Chapter Three
Ophir returned to the bakery to find the eclairs sold out. Disappointed, he bought a huge blueberry muffin and three cookies instead and sat at one of the tables, watching customers come and go in the small cafe. Over the centuries, he’d gone through periods of indulgence—food, drink, sex, even some of the interesting drugs created by humans. His immortal body could be drowned in pleasures the same way a mortals could. But unlike mortals, a saturation of vice always ended in boredom rather than death.
The luscious gypsy was an interesting conundrum. A way home, or something else? Perhaps she carried a whisper of djinn blood. It would explain the tingle of magic rising from her skin. His blood heated at the thought of her skin. All her skin, naked, lounging on a bed of silk pillows, her glossy black hair spread like a fan around her head. How long had it been since a mortal had intrigued him? He hadn’t allowed himself to become interested, let alone attached, to one of the short-lived creatures since Emelda had been taken from him.
A raw spot deep inside him threatened to open again, and he shook his head to clear it. No time to fall into that pit now. A portal was nearby. Home was nearby, full of fellow djinn with lives long enough to matter. No more living among these painfully short-lived humans. He only had to figure out how to convince Tanika to open up.
Licking crumbs from his fingers and sipping his coffee, he watched a small boy press his forehead against the cafe’s display case while his mother paid for their order. Mortals. They were made to die; the young were especially vulnerable. Yet somehow the race pressed on as if they were doing something that mattered. He’d watched generation after generation refuse to learn from previous mistakes.
Well, he’d learned from his. No getting attached to mortals.
Tanika was mortal, therefore his only interest in her must remain only a means to an end. Like any mortal with access to a djinn, she’d keep that knowledge close. He’d need to seduce it out of her. But she’d already made it very clear she wasn’t interested. She’d stood firm against him, his money, even his subtle come-hither magic. At first he’d thought it was the glamour magic he’d detected throughout the salon interfering, but Birdie had reacted as expected. Only Tanika was immune. He’d have to seduce the sexy gypsy the hard way, with charm.
The cafe owner approached Ophir’s table with a pot of coffee in one hand. Flour dusting his forearms, walking with the care of someone on sore feet, but Ophir sensed the fellow loved his shop, loved the community he felt it built. “Refill?” the man asked.
Ophir nodded and slid his cup forward. This persona was by far one of his favorites. Both women and men responded favorably to a tall, handsome, and obviously rich man in his prime. “Thank you.”
The man poured steaming, fragrant coffee into the cup. “I haven’t seen you here before. You new in town?”
“I am. The name’s Ophir.” He held out a hand to shake.“You seem to get a lot of regulars in here.”
“Only way I’m keeping the doors open. Gregory Daniels.”
“Seems to be tough times around here.” Ophir exhaled a small trust spell at the old man, hoping to glean more information. “You know Tanika? At the salon?”
The wrinkles in Mr. Daniels’s face creased into a smile. “You a friend of Tanika?”
“Just met her, actually. I’d like to ask her out.”
“Oh, she’s a gem. Works way too hard. Here.” Daniels retreated behind the counter and emerged with a small bag. “Take this to her. She has a soft spot for sweets.” He winked.
Soft spot for sweets. Good to know. Ophir bowed his head gratefully. “You’re too kind.”
“Be good to her. She doesn’t go out much.”
“I’ll do my best.” Ophir dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table, and headed for the door, thinking of just how good he’d like to be to her.
On the sidewalk, the late afternoon sunlight reflected off the pavement while the rumble of passing cars filled the air. A homeless man sat with his legs stretched across half the sidewalk, calling after a woman who scurried past. “Marry me! Marry me!”
Flicking out a spell to encourage the man to sleep, Ophir stepped around him. No wonder these businesses were struggling. He headed to the salon, breathing deeply of anise. Inside, Birdie hovered over an elderly lady in her chair. She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “Why, hello, again!”
Scanning the small area, Ophir held up the small bag. “I have a delivery for Tanika.”
“Oh, no! She just left.” Birdie’s brows scrunched into genuine regret, and he found himself liking her despite himself. She licked her lips and glanced at the wall clock. “I don’t think she’s coming back tonight.”
Ophir opened the bag and looked inside. A glossy chocolate eclair lay cradled in frilly paper at the bottom. He chuckled. “That old baker told me he’d sold out.”
“You mean Mr. Daniels?”
“I understand Tanika enjoys pastry.” Ophir cocked his head. He might as well begin practicing coercion without using magic. “Any way you can let her know I’m here?”
Birdie grinned. “Atta boy. Why don’t I call her? You can wait if you like.”
“I would much appreciate it.”
While she hurriedly dug out her phone and dialed, he strolled back to the curtained area. Might as well use this time to search for the portal. Leaving a djinn talisman unattended would be a novice mistake, but then, Tanika was human. Her race had been making novice mistakes for millennia.
