wanted to do something special for her.

“Where are we?” she asked

“A little island in the Tahitian chain.”

“No way.”

“Close your eyes again, Mira.”

This time she looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye, and the expression was so damn sexy, he laughed. “Trust me. No more flying. Not yet, anyway.”

“I don’t know what to expect around you,” she said, but she closed her eyes once more.

“And I with you, Mira.”

He lifted his hands, called up a simple spell. Then he turned a slow circle and spoke the ancient words.

When he was done, he said, “Okay, you can open your eyes again.”

Her lashes fluttered, and she looked down, gasped to see herself dressed in a thin white cotton dress with cap sleeves, a gathered bodice with ties open at her cleavage, and a flouncy skirt. A dress that accentuated her breasts, her curves, even her skin tone. One that looked as if it had been made just for her—which it had.

“How did you do that?”

“Magic.”

Her gaze darted past him to the hut he’d also conjured. “Wh-where did that come from?”

He would never tire of this woman’s reactions. So unexpected. So…honest. He reached for her hand. “Come.”

She let him draw her toward the hut with its thatched roof and bamboo porch. Gleaming hardwood floors spread beneath their bare feet. Gauzy curtains blew in the breeze as they stepped inside. A sitting area filled with pillowy white furnishings opened to a four-poster bed covered in dreamy white netting.

Mira tensed beside him. Perspiration coated the palm of her hand against his. And for the first time, unease settled in. Unease he never felt. Not with anyone. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I…” Her cheeks turned pink as she looked around. “It’s beautiful. I just…”

She was nervous. Again, not the reaction he was used to.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the bed, and brought his hands up to frame her face. “Before we start your wish, I have one request.”

“What?”

“For you to trust me. In order to give pleasure, you must first experience it yourself. Has a man ever pleasured you, Mira?”

A flush rushed over her cheeks again, and she looked down at his chest covered in the thin T-shirt. “I told you I’m not a virgin.”

“I didn’t ask if you were a virgin. I asked if you had been pleasured. Thoroughly. Completely. By someone who knows how to focus solely on you.”

Her blush deepened. “Um…”

Just the fact she had to think about how to answer told him no. At least not in the way he meant. He tilted her face up to his, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then let me.”

“That’s not part of my wish,” she whispered.

“No. It’s mine.”

Her eyes darkened. And in their depths he could see that his words relaxed her. Excited her. Aroused her. But she was still hesitant.

He needed to do something to ease her stress.

He slid his hands down to hers, clasped her fingers, and drew her around, walking backward out onto the porch again. She followed, her brows drawn low, questions swirling in her glittering eyes. “I thought—”

“There is no rush. Only time. Only this. Turn around.”

Hesitation swirled in her eyes, but she turned to face the double chaise that appeared on the porch. “What’s this for?”

“For you.” He muttered words in his language, and the chaise dropped flat, the thick, plush cushion smoothing out before her. “Lie down on your stomach.”

She looked over her shoulder with are you for real? eyes. Eyes that brought a smile to his lips and warmed the chill deep in his chest. “I promise, nothing will happen that you do not want to happen. Lie down and let me rub the tension from your shoulders.”

She hesitated, then finally climbed onto the chaise and stretched out. He handed her a throw pillow, which she tucked under her head and wrapped her arms around. “You don’t have to massage me.”

“Shh,” he said as he smoothed the back of her dress across her hamstrings. “Just enjoy.”

She drew in a breath, let it out, relaxed into the cushion. He moved around the front of the chaise, knelt down, and brushed her hair to the side, then began kneading the muscles of her shoulders.

She exhaled a long breath, relaxed even further, and as he felt the tension begin to ease, he moved his hands over the back of her dress, down to her waist, and up again, never touching her bare skin, never pushing her farther than she wanted.

“Do you like that?” He trailed his hands up her spine, pressed fingers into the muscle as he worked his way down to her lower back.

“Too much. You have magic hands.”

He moved to her ribs, slid his hands up her sides, felt her suck in a breath when his fingertips barely brushed the outsides of her breasts.

She was soft where a woman should be soft, firm where she should be firm, and as his gaze strayed to the hem of her dress, resting just above the backs of her knees, he had a wicked, erotic flash of dragging the skirt up with his teeth, of massaging the soft, rounded globes of her backside, of lifting her hips and sinking into her from behind.

Blood rushed to his cock, hardening him with only the thought. It had been years since he’d wanted a female as much as he wanted this one. He’d lost his desire when he’d lost his freedom. But with her, here, now, he felt as if he was regaining a tiny piece of himself.

She pushed on her hands, straightened her arms and looked up at him. His fingers stilled against her upper back as he gazed down at her face. The warm breeze ruffled her hair against her cheeks, and the way the sunlight fell across her skin, she almost sparkled. Want and need and desire swirled in her eyes. The combination left him hard and achy. And though he knew for her this was merely a wish, for him it was so much more.

“Roll over,” he said in a raspy voice.

Her gaze held his, then slowly she complied and rolled onto her back.

Light hair fanned out beneath her. Her breasts pressed against the thin cotton of her dress, her nipples visibly hardening in the slight breeze. He swallowed pushed to his feet, and moved around the chaise to sit at her side, his hip brushing hers, his gaze running down the length of her body. “Close your eyes again.”

She breathed deep and did as he said. At her sides, her fingers grasped the edge of the cushion.

He started gently, running the tips of his fingers along her bare arms, down and back up again, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Watching the muscles around her eyes tighten as he traced his way up to her throat, then back down, moving over her dress to her legs, then all the way to her feet and back. As his hands stroked her body, she relaxed inch by inch once more, easing deeper into the cushion, turning herself over to him one wicked touch at a time.

His gaze slid to her lips as he stroked her—plump, pink, so perfectly made for kissing—then to her collarbone, over the Firebrand opal at her chest, just like the one he wore but which she couldn’t see in this realm, then finally down to the front ties of her dress, hanging against her creamy cleavage.

He wanted to know what she looked like beneath that dress he’d conjured. What she felt like, her skin against his. When he brushed his fingers against the base of her neck then lower, stopping on the ties and pulling until her bodice loosened, she sucked in a breath and held it but didn’t push him away.

Her breaths quickened. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he watched in rapt attention as her lush, firm breasts were slowly revealed to him, one agonizing inch at a time.

He went slow. Gave her every opportunity to stop him. But she didn’t. And by Allah, she was beautiful. Dusky pink areolas, so tantalizing he wanted to lower his head and draw each one into his mouth. Firm, high breasts he knew would fit perfectly in his hands. He had an overwhelming urge to rip the dress from her skin, to part her thighs and press inside her until they both cried out in ecstasy. But more than that, he wanted her to want him. As much as he suddenly wanted her.

He leaned forward, marveled at the way her body trembled when he pressed his lips against her collarbone. When he kissed the soft skin of her throat and trailed his mouth up to breathe hot against her earlobe.

“Tell me what you want, Mira. I’m yours to command.” Her skin was silky soft, so damn sweet against his tongue. “Yours to use in any way you want. This is all about you.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Mira’s fingers slid into his hair, and she moaned as she tipped her head to the side, granting him access, showing him the first sign that yes, she wanted this too.

Desire bunched in his stomach, shot straight into his groin. He licked the tender column of her neck, latched on, and suckled.

She moaned when he found an extra sensitive spot. And, drawing one leg up, she pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest, rubbing herself against him in a way that was so sinfully erotic, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

“Tell me, Mira,” he whispered.

“I—I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.

Yes. Finally. “Where?”

“My—my throat.”

Disappointment flowed that it wasn’t her mouth, but he moved to the other side, breathed hot against her skin until she shuddered, then closed his lips around the column of her throat once more. She’d beg for his mouth on hers later. He’d make sure of it.

“Where else?” he asked against her skin.

“My ear.” He trailed his lips up to her lobe, felt her shudder beneath him, loved the way her naked breasts pressed into his chest.

“My collarbone,” she added before he was done. One corner of his lips curled at her enthusiasm, and he answered by licking the spot, swirling his tongue around a mole, then sliding lower to trace his tongue along the very top of her cleavage.

Heat gathered all along her skin, penetrated his and amped his desire to a full-blown inferno. “Where else?”

“My…my breasts.”

He breathed hot against her right nipple. She trembled, moaned, arched her back, and closed her eyes, and as her breast came closer to his mouth, he groaned himself, then licked at the tip and finally drew her into his mouth.

“Oh God,” she muttered. Her updrawn knee pressed against his side. The hem of her dress fell to her hip, exposing her long, toned thigh, dragging his attention from what he was doing.

He wanted his mouth there. Wanted to brush her skin from hip to mound. To trace the line of her sex with his tongue and stroke her deeply until she came in his mouth.

His heart beat fast and hard as he moved to her other breast, as her fingers tightened in his hair, as she arched and offered more of her luscious body to him. Her nipple hardened in his mouth, and she groaned in pure pleasure. He answered by circling the tip with his tongue and asking, “What else?”

“Touch me,” she said. “I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” He scraped his teeth across her nipple ever so slightly. “Tell me where.”

“Oh…” Her whole body shook. She lifted her hips, lowered them. Aching, he knew, for his touch between her thighs. And he wanted to give it to her. That and so much more.

“Tell me, Mira.” He sucked harder on her breast, drew a long, shuddering groan from her throat.

How on earth did this woman think she was not desirable? Her reactions alone had him lingering on the edge of control. There was passion inside her long denied and dying to be set free. A passion he was bound to corrupt with his wicked, lascivious ways.

His arousal began to dim, but he forced the thought away. Today was not about guilt. It was about pleasure. About making her feel good. The corruption…what it would do to her…what it would do to him…he’d worry about that later.

He brushed his fingertips across her updrawn knee and licked her nipple again. “Tell me, Mira. Should I touch you here?”

Her knee fell open. “Yes. God, yes.”

He skimmed his fingers up her thigh, to the hem of her gown resting against her hip, just barely covering her sex, and breathed heavily against her naked breast as he looked down her body. “Here?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Tell me,” he whispered, feathering his touch along her inner thigh. “Tell me where.”

She groaned in frustration, lifted her leg higher, and as she did, her dress fell against her mound. He drew in a breath as her white, cotton panties came into view. Even through the thin fabric he could tell she was swollen. Hot. Wet. And he groaned himself because now he knew for sure she wanted him. Wanted him with the same burning desire that was consuming him.

He looked back at her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, but her lips parted in pleasure as he traced his fingers down her inner thigh, stopped short of touching her overheated flesh, then back up again. “Tell me, Mira.”

“I want you to touch me between my legs,” she managed, a flush rushing over her cheeks with her words. “I want you to touch me everywhere. Anywhere.” She lifted her hips closer to his hand. “I want you to make me come. Right now.”

Yes, yes. Finally, yes.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mira barely believed the words spilling from her mouth.

But she didn’t stop them. She was too swept up in some all-consuming desire she couldn’t remember feeling before. Not for her ex-boyfriends. Not even for Devin.

It had to be the magical effects of the opal. That was the only thing that made sense. The heat from the stone burned against her chest, warming her skin. But she really didn’t care how or why it was happening. All she could focus on was the sinfully erotic way Tariq’s fingers were finally—finally—skimming her sex, sliding beneath her panties and into her wetness, then back up again to circle her clit and drag a moan from her throat.

She wanted to pry open her eyes, to see if he was watching her reaction, but she was almost afraid to look. Because if she didn’t see desire in his eyes…if this was only duty…

The heat began to dim, the arousal dampen. He’d said he wanted her, but that could just be a line. Like the guy who pretended to have a good time on a first date, promised to call, and then never did.

This is not a date.

“Stay with me, Mira.” Tariq’s husky voice cut through her musings, pulled her back from the edge. “Lift up.”

Eyes clenched tightly closed, she lifted her hips. Sucked in a breath as he dragged her panties down her thighs.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Mira. Look at me pleasuring you.”

The erotic vision his words conjured sent heat careening through her veins once more, and she blinked in the sunshine and looked down her body, only to experience that rush of heat all over again when his fingers brushed her sex.

Lust darkened his eyes. Sweat glistened on his brow. And the way he was watching her—as if he wanted to taste her right where he was touching her—made her whole body tremble.

He palmed her breast with one hand, slid one finger of his other hand lower, inside, and she tightened around him as he knelt on the ground between her legs, as he slid his finger out, then back in deeper, as the warmth of his breath rushed over her clit.

“Do you want me to taste you, Mira? Do you want my mouth here?”

He nuzzled her sex, and she was so caught up in the lust, she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. She pushed up to her elbows, marveled at his dark head between her thighs, tightened around his fingers as he pressed back in with two. “Yes. Yes, I want that.”

He lowered his head, laved his tongue along her clit, circled and swirled as he thrust in and out with his fingers, drawing her closer to oblivion. She groaned, dropped her head back, lifted her hips so he could stroke her deeper, so he could taste more of her. His fingers were thick, his tongue wet and so damn salacious flicking her most sensitive spot. Her climax raced closer. She wanted to delay it, wanted to prolong the pleasure but knew she wouldn’t be able to. This whole day was more erotic than anything she’d experienced in her whole life.

“Come for me, Mira. Come in my mouth. Let me taste your release.”

Electricity gathered in her pelvis and exploded in a burst of lightning, lancing through her limbs to steal her breath. Every muscle in her body spasmed as the orgasm hit. Her elbows went out from under her. White-hot ecstasy consumed every part of her.

