Rub

Chapter 3

three

The afternoon sun warms my face as I peer up at the sweeping blue sky. A gentle breeze plays with my hair as a distant kookaburra laughs somewhere from one of the towering gumtrees hugging the…the…

Frowning, I take in our surroundings. My heart thumps faster at the sight of the white sails of the Opera House and the arching bridge rising up beside the calm stretch of water before me. “So we’re now in a park on Sydney Harbour now?”

I’m also wearing the same jeans and shirt I started the day in. Weirdly, a tiny part of me misses the skirt and top. I’d never worn anything like it before, had never revealed so much?—

“Do you like?”

A deep, smooth voice— his deep, smooth voice—sends a shiver of something carnal down my spine and between my thighs. Preparing myself for who-knows-what, I look at him. He’s standing beside me, still as tall, still as gorgeous, still as impossible. The faded jeans and black T-shirt have been replaced with artfully torn jeans and a white T-shirt. The Docs still cover his feet. What is he, a size fourteen? At least.

Y’know what they say, Al. Big feet, big ?—

“I created it for you,” he continues. “I sensed you didn’t like crowds.”

I don’t like crowds. They make me— Wait. What?

“You created it for me?” I frown harder. “This isn’t a real park?”

“I created it for you,” he repeats with a smile, dimple flashing. Liquid heat ribbons through me. “And for you , master, it is very much real.”

“Don’t call me master.” I shake my head, taking in the serene park and million-dollar view. A gentle breeze plays with my hair. A magpie wanders passed our feet, warbling up at us.

Hallucinating. I have to be hallucinating. There’s no other explanation.

“Call me Al. Or Aliana.”

He bows, a slow, single dip at the hips, his storm-cloud eyes holding mine. “Al.”

“What are you?” A shiver ripples through me. I’m not scared. I’m…something. Turned on?

Perfect white teeth join the dimple in flashing at me. “A djinn.”

“A djinn. Djinn? Not a genie?”

He shrugs. “Potato pot ar to.”

A laugh bubbles from me, and he smiles wider. “I like this sound,” he says. “It makes my heart happy. It will be my mission while I am yours to make you laugh more.”

While I am yours…

“So you’re a djinn?—”

“ Your djinn,” he corrects, and that same shiver ripples through me.

“ My djinn,” I say. I’m either accepting I’ve found myself a genie—sorry, djinn—or I’ve decided to happily go along with whatever hallucination I’m having. “What do I call you? Hey, djinn ? That seems rude. Do you have a name?”

“I am known by many names,” he says, lips curling with the definition of a secretive smile. “My favourite though, is Kaami.”

“Kaami…” I say softly. My nipples tighten, and it’s as if every molecule in my body has suddenly been charged with sexual energy.

His eyes pulse with a deep purple glow and he bows again, dimple creasing his right cheek. “Al.”

If I’m not careful, I’ll throw myself at him—hallucination or not. “So…you’re a djinn.”

“I am,” he replies, his eyes holding mine. I normally detest people making direct eye contact with me. I find it confronting. But his gaze on mine sends a delicious thrill whispering through me. “And thanks to you, a released one.”

“You’re not blue,” I state, because clearly my brain has fallen out.

He chuckles, a confused frown tugging at his dark eyebrows. “Blue? No. Not blue. Why would I be?”

Damn. The movies lied to me.

“How did you end up in an alley in Western Sydney, of all places?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be on the other side of the world or something?”

Another shrug of broad, broad shoulders. “My last master was careless.”

I laugh again.

A satisfied rumble vibrates deep in his chest. I have to stop myself pressing my thighs together. There’s a sensual maleness about him that stirs something hungry in me. It’s unnerving. And more than a little exciting.

“So,” I say, turning my attention to the skyline on the other side of the harbour. If I don’t, I might be inclined to ask him to put his hands on my hips like he did back in the dance club, to move my body, to reveal more of my flesh with just a simple click of his fingers… “I picked up a weird jar in a dank alley, cleaned it on my jeans, and now… What? Three wishes?”

“Three.”

I flick him a glance, and my breath catches as our eyes meet. “Any three?”

“There are rules.” A hint of something playful dances in the declaration. “But some rules are fun to…bend.”

My pulse turns into a trip-hammer in my throat, and before I know what’s going on, he leans towards me and feathers his fingertips against its flutter.

Tiny licks of liquid heat shoot through me, and I gasp, pulling back a fraction. He straightens, eyes aglow. “Forgive me, master. I should not have done that.”

“Al,” I correct on a raspy breath. “Or Aliana.” Licking my lips, I drop my gaze to my feet. My bag is there— God, I’d completely forgotten about it—and the purple glass container I found in the alley peeks out at me from inside it.

Three wishes. How my life could change with three wishes…

“What are the rules?” I ask, my heart thumping fast. Why wouldn’t it? I have a genie—a djinn—and I have three wishes.

“Life is not something I can grant,” he answers, and I don’t have to look to know he is once again fascinated by my wild pulse. His gaze is like a caress on my skin. “Love is not something I can grant. More wishes are not something I can grant.”

So I can’t wish for Dad back, I can’t wish for endless wishes, and I can’t wish for…for… Actually, I can’t think of anyone I’d wish to fall in love with me. Which is kinda depressing.

Seriously, Al, you’re having a pity party when you have a djinn?

I lift my head and study him. “And which of those are fun to bend?”

“Love.” He grins, both dimples creasing his cheeks, and his eyes glow light violet for a brief moment. “And wishes.”

“I see.” I chew on my bottom lip. “So could the rules be bent if I wished for Tom Holland to fall in love with me?”

He chuckles on a sigh, and my heart quickens at the sound. “Alas, no. But someone already in your life? Then…some bending can occur.”

Ha. Someone in my life? There goes any thought of rule bending. There aren’t many people in my life. No way in hell would I want Elon Japher in love with me, Arlo is just a kid, and Imogen is not even close to my type. Which leaves Jackson Maine, the prince of?—

My heart slams up into my throat, and I narrow my eyes at him, chewing on my bottom lip. Maybe…

He studies me back, a smile playing with the edges of his lips. “You have a wish, I feel?”

I swallow. This is insanity, of course. A genie? It’s not possible. I’m in a coma somewhere. I must be. But if I am in a coma or losing my mind, I may as well enjoy it, right?

“Can you…” I stop, a tight band wrapping around my chest.

He lowers his head down to mine, and his lips brush my temple. “Whisper what it is you want.”

My eyes flutter closed, and for a split second, what I want is to turn my head and taste those lips with my own. “I want,” I say, my voice barely a breath, “Jackson Maine to forget I have no formal training as a pastry chef. I wish for him to think I am the greatest pastry chef in Australia. No, the world.”

He lifts his hand, and a smile curls his lips. His dimple flashes, and his eyes glow a deep purple. “Done,” he murmurs.

And he clicks.