Rub

Chapter 2

two

“Al?” Arlo calls as I storm along the narrow alley the bakery backs onto. I ignore him. He’s a great kid who always makes me laugh when we work together, but I need to be alone.

I hurry deeper into the shadows, my breath bursting from me in angry pants. A part of my mind realises I’ve never actually thought about the dank, dim stretch of alley behind Japher’s cafe. Until today, I’ve never used it, only ever entering and exiting the business through the front door. I learnt from Dad that it’s best to be seen coming and going so no one can accuse you of stealing. Another part of my mind wonders how freaking long and dark and narrow it is? Is it ever going to end?

Who cares? I don’t. All I care about is getting away from Japher and Imogen and Jackson Maine and…and…

A grimy brick wall looms up in front of me, and I stop and stare at it. Okay, so the alley doesn’t lead out anywhere. It’s a dead end.

Like my career.

Oh, shut up, brain.

Coloured layers of sprayed profanity cover the bricks, words of ironic wisdom, tags, and offers of sexual acts. A dry snort escapes me as I take in the most recent.

Welcome to the cave of Wunders!! Have fun!

Whoever the artist was, I appreciate their dark sense of humour.

Lowering my gaze, I curl my nose. Four beaten-up rubbish bins, the old metal kind, are strewn on the ground, their contents spewing out of their gaping mouths in a vomit of rotting food, packaging, empty cans and bottles, stuff I don’t even want to try to identify.

“Cave of Wunders indeed,” I mutter. So I have to walk past Japher’s Patisserie’s back door to get to the street. God, I hope no one is there, waiting to witness my walk of?—

Something on the ground glints in the dim shadows.

I pause, squinting. What?

Nothing. Just shadows.

Peering up at the thin stretch of sky visible above me—damn, where did those storm clouds come from?—I frown again. No visible sunlight means no the chance of something glinting in it. Maybe I needed to get my eyes checked? Or perhaps I ‘m getting a migraine? The kind with the flashy lights? I’ve never had one before, but I’ve also never been humiliated in front of pastry royalty before either, so…

Returning my attention to where I think I saw the glint, I squint harder at the gloominess.

Yep, there it is. Another glint. Definitely a glint.

A purply glint.

I take a step forwards and see a purple glass mason jar lying on its side in amongst the rubbish. “What the…” I crouch down to study it and then flick a look up at the narrow stretch of sky above me. Still no sunbeams getting down here. So what the hell is making the jar glint?

Only one way to find out, right?

I wipe my palm on my thigh and reach forwards and pick up the jar.

Ha. Okay, so not a mason jar. Not really. It’s a glass container of some sort, but the lid isn’t a screw-on metal kind. I frown, sitting back on my heels as I study the…the…glass thing . The lid isn’t a lid at all, more like a stopper, one that has a pointed top with a smaller hole at the tip. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it’s pretty. Maybe. It’s currently filthy and covered in grim, so it’s a bit hard to be sure.

“Let’s get a better look at you,” I murmur, rubbing its side on the top of my right thigh.

And an earthquake hits.

No. Not an earthquake. A…

What the fuck is happening?

The ground under my knees and feet trembles, sending tingling ripples up through my body. The glass jar grows warm, warmer, hot. The heat radiates though my palm, up my arm and deep into my chest. My heart quickens, my nipples pinch hard, and pleasure like I’ve never experienced before rushes through me. For a surreal moment, I feel like I’m in the cusp of a freaking orgasm, and then a plume of deep iridescent purple smoke erupts from the tip of the glass jar, billowing up in front of me, higher, higher, blocking out what little light there is in the cave of Wunders alley.

I gasp. No, I squeal and land on my arse.

The smoke clears, and the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life stands in front of me, naked save for a pair of baggy black pants. He’s tall, at least six-five, and built like a Renaissance sculptor’s dream. Intricate tattoos cover one arm and shoulder, their designs intriguing and mysterious in the shadows. His muscles ripple, and oh boyo, those muscles are chef’s kiss perfection. As is his square jaw, his hawkish nose, his thick shaggy dark hair that falls to his broad shoulders and over his forehead, his eyes…

Eyes the colour of thunderclouds lock on me, and I swear to God, they glow. Glow.