Her back landed against the chaise. She spiraled through an abyss of sensations, then slowly sound returned, followed by the warmth of the sun against her skin, the brush of the warm breeze, the feel of Tariq, whispering hot words against her sex she didn’t understand. He smoothed his fingers through her wetness, bringing her down slowly, pressing his lips to her hip, her lower belly, her breasts all over again.

Her chest rose and fell as she tried to suck air. Stars fired off behind her closed eyelids. She blinked several times, finally pulled her eyes open, and stared up at the thatched roof above.

Tariq moved up her body and into her line of sight. She looked into his dark eyes, saw satisfaction and heat. A heat that reignited a burning passion she thought he’d quenched.

She lifted her hand, brushed it across his rough cheek and, before she thought better of it, lifted and pressed her mouth to his.

This time, he drew in a surprised breath, and she wondered if she wasn’t supposed to kiss him, if it was against the rules. Then he opened for her, groaned into her mouth, and whatever worry she’d had fled. He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his body into hers and stroked her tongue deeply, roughly, as if he’d been wanting to kiss her from the start. As if he couldn’t get enough and didn’t want to let her go.

Her fingers rushed up into his hair, fisted. Her mouth turned greedy against his. She opened her legs, felt his erection press against her already overheated sex, and couldn’t wait to feel him inside her.

That—what he’d done for her…the way he’d pleasured her—had been amazing. No, not amazing, electric, incredible, like nothing she’d ever experienced. He knew exactly where to touch a woman and what to say to make her come apart. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

“Tariq…” She kissed him deeper, changed the angle of the kiss, lifted her hips to show him what she wanted. He answered by pushing up on his hands, rubbing his very aroused erection between her legs, making her moan with the promise of ecstasy all over again.

But before she could find a way to free him of his pants, he broke the kiss and stared down at her, his chest heaving.

His face was flushed with desire, his lips swollen from her mouth, his eyes as dark as she’d ever seen them. She knew he wanted her. She could feel that want swelling against her sex. But there was something else in his gaze, something that stopped her from ripping his clothes off and having him.

“Hayaati… I can’t. Not like this.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. Didn’t know what that word meant, but she loved the sound of it falling from his lips. Loved the way he was looking at her, as if he couldn’t control his desire. As if she was dragging him to the edge as he’d done to her. “Tariq—”

“Did I pleasure you?” He cut her off so quickly, she faltered.

“Yes. Yes,” she managed, trying to ignore the look. Trying to ignore the shot of worry it sent spearing into her chest. He’d pleasured her more thoroughly than anyone ever had. She lifted her hips again, tried to get him to move against her. Grew hot at the thought of returning the favor, of drawing him deep into her mouth and swirling her tongue over his cock until he exploded in her mouth. Then she wanted to ride him until they both came a second time. “I want to taste you now. I want to make you feel as good as I do.”

He pushed back farther from her body. “That is not part of the deal.”

Deal? Deal? Screw the deal. She didn’t care that she’d never felt this kind of desire before, that she’d never needed to be the one giving the pleasure instead of the other way around. But it was all she could think about. All she could feel. She wanted to be the one to make him shudder in release, to feel his orgasm consume him, to know she was the one who’d given him pleasure as no one else had ever done.

She lifted her hips, grew more frustrated when he eased off her body. When he put space between them. He shook his head again, brought her fingers to his lips, kissed each one gently. “Not now, hayaati,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “I’ll never survive. You have to go back before it’s too late.”

She didn’t know what he meant. She just knew she wanted him. But when he lifted her hand toward her chest, fear replaced worry. “Tariq, wait—”

“Rest. Recover. And when control has returned, think about what is right. Think about what is wrong. I do not want to see you destroyed by the opal. Your wish hasn’t begun. There is still time to save yourself from my curse.”

He pressed her fingers against the Firebrand opal before she could stop him, brushed them slightly over the stone, and then the world swirled around her, a vortex of smoke and fire and heat and flame. She felt herself flying, felt her hair tumbling across her face, the wind brushing her cheeks. And then everything darkened and cleared, and she looked around to find herself lying on the couch in the middle of her apartment.

She gasped, sat up. She was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing before, but somehow she knew everything she’d experienced had been real. Knew she hadn’t imagined what had happened, because her breasts still tingled from Tariq’s kisses, her sex was still wet from his mouth, and the desire she’d felt was still zinging through her nerves, making her want with a blinding fierceness.

She stood on shaky legs, checked the kitchen, her office, the bedroom. But he was nowhere to be found. Disappointment rushed in on a wave, consumed her from the inside out.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. He didn’t want to see her consumed by the opal? What did that mean? Her fingers grazed the chain, circled around to the back of her neck. And as her fingertips brushed the clasp, it opened as if on cue. The necklace landed in her lap with a soft thud.

Surprise registered. The shop owner had said she wouldn’t be able to take off the necklace until her wish was fulfilled. Was Tariq releasing her from her wish? Could he do that?

Then his last words registered. Words that sent a chill down her spine.

There is still time to save yourself from my curse.

* * *

Darkness surrounded Tariq. The cell was cold, the floor covered in a layer of dirt. As he slid to the ground, leaned his back against the frigid stone wall, and closed his eyes, he told himself he’d done the right thing. Leaving before he corrupted Mira’s soul was the only choice he could have made.

It was one thing to corrupt the soul of a human who went looking for trouble. But Mira was different. If he tainted Mira’s soul, he’d be no better than Zoraida. And even he wasn’t willing to become like her. Not even for his own brothers.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but when he awoke, he knew a visit from Zoraida was inevitable. She had to be pissed over what he’d done. She could see—through the opal he wore—into the human world and watched his targets. But he was willing to take the risk. Because for the first time, something besides his own suffering mattered.

Footsteps echoed outside his cell. He opened his eyes just as metal clanged against metal, and the cell door swung outward.

“You’ve a visitor,” the guard barked.

The guard shoved a half-naked man into the cell. Long, dark hair covered his face. He tripped, started to go down, but Tariq lurched to his feet and caught him before he hit the floor. “Nasir?”

The cell door clanged shut again as Nasir lifted his bruised face toward Tariq and tried to smile. His bottom lip was split and bloodied, and he was missing a tooth. “You recognized me even with my makeover? Guess Zoraida’s guards aren’t doing a good enough job.”

Carefully, Tariq lowered his brother to the floor. Disbelief and rage whipped through him. “What did she do to you?”

Nasir grimaced as he scooted back to lean against the wall. His skin was dirty and bruised, and he was thinner than Tariq remembered. As if he’d not only been beaten but starved as well. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“How did she find you?” It was the first time Tariq had talked to his brother in nearly ten years. Not since the day he’d been captured by Zoraida’s goons along the Jagged Coast and brought to this hellhole.

Nasir lifted a shoulder, dropped it. He shook his hair back from his face, a move he’d been doing since they were kids, and for the first time, Tariq saw a flicker of the warrior he knew his brother to be in the battered djinn at his side. “We got a request for help from the Wastelands. Ghuls were reportedly ravaging villages. My unit was moving through the Red Desert when we came across a small settlement, still smoking. They were lying in wait. Ghuls. Wreaking havoc. A battle resulted. I heard a scream, went looking. Came across an innocent about to be raped. I tried to help. Turned out she wasn’t so innocent.”

“Zoraida?”

Nasir nodded. “The Ghuls were hers. They jumped me before I even realized what was happening.”

Nasir’s explanation made perfect sense. His protective streak was legendary. He hated injustice, and when it involved a female, there was no keeping him sidelined. Not if he thought he could help. Tariq knew that protective streak was a result of guilt. The war between the tribes had been going on for hundreds of years, but Nasir had always been the pacifist in the family. The one who thought negotiations and treaties were the way to end wars, not battles. Their father disagreed. As prince, a military career was required, but being a general, commanding legions, had never been part of who Nasir was. Until, that was, his betrothed was killed.

She’d lived in a small coastal village. One that built ships for the kingdom. Ships used in the Gannahmian army. The attack came at night. On a holiday. When most inhabitants were home, asleep in their beds. The entire village was burned to the ground. Every resident killed. And Nasir, who was supposed to be visiting his love for the holiday and wasn’t because he’d been called out on patrol, had never forgiven himself for not being there to protect her.

Tariq leaned back against the cold cement wall, rested his forearms on his updrawn knees. “And Ashur. How did she find him?”

“You know Ashur,” Nasir said with a ghost of a smile. “Can’t stand to be left out of the fold.”

Tariq would have laughed, but the situation was anything but funny. As the youngest brother, Ashur did hate being left out. But he’d never willingly turn himself over to Zoraida. “How did she…?”

“She used me,” Nasir said, all humor gone from his voice. “Said she was willing to make a deal. That she knew where to find you.”

Shit.

“We didn’t even know you were still alive,” Nasir went on. “Father thought you’d perished on the Jagged Coast. We mourned you, Tariq. They held a funeral rite.”

Tariq stared at the bars. So his family had already buried him. Ten years in this hell and they thought he’d died exploring some stupid coast in their kingdom’s name. No wonder no one had ever searched for him.

He looked to his brother as the thread of hope he’d been hanging onto since being brought here solidified. “Surely Father’s looking for you and Ashur now.”

“I’m sure he is,” Nasir said on a sigh. “But he won’t find us. Ashur didn’t tell anyone where he was meeting Zoraida. She warned him to keep it secret. She’s good at disguises, as you know. Ashur didn’t suspect a thing either. Until it was too late, that is.”

Tariq looked back ahead as that thread snapped. He thought of the guards holding Ashur against the bars of his cell the last time he’d seen Zoraida. The way his brother had barely been able to stand. The way his eyes had been glazed and not focusing. “Where is she keeping you both?”

“In a cell. Not far from here.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“I’m not sure. Weeks. Months. It all seems to roll together in my head. They brought Ashur to me a few days ago. But he…”

Tariq’s head snapped around at the hesitation he heard in Nasir’s words. “He what?”

Nasir rolled his head against the stones until he met Tariq’s gaze. “He’s not doing well, brother. They keep pulling him out. And when he returns, he’s even more bloodied and bruised than before. He’s not done anything to deserve the beatings. He barely even moves or talks. I’ve tried to get them to take me.” The good corner of his mouth curled, just a touch, drawing Tariq’s attention to Nasir’s newly split lip. “Works every now and then. But they keep going after Ashur.” Nasir’s smile faded. “He’s—”

Fury consumed Tariq all over again. “He’s me.”

Nasir lifted his head. “What?”

“Zoraida can’t punish me because it would delay her ultimate goal, so she’s taking it out on both of you. And she knows Ashur is weaker. So she’s using him to get to me first.”

Rage rippled through every muscle. She wouldn’t stop at Ashur. She wouldn’t stop until Tariq completely gave in.

He thought of Mira. Of the gift she’d given him. Of her wish. Of his backing away and warning her off that wish. Zoraida had seen what he’d done. The Firebrand opal granted her a bird’s-eye view. And instead of taking her fury out on him, she was doing it to his brothers. Because she knew that would leave a bigger mark than any lash against his skin.

“I don’t know how much more he can take,” Nasir said softly. “And if all three of us die in here…”

Tariq clenched his jaw. This suddenly wasn’t just about Mira’s soul. If they all died, there’d be no heir left in their kingdom. Their father wouldn’t be able to rule much longer. He’d been ready to pass rule to Tariq ten years ago, but Tariq had wanted one last exploration. One last bout of freedom up the Jagged Coast before he was mired in the duties of court. A selfish decision he now regretted.

“She can’t win, brother,” Nasir said into the silence. “If she destroys us, she’ll turn her attention to Gannah. With the Ghuls under her command, her strength the way it is, and us not there to lead the army…”

Nasir’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his thought for it to register with Tariq. If what his brother said was true—if Zoraida had aligned herself with the Ghuls—then it meant the war was heating up. With all three princes—generals in the Gannahmian army—dead and the king ailing, what confidence would their soldiers have? How long could Gannah realistically defend itself without a ruling monarchy?

Consequences of his actions swirled behind Tariq’s eyes. Decisions he never should have made filled his thoughts and mixed with images of Mira on that Tahitian beach. And through it all, he knew Zoraida was smarter than he’d given her credit. Torture was one thing. Deciding between life and eternal death was something else altogether. Especially when you were the one forced to choose condemnation for one versus thousands.

“What are you going to do?” Nasir asked into the silence.

Tariq ground his teeth against the injustice building inside him. “The only thing I can do.”

CHAPTER SIX

Mira was pissed.

Not just at the way Tariq had left her but at his dire warning.

Curse? What curse? She dumped a laundry basket full of clean clothes on her couch as she stewed.

At first, she’d been horrified by his rejection of her. Then wigged out over his warning. But the longer she thought about it and the more time that passed, the angrier she became.

Screw him for making her stress and worry like this. Screw him for disappearing on her in the first place. There was no way her little “wish” was going to “destroy” her, as he wanted her to believe. That was a mile of bullshit she definitely wasn’t buying.

This had nothing to do with a stupid curse. It had to do with him. Maybe he just wasn’t interested in her. Her hand stilled on a shirt mid-fold as the thought hit. She probably wasn’t as exotic as the women in his world. Definitely not as aggressive. What had she done during their last encounter? She’d lain there like a lump and let him have all the power. Wasn’t her “wish” about taking charge of some of that power? Wasn’t it his job to teach her how to do that?

She tossed the folded shirt in the basket, picked up a pair of capris as her temper spiked. Well, next time she wasn’t going to sit back and be the docile wallflower he expected. And he wasn’t scaring her off with his mindless threats. So what if he wasn’t attracted to her? This was her wish, dammit, and she wasn’t backing away from it or any challenge.

