Sexy In A Bottle: A More Than Men Novella (2 page)

He groaned again, bringing her back to her senses. She needed to stop ogling and get him into the house.
He was naked and soaking in frigid weather with a raging fever. Unfortunately if he didn’t wake up, all she could do was bring him blankets. The man easily weighed twice Valerie’s slight frame.

"
Hello?" she said loudly, shaking his shoulder again. "Sir? Can you hear me? Are you injured? Sir?"

He
opened his eyes.

The bright blue irises were a sharp contrast to the man’s other dark features. They went straight to Valerie, immediately focusing on her and reminding her of the glittering blue stone in her pocket.

"Sir, are you hurt?" she repeated.

The man shook his head. Valerie pulled her hand away from his shoulder,
and he quickly shot one arm up to grip her wrist. Valerie gasped at the sudden move, but there was no escaping his ironclad hold. Her heart started to beat more rapidly in her chest, although it wasn’t from fear. It was the intense way he looked at her. She didn’t feel afraid. She felt warm. Confused. And worried about her heart beating too quickly. Her doctor told her she needed to avoid excitement, and an intense, naked man washing up on her beach was more excitement than she’d had for a while.

"
Can you walk?" she asked. "We need to get you inside and warmed up."

"
I am not cold," he said matter-of-factly. His voice was low and deep, an accent she couldn’t identify curling his words.

"
You’re burning up with fever," she insisted. The man was obviously disoriented. Perhaps he’d been lost at sea for a few days.

"
It is nothing to be concerned about. I am a
djinn
, born of fire. It is always so."

The only
gin
Valerie knew of was the kind that came out of a bottle, and while it could chase off a chill, it couldn’t stand up to the freezing North Atlantic. Perhaps this guy had too much to drink before he fell overboard. Or at the very least, hit his head. She wasn’t going to argue with him, though. He could tell her he was the Queen of England and she’d nod and smile to get him into the house. "Are you well enough to move?"

"
I am." The man sat up, still clutching her hand in his own. The heat of his body was making her wrist tingle like tiny needles dancing over her skin. The warmth had started to radiate down her arm, chasing away the chill of the icy wind. She wanted to pull away, but she didn’t, helping steady him as he climbed to his feet.

"
Let’s get back to the house and get you in some dry clothes. Then we can figure out what to do from there. You need to rest. I’ll contact the coast guard and let them know you’re okay. They’re likely out looking for you. And maybe we can get you a ride back to town before the storm hits."

The man listened to her, his head cocked oddly to the side like an intrigued puppy.
"I doubt anyone is looking for me. I have been lost in the depths of the ocean for decades at least."

Valerie frowned. The man standing in front of her wasn’t a day over thirty, and a hard, strapping specimen at that. Her
gaze ran down his body again, this time lingering a moment too long when she realized her patient was still sporting a massive erection. The heat rushed to her face when her eyes met his as a smile curled the corners of his wide mouth.

Who, exactly, had washed up on her beach
? And how much trouble had he brought with him?

Raj watched his mistress turn crimson at the sight of him. A
djinn is a powerful creature. Potent and virile, their magic runs through every inch of their bodies, including the parts that made her hazel eyes widen and quickly shift away. As the possessor of his amulet, she could ask anything of him. His powers were at her command, including his sexual ones, if she chose. He would not mind that at all.

He’d been locked up for a long time.
Fifty years at least, although he’d need a calendar to be certain. Judging by the dress of his mistress, it had been decades. She wore the pants of a man, paired with the heavy-soled boots of a soldier. Her feminine curves were hidden by a bulky coat, and the auburn strands of her hair whipped loosely across her fresh and unpainted face. Her weary expression was one she seemed to wear often, the lines deep and marring her soft, delicate features. There was a faint gray ringing her eyes and sadness in the green-gold depths watching him. She seemed a strange juxtaposition of strong and fragile, wary yet curious. How much had the world changed since he’d seen it?

The last female he’d seen had worn a demure, polka-dotted dress with heels and perfectly
styled hair and makeup. That had been the fashion in 1934.

He’d been summoned from his captivity to find himself in the midst of great
tension that spanned the globe. His master had been at the forefront of the conflict and had twisted Raj’s gifts to suit his purposes. He’d demanded the greatest army ever assembled, a silver tongue to coax and enchant everyone he spoke to and a name every man, woman and child on earth would remember.

Fearful the amulet would fall into the hands of his enemies, he’d ordered the
necklace, and Raj with it, tossed off a warship into the ocean.

Over the years Raj had wondered how that worked out for the short, angry man. Most of his power-hungry masters found themselves suffering at the cruel hands of their own desires.
He was curious to discover what his new mistress would ask of him.

"
Do you remember your name?" his mistress asked, the color finally fading from her creamy, pale cheeks.

Bending slightly at the waist,
Raj bowed formally to her in introduction. "Mistress, my name is Rajan. I am in your service and shall grant you any three wishes your heart may desire. You need only ask."

The woman removed her steadying hand and took a slight step back. The distance was minute, but he noticed it immediately
and it caused a physical pain deep inside his chest. Even if he only spent minutes with his mistress, each nerve in his body was attuned to knowing her every need and fulfilling it. At one time, when he was a free djinn, he could train his focus on whomever he chose. Now the gold at his wrists was a reminder that he did what was demanded of him by the one that held his leash.