Another rush of concentrated pleasure rushes through me, and I gape at him. Where… Where…

“Where did you come from?” I croak.

Those glowing thundercloud eyes regard me as his lips curl with the hint of a smile. I notice a tiny dimple in his right cheek and a small purple gem in his right earlobe.

“What year is it?” he asks, and once again, I almost orgasm at the deep, smooth timbre of his voice.

“Twenty twenty f?—”

He clicks the fingers on his right hand, and before I can finish rasping four , a pair of faded Levis and a snug black T-shirt covers his body, a pair of well-worn Doc Martens on his feet.

I blink and gasp. Or squeal again? I make some kind of what-the-fuck noise, that’s for certain.

He looks down at himself and then grins at me. “Okay, master, let’s have some fun.”

Master?

“What?” This can’t be real. Perhaps I ran headfirst into the brick wall, and I’m now hallucinating? A stunned laugh bursts from me. I sound like I’m on helium. “What?”

He casts the alley an askew inspection and then arches an eyebrow at me, dimple flashing. “Not going to lie, master. This is a grim place for introductions. Shall we depart?”

“ What ?” I yelp. My head is roaring and spinning, and my heart is a cannon in my ears. Staggering to my feet, I stare up at him. Damn, he’s tall. And cute. Stunning, in fact. “What the hell is… Who the hell are… Master? What do you mean by master ? Where the hell did you come from?”

He arches his eyebrow at me again, the dimple in his cheek creasing deeper. “See that lamp in your hand?” He points at the glass container in my hand. “I came from that. Although to be fair, the last time I saw it, it looked more ornate. It’s clearly disguising itself. But you rubbed it anyway. And now I’m here. Out of it. Ready to grant you whatever it is you want. Well, three whatevers it is you want. Or is it three whatever it is you wants ? Grammar’s not my forte. Wishes. Wishes are my forte. I’m good at granting wishes.” His nose crinkles as he takes in the dank alley. “Although not here.” Pointing at the graffiti on the wall, he chuckles. “Cave of Wunders? Someone’s deluded. And a bad speller. Although I am completely agreeable with the have-fun part. Let’s do that. Where do you want to have fun?”

I have no words. My brain has stopped working. Wishes? Master? Wishes? Fun? “Errr…”

“Hmmm…” If he notices my stunned stupor, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he winks. “I think I know just the place.”

He lifts his right hand and grins. “Ready?”

He snaps his fingers, and we’re in the middle of a rave. On all sides of me, people are thrashing and grinding to a wild base rhythm, the lights flashing in time to the beat. The smell of sweat and alcohol stings my nostrils. The music punches my ears.

Opposite me, the guy from the alley is dancing, his body moving like sex was a dance. The guy… The…the…genie? Is he a genie? He said three wishes before he clicked his fingers and we arrived here. But genies aren’t real, right? Oh God, am I hallucinating for some reason? Is the air in the alley toxic?

The guy opens his eyes and regards me with a dark, steady stare. “Not dancing?”

“I don’t dance,” I shout back. Yeah, I’m definitely hallucinating. Have to be.

He slides closer to me and smooths his hands over my hips. An electrical jolt zaps through me, pooling like liquid heat between my thighs.

Oh God…

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “I haven’t danced for over a century.”

My hips begin to sway, and he smiles, eyes glowing.

“Wait!” I stagger back a step, bumping into someone behind me, and it hits me I can feel their skin on mine. I look down at myself and, oh my fucking God, what am I wearing?

I snap a glare up at him. “Where are my clothes?”

Confusion flickers over his so-goddamn-gorgeous face. “On your body.”

I look down at the black leather micromini skirt and red satin cropped halter top that barely covers my boobs. “Not my clothes, they’re not.”

“You don’t like?” There’s no censure or disappointment in his voice, just regret. “I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”

And before I can respond, he lifts his hand and clicks his fingers again.