She finished folding the laundry, put it away, then went into her kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. As she stood at the patio window looking out at the city’s sparkling lights and downed her first glass, she reminded herself that it didn’t matter what Tariq thought of her personally. She wasn’t interested in him. She was doing this for Devin. So that when it was over, she’d have the confidence to snag the only guy she truly wanted.

And she deserved him, dammit. She’d spent way too many years alone. She deserved to have a man fall at her feet.

She poured herself another glass of wine and took it and the bottle to the coffee table in her living room. As she sipped the cabernet, she forcibly relaxed her muscles, breathed deep, and eased onto the couch. To her right, a fire roared in the fireplace. From outside, city lights beat in to illuminate the room. Her confidence grew with every passing second, swirling with the anger still bubbling inside her, any fear or misgivings she’d had drifting to the wayside. She was in charge here, not Tariq. It was his duty to do what she wanted. It was his place to fulfill her wish.

She brushed her fingers across the Firebrand opal resting against her chest, sipped her wine again, and waited. A cloud of smoke filled her living room, followed by Tariq’s muscular body, shoulder-length dark hair, and chiseled features.

Yeah, he was sexy as hell, but who cared? This was about her. She looked up at him, sipped her wine again. Waited.

His face was a mix of emotions she couldn’t read. Not that she cared. He took a step toward her. “Mira—”

She pushed to her feet, set her glass on the coffee table, and crossed to him. “I don’t want to hear you say anything but ‘Yes, Mira.’”

She stopped in front of him, pressed a hand against his chest, and marveled at the corded muscle and heat beneath her palm. “And I don’t care if you’re attracted to me or not, Tariq. This isn’t about you.”

His eyes widened. Surprise registered in their dark depths. And a smug smile flitted across her mouth because yeah, she’d surprised herself too. And damn, but she liked this surge of power.

“Show me how you like to be kissed,” she told him. When he hesitated, she added, “‘Your wish, my command.’ Remember?”

His gaze drifted to the Firebrand opal nestled in her cleavage, and her anger built because she sensed he was going to come up with some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t go on. “You’re bound to fulfill my wish, djinni. Kiss me now.”

His dark gaze shot back to hers, narrowed—which only pissed her off more—then skipped past her and swept the room.

What was left of her patience snapped. She grasped his face, tugged it down to hers, and pressed her mouth to his.

He froze, his eyes open wide. She didn’t let go, kissed his plump, masculine lips again, and pressed her body flush against his.

He was hot. Everywhere. Tingles erupted in her breasts, in her hips, anywhere they touched. Dark flashes of arousal rushed through her mind as his hands settled at her hips. She tightened her arms around his neck, tipped her head, slid the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips, waiting, hoping he’d take the hint and open to her.

“Tariq, dammit,” she said against his mouth. “Kiss me. Kiss me like I want right now.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, not a single muscle. And then a growl erupted from his chest. His arms closed around her with stunning force. He opened to her, slid his warm, wet tongue along hers, drawing out her desire and replacing it with a wicked need that consumed every inch of her body in a rush of flames.

Her muscles went lax. Her body thrummed with need. Her legs ached to slide around his hips.

She groaned as he walked her backward toward the couch, nearly cried out in ecstasy as he lowered her to the cushions. His kisses drove her mad, his tongue so slick, so firm, so delicious stroking her own. She wanted that tongue laving her breasts as it had before. Wanted to feel it slide along her sex until she came. Then she wanted it back in her mouth as she straddled his hips and lowered, taking him deep for the very first time.

Wicked, erotic images of the two of them tangled naked filled her mind. Him holding her head between his legs, forcing his cock into her mouth. Her on her knees, her ass in the air, his hand pushing her face into the floor as she struggled while he thrust into her from behind again and again and again. Him pinning her to the wall face-first, fucking her from behind, pulling her back against him and forcing her to look to the right toward another naked male body, this one hazy but clearly turned on, the face masked, the strong legs eating up the distance as he headed their way with a riding crop in his broad hand.

The last image jolted her out of the kiss. She pulled back, stared up at Tariq’s flushed face. Tried to catch her breath.

Whoa. Wait. What the hell was that? The whole multiple partners/BDSM thing definitely wasn’t something she’d ever fantasized about. She gave her head a swift shake, tried to clear the image from her mind. Only it didn’t work. The images were still there, circling, flashing, growing darker and more perverse.

She shoved Tariq away, sat up, and rubbed both hands down her face, more shaken than she wanted to admit. That wasn’t a turn-on for her. Neither was forced sex or pain. So why was she thinking of both now? Why couldn’t she get those pictures out of her brain?

“Mira?” Tariq asked, concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“I—” She drew a deep breath. It didn’t help. “I—can’t breathe.”

He moved off the couch and back a step. She pushed to her feet, stumbled by him. Stopped in the middle of the room and tried to suck back air. Her lungs felt three sizes too small. When he came up behind her and reached for her hand, she tried to push him away, but there was no strength in the shove.

“Breathe, hayaati,” he whispered.

She squeezed her eyes tight. Shook her head again. “I—I can’t get them to stop. The pictures won’t go away.”

“Ghuls,” he growled.

She had no idea what that meant, but even as the images assaulted her all over again, she heard him muttering words in a foreign language. Words she didn’t understand. Slowly, the images fled, leaving behind nothing but mist and fog. And before she could ask what he’d just done, her muscles went lax, and darkness spiraled in.

Mira blinked several times. She had no idea how long had passed or what had happened, but when she finally pulled her eyes all the way open, she found herself looking up at the dark, vaulted ceiling in her bedroom.

“There, hayaati,” a male voice whispered—Tariq’s voice. “Don’t move too much just yet.”

Something cool brushed across her forehead. She blinked several times again, realized she was lying on her bed. The bathroom door was ajar, letting in just enough light to illuminate the room. Shadows played over Tariq’s face, but even with them, she could see the concern.

“Wh-what happened?”

“You were being influenced,” he said with a shot of anger in his normally calm voice.

“Influenced?” That didn’t make sense. By who? By what?

“I told you last time I was here that there are good and evil djinn. That some prey on those in your realm, force humans to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do? They showed up because of me. I should have expected this.”

As he spoke, Mira thought back to what he’d told her before, then to the way she’d demanded Tariq kiss her only a few moments ago. Embarrassment rushed through her, followed by the memory of those images. And the desire to be the center of each wicked, naughty, X-rated scene.

Her cheeks heated. She looked away from his face. But his finger tipping her chin back toward him stopped her.

“You are safe now, Mira. I banished them.”

“Them?”

“There were two. Ghuls. The most perverse of all the tribes. I didn’t sense them when I first appeared because you…distracted me.” This time, it was his turn to blush. But the color faded from his cheeks before she could register anything other than surprise. “There’s no telling how long they were here tormenting you. But they’re gone now. You have nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about except him and this insane desire still rushing through her veins. Was that a result of the Ghuls? Of her? Of Tariq? And what would happen when he left? Would those things—those Ghuls—come back?

She swallowed hard, for the first time realizing she was dabbling in something way outside her expertise, then looked at his strong chest covered by the thin black T-shirt. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need to rethink this whole wish thing. She was opening herself up to some pretty weird shit here.

But even as she debated, she knew she didn’t want to go back on her wish. Her need for Tariq was still as strong as it had been before. And deep inside, she knew that had nothing to do with those Ghuls. She’d wanted him since the beach. No, since before that. Since she’d first seen him standing in her living room. Yes, that whole influencing thing was pretty freaking nuts, but the images were now gone, and those things weren’t preying on her anymore. As long as Tariq stayed with her, she knew she’d be safe. He’d said they’d showed up because of him. When her wish was finished, those Ghuls wouldn’t care about her anymore, would they?

The key was keeping Tariq with her. And finding a way to make him want her as much as she wanted him.

Unease rippled through her. The same unease she felt whenever she passed Devin in the halls at work or tried to come up with a reason to run into him after hours. This was what she wanted to change. This lack of self-confidence. She wanted to be desirable. Strong. Craved.

Except…yeah, that was easier said than done. And even though she’d wished for it, he didn’t seem very eager to teach her.

She closed her eyes, rolled her head on the pillow as a lump grew in the center of her throat. Maybe she was just destined to be alone. Maybe love and marriage and the whole happily-ever-after thing wasn’t in the cards for her.

“It’s okay, Mira.”

His hand brushing her shoulder brought her eyes open. She looked up at him. At his deeply tanned skin, at the scar above his left eyebrow she hadn’t noticed before, at those dark, dark, haunting eyes. Eyes she wanted to lose herself in. Even if it was just temporary.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“What?”

“Are you attracted to me?”

Color tinged his cheeks once more as he moved back an inch. “I—”

She pushed up to sitting, brushed her hair back from her face. There was no sense going ahead with this if he wasn’t at least a little attracted to her. She couldn’t just use him as some so easily did. And if she didn’t ask, she’d just drive herself nuts wondering. “Tariq, you said you wanted to be with me before. Do you still?”

“Mira—”

“Because here’s the deal.” She drew in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Knew it was now or never. She could take a chance, go after what she wanted or…not. In her business dealings, she was a go-getter. In her personal life? Not so much. It was time to change that. “I’m not naïve. I’ve dated plenty of men, but I’ve never felt confident with them, and I think that’s why I’m still single. I want to learn…how to touch without wondering if I’m doing it wrong. To experience desire without the fear of rejection. And I called you back because for some strange reason—even though you are djinn, which is totally out there for me to even say—I feel comfortable with you. I want you to be the one to teach me. If you’re not attracted to me, though… If you’re just going to run again or come up with excuses why I should ‘think’ more about what I want, then this isn’t worth it to me. I’ll take the Firebrand opal back to that shop and tell the shopkeeper my wish didn’t work.”

She stared at him. Waited for an answer. But he didn’t say anything. His eyes were blank, his expression neutral. And in the silence, Mira’s hopes and dreams crumbled at her feet.

She’d taken a chance. She’d gone after what she wanted. And in the end…it didn’t matter.

She was right where she’d started out.

Alone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tariq stared at Mira as her words sank in, and his pulse picked up speed.

She was willing to give up her wish all because she had standards. She wanted him—he could see it in her eyes, read it in her words—but she wasn’t going to force him. She was giving him an out, if he so chose.

Awe, admiration, and wonder swept through him once again. For a woman who was unlike any other he’d ever met.

All the resolve he’d come back here with, the intent to fulfill her wish, corrupt her soul as Zoraida wanted so he could move on and free at least one of his brothers, withered and died. How could he value one life over another?

Options raced through his mind as he stared at her. It was too late for him to free her from her wish. By calling him back, he was bound to her now until that wish was fulfilled. But…maybe there was a way to prolong it. Until, at least, he could come up with a better solution for all of them. Zoraida wouldn’t kill his brothers so long as he was here. Not when she needed Mira’s soul to strengthen her powers. And if he stayed with Mira, the witch couldn’t send Ghuls to influence Mira’s thoughts.

Staying took on a whole new appeal. Maybe they could just sit here and talk until he figured out what to do next.

“Tariq?”

Mira’s soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he brushed a finger down her cheek before he thought better of it. “In my language, the word for teacher is mu’allim.”

“Mu’allim,” she repeated, drawing the word out. “I like that. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Her skin was silky smooth, and so pale next to his hand. Captivating. “You are beautiful, hayaati. And yes, I am extremely attracted to you. So much so that I left before not because I wasn’t interested, but because I knew if I didn’t leave then, I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you, stop tasting you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop taking you.”

Heat flared in her eyes. Heat and desire and need. A need he could sate, right here and now. If, that was, he planned to corrupt her, which he couldn’t do anymore.

Keep talking. He had to keep talking so he didn’t reach for her.

“So much so,” he went on, thinking any words were better than none, “that the thought of you wanting to know how to please a man fills me with a jealous streak I’ve never experienced before. Djinn are not jealous creatures.”

A slow smile spread across her face, one that turned her from beautiful to downright gorgeous. She eased up on her elbows, maneuvered to sitting, and pulled her legs out of the way. “Is that so?”

“Yes, hayaati, it is.”

She moved before he even realized her intent. Pushed against his chest, sending him back onto the mattress. Then she leaned over him until her strawberry-blond hair fell around his face like a curtain. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Holy Allah in heaven. No one had ever cared about pleasing him. In all the years he’d been Zoraida’s pleasure slave, his assignments had only ever cared about their own desires. His weren’t even an afterthought. “Mira—”

She brushed her lush lips against his throat. Tingles rushed through his body, speared straight into his cock. “Do you like to be kissed here?”

His resistance wavered as his eyes slid closed. “Um…”

“How about here?” She trailed her mouth up to his ear, laved her tongue across his lobe as he’d done to her.

Yes, yes. Allah, yes, he liked that. But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be letting her kiss him or touch him at all. He should be trying to distract her. Words. He needed to use words to get things back on track.

He slid his hands to her biceps, pushed gently. “Mira—”

She ignored the move, kissed his jaw, his chin, worked her way back up to his mouth instead. “And what about here?” Her index finger trailed across his lips. “Do you like to be kissed here as well?”

Desire rippled through his chest, spread lower to engulf him in flames. “Yes, hayaati,” he whispered before he realized what he was saying. “By you, always there.”

Her mouth closed over his, just as he wanted, just as he’d dreamed. And though he knew he shouldn’t, he opened to her, stroked his tongue against hers, grew hot and achy at the need for her to touch him elsewhere. Everywhere.