He could sense distrust in his mistress, but she tried to hide it.
She did not believe him, and she was not the first. Over the centuries it seemed magic had become a dwindling commodity. The world had slowly grown more cold and mechanical and, with it, cynical and distrustful. But even those in the past that had been skeptical had made a wish. The wildest, most unbelievable wish they could fathom to test him. He tensed, waiting for her to name something grand to push the limits and force him to stretch the magical muscles that had begun to slowly atrophy in his golden prison.

Instead she studied his face carefully, concern drawing the corners of her pink
lips into a frown. "Let’s get inside. You may not be cold, but I am." She turned her back on him and started stomping across the stretch of uneven rock toward a small white stone building.

No wish. That was curious.
"As you desire," he said, following behind her.

Through the doorway he found a small, tidy home. It was filled with worn but comfortable
-looking furniture, polished wood floors and walls, and a pleasant, warm light from a collection of lamps. There was a large stone fireplace along one wall, but despite the cold weather it was dark and empty.

His mistress tugged off her coat and gloves, hanging the jacket on a hook on the kitchen wall. Removing the bulky clothing revealed the round, feminine curves beneath. Although she wore pants, there was nothing masculine about the tight fit and the way they clung to her thighs and
hips. She had a long-sleeved top that molded to her breasts and highlighted her small waist. He was not used to women dressing this way, but he found he could not complain.

"
The guest room is back here," she said, disappearing into a dark corridor. He followed her into a smaller room with a bed and a cabinet along the wall. "Sit down," she said.

He did as he was told, holding still as she wrapped a blanket around his bare shoulders. He’d told her he wasn’t cold, but she seemed insistent, so he would indulge her. She
went into a room across the hallway, returning a moment later with a glass tube.

"
Open your mouth so I can take your temperature."

He complied, allowing her to slip the glass beneath his tongue. They sat quietly for a moment before she removed it. Her golden eyes narrowed, inspecting it and then frowning.

"There’s something wrong with it," she said, shaking it and looking again. "It says you’re nearly one hundred and twenty-five degrees. That’s at least ten degrees past dead."

"
I am not ill. Please do not be concerned for me."

"
You still need to rest."

"
I assure you I am fine."

She eyed him with concern before opening the doors of a nearby cabinet to reveal neat stacks of fabric inside.
"There are fresh towels here if you want to take a hot shower. There is also some men’s clothing left over from the previous keeper. They might not be the right size, but they’ll work until we can get you back where you belong."

"
I belong here with you, Mistress."

She took a deep breath, not meeting his eyes.
"The bathroom is across the hall. There’s only the one. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to see about dinner and make some calls."

Raj watched her disappear down the hallway. This was a very odd situation, indeed. Not only did his mistress not make wishes, but she
was insistent on caring for him instead. It seemed wrong, but he was bound to do what she asked of him. He pulled some clothing and a towel from the cabinet and carried them to the water closet.

The fixtures were different than he remembered, but he made it through the shower, rinsing the salty seawater from his skin and hair and toweling dry.
He used a comb on the counter to brush through his wet hair, slicking the strands out of his face and down just to the middle of his neck. The clothes he’d picked up were denim pants and a plaid shirt of a warm, soft fabric like wool. Unfortunately they were designed for a much smaller man. The pants came halfway up his legs, and the shirt pulled across his shoulders and wouldn’t allow his arms to fall to his sides. Easily correctible.

Raj studied the clothing in the mirror, mentally making adjustments
, and with a snap of his fingers, the garments enlarged to fit him. He tugged the pants up and fastened the closure, then buttoned the shirt. Back in the guest room he made similar adjustments to a pair of socks and some old boots.

His tasks complete, he continued back down the hallway to the kitchen. The smells as he came closer were extremely appetizing.
It smelled of fresh seafood, cream and the yeasty punch of fresh bread. He drew his power and energy from the fire that burned inside of his spirit, and did not need to eat. But that did not mean he couldn’t. From time to time he had been allowed to indulge in human foods.

As
Raj entered the kitchen, his eyes were drawn to a calendar tacked to the refrigerator. The numbers stopped him in his tracks. More time had passed than he’d anticipated. It had been almost eighty years since he was dropped into the sea. The new millennium had come and gone. His last master was long dead, whether successful or not in his conquests.

His mistress was hovering over a pot, stirring gently with a long wooden spoon. On the counter beside her were rolls cooling on a wire rack.
She had tamed the windblown strands of her red hair by pulling it up into a knot at the back of her head, although a stubborn piece had slipped out and curled along her jaw as she worked.

"
I am dressed, as requested."

"
Did the clothes fit oka—" She turned and stopped when she saw him. She looked him over from head to toe, the constant frown of concern on her face stubbornly remaining. "I guess so. I didn’t realize the last keeper was such a big man. He didn’t look like it."

"
I was able to make adjustments."

She absorbed his statement and turned back to the pot without responding.
"Dinner is almost ready if you’d like to sit at the table."

"
Are you in need of assistance?"

"
No. Thank you. It’s done."

Raj sat patiently waiting for her at the table until she came to him with two steaming bowls of soup. She s
et those down and then returned with a platter of bread and a pitcher of tea.

He followed her lead, eating quietly. The food was delicious. He’d never had anything like it before. The soup had some sort of shellfish in it with potatoes and cream.
"What is this called?" he asked.

"
Clam chowder. Haven’t you eaten it before?"

"
No. I don’t eat very often, though."