He ran his fingertips down the velvet curtain, across the rickety table, and to the chair where Tanika had sat. The entire salon stank of hair chemicals and scented candles, but beneath it lay the remnants of magic, both old and new. Glancing toward Birdie, who was talking into her phone and looking at him through her lashes, he nonchalantly sat in the psychic’s chair and ran a hand beneath the table. Nothing there. He set the bag down and let his gaze roam the walls. A cheap plastic clock shaped like a cat and an old framed photo were the only decorations besides mirrors. Rising, he moved to the photo, bending slightly to look at the weathered faces of two women glaring back at him as if they hadn’t wanted a picture taken. Their dark curly hair reminded him of Tanika. Relatives?
Birdie called across the salon, “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Moving to Tanika’s chair, he sniffed for magic while he lowered himself onto the worn pleather. Still nothing. The old lady in Birdie’s chair beamed at him. “Aren’t you a strapping young man?”
He smiled politely, itching to search the counter and mirror. He could have cast a shielding spell to allow him to do just that, but for some reason the idea of going about charming Tanika without magic had a strong hold on him, and he wanted to “play fair,” if only in his mind. Instead of using magic, he sat and stared at each item as if it might start speaking and reveal all the salon’s secrets, and hopefully some of Tanika’s. Several envelopes sat on the counter, the topmost one stamped with a big, red OVERDUE notice. Cans of hair spray and mousse. Several plastic combs and brushes. Along the left edge of the mirror, photos of random, smiling people overlapped each other in a collage he didn’t understand. Nothing old. Nothing metal. Nothing portal.
After a few minutes, the bell over the door jingled, and Tanika entered, face slightly flushed and full breasts heaving. Her brows were knit with concern, but the moment her gaze met his in the mirror, she seemed to relax. She glared at Birdie. “You said I had an emergency client.”
“This guy’s hot enough to set of the smoke alarm.” Birdie waved her scissors without looking up. “I call that an emergency.”
The lady in her chair covered her laugh with her fingers.
Ophir rose, languidly stretching knowing the effect his body had on most women. “It’s an emergency eclair, actually. Mr. Daniels sent it for you. It’s the last one, and I’d hate to let it go stale overnight.”
Her face softened. “Mr. Daniels? I see. Well, thank you.”
“He said you’d split it with me.”
She raised one eyebrow at him, a tiny smile toying with the corner of her mouth. “I don’t split my desserts. Can’t you tell?”
Ophir let out a melodramatic sigh. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to eat the rest of it.”
“The rest of it?”
He shrugged. “I was hungry.”
“You ate my eclair?” She blinked at him, as if she truly couldn’t believe his words.
He smiled his best, sexiest smile. It’d been eons since he’d had to rely purely on wits and charm, and he felt a little rusty. The challenge was delicious, especially with someone as stubborn as Tanika. “Let me make it up to you with dinner.”
She crossed her arms, face hardening. “I said I’m not going out with you.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
Birdie spoke up behind him. “She doesn’t date.”
Tanika glowered in her direction.
Perhaps a previous heartbreak had made her wary? He took a breath and changed tactics. “I’m not asking for a date. I’m repaying you for the eclair.”
The old lady’s wavering voice chimed in. “Give the fellow a chance.”
“Surely you eat dinner?” Ophir asked.
“I said no,” Tanika gritted between her teeth.
The woman was more than a challenge. She was impossible. How could he charm her without magic? He recalled the overdue bills on the counter. Perhaps he could find another way to engage her. He let out a melodramatic sigh. “I’d hoped to be more subtle about this, but I guess I’ll get right to the point. I want to invest in your salon.”
The room went silent, even the snip snip of Birdie’s scissors going still.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Tanika asked. “Nobody would want to invest in this place.”
He held up both hands, palms out. He’d finally hit a nerve. But he’d have to play this carefully or she’d toss him out on his ear. “You’re the first genuine psychic I’ve met. An honest to God human being with a hint of real magic,” he said. The truth of his words stirred his blood. If he never found a portal home, she might be the closest thing to his kind he’d ever find. He moved forward and put a hand on her elbow. The soft skin beneath his fingertips sent an unexpected thrill of pleasure up his arm. “Can we talk about it over dinner?”
For a brief moment, she resisted the pressure of his hand.
He curled his fingers around her inner arm, stroking his middle finger over the tender crease inside the bend. A tiny shiver rippled across her skin beneath his fingertips, and a flush infused her cheeks. He smiled and in a low, intimate voice, asked, “Please?”
To his delight, she allowed him to guide her to his convertible.