With her it wasn’t forced. With her it was natural. With her it was not duty, but pure, erotic bliss. A bliss he hadn’t realized he’d missed until right now.

A ribbon of guilt wove through him. He thought of his brothers locked in their cells. Of Ashur being beaten. Of Nasir’s split lip and malnourishment. Why had he complained about his imprisonment? Their torture was a thousand times worse than his. Especially now, when he was being kissed by the most amazing creature he’d ever met.

She skimmed a hand down his chest while he explored every corner of her lips, her mouth, her teeth and tongue. Her fingers tangled in his shirt as he cradled her face. She tugged the shirt up, breaking the kiss long enough to drag it over his head, then closed her lips over his once more.

She threw the cotton on the floor at her back. Smiled down with that sexy, heated, all-consuming look. And desire bunched in his stomach as he watched. Followed by a swift slap of reality.

Words weren’t going to work anymore. She wanted him. As much as he wanted her. If he tried to stop things now, it would only result in her feeling rejected.

He never wanted to hurt her.

Indecision rippled through him. Power was something he’d been forced to relinquish long ago to Zoraida. But even with his assignments, he still maintained control. He gave them what they wished, but he did so at his leisure, tempted them in a way he knew would corrupt their souls just as Zoraida wanted. This time, though, he could give that control to Mira. If he played his cards right, he could give her what she wanted and protect her soul from Zoraida at the same time.

She slid down his body and pressed her lips to his chest before he’d even made up his mind. “I love how smooth your skin is here. I love how muscular you are.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed his pecs, as she lowered and laved her tongue across his left nipple, then his right. Electricity arced through his body, shot into his groin, made him harder than he was sure he’d ever been.

“Do you like this?” she asked, trailing hot, wet kisses down his abdomen. “Do you like my mouth on you?”

Allah, did he. “Hayaati—”

She moved lower, pushed her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. Then tipped her gaze up so seductively, a wicked shot of desire made him lift his hips and rub his aching cock against her breasts. “I want to taste you, Tariq. I want to feel you harden against my tongue. Is that okay?”

Okay? Okay? She wanted to know if that was okay?

He ground his teeth against the raging need but couldn’t stop himself from pressing up on his elbows so he could watch while she slid to the floor and maneuvered between his legs. Somehow, he found the strength to say, “I am yours to do with as you wish, Mira. Anything. Everything.”

Confidence burned in her eyes. A confidence that hadn’t been there before. She popped the button on his jeans. Slid the zipper over his erection. Looked up again with that sinful, sexy, seductive expression. “I want you to tell me what pleases you. Right now, I want to learn how to make you come.”

Just her words was enough to make him do nearly that. His erection twitched as she pressed her hands inside his jeans, ran them down his hips, pulled the garment from his legs, and let it drop to the floor.

She sucked in a breath when his cock sprang up, hard and pulsing and hot. Then licked her lips as if in anticipation of a wicked taste. “Commando. I like that. Tell me what to do, mu’allim.”

The word sounded dirty on her tongue. Nasty. Hotter than hell. His pulse grew faster.

This was about her, he reminded himself. About letting her have control, letting her take what she wanted. It wasn’t about him.

“Touch me,” he managed.

When her hand closed around his length, he nearly jumped. Her fingers were so dainty, her skin like silk. She moved her hand up, tightened at the head, then stroked him slowly.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Do you want more?” she said as she circled the head again, and tremors ran through his flesh. When he nodded once more, she added, “Tell me.”

He was in so much trouble here. He pushed his hips against her hand, groaned as her fingers slid down his length. “Taste me, hayaati.”

She smiled again, that Cheshire-cat grin he was growing to enjoy. And pleasure gathered in his groin as she leaned close, as her tongue flicked out to lick the tip, as the warm wetness of her mouth closed around his cock.

His eyes slid closed. He dropped his head back. Shuddered as she lowered and drew him deeper. Her tongue stroked the underside of his cock, her lips closed tight around his length. And when she suckled, he saw stars. He didn’t have to show her what he liked; she instinctively knew. Her hand stroked the base while her lips and tongue drove him completely mad. Then she drew him so deep he brushed her throat. He groaned in pure ecstasy.

“Allah, Mira. Just like that. Deeper.”

Her mouth was like nothing he’d ever felt. And the fact she was doing this for him, when she didn’t need to be, only amped his arousal. Her free hand brushed his thigh while she suckled, moved to his lower belly. The touch sent shards of electricity racing along his nerve endings. His balls tightened, and pleasure zinged down his spine. And when she groaned around his cock, sending vibrations through every bit of his flesh, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

“Mira…” He threaded his fingers in her long hair, rubbed her skull as she continued to push him closer to the edge. Her free hand slid down his hip and brushed his inner thigh, then gently squeezed his balls.

“Mira—”

He tried to pull free of her mouth, but she clamped on tighter with her lips, sucked harder. And then it was too late. He couldn’t do anything except shudder and groan as pleasure slammed into him and stole his breath.

The pressure eased around his cock. She continued to stroke him slowly as he came down the other side of the best orgasm of his life, her teasing tongue flicking the head, making him shudder all over again. When she finally let go, he blinked several times, looked up, and watched as she swallowed, then grinned with the wickedest of smiles.

“Did I do a good job? Did you like that?”

He answered by levering up off the bed, closing his arms around her, taking her down to the mattress, and kissing her flushed, swollen, insanely erotic lips.

She groaned as she opened to him, as she wrapped her arms around his back and eased her legs apart so he could sink against her body. He tasted himself and the wine she’d sipped earlier. And a hunger like nothing he’d tasted before.

Thought fled. Need consumed him. He pushed her shirt up, palmed her breast. Loved that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the thin cotton T-shirt. She arched her back, kissed him harder. But she was wearing too many clothes. There wasn’t nearly enough skin.

“Mira.” He pulled back, dragged her torso off the bed, and stripped the shirt over her head, then threw it on the floor. “Need you naked.”

She giggled, reached for him as soon as her shirt was gone, and brought her mouth back to his. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips, lifting her hips as he pushed his hand into the waistband of her jeans and slid it around to cup her ass. “Naked.”

He kissed her again and again, squeezed her ass, pressed his renewed erection against her mound. He wanted to draw out the foreplay, to make her writhe as she’d made him writhe, but all he could focus on was getting inside her. Finding out if she was as tight and wet as he knew she’d be.

He dragged his mouth from hers, kissed her ear, her throat, breathed hot against her breasts as he flipped the button on her jeans and dragged the denim from her legs.

She was as beautiful as he remembered. Pale, soft, her hips flared just right, her waist trim, her breasts the perfect size for his hands. For his mouth.

He closed his lips around her right breast, suckled the tip. Shuddered when her fingernails scraped his skull and she dropped her head back, arching toward him and groaning all over again.

“Have to be inside you, hayaati.” He moved to her other breast.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Want to feel you come around me.”

“Oh yes.” She lifted her hips.

“I want you on your hands and knees, offering yourself to me.”

She trembled, groaned, squeezed her knees against his sides. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He was too far gone to think. To stop. To wonder why she was willing to do anything he wanted. He eased away, flipped her to her stomach. Brushed her hair to one side and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

She shuddered, moaned. Pulled her knees up under her and pushed up to her hands. And when she looked back over her shoulder with nothing but lust in her eyes, the last of his resistance broke.

He knelt on the bed behind her. Trailed his hand down her spine. She closed her eyes, pushed back against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her upper body back flush with his. His cock pressed against the cleft of her ass as she gripped the wrist at her waist to balance herself. He kissed her ear, nipped at the lobe. Whispered, “Spread your knees.”

She did as he asked, and he skimmed his free hand down her stomach, into her curls, then finally brushed his fingers across her sex.

He’d given lots of pleasure during his years in prison, but this was the first time giving pleasure brought pleasure to him. He felt every wicked burn of desire as he slid his fingers along her wetness, circled her clit, then dipped lower to press inside.

“You are so tight, hayaati,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed in with one finger, felt her clamp on tight, then slid out again. She dropped her head back against his shoulder, moaned, and rocked her hips against his hand. “Do you like that? Do you like me fucking you like this?”

“Yes, yes. God, yes.”

“Do you want more?”

She swallowed. Nodded. Gripped his wrist tighter at her waist.

“Tell me.”

“I want all of you, Tariq. I want you inside me.”

He closed his mouth over hers, kissed her deep, then let go. She fell to her hands on the mattress. He moved in closer, palmed her ass with one hand while he stroked her sex with the other. When she moaned and pressed back against him, he wrapped his hand around his cock and guided it toward her sex, stroking her with the tip until she shuddered.

Heaven. It was the only thought he had as he sank into her wetness. As he pulled out, then pushed in again. Her whole body tightened. She shifted back to meet his thrusts. Groaned again and again as their coupling picked up speed.

He felt himself slipping. Felt his control loosening. And knew—for the first time ever—what it was like to be on the other side. To be the one who was tempted, influenced, driven to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do. A blinding desire to take her harder, to use her in any way he wanted overwhelmed him. To disregard her wants and needs in favor of his own. This was what he did to the humans he granted wishes. This was the way he corrupted. By giving them a taste of something erotic, then twisting it until that desire consumed them.

The realization slammed into him, stole the air from his lungs. He gasped, pushed away from Mira, tried to slow his racing pulse as he dropped back to sit on the side of her bed.

Mira turned, looked at him with half lust, half surprise. “Tariq? Is everything okay?”

No, everything was most definitely not okay. His chest was strung tight as a drum, his ears were ringing, and he was pretty sure those were spots firing off behind his eyes. Not to mention, every soul he’d ever corrupted was flashing in his brain. “I…I’ll be fine. In a minute.”

Mira scooted closer. Soft fingers brushed his bare thigh. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything. It was me. I—”

His words cut off when he looked at her—really looked at her—and saw her for the first time. So honest. So real. So unlike any other person he’d ever met. It was as if he could see her soul for what it was. And it wasn’t tainted. It wasn’t black. It was…pure.

“You what?”

“I…” His brow dropped low. “Who are you, Mira Dawson?”

A slow, winsome smile spread up her face. “I’m just a woman.”

But she wasn’t. She was more than that. For whatever reason, she was special.

He kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Unable to do anything but touch his mouth to hers. She groaned against his lips, slid onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He opened to her, didn’t try to stop her when she pushed him to his back, when she levered herself over him. When her hand stroked his cock and she positioned it back at the entrance to her body.

“Mira,” he whispered.

Slowly, she sank down, and they both groaned as he filled her. Arousal flushed her cheeks a warm pink. She rocked against him, pressed her hands to his chest. Never once looked away as she rode. And as his orgasm barreled close, he brushed the hair back from her face and knew, wherever he went, no matter how long he was chained to Zoraida, he would always remember this moment. Of finally being wanted. Not for what he could do but for who he was. Of finally doing the right thing in the sea of all the bad he’d ever done.

“Tariq…” Her rocking picked up speed. She grew tighter, hotter, wetter.

He sat up so he could taste the pleasure from her lips when it hit. “Yes, hayaati. Ride me. Take me. Come for me.”

Her mouth dropped open. A long groan echoed from her chest. He captured it with his mouth, kissed her deep again and again as he lifted his hips, as he thrust deeper, as he tried to milk every inch of desire from her before it was over.

Electricity raced through each cell in his body while she rode the wave. And before he realized it was coming, his own orgasm slammed into him. Stole his breath. Made those stars he’d seen earlier explode in a mountain of fireworks. Everywhere. Until want and need and dreams and wishes all condensed into a hot, burning point of light that sucked up everything in one giant vortex of pleasure.

* * *

Mira collapsed against Tariq and tried to drag air into her lungs. His chest rose and fell with his own rapid breaths, and both their bodies were coated in a sheen of sweat. Sweat that felt way too good.

Pleasure still radiated everywhere—even in her fingers and toes—and she smiled as she remembered how easily she’d made him come with her mouth. How easily he’d made her come with his body.

“I…I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Tariq’s voice vibrated from his chest into her ear, and she pushed back, smiled down at him. Her heart turned over as she stared into his eyes. A reaction that both surprised and confused her. “No, you didn’t hurt me. In fact, I think you might have fixed me.”

He darted a look around the room, and the way his eyes changed from lazy to on guard brought a rush of worry that chilled her skin. Were those Ghuls back? Had he seen something?

He rolled her to her back, pushed up on his hand. A wave of disappointment washed over her as he slid from her body. “Don’t say that. Not yet, hayaati.”

She still didn’t know what “hayaati” meant. She’d have to look that up. And she wasn’t sure why he didn’t want her to say he’d fixed her. But as he climbed off the bed and pulled on his jeans, the fear in his voice registered. Followed by an understanding that dawned bright in her mind.

If her wish was complete, their time together was over. He didn’t want it to be over.

Warmth replaced the chill. She slid to the end of the bed, reached for his T-shirt from the floor before he could pull it on. “I didn’t say I was done with you, Tariq.” She tugged the shirt over her head, let it drop to her thighs. Loved how it smelled like him. “I said you might have fixed me. Not that you did.”

He stopped. Looked back at her. Then a relieved smile spread across his face, just before he eased down and kissed her, pushing her to the mattress once more and driving her wild with his mouth. When he eased back, she saw approval in his dark eyes. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met.”

She liked that. Liked it a lot, actually. She fingered his bicep. He was so muscular. Cut. Hot. “I think there’s still lots more I need to learn. This was great and all, but I don’t think I’ll be done with you until I know I can pleasure you without you having to tell me what to do.”

“That could take a while,” he teased.

“Could take a long while.” She smiled. “I’m thinking we might need another session right now.”

One dark brow lifted. “Right now? Are you ready for that so soon?”

She brushed her hand down his spine and gripped his ass through his jeans. “I’m definitely ready for it. The question is, are you? You’ve already had two orgasms. You might need to gather your strength.”

He chuckled. “I am djinn, hayaati. Can’t you feel that I am ready?”

She did feel it. He was hard against her thigh already. Arousal tingled between her legs once more.

She lifted her head. Pressed her mouth to his. Mumbled, “You dressed way too quickly.”

He chuckled again. Slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeper. She opened to him, drew his tongue into her mouth. Groaned at the slick, dark taste of him all over again. “I want you to stay with me tonight, Tariq. All night.”

His eyes flashed in approval, and he pushed his hips against hers in a wicked way that made her downright crazy. “I’m yours. Anything you want. Everything. You only have to ask.”

She smiled. Lifted to kiss him again. But as her lips met his, something changed. She felt it in the way he pulled back. Saw it in the surprise in his eyes. Smoke spiraled in the room. He looked down as it whipped in a tornado around his body.

“Tariq?” She pushed up from the mattress as he was lifted off her.

“It’s all right, hayaati,” he said in a calm voice. A too calm voice. “I’m being called back.”

Called back? No, that wasn’t part of her wish. “Tariq—”

“I will return, hayaati.”

She reached out to him, but the smoke rose over his head, covering him from view before her fingers could reach his. And then it spun so fast, the force of the wind blew her hair back from her face.

In seconds, he was gone. Nothing to show he’d ever been there except for the thin blue T-shirt she was now wearing.

That and the ache between her legs. The one that only left her wanting more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Several. Since being back in his cell, Tariq had finally managed to relax. Hours had passed with no visit, no explanation as to why he’d been called back. But he could guess.

He lifted his head just as the cell door swung open and Zoraida swept into the room, her royal blue gown swishing in the air behind her. Fury coated her features, her eyes blazing with a rage he’d never seen before. No sooner had he climbed to his feet than her arm connected with his jawbone in a blow that sent him staggering into the wall.

Pain shot through the left side of his face. His hands hit the stones behind him. Her magic had grown these last few years—thanks to him—and with it her strength as well. Pushing away from the wall, Tariq refused to rub at the pain, instead leveled his narrowed gaze on her, then the three guards close at her back.

He could take her, he didn’t doubt that. But they had swords, and without his magic, he’d never get by all three without losing his life.

“You will not defy me,” Zoraida growled. “I am your sayyeda. You are my slave. And you will do my bidding. Guard?” she called over shoulder.

A guard outside dragged a bloodied and beaten Nasir into the room. “Yes, mistress.”

“Send him to Jahannam.”

“No!” Tariq jerked forward. The Pits of Jahannam were fighting rings set up for the entertainment of Ghuls. Few condemned there survived its horrors, and those who did came out forever changed.

Zoraida’s fist jammed into his jaw, sending him crashing into the rock wall again. “Stand down, djinni, or I will send your other brother there as well.”

Blood ran across Tariq’s tongue, trickled down his chin. Frantic, he looked for Nasir behind Zoraida as guards rushed in and grasped Tariq’s arms so he couldn’t lurch at her. They’d beaten his brother severely. Nasir’s face was black and blue, and he was barely able to stand on his own two feet. “Nasir—!”

“Don’t fight her,” Nasir said in a weak voice as the guard dragged him out. “I’ll be okay. Save Ashur. Find a way to save Ashur, Tariq. He won’t last much longer.”

Nasir’s empty voice echoed from the passageway until he was gone. Rage whipped through Tariq as he turned his glare on Zoraida.

“You will not defy me, djinni. I am your sayyeda,” she said again, as if saying it would make him submit.

But he wouldn’t. Never willingly again. Fury and disbelief swirled through him, but he didn’t answer. He was too busy plotting all the ways he would turn his vengeance on her when the time was right.

“The whip,” she called over her shoulder, her icy gaze never leaving Tariq’s face. As a guard handed her the weapon, she barked, “Secure him!”

The guards shoved Tariq face-first toward the stones, chained his wrists to the hooks mounted high in the wall.

He knew not to fight, knew it was useless. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.

“You will do my bidding,” Zoraida repeated as she snapped the whip back, then brought the tip forward to slice into his skin.

Fire erupted across his back, pain so intense it stole his breath. His body jerked, and he slumped forward against the wall, gritting his teeth. To keep from crying out, he thought of Nasir. Of Ashur. Of his father and their kingdom. And of the retribution he would rain down on Zoraida and her Ghuls when he was free.

“No one controls my will except me,” Zoraida said through clenched teeth, snapping the whip back again. “Do you understand?”

The whip cracked. Leather bit into his flesh. A red burn exploded all along his spine. He sagged against the cuffs as she pulled the whip back again and again, as the leather sliced open his skin and darkness beckoned from the shadows.

He lost track of the number of times he was hit. But as the leather bit into his skin, reality spread out before him like the river of blood pooling at his feet. She could make him feel pain as he’d never experienced, but she wouldn’t kill him. She still needed him to corrupt Mira’s soul. For whatever reason, her Ghuls couldn’t do it. Which meant Mira was safe. At least for now.

His hazy mind drifted back to all the souls he’d corrupted for Zoraida. Most of the time, he’d succeeded in fulfilling his targets’ wishes, but there were a few times he hadn’t. When even he hadn’t been enough for the women who’d summoned him. Those souls hadn’t mattered to Zoraida. Yes, she’d punished him, but she’d just sent Tariq out on another mission when he’d failed. But something was different this time. Mira’s soul was vitally important to Zoraida. And he was the key to getting it.

Who was she? Why was she so important? And was it possible she could somehow be instrumental to Zoraida’s downfall?

His eyes drifted closed. He tried to push the pain to the back of his mind. Tried to think clearly. But the bite of leather, the burn of each lash was too much to ignore. And before long, darkness threatened.

You can’t save them all. Nasir, Ashur…Mira. You’ll have to choose. Them or her.

Sound drifted away. Darkness closed in. And then there was nothing but silence. Not even a choice.

* * *

Mira hadn’t seen or heard from Tariq in three days. She’d tried to call him back with the opal, but he either wasn’t listening or whoever controlled the stone wasn’t letting him through.

The last thought circled loudly in her mind as she sat at her computer and skimmed her e-mail, searching for one from a professor she’d located online who supposedly knew all there was to know about djinn. She hadn’t been able to focus on anything but Tariq this week, so she’d finally cashed in some vacation time. With nothing else to do but worry and stress over the way he’d left, she’d gone looking for more information on his race and had finally found Dr. Claire Sampson, a professor of folklore and history at the University of Florida.

They’d e-mailed back and forth several times. The woman had heard stories of djinn being trapped or bound by certain objects, and in her last e-mail had said she’d do some more research to see where historical records showed those objects turning up. Just the fact she hadn’t thought Mira was a complete kook when she’d started peppering the woman with questions was a major plus as far as Mira could see.

Silently rejoicing when she saw the subject line: RESEARCH, she hit open and started reading.

Mira—

Historical documents show that djinn can be bound only by a powerful master—a sorcerer, a priestess, a wizard, etc.—someone who has studied a grimoire, or magical textbook, and knows how to bind a djinni without negative repercussions. They’re not bound to the object itself but to the energy within an object, which means they can be bound to anything, really, but more often than not, they’re bound to magical objects like talismans and amulets…rarely lamps like you see in popular culture. King Solomon reportedly used a magical ring made of copper and iron with a fire opal set in the metal to command the djinn he enslaved. (Djinn are severely weakened and drained of magical abilities in the presence of iron.)

I’m still looking into ways to break a bond between slave and master—I don’t know if it can be done, but if it can, all parties—slave, master, exorcist—have to be in the same realm, and ideally, in the same area. A colleague recently mentioned the Key of Solomon—a grimoire King Solomon reportedly wrote containing all his secrets regarding djinn. When I know more I’ll pass it on to you. In the meantime…

I’ve read numerous accounts of human interactions with djinn, but I’ve never heard of a djinni wanting to stay with a human by choice. Yes, they can mate with them, but it’s rare. And they aren’t known to fall in love with humans…at least not often. They’re tricky creatures, even when bound to an object. Be careful you’re not reading something into the situation that isn’t there. This isn’t just about your peace of mind; it’s about your safety as well. There are powerful entities out there—magical entities—that prey on djinn and use them to get what they want. Sometimes that’s as simple as wealth, but usually it’s something more nefarious. Like the destruction of a human soul. I’ll keep looking, but in the meantime, my advice would be this: do NOT do anything to summon this djinn back. If he’s gone, let him stay gone forever and consider yourself lucky you escaped unscathed.

—Claire

Mira sat back from the screen as the professor’s last sentence sank in. Let him go? The woman wanted her to pretend as if the last week hadn’t happened? Mira couldn’t do that. And she didn’t believe all djinn were bad. They had free will, just as humans did—or so her research said. But more importantly, her heart told her Tariq wasn’t bad. He couldn’t be. Not after the way he’d protected her from those Ghuls and the way he’d tried to get her to change her mind about her wish in the first place.

Slowly, Mira’s mind circled around to her wish. And spun right back to Dr. Sampson’s e-mail.

There are powerful entities out there that prey on djinn and use them to get what they want…like the destruction of a human soul.

Dread welled inside her. Was that why Tariq had come to her? Because some master wanted her soul? That made no sense.

But then she remembered the shopkeeper’s warning when she’d gone looking for the Firebrand opal: Choosing to wear the opal opens yourself to consequences you may not yet foresee. Be sure it is a risk you are willing to take.

She lifted her fingers, ran them against the stone at her chest as she had numerous times since Tariq had left her in a puff of black smoke. Was that what he’d been trying to warn her about? Was that why he hadn’t made love to her on that Tahitian beach and had sent her back, telling her to think long and hard about what she really wanted?

She thought of the way he’d acted when he’d returned. Reserved. Unsure. How she’d point blank asked him if he wanted her or not, and how he’d finally admitted that he did. But he hadn’t seemed happy about that knowledge. In fact, he’d seemed…saddened by it.

Then she remembered the way she’d teased him after they’d made love, how she’d told him maybe he’d fixed her. And how panicked he’d looked at the thought.

Reality chilled a space in her chest. He’d known. From the very first. He’d known that by fulfilling her wish, he was damning her soul in some way. He’d tried to stop her wish, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to prolong it. And he’d been dragged back to wherever he was now by whomever was controlling him because of that attempt.

Fear surged through her, rippled through her limbs, stole her breath. But was quickly replaced by a determination that spread a calm along every quivering nerve ending. There was still time. Nothing had been decided yet. Nothing that couldn’t be changed. And because nothing was final, she knew Tariq would be back. He hadn’t completed whatever task his master had sent him here to do. She had one last chance to make all of this right.

She hit reply on the e-mail and furiously typed her response. And her remaining questions. When she was done, she clicked send, sat back and prayed Dr. Claire Sampson could help her. Because suddenly, her wish—finding a way to make herself more desirable to Devin—didn’t matter. All that mattered was uncovering a way to free Tariq from his bonds. And maybe, if she was lucky, save her own soul in the process.

* * *

Exhaustion weighed heavy on Tariq as he crossed the portal into the human world. His wounds had healed over, but they were still tender. And he was weaker than he should be from the beating. But instead of giving him time to fully recuperate, Zoraida was antsy for him to finish his assignment.

A poof of black smoke encircled him; then his feet hit solid ground. Through the dissipating haze, Mira’s excited voice drifted toward his ears, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying. Then he didn’t care. Her body hit his, nearly knocking him off his feet, her arms wrapped around his neck, and then her lips…her sweet and succulent lips…were closing over his, parting to let him in, dragging him toward a temptation he didn’t want to give in to. Not until he figured out how he could protect both her and his brothers…and bring Zoraida down for good.

Impossible. You have to make a choice. Her or your brothers. You can’t save them all.

She pulled back from his mouth, looked up with hazel eyes that sparkled like diamonds. “I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again. I’m so glad you came back to me. I missed you, Tariq.”

Warmth spread through his chest. And words choked in his throat.

How could he choose between her and his brothers? He loved his brothers, felt responsible for what had happened to them, but Mira… She’d truly missed him. He could see it in her eyes. And not just the wish he could grant her or the fact he was a prince and a warrior. But she’d missed him, the person.

“Mira—”

She grasped his hands, pulled him forward as she stepped back toward a U-shaped couch. “Come here.”

He stumbled, the heat of her hands warming his palms, sending electrical vibrations all along his nerve endings. He looked around as she tugged him down to the couch, as she snuggled close to him on the soft leather, as he closed his arms around her and her head rested against his chest.

Teak furnishings, floor-to-ceiling cabinets, a galley kitchen, high-tech electronics, and ahead, a raised bed. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t anywhere he recognized. Water lapped somewhere close. Water that indicated…

“Mira,” he said quickly, excitement building inside him. “Are we on the water?”

“Yes,” she said against him. “On my boss’s boat. He let me borrow it. I haven’t been able to focus since you left, so I took the rest of my vacation.”

They were on a boat. The tension in his muscles began to relax, and relief spiraled through his whole body. Zoraida couldn’t hear them on a boat. Water interfered with her ability to see through the opal he was wearing and monitor what he was doing. It was a loophole she hated. And he was forbidden from taking any mark on a boat, into water period. But he hadn’t brought Mira here. She’d brought him.