Tanika fastened her seatbelt, still in a daze as she watched Ophir round the front of the bright red Ferrari convertible to get into the driver’s seat. Holy shit, he drives a fucking Ferrari. If she hadn’t already been under some sort of hormonal haze from his touch on her arm, she’s have been swooning in her seat. From the moment he’d first walked in the salon door, she’d been having X-rated fantasies, and now she was on a date with him. In a Ferrari. Or the closest thing to a date she’d ever have.
It’s only a business dinner, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off the broad cut of his shoulders or the way his ass looked in those undoubtedly expensive jeans.
He slid into the seat and looked over at her. “Top down?”
All she could think about was flashing him her breasts. Her nipples hardened at the thought of his gaze lingering over her flesh. Fingers brushing the sensitive rosy tips. Maybe that sensual mouth of his…
She jerked back to reality and nodded, highly conscious of his masculine cologne from where she sat. He started the engine. In mute fascination, she watched his hand move to the gear stick, ease the car into first. So close to her left knee it sent a shiver of pleasure up her leg, pooling low and hot in her belly. She fought the urge to open her knees and make contact with that hand. She was a virgin, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t imagine what it might feel like to let his palm move over and slide up her inner thigh…
Jerking her gaze away, she squeezed her knees together and forced herself to stare out the windshield.
He pulled into traffic and quickly sped up, taking them sharply around a corner and shooting for the ramp to the freeway.
Her stomach quivered at the acceleration. He darted around a lumbering box truck, sailing past a line of traffic on the right. She grinned, her curls whipping about her face.
He glanced at her. “You like speed?”
“Oh, yes,” she gasped, throwing her head back as the car surged forward. Speed was delicious.
He shifted gears again, sliding between two sedans before easing into the slow lane. Then they throttled up again, the convertible’s engine throbbing deep in her bones.
All too soon, they reached the exit, and he slowed to a more reasonable pace for the side streets. They glided to a stop outside Bottega Soleil, the fanciest French restaurant in town. The place was supposedly booked solid months in advance. Hadn’t he said he was new in town?
She pushed her hair out of her face with both hands, breathless from his seduction of speed, and reached for the door handle. He already had the door open for her, a hand extended to help her rise from the low seat. How’d he done that? This was beginning to feel more and more like a date. Perspiration prickled beneath her arms. She accepted his offered hand, her skin tingling at the contact, and rose from the bucket seat. “You know you can’t get in here without a reservation?”
“Don’t worry.” He smirked. “I’ll get us a table.”
He cupped her elbow, making her heart race, and guided her to the door. The maître d looked up and smiled at them—well, at Ophir. His disdainful gaze swept over Tanika’s cheap black slacks and peasant blouse and refused to look again.
“Wait here,” Ophir said, and sauntered toward the man. After a few short words and a generous tip, the man ushered them back into the subtly lit dining area. A string quartet played softly in one corner of the room, and burgundy tablecloths fell in perfect pleats from all the tables, each place setting gleaming with crystal and silver. Single white rosebuds served as centerpieces, and the guests wore pearls and ties. To her surprise, the maître d held her chair back for her, shook her napkin and placed it on her lap.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The waitress arrived on the maître d’s heels, setting a basket on the table and handing them each a menu. She smiled brightly at Ophir, fingers toying with the top button of her blouse as she handed him a wine list. “May I start you off with a drink?”
Ophir took the list without looking at the woman, his gaze solidly on Tanika. “Do you prefer red or white?”
Tanika’s skin tingled under his attention, pooling deep in her core. Never in her life had she experienced a reaction like this to a man. Everything he did seemed to have a sexual connotation, albeit only in her own mind. He made her… giddy. There was no other way to describe it. Shaking her head, she folded her hands in her lap. “Water’s fine.” Best to keep a straight head around this guy.
Ophir handed the list back. “We’ll start with fresh fruit and cheese, plus two glasses of house red.”
The waitress bobbed her head and sauntered off. Tanika remained ramrod straight in her chair, her gaze on Ophir. “Let’s keep this professional.”
He lifted his napkin between two manicured fingers and flicked it open before laying it across his lap. “How am I not professional?”
“You ordered wine.”
“You’ve never had wine at a business dinner?” He raised a brow.
Tanika suddenly felt three inches tall. “I’ve actually never been on a business dinner.”
A sexy smile caressed his mouth. “I’ve never met such an honest gypsy.”
Her chest tightened. Her mother’d called herself a gypsy. Tanika’s first eight years of life had been spent on the road. Her wish for a husband and family had arisen out of a desire for stability. Hands bunching into fists in her lap, Tanika replied with a whisper she wasn’t even sure Ophir could hear. “I’m not a gypsy.”
He cocked his head, as if listening to something deeper than her words. “I suppose you’re not, at that.”