A slow smile twined its way across his mouth, and he tipped her chin up to his so he could see those mesmerizing eyes again. “You, hayaati, are amazing.”

“Why?”

“Because you are.”

He brushed his fingers through her long hair, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her the way he’d restrained himself from kissing her earlier. Her lips parted easily, and he stroked his tongue against hers, tasted her sweetness, her goodness, her wetness and need. Reveled in just being close to her. Even if he knew it could never last. For the first time in ten years, Zoraida couldn’t see him. She couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t touch him. Not so long as they were on this boat. And before he had to decide what to do next, he planned to show Mira just what her gift meant to him. Even if she didn’t know it was a gift in the first place.

He pushed her down to the cushions, braced his hands on the leather as he climbed over her and changed the angle of the kiss, as he tasted her deeper, as her arms came around him and she pulled him close. His chest brushed hers; her legs opened to make room for him. And when she groaned, when her fingers dug into his shoulders and she pulled him even closer, all the worry rushed away.

He’d never been in love before. Not even with a female from his world. He’d never had time. And then he’d been imprisoned by Zoraida, and love had been the furthest thing from his mind. But here he was. With a female. A human female. One who gave and gave and didn’t ask for anything in return. One who had missed him, even knowing what he really was.

“Mira—”

She lifted her knees on each side of his, drawing him toward her heat, kissing him again and again and cutting off his words. Then she pressed her full, luscious breasts against his chest until all he could think about was stripping her naked and showing her with his hands and mouth and body how much she meant to him.

“Mira—”

“Don’t talk, Tariq,” she whispered, kissing his lips, his nose, his cheeks. “Just kiss me again. God, I missed you.”

They were words no one ever said. Words he’d longed to hear. Words that touched a part of him he’d closed off from the world. He sank into her mouth, pushed his erection against her mound, groaned at the contact, just as she did. But when her hands traveled down his back and her fingers pressed into his still-healing wounds, he jerked back from her mouth and ground his teeth against the shot of pain igniting like fire in his flesh.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he managed, wincing as the burn slowly faded. “I’m…fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Mira said, pushing him up and climbing onto her knees on the couch. “You’re hurt. Turn around.”

“Mira—”

“Turn around, Tariq.”

One glance at her determined features told him she wouldn’t drop this demand until he complied. And though he didn’t want her to see the lash marks, he knew they weren’t going to finish what they’d started until he appeased her.

He turned his back toward her.

“Take off your shirt,” she said.

He unbuttoned the shirt he wore, shrugged out of the short sleeves, and let the rayon fabric fall around his waist.

Mira gasped.

He looked over his shoulder. Couldn’t see anything but Mira’s shocked eyes and her hand covering her mouth. “That doesn’t sound encouraging, hayaati. You’re supposed to say, ‘It’s not that bad.’”

Her heartsick gaze shot to him. But there was no humor in her voice when she dropped her hand and said, “Who did this to you?”

He looked away, at the bed across the salon he still wanted to tumble across with her. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen until they talked. And he had a feeling once they did and she learned the truth, tumbling anywhere with him was going to be out of the question.

You have to choose. Her or your brothers.

“Tariq,” Mira said again when he didn’t answer. “Who did this to you?”

“Zoraida.”

“Who’s that?”

“My master.”

Mira sank back to sit on her heel. “The person who controls you. The one who sent you here to me.”

He tugged his shirt back on, turned to face her. Knew that she had to be wondering how and why and what it all meant. Knew, when he looked into those glittering hazel eyes, that he was going to tell her. “A sorceress. One who used magic to break down the walls between our worlds. One who”—and here was where it got sticky—”tricked me.”

“How?” Mira asked, tucking her feet up under her as he pushed to his and started pacing.

Moving at least gave him something to do besides wonder what she was thinking. But the salon was so small, there was very little room to move. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m the eldest of three sons. My father, the king—”

“Wait. Your father’s a king?” Shock ran across Mira’s face, slowing his feet. “That makes you a—”

“Prince. Yeah. Or at least, I was one. Once.” He shook off the thought, resumed pacing. The open shirt flapped against his stomach. “War is constant in our realm. The tribes are always fighting, seeking power. My brothers and I were all soldiers in the army, but as the eldest, it was my duty to assume the throne. I didn’t really want it. I liked being with the troops more than I did commanding them. But our father hasn’t been the same since he was injured in battle several years ago, and it was time. I was selfish, though. I asked for one last mission. He agreed—reluctantly—and sent me and a handful of soldiers up the Jagged Coast. Several villages had been ransacked by Ghuls. We were supposed to eradicate the Ghuls, restore order, and return me to my throne a hero.”

“What happened?” Mira asked quietly.

“Zoraida fooled me.” He thought back to how naïve he’d been. How young and easily coerced. How stupid. “She was in a bar in one of the first villages we freed. The soldiers were celebrating. There were females from the village there that night. Lots of females, ready to show their appreciation for what we’d done. She was one of them.”

“She seduced you.”

Was that jealousy in her voice? Tariq couldn’t tell. And he couldn’t dwell on it, because in a minute, it wouldn’t matter.

“She used magic over me,” he said. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I realized it as soon as it was over. When the magic wore off, I saw her as she truly is. Not beautiful and magnetic as I’d envisioned her to be, but frigid and deadly. The raids on the villages—they were all traps. She commands the Ghuls, has since she came into our realm, only we didn’t know. She knew my father would send one of his sons to oversee the battles, and she needed a royal djinn from the strongest tribe to complete her goal: to become the strongest magical being in all of the realms.”

“What happened next?” Mira asked in a quiet voice.

“She bound me to the Firebrand opal, made me her slave. Sent me out into the human world to…” He swallowed, glanced down at the floor because he couldn’t meet Mira’s eyes. Not this time. “…corrupt souls to fuel her power.”

When Mira didn’t say anything, he resumed pacing. Okay, so now she knew the truth about the whole wish fulfillment thing and why he was here with her now. And she hated him, just as he’d known she would. But that space in his chest chilled faster than he expected, and what had once been warm and full of life earlier turned cold as a blackened cinder.

He thanked his luck they were on a boat. That he was blocking her only escape. That she couldn’t get away, at least not yet. He needed her to hear the rest, even if she didn’t want to.

“I’ve been her slave for ten years. I’ve done what she commanded because I was always looking for a way to freedom. But just before I met you, I realized there isn’t one.”

She still didn’t speak, and he still couldn’t look at her. He just needed to get it all out. “I went on a hunger strike. I figured starving myself was the easiest way to end my life and her quest for power. But she manipulated me again. Somehow, she captured both of my brothers, and she brought them to me. She’d beaten them. Threatened their lives. They’d been looking for me. It wasn’t their fault they’d been captured. It was mine.”

He drew a deep breath, let it out. Finally stopped pacing and faced her, because she deserved to see his eyes. “I knew you were different, right from the start, Mira. I knew as soon as I took you to that island that this time I couldn’t go through with my task. I couldn’t corrupt your soul for Zoraida.” He pressed his fingers against his temple. “I know it means nothing to you, but I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with a solution. Trying to find a way to break the Firebrand opal’s hold on you. To free you from this nightmare I’ve sucked you into. I want you to know that I’m not giving up. That no matter what, I’ll find a way to make sure Zoraida doesn’t get your soul.”

Holy Allah. He’d made his choice. He hadn’t realized it until the words were out of his mouth, but now he didn’t want to take them back. He chose her. He loved his brothers, but he couldn’t condemn one soul just to save another. And even if Mira hated him for all eternity, that didn’t change anything. She didn’t deserve this any more than he did. Any more than his brothers’ did. She didn’t deserve anything but happiness.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t see her push off the couch. Didn’t hear her cross the floor. Didn’t even know she was next to him until her soft voice said, “I love you, Tariq.”

His head came up. His eyes widened. “You…what?”

A gentle smiled curled her kiss-me mouth. “I love you.”

Disbelief rushed all through him. “Mira, I’m a monster. I came here with the intention of—”

“Damning my soul. Yes, I got that.” She stepped closer, rested her palms against his bare chest. Warmth seeped from her hands into his body, easing the chill deep inside. “But you haven’t yet. And you don’t want to. And since you’ve been gone, I’ve had several days to research and think things through, and there’s only one thing I know that really matters.”

“What’s that?” he asked before he could think to stop himself.

She lifted her hand, brushed it against his cheek. And he leaned into her touch without even realizing he was doing so. “I made my own wish. I brought you here. I didn’t have to do that, Tariq, so you shouldn’t feel guilty about anything that happens to me. It was my choice.”

“Mira—”

She rose on her toes. Wrapped her arms around his neck. Brought her body flush against his until the chill was nothing but a memory and her heat was all he felt. “I would do it again too. Even if it was only for a few days. Even knowing everything I know now. I would do it again to spend these hours with you because they’ve been the best of my life. I thought I wanted to know how to be desirable, but I realized…I already am. I just hadn’t met the right man.”

“Mira,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from closing his arms around her. “I am not a man.”

“No, not technically, but it doesn’t mean you deserve what was done to you. I can’t even begin to try to understand your world, but I know what’s in your heart. I know that you care about your brothers. About your father and your kingdom. And I know from spending time with you that you have a gentle soul, regardless of what you think. You tried to stop me from following through with my wish. You protected me from those Ghuls. And when I wouldn’t change my mind about wanting to be with you, you did everything you could to prolong my wish so I wouldn’t be hurt. Even knowing that witch could punish your brothers in the meantime. And then you come back here with these marks on your back, and I…”

Her voice caught with so much emotion, it radiated through his entire body. “That’s not something a monster does, Tariq. That’s something an honorable man does.”

He didn’t know what to think. She loved him. A slave, sent to condemn her. Really loved him.

She looked down at his chest. “I know that in your own way you care about me, because you wouldn’t have done all that if you didn’t. Even if it isn’t—”

“Mira, I care more for you more than I’ve ever cared for anyone else.”

Her eyes lifted to his, brightened at his words. “You do?”

He nodded and brushed his thumb over her cheek. Even as his heart pinched at what that meant. “More than I ever thought I could.”

A slow, sexy smile spread across her lips. Lips that were plump and lush and tempting as they skimmed across his. “Show me,” she whispered. “Forget everything else right now, and just show me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Mira’s skin tingled with excitement and nervousness. Not the same nervousness she’d felt the last time they were together. No, she wasn’t worried about pleasing him; she was worried about what came after. What she and Claire had discussed. What she had to do when it was over.

Don’t think about that now. Think about Tariq. Think about being with him. Think about this last moment together.

He lowered his mouth to hers, and she opened to him without hesitation, tasted the hunger on his tongue—the same hunger she knew was on hers. His hand slid down her spine, pressed gently against her lower back, drawing her body even tighter against his. She moaned into his mouth, tangled her fingers in his hair, and kissed him harder. Wanted to kiss him as no one had ever kissed him before. As she hoped no one would ever kiss him again.

He hadn’t said he loved her, but that was okay. She didn’t need the words. She knew he cared about her. And that was enough.

She took a step forward, forcing him back. When his butt hit the raised bed, she slid her hands down his chest, smiled as his arms closed around her and he lifted her feet off the floor, then laid her out of the mattress just as she wanted.

He was all solid muscle and chiseled angles. She watched in wonder as he shrugged out of his shirt, kicked off his boots, as he climbed over her. Desire darkened his eyes, brought a flush to his cheeks that superheated her blood. She reached for him, was careful not to touch the wounds on his back, then lifted to meet him, pressing her lips against his with a fierceness that stole her breath. He lowered his body to hers, and she loved the beat of his heart against her own, loved the heat radiating from his skin. Loved how they fit together as if they were made for each other.

He kissed her jaw, her earlobe, trailed his lips down her neck, and nibbled at the tender column of flesh. She moaned, arched into him. He slid his hand across her belly, under her shirt, and up to palm her breast. Electricity rippled across her skin as she lowered her back to the mattress again. As she found his mouth and kissed him once more while his fingers teased her nipple into a hard point beneath the satin of her bra.

She broke away from his mouth. Breathed heavily. “Tariq—”

“Lift up, hayaati.” He eased off her so she could sit up, then tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. Eyes locked on her satiny bra, he flipped the front clasp and tugged that off as well until her breasts spilled into his large, more than capable hands.

“So soft,” he whispered. Her nipples tightened under his heated stare. As he cupped each one and ran his thumb across the tip. Then she nearly came out of her skin when he lowered his head and laved his tongue across her nipple.

Groaning, Mira dropped her head back in pleasure and arched into his mouth. She’d had lovers before, but none had been like Tariq. None had known where to touch her to make her lose control. Dark flashes of arousal pulsed through her. She wanted to taste him on her tongue again. Wanted to feel his cock deep inside. Wanted him limp and sated in her arms when it was over then begging for more. And she wanted to be the only one to satisfy him, just like this, every day, for the rest of his days, however long that may be.

Don’t think about the future. Just enjoy right now.

She knew that was what she had to do. She knew it was the only way she’d survive. But it didn’t stop her from wanting. From needing. From dreaming about a future she knew they could never have.

He flicked the button on her jeans as he brought his mouth back to hers, slid the zipper down. When she lifted, he pushed his hand inside her jeans and around to cup her ass, grinding his erection against her mound until she saw stars.

“I love the sounds you make, hayaati.”

She loved the sounds he made too. Loved when he groaned against her. When he rubbed that glorious erection between her legs as he was doing now. Just when she thought she’d go mad from the grinding, he broke away from her mouth, dragged her jeans and underwear down her hips, tore them from her legs, and dropped them on the floor near her shirt. Then he peeled off his own jeans and climbed back on the bed, smiled in that sexy, lazy way of his that heated her blood to near-boiling levels.

Her gaze slid over his perfect body. She could stare at him for hours and never tire of the view. But right now she wanted more than just looking. She wanted him.

He cupped her left breast, then slid his fingers lower to her stomach, and finally into all her moist, wet heat. She groaned again, lifted her hips. Needed him everywhere. Anywhere. “Tariq…”

“You’re so wet, hayaati.” He lowered his head, nibbled at her neck, teased her with his fingers.

She closed her eyes and rode his fingers as he stroked her, gave herself over to his wicked touch. Tingles spread out from her sex, loosened her limbs, made her achy with need. She turned her head, found his mouth, kissed him deep while he circled her clit with his thumb, while he slid his fingers lower and finally inside her.

She groaned, tightened around him. Gasped when he stroked her deep. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted all of him. “Tariq, I need you now.”

His eyes were as dark as she’d ever seen them when he pulled back from her mouth, and stared down at her. He shifted his body over her, pushed up on one hand, then filled her in one fluid movement that drew a gasp from her lips and sent pleasure spiraling through every cell.

Yes. Yes…

She tightened around his length. Tried to hang on to his shoulders as he drew back out and in. As he slowly picked up his pace, that pleasure grew in intensity until it was all she could feel.

“Mira,” he moaned. “Allah, I love being inside you.”

She loved having him inside her. She met each thrust with her own. His lips closed over hers. She moaned into his mouth, wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she lifted to meet him. And she kissed him again and again while he made love to her. Wanting to draw this moment out. Knowing it was going to be their last.

Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them back, didn’t want anything to ruin the moment. They rocked gently against each other on the boat. Water lapped at the hull. But she knew he was getting close. She could tell by the flush of his cheeks, by the way he thickened inside her. By the way he hit that spot again and again, driving her closer to her own release.

“Open your eyes, Mira. Come with me.”

She blinked several times, met his gaze. And his eyes…God, they were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. Not sharp or brilliant in color but vibrant. Fathomless. Alive. Everything she felt when she was with him.

Her orgasm rocketed through her, sending electrical sensations all through her body that robbed her of breath and thought and focus. It went on and on as he thrust harder, deeper, as he filled her as no one ever had before. And when he roared through his own release, long moments later, she was still shuddering, still jerking, still moaning at the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced.

He fell against her. Aftershocks continued to ripple through her body, but thought returned. And with it, a feeling of completeness, of belonging. Of home.

Slowly, she sifted her fingers into his damp hair, kissed his temple. “That was better than last time,” she said. “Think you can do that again?”

He chuckled, and the vibrations spread all through her chest, warming her deep inside. “This time, I might need a moment to recover, hayaati.”

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her. “So much for being an all-powerful supernatural being, huh?”

He smiled as he pushed up on his arm and looked down at her. A devilishly sexy grin that heated her blood all over again. “Are you mocking me?”

“No, I was just stating an observation.” She hooked one leg around his thigh and rolled him to his back, keeping him locked tight within her. He went easily, smiling at her joke the whole time. And she took that as a sign that his back didn’t hurt nearly as much anymore. Or maybe she’d taken away the pain. “What if I promise to do all the work?”

She pushed up to sitting. Tightened her sheath. Grinned down at him with all the confidence she hadn’t known was inside her. His eyes darkened again as he rested his hands at her hips and she rocked slowly against him. He hardened quickly inside her, as if all he needed was that tiny bit of coaxing.

“And what if I want to help?” he asked, lifting to thrust deeper inside her. “Just a little?”

She grew wet and hot and achy all over again. Bracing her hands on each side of his head, she leaned close. “I guess a little help won’t hurt, djinni. But this time, my wish is to pleasure you. So you have to let me do whatever I want.”

His lips curled as she closed her mouth over his. As she lifted and lowered. As she slid her tongue along his and tasted his hunger all over again.

“Your wish, hayaati. My command.”

CHAPTER TEN

Tariq was pretty sure he’d never been so satisfied.

Mira lay draped over him, her chest rising and falling with her labored breaths, her hair a wild tangle of silk all across his sweaty skin. He ran his fingers through the thick blond mass, loving the feel of it—and her—against him as she tried to slow her breath, as they both came down from another rocking climax.

His heart pinched when he thought of what would happen next. They were safe out here on the water, but as soon as they went back to shore, Zoraida would expect results. And when he refused, the sorceress would become enraged. He didn’t want to lose his brothers, but he couldn’t damn Mira. She was as innocent as they were. And he could no longer sacrifice one for the good of others.

“Where are we?” he asked as he stared up at the ceiling.

“On a boat,” she said, her voice vibrating against his chest, sending tendrils of pleasure all through his skin. “I already told you that.”

He smiled, even knowing all the danger that loomed ahead for both of them. With her, he felt light, alive, loved. And that’s what he’d hold on to. Even when his brothers were gone and Zoraida took her fury out on him. He’d remember this moment with her and everything she’d given him and know his choice was worth it. “That’s not what I meant, smartass. I meant, where is the boat?”

She pushed up on one arm and looked down at him. Her eyes sparkled in the low light, and his heart cinched down even tighter as he looked into her beautiful face. “You need to be more specific, djinni. I’m not a mind reader, you know.” She grinned again. “On the Columbia. Off Sauvie Island. Don’t worry, we aren’t drifting. I dropped anchor.”

He wasn’t worrying about that. He was worrying because they didn’t have much time. They needed to get out of this bed and strategize. He needed to teach her to recognize the influence of Ghuls so she could defend herself when he was gone. But he didn’t want to do that yet. He just wanted to stay here and be close to her, even though doing so was only prolonging the inevitable.

He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the water. I miss it. Thank you for this.”

“Your kingdom is near the coast, isn’t it?” When he nodded, she said, “You sail a lot?”

“I used to. Not much lately.”

“I guessed,” she said, pushing up to sit on his legs.

He loved that she wasn’t self-conscious about being naked with him anymore. Loved the way she trailed her hands down his chest. “Let me guess? Your research?”

That Cheshire-cat grin returned once more. “Something like that. But I didn’t bring you on this boat just because I thought you might be missing the water.”

“You didn’t?” She shook her head, and his brow lowered as he tried to read her expression. “Then why?”

Resting her hands on his chest, she leaned down and kissed him. “Because I love you.”

His heart turned over, and he opened to her, drawing her tongue into his mouth one more time, hoping it would be enough. Knowing it wouldn’t.

She ran her hands over his shoulders as she kissed him. Down his arms and back up again. He lost himself in her kiss. In the sheer perfection of her. In all the love he’d never had before. Her fingers trailed down to his wrists. She grasped his arms, tugged them above his head. He smiled as she kissed him. As his desire built all over again.

Okay, one more time. Then he’d get serious. So long as they were out on the water and she still needed him, he’d let her do whatever she wanted. For however long it took. When she was finally sated, then he’d refocus.

“I love when you touch me like this, Mira.”

She pushed his hands together over his head. “Good. Because I have a feeling in a minute, you’re going to be really mad.”

His brow dropped as she pulled away from his mouth. And then something cold and metal snapped over both his wrists.

He jerked his head back, looked up. But before he even saw the cuffs, he knew they were iron. Knew because it zapped his energy and made him weaker than he’d been in years.

His gaze shot back to Mira. She quickly climbed off him. A guilty look ran across her face. “What are you doing? Mira, uncuff me right now. Iron—”

She winced. “I know. Iron makes you weak. But trust me, Tariq, there’s no other way.”

He watched in shock and disbelief as she tugged on her clothes. Of course, she knew. She’d researched his tribe extensively. He jerked on the iron cuffs with what little strength he had. But they were secured to a hook in the wall, and all his efforts did was jangle metal against metal. “Mira. What…? Why…?” He pulled hard again. Knew he was growing weaker with each second. “You have to let me go.”

She tugged the comforter over his naked body. Then leaned down so she was close to his face. “I know she can’t see us on the water. Or hear us. But I also know you’d never let me do what I’m about to do, so I had to cuff you.”

She ran her fingers over his jaw, and instinctively, he leaned into her touch, even as anger pushed up his chest. “Mira, listen to me—”

His words cut off when her fingers moved down his throat; then both hands spread across his collarbones as if she were feeling for something.

Panic spread through his entire body as she began uttering words in an old language he’d only heard once. Words Zoraida had spoken when she’d bound him to the opal. And his eyes grew wide when the opal he wore in his realm—the one that was just like Mira’s but invisible here—materialized against his chest.

Her fingers closed around the opal, and she muttered more magical words that broke the clasp.

“Mira,” he gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. “How did you—?”

“Find your brothers, Tariq,” she whispered against his lips, just before kissing him one last time. “My wish has been fulfilled.”

No. No! “Mira!”

A vortex of black smoke materialized in the room. Horror enveloped Tariq as the smoke cleared and Zoraida stood in the center of the salon. Tariq jerked on the cuffs, but he was so weak now, he could barely move. “Mira, run. Get out of here!”

She had no idea what she’d just done. By voicing her wish was fulfilled, she’d brought Zoraida’s wrath down on her. He couldn’t protect her cuffed to this wall. Panic made him yank and pull and do anything to break free.

“Water,” Zoraida announced, glaring toward Tariq. “Clever, djinni. Remind me to punish you for that.”

She turned her icy gaze on Mira. “Your wish is fulfilled, human. That means your soul belongs to me.”

Mira didn’t even flinch as a wicked grin spread across Zoraida’s face. Did she know Zoraida was a sorceress? That she could torture Mira, enslave her, kill her at any moment? That panic morphed to a full-blown terror that whipped through Tariq like a hurricane. “Mira, run!”

“Maybe,” Mira said in a calm voice, ignoring him. “Maybe not.”

Zoraida’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have behind your back?”

Slowly, Mira pulled her right hand forward and opened her palm. Tariq’s opal glimmered in the low salon light.

Fury flashed in Zoraida’s eyes, shot from the opal to Mira’s face. “How did you get that?”

Without answering, Mira tugged a curved bottle made of yellow glass from behind her back with her other hand. One Tariq had seen sitting on the shelf near the bed when he’d first come onto the boat. Gaze locked on Zoraida, Mira held Tariq’s opal over the bottle, then said, “Your hold on him ends here. By the magic in the Key of Solomon, I free him from his chains.”

No. He wouldn’t be able to protect her. Zoraida would kill her for sure for this. No! “Mira!”

Zoraida’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Before she could lunge forward, Mira dropped the opal into the bottle.

Zoraida screamed. The liquid in the bottle fizzled and popped, and then the opal disintegrated. Fire erupted all through Tariq’s body, exploded out his fingertips. His body lurched off the bed as if he’d been shocked with a ten-thousand-volt electrical current. Voices echoed in his ears. Mira’s. Zoraida’s. But the black smoke was already circling in. Already pulling him back. The cuffs broke free of his wrists. His vision blurred. Through a haze, he reached out for Mira, but the roar of the vortex swirling around him was too strong, the force too great. And then, before he could stop it, he was flying across time and space, heading…he didn’t know where.

* * *

Mira swallowed hard as she stared into the face of the enraged sorceress. Power radiated from her body, churned in the air. But the hatred in her eyes… It was like nothing Mira had ever seen before.

She couldn’t wonder where Tariq had gone. Couldn’t focus on the hurt she’d seen on his face when she’d cuffed him. He was safe now. He was free. That was all that mattered.

“You,” the sorceress growled. “I will make you pay for what you’ve done.”

Mira took a step back. Braced herself for the sorceress’s fury. She didn’t have a weapon, nothing to protect herself. What little magic Claire’s research had garnered had already been used to free Tariq. She’d known it would come down to this. That she’d be left alone with an irate magical being when all was said and done, but she hadn’t realized just how frightening that would be.

“It was worth it,” Mira managed in a shaky voice, trying to stay tough. Trying not to let this…thing…see her fear. “To get him away from you, it was worth it.”

The sorceress’s eyes turned red. She lifted her hands and threw them forward. A burst of electrical energy sizzled from her fingertips, flew through the air. Mira screamed. She knew she did. But the blast never hit. It went right through her and slammed into the wall of the boat, opening a hole in the side that rocked the boat from side to side.

Mira stumbled, hit the wall of the boat. Frigid water poured into the cabin, seeped around her feet. But she was too focused on the sorceress’s eyes, growing wider with disbelief and fury, as she glanced from her hands to Mira’s face.

There was nowhere for Mira to go. Panic spread through her chest, threatened to overwhelm her. And then she thought of the Firebrand opal.

Her wish was fulfilled. It wasn’t bound to her anymore.

She quickly reached up and flipped the clasp on the chain around her neck. Excitement speared through her when it opened and the opal fell into her hand.

Across the cabin, the sorceress yelled, “No!”

But Mira didn’t hesitate. She dropped the opal into the bottle, just as she’d done with Tariq’s stone. Only this one didn’t sizzle and pop. It bobbed in the liquid she’d enchanted with magical words Claire had given her, then seemed to hover, suspended inside.

The sorceress screamed, and Mira looked up just as another vortex of light and smoke and energy spun through the room. But this one didn’t disintegrate. In a roar so loud it shook the boat, the sorceress, her magic, every bit of her twirling tornado was sucked into the bottle.