The waitress returned with two glasses of wine and left. The string quartet began to play a familiar waltz, each note thrumming the air like a heartbeat. Ophir picked up his wine glass and sipped, his deep brown eyes regarding her over the glass. Uncomfortable, she stared at her own glass, but didn’t touch it. “Why did you bring me here, really?” she asked.
A moment passed. “I really do want to invest in you. You see the future?”
Taking a breath, she thought about how to put her gift into words. “Not so much the future. More like… a person’s desire.”
“And you exploit that.”
“No!” Her mother had used her sight that way. Gauged a client’s deepest desire, and then loosed the djinn on those most willing to pay. The client would get their wish, Mom would get her money, and the demon would gain another soul. “I never use my gift to exploit. Only empower.”
“Well, there’s your problem. You undersell yourself. Sounds like you need a business advisor.”
She looked away. Birdie always asked her the same thing. The truth was, she didn’t charge enough. Sometimes she gave out advice for free. Her clients were often lower-income, and needed a shoulder to cry on as much as anything. How did this stranger know so much about her? “My clients don’t have a lot of money.”
“I assume most of them wish for wealth. Can’t you… guide them… toward that?”
“Most people say they want money, but if you look deeper, you’ll find they actually want something else. Something they think money can buy them. Usually it can’t. I help them focus on the things they want that are right in front of them.”
A small platter of cheeses, grapes, figs, and melon seemed to appear on the table before them, almost as if by magic. Ophir selected a plump grape, popped it into his mouth, and chewed slowly. Did every move he made have to be so damn sexy?
“And besides.” Tanika reached for a bite of melon, inhaling the sweet, dewy scent before nibbling on it. “If I knew how to get my hands on a load of cash, don’t you think I would have by now?”
He laughed. “I thought that’s why you’re talking to me?”
Tanika smiled, refusing to take his bait. “You’re the one who insisted on taking me to dinner. Are you saying you’re my wish come true?”
“I can be if you’d like me to be.” The low rumble of his voice and the intensity of his gaze made her insides quiver.
She looked away, studying the other guests while she regained her compsure. Nearly all couples. One family in the corner had a small child. Who could afford to bring a child to a restaurant like this? Another couple nearby sat looking deeply into one another’s eyes, the wife’s pregnant belly pressed into the lip of the table. She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice as she said, “You have no idea what my wish is.”
The waitress appeared again, and Tanika realized she hadn’t even opened the menu. Without batting an eye, Ophir ordered for both of them, and the waitress whisked the menu boards away. “I’m fairly good at guessing a woman’s desires,” he said, his voice sultry. She sucked in a sharp breath as he leaned forward. “Give me your hand.”
Without thinking, she offered him her palm, assuming he was going to play at reading her again. His long fingers wrapped gently around hers and he rose from the table, pulling her to her feet. “May I have this dance?”
Without giving her time to respond, he pulled her toward the quartet. A small dance floor sat between the players and the tables, but no one used it. She spluttered, hyper aware of every eye in the restaurant following them. Her pulse in her ears drowned out the string quartet’s song. “I don’t know—”
At the edge of the parquet, he swiveled, pulling her to him with one fluid twitch of his muscular arm. She found herself pressed against his chest, his hands at her waist, his feet guiding her as if they’d been performing together for years. Up close, his masculine scent made her mouth water.
She smoothed her trembling fingers up the hard planes of his chest to settle on his shoulders, allowing herself to be swept along. The watching restaurant guests faded to meaninglessness. This moment was exactly what she’d always dreamed her prom would be. Or her wedding dance. She tilted her face up to look at him. Dark stubble dusted his angular jawline, and the ring of lashes around his eyes almost made her think he had to be wearing makeup. What would it be like, to have just one night with a man like this? Even one kiss?
He smiled down at her. “You look lovely when you blush.”
The heat that had crept across her face during the walk to the dance floor intensified at his words. But she didn’t let go. She hadn’t had a drop to drink, and yet there it was, the dizzy, giddy swimming sensation of being swept off her feet. “Do people dance together at business dinners?”
His lips grazed her ear, and his low voice shot straight to her core, melting her knees. “If they don’t, they should, don’t you think?”
He squeezed her tightly against him, spinning a small circle that left her even more lightheaded. Her body thrummed with desire from her scalp to her toes. She clung to him as he settled into a steady rhythm that had her thinking of other rhythms she’d never experienced. Oh, God, was that his hard on she felt pressed against her? The heat of it threatened to burn her clothes right off her body.
Closing her eyes, she turned her face toward him, the scrape of his stubble along her cheek as thrilling as any car ride. She’d never been this close to a man. Probably never would again. A small voice inside her urged her on. One kiss, just to try it. They were in a public place, so what could go wrong? His breath fanned against her, flaming her passion higher.
Then his lips met hers in a blaze of light.