Barely able to believe what had just happened, Mira slapped the top down on the bottle, securing the clasp. Inside the yellow-tinged glass, the Firebrand necklace still floated, but there was no sign of the sorceress. Just a crackle and sparkle of magic that told Mira she and her power were in there somewhere.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. She’d done it. She’d saved Tariq, she’d managed to save herself, and she’d trapped the sorceress.

Her hands shook. Her heart raced. Slowly, sound returned. And a shiver racked her body. She looked around the salon, half filled with water from the gaping hole in the side, and realized the boat was sinking.

She scrambled for the stairs. The boat groaned and jerked to the side, knocking her off balance. The bottle slipped from her fingertips. She went under the steadily rising water, kicked hard to come back up. Sputtering, she looked around for the bottle. It was floating on the steadily rising surface of the water. Heading for the hole in the side of the boat.

She had to get to it. She couldn’t lose it!

She swam hard for it. Her fingertips grazed the glass, but she couldn’t reach it. Before she could get her hand around the neck, it was sucked out of the boat and disappeared into the river.

Mira’s head went under. Water swirled around her. Lungs burning, she kicked hard to get air. When her head popped up, she gasped, so close to the ceiling. Oh God, she wasn’t going to get out. She was going to drown down here.

She swam as hard as she could. Finally reached the stairs, now at an angle as the boat filled. Water poured over the deck, into the salon, but she fought against the current and pushed through until she was on the drastically sloped deck. She didn’t bother looking for a lifejacket, knew there wasn’t time. Hands on the grab rail, she struggled to the edge and pushed off, sailing into the river, hoping she’d jumped far enough out so the boat didn’t suck her down with it. Praying she’d live.

Because as much as she’d been willing to sacrifice herself for Tariq, she didn’t want to die this way. Not when they were both finally free.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mira drew a deep breath, lifted her hand, and knocked on the office door. Three days had passed since the events on the boat. After being rescued by a passing ship, she’d filed a report with the harbor police about the “electronic malfunction” on board that had caused the sinking, apologized to her boss for wrecking his boat, then cashed in the rest of her vacation time. She needed a couple of weeks to chill out and recover mentally from what had happened, and she had one person she needed to thank in person.

A voice inside the room called, “Come in,” so Mira turned the handle and stepped into the cramped office on the University of Florida’s campus.

The woman with auburn hair and wire rimmed glasses at the desk near the window looked up from her computer. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mira Dawson. We chatted via phone and e-mail.”

Claire Sampson’s eyes widened, and she pushed out of her chair with a smile, holding out her hand in greeting. “Oh my gosh, it’s so great to meet you in person.”

Mira shook the other woman’s hand—or hands, as the woman closed both of hers over Mira’s—and felt the first real smile since the accident slide across her face. “You too. I wanted to come and thank you in person.”

“No thanks needed. If anyone should be doing the thanking, it’s me. You provided me with incredible research.” As if realizing she was still holding Mira’s hand, she quickly let go and motioned to a chair next to her desk. “Please, sit.”

“Thanks.” Mira lowered to the seat, set her purse on her lap.

Dr. Sampson was tall, close to five ten, and she had the prettiest blue eyes. As brilliant as polished sapphires. But the glasses, the loose-fitting slacks and white blouse with what looked like a mustard stain on the buttons and the smudge of ink across her cheek screamed nerdy professor to Mira.

She smiled again, more relaxed than she’d expected. The fact Claire seemed as dedicated to her job as Mira had hoped, settled her nerves. If she’d been some stuffy, know-it-all professor, Mira would have felt intimidated.

“I know it must have been extremely overwhelming for you,” Claire said, “but…wow. I can’t wait to hear all the details.”

They’d chatted via phone after the incident, but Mira hadn’t been ready to give away the nitty-gritty then. She’d still needed time to absorb what had happened. But she owed Claire because she’d been the one to help her. And that’s why she’d made the trip all the way to Florida so they could talk in person.

As Claire pulled out a tape recorder, Mira took another deep breath and launched into the entire story. From the moment she’d met Tariq until she’d been pulled from the water. And as Claire listened, those gemlike eyes grew wider and more excited with each juicy detail.

“Amazing. Completely amazing,” the professor said when Mira was done. “I’ve always suspected that djinn are just like us—that there are good and bad ones and that they live by free will—but your story is the first that actually confirms this for me.”

There definitely were good and bad, and just as she’d done every hour since that day, Mira wondered where Tariq was, if he’d found his brothers, if he was happy now that he was finally free.

She shook off the thought because she knew dwelling on where and what and how would only drag her down. And even though she loved him, she knew he’d only been with her because of the curse. She’d hoped and prayed that he’d come to her on his own now that he was free—he’d said all djinn could cross between realms, so she knew he didn’t need the opal to do so—but so far, he hadn’t. And that was the other reason she needed to emotionally recover from everything that had happened—because she missed him more than she’d ever missed anyone in her whole life.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Mira said. “Why didn’t the sorceress’s energy kill me? It was strong enough to blow a hole in the side of the boat. How come I’m not dead?”

Claire looked at her as if it were totally obvious. “Because you were pure of heart.”

Mira frowned. “I’m not pure of heart. I wished to be desired by a man. That doesn’t make me pure. Heck, that’s about as selfish a wish as anyone can ask.”

Claire smiled as if she were explaining things to a child. “I didn’t say you were pure of heart in the abstract way. I said when you sacrificed your life for Tariq’s, at that moment, you were pure of heart. It doesn’t mean that you were before or even that you are now. It just means you were when it mattered most. The sorceress’s magic couldn’t touch you then because it’s laced with evil. Evil energy can’t destroy something that’s pure.”

Mira considered that for a moment. “So you’re saying I’m not special.”

Claire’s smile widened. “Special in the fact that you stood up to an extremely magical entity and lived? Sure. Special in the fact you could do it again? Probably not. I hate to break this to you, Mira, but you’re just like everyone else on this planet. Normal and very unmagical.”

Mira chuckled. Unmagical was fine with her. She’d had enough magic to last her a lifetime. “I can’t thank you enough. For helping me. For all the research you did. For finding those spells in the Key of Solomon—”

Claire clicked off the tape, glanced toward the door, and lowered her voice. “About that…let’s keep that under wraps. I had to go to great lengths to find that text, and between you and me, I wasn’t even sure it would work. Since it did…well, I don’t have to tell you there are numerous people who would want that kind of power if they knew about it. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you and I never speak of it again.”

Mira nodded slowly, unsure just what Claire was getting at. But she understood that kind of power in the wrong hands could do nothing but harm.

“The only regret I have,” Mira said, “is that I lost the bottle. I’m afraid of what will happen to it.”

Claire sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Unfortunately, I’ve a feeling it’ll eventually turn up. But it could be years before that happens. And the good news is…that’s not your worry. If someone does eventually find it, the sorceress will be more focused on that person than on finding you because the opal will most likely be bound to them. So long as you keep all of this quiet, you’re safe. And speaking of you… How are you doing…really?”

Mira knew Claire was asking how she was doing emotionally. And a host of feeling washed through her, none of which she wanted to linger on too long. But she appreciated the fact the woman had asked. “I’m fine. I lived, right? I won.”

“What about Tariq?” Claire asked quietly.

Mira’s heart pinched. “I’m just glad he’s finally free.”

A knowing smile spread across Claire’s ink-smudged face. “You are a rotten liar, Mira Dawson.”

Smiling herself, Mira pushed out of her chair. She liked Claire. In fact, all this magical stuff aside, Claire was the type of person Mira could see herself being friends with. She held her hand out. “I’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to work. Thank you so much for everything.”

Claire waved off her hand and instead wrapped her arms around Mira in a tight hug. “If you need anything, I’m only an e-mail away.”

Tears stung Mira’s eyes as she nodded. Knowing her emotions were dangerously close to the surface, she said goodbye and let herself out.

When she stepped into the midmorning sunshine, she drew a deep breath of humid Florida air. Claire was right. It could be years before anyone even found that bottle. She couldn’t spend her life worrying what was around the next corner. If her time with Tariq had taught her anything, it was that she was a vibrant woman with a bright future ahead of her. It was far past time she stopped hiding behind her job and started living.

She moved down the steps of the history building and onto the sidewalk. Ahead, a man pushed up from a bench sheltered by a large oak and looked her way.

Her heart jerked, and the air rushed out of her lungs on a wave. One corner of Tariq’s lips tipped up in the most devastatingly handsome smile. One Mira felt all the way to her toes.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she breathed, running toward him.

She threw herself against him, hardly able to believe that he was here. His arms closed around her back, his warm, solid chest pressed against her front, and then his face was sliding into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his breath warming her from the outside in.

“Oh my God,” she said again, still unable to believe he was real. “You’re here.”

He eased back, smiled down at her. “You are a hard woman to find without magic.”

He leaned down and kissed her before she could ask what he meant. Before she could think to ask. And then his lips were against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his arms tightening around her until he was all she saw and heard and felt…everywhere.

Her head was spinning when he finally broke the kiss. “How did you…? What happened when you…?” Tears burned her eyes. “I was so afraid you were mad at me about what happened and that’s why I haven’t seen you.”

He brushed a tear from her cheek she hadn’t known had fallen. “I wasn’t mad, hayaati. I was afraid. For you.”

Hayaati. She’d finally looked up the word, knew it meant ‘my life’. “I knew you would be. That’s why I didn’t tell you what I had planned.”

“We’ll have to work on your communication skills. But to answer your other questions… After you freed me from my chains, I was sent back to my realm. I was still weak from the iron, so it took me a while to recover. But when I did, I went home. I saw my father. My mother. I cannot tell you what that meant to me.”

That space around her heart warmed when he spoke of family.

“We knew when you trapped Zoraida. The Ghuls fell into a state of disarray. Since then, our army has been able to get an upper hand, and the Ghuls have been driven from our kingdom entirely. We have you to thank for that.”

Her heart warmed even more, but she remembered Claire’s comments in the office and wanted to make sure he understood. “I wasn’t trying to save anyone but you.”

“I know, hayaati, but you saved a kingdom just the same. We—my entire tribe—are forever in your debt.”

A thrill rushed through her. A thrill she wasn’t sure what to do with. “What about your brothers? Are they happy to be home as well?”

Tariq’s expression shifted from soft to sad. “We can’t find them.”

“Oh, Tariq…”

“They both wore opals like mine. They’re still bound to the Firebrand opal and Zoraida as I was. We don’t know where they went.”

That thrill she’d felt moments before withered and died. And the consequences of what she’d done spiraled through her. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I put my necklace in the bottle. That’s how I trapped the sorceress. But the bottle slipped out of my fingers into the river, and I couldn’t reach it. I didn’t realize—”

“Shh…” He placed two fingers over her lips. “It’s okay, hayaati. No one’s blaming you. Zoraida enslaved my brothers, not you. You have nothing to feel bad about. You freed me. You freed my kingdom. And you gave me a chance to someday free my brothers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your spirit was stronger than most females Zoraida sent me to corrupt. That’s why she needed your soul. It would have fueled her powers that much more. But it was your strength that drew me. I felt a connection to the stone—through you—I never felt with anyone else. And even though I was no longer bound to the opal after you freed me, I sensed when you were released from its hold. We have djinn searching for the necklace. It will be found. And so will my brothers.”

“What about the sorceress?”

“When we find the bottle, we’ll figure out a way to contain her.”

It sounded logical. And she knew with all the magic in his realm, if anyone could find a way, it would be him. Then she remembered his first words.

“Why did it take you so long to find me?” she asked. “What did you mean, ‘without magic’?”

That toe-curling smile warmed his lips again. “I asked my father to let me come back here, to search for the necklace myself. To be with you.”

Her heart leaped, and tears stung her eyes all over again. “You did?” she asked on a whisper.

He nodded. “There’s a catch, though. The longer I stay, the more human I become. My magic will fade until it’s finally gone. I figured I should get used to being human, so I tried looking for you without it. But I didn’t expect to look for you clear across the country. I eventually gave up and used just a little. I needed to find you.”

She could barely believe what she was hearing. “You mean if you stay with me, you’ll eventually lose your immortality?”

“Djinn aren’t immortal. We just live a very long time.”

And he was giving that up for her. Those tears burned hot all over again. “Why would you do that?”

“Do you really have to ask?” He cupped her cheek. “Losing my magic is a much smaller sacrifice than what you were willing to give up for me. I would rather spend one human lifetime with you than a thousand without you. You complete my soul—a part I didn’t even know was missing. I would go through all of Zoraida’s torture again just to end up with you here, right now. Mira…hayaati…I love you.”

Mira’s chest was so tight she could barely breathe. She threw her arms around his neck, held on with everything she had in her. She’d wanted to be desirable. She’d wanted to find a love that would last the ages. She had. It just hadn’t been at all what she’d expected.

“I love you too, Tariq. I—” She couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t do anything but hold on for the rest of her life.

He chuckled against her neck. “Oh, I’m glad to hear that, because I’m going to need you to teach me all about life in the human world. I think I’ve a lot to learn.”

She eased back. Smiled up at him in the early afternoon light. And knew the wish she’d made weeks ago was the best wish of her life. “You want me to teach you something? Wish for it, djinni.”

His grin warmed the last cold space inside her. “My only wish is for you.”

“Your wish, my command,” she whispered as his lips lowered to hers once more.

Content

BOUND TO SEDUCTION
Firebrand - 1
ELISABETH NAUGHTON

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN