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CONNOR WASN’T WRONG about djinn being fast and smart. To Georgie’s amazement, before another week had passed, Sasha had cast the playlets and scheduled rehearsals. After some convincing, he agreed to play Sheba opposite Neisha’s Asmodeus.
He was still second-guessing his decision as they laid out scripts for their first table read. This was happening in a classroom at Prospekt Market Primary School, the use of which they’d been granted free of charge. Sasha’s family, who ran a restaurant, was supplying food and drinks. Though no one had arrived yet, Georgie already felt thankful. Whatever else she and her companions accomplished, the neighborhood certainly was opening its arms to them.
Sasha had his own sixteen-year-old perspective on how matters were unfolding.
“People are going to laugh,” he warned.
“That’s okay,” Georgie said. “The story has a comic side. Plus, imagine how authentic the part where Solomon scolds Sheba for her hairy legs will be.”
“My grandparents think me playing her is hilarious. And my mother offered to help me paint my face.”
“It’s nice they’re supporting you.”
Sasha rolled his eyes, typical teenage style.
“You’re doing a great job,” she added, wanting him to know this. “We couldn’t have pulled this together without you.”
“It will be good to have some extra spending magic in my pocket.”
Neisha thought so too. To listen to the girl chatter, she thought her slice of the take would spin the moon a few times over. Georgie bit the side of her thumb. She hoped this crazy idea wasn’t going to crash and burn. More people than Iksander would end up crestfallen.
“Don’t you start worrying,” Sasha said, noting her furrowed brow. “I can do that for the both of us.”
“Right,” she said, forcing her thumb away from her teeth. “No worrying for me.”
A noise in the hall outside caused her to turn her head and smile. Those were Iksander and Connor’s voices, joking together about something.
“Ugh,” Sasha muttered. “Guess I’ll get your attention back after you greet your men.”
Her men? What did he mean by that? Connor was the only man who sort of qualified as hers. Unless she’d been too obvious about the sultan attracting her . . .
“Go on,” Sasha said, shooing her. “We can finish talking business once your heart stops pitty-pattering over them.”
Her heart wasn’t pitty-pattering—or not more than a little. She shut her fished-open mouth and pointed at Sasha.
“I’ll get right back to you,” she said firmly.
She pushed into the corridor without checking if he rolled his eyes again.
“Georgie!” Connor cried happily, sweeping her into a bear hug. “Andrei helped me levitate today. I floated all the way to the stage ceiling.”
Connor’s aptitude shouldn’t have surprised her—or his good memory. Unlike her, he never misnamed Iksander when others were nearby. Held high on his chest, she smiled at the sultan behind him. “Andrei is an excellent coach.”
Possibly her heart did skip when Iksander grinned. Then again, what woman’s wouldn’t? The sultan was a stunningly handsome man.
“If he keeps this up,” Iksander predicted, “he won’t embarrass anyone.”
“I can totally keep it up!” Connor’s arms snugged tighter around her waist. “Nobody keeps it up better than I do.”
He seemed delighted when Georgie blushed, nuzzling her neck and play-growling.
“Idiot,” she said, shoving at his shoulders.
He swung her into his arms to fly six feet down the locker-lined corridor. She yelped when he suddenly lost power and plummeted. She wasn’t hurt. He’d landed on his ass with her on top of him. Far from being embarrassed, he couldn’t stop laughing.
“You show her how it’s done,” he urged Iksander. “My dignity needs to recover.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” Georgie said, sprawled on the gleaming black marble floor. Financially challenged schools sure weren’t the same here as in Virginia.
“Want to?” Iksander asked, holding his hands to her.
She hesitated, surprised he was willing. Then again, what was the harm? He seemed to have gotten the message she was committed to Connor. They’d shared no more kisses since last time—not even a close call. She saw no point rejecting an overture when he was trying to be friendly.
She let him help her to her feet.
With her hands in his, he considered her. Having his full attention stirred an undeniable physical awareness. “How’s your nerve today?”
“My nerve?”
“I can levitate, but flying you in my smoke form would be safer.”
“Really? I wouldn’t fall through your hold?”
He shook his head and smiled. “No more than planes fall out of the sky. My energy moves faster when I’m in that state. I look different, though. Some humans would find me frightening.”
“Not Georgie,” Connor declared. “Georgie is plucky.”
Georgie laughed at his defense. “If I get nervous, I promise I won’t panic. I’d be interested to see you change. I confess I’ve been curious.”
“All right then,” Iksander said. “Let’s see if I remember how.”
He had a good poker face. She thought ulp a second before she realized he was teasing her.
~
THOUGH HE HADN’T TAKEN his alternate form since leaving the Glorious City, Iksander wasn’t apprehensive. No matter their level of personal magic, most djinn could smoke without thinking. The ability was on the level of shoe tying for humans: a skill learned early and used often.
He stepped back from Georgie, through the door that led to the school courtyard. With nothing but sky above him, he closed his eyes and pulled in a breath.
His edges blurred before he finished releasing it.
Still man-shaped but churning dark gray in color, his smoke form was larger than his physical—perhaps as tall as seven feet. Unimpeded by physical substance, magic flowed into him in a rush. His senses were abruptly more nuanced, subtler but sharper at the same time. His eyes were brighter, their glow lighting the vaporous swirl that surrounded them. He’d missed this. The ability to change form was part of who he was—as a djinni and a man. Maybe he resembled a human, but he was a being of power.
“Ooh,” Georgie said, fingers pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were wide but she didn’t appear afraid. Intrigued, was the word that rose in his mind.
The satisfaction this brought him was visceral.
“Give me your hands,” he said in his deeper than normal voice.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth even as she grinned. After a slight hesitation, she extended both hands to him. Her elbows jerked as their palms connected, but she didn’t snatch them away.
“You’re tingly,” she commented with a breathy laugh. “But you almost feel solid.”
He bent to lift her, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She gasped, which pleased him too. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on. I want you to feel secure.”
She obeyed him in this as well. Their eyes met—hers the same melting lavender as always, his flaming with so much magic the glow reflected off her face. Her pupils had expanded, and her cheeks were rosy with excitement. When her soft lips parted in wonder, he couldn’t help but remember kissing them.
“Oh my,” she murmured.
He took off without warning.
She let out a muffled shriek, her hands and arms clutching him as they soared upward into the sky.
“I have you,” he assured her, though he liked the way her heart thumped.
“You’ve got me. Who’s got you? —Superman,” she added with a laugh. “Someday you’ll have to steal the Christopher Reeve version. Whew. This is higher than we took the flying carpets. Quite a view up here.”
There was a huge moon this evening, bright white and peeking through lacelike clouds. Ice crystals sparkled in the air, perhaps an indicator of snow to come. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel the cold. His smoke form was exempt from it.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
She nodded, her head turning this way and that to take in the sights, her spiky hair blowing back wildly. “Your energy is like sitting by a fire.”
An image sprang unbidden into his mind: her lounged naked on a cushion before a roaring hearth, lean legs lolling to bare her sex. He could have done without the visual. Holding her against him was personal, more what lovers did than friends. His old kink was being triggered, the one he’d indulged during the dark period after banishing his wife. Believing Najat to have betrayed him, he’d wallowed in the kind of faceless sex he’d never let himself have before. Woman after woman he’d taken in his smoke form, night after night, first his harem and then scores of commoners. Permission he’d had; self-respect not so much. Even when rumors threatened to unmask his identity, he’d kept up the debauchery.
Now he realized his energy was caressing Georgie’s, penetrating her aura at the edges. His smoke form had an erection—not that she or anyone could see. It was possible for him to get off this way, simply by rubbing and intermingling their currents. His smoke cock throbbed, craving exactly that.
Hadn’t he gone long enough without release?
He shook his head mentally. Such reasoning was for ifrits and teenagers. He was an adult. He respected Georgie’s right to refuse. If he truly wanted, he could obtain satisfaction without involving her. That was what perfectly functional fists were for.
“Can we circle that building over there?” Georgie asked. “The castle-y thing with the white and gold onion domes?”
“Of course,” he said, relieved she couldn’t guess his thoughts.
He flew her where she wished, enjoying her delight while ordering his vaporous self into a more controlled state. Thankfully, he’d disciplined it by the time their long meander returned them to the school.
“Ready to land again?” he asked.
“I suppose we should.” She smiled as she sighed. “That was fun. Thank you for taking me.”
He gritted his teeth against envisioning other ways he might have “taken” her.
He was fortunate he refrained. Their descent had an audience. A crowd of about a dozen stood in the school’s courtyard, cast members and other helpers, all their faces upturned to watch.
“Haven’t seen that in a while,” Iksander heard one man comment. “Not in this neighborhood anyway.”
Georgie’s grip on him tightened as he landed.
“Get your feet under you,” he advised. “I’ll change once you have your balance.”
She swayed, clutching his hands briefly. “Okay,” she said when she steadied. “I’m ready.”
Knowing her eyes were on him was unexpectedly flustering. As he reformed, he remembered to rematerialize his trousers but neglected his tunic. He hadn’t done that since he was a boy. The skin of his bare chest immediately pebbled up with cold.
Mother Agnes, the old woman they’d met in the reading room, snickered. “Haven’t seen that in a while either!”
Connor thought her comment was sidesplitting. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to Iksander. “Better not do that while we’re on stage. We’ll run out of costumes.”
“He’ll remember,” Georgie said. “He’s just regaining his smoke legs.”
For some reason, despite everyone being in a good mood, Sasha glowered at her.
“What?” she asked, clearly startled by his crossness.
“This is what you call getting right back to me? You were up there half an hour! Not everyone is fancy-free like you and your lover boys. Some of our cast has to go home to their families on a schedule.”
“Now see here—” Iksander began at his highhandedness.
Georgie stopped him by squeezing his upper arm. “You’re absolutely right, Sasha. That was thoughtless of me. Everyone’s being so helpful. I shouldn’t have wasted their time that way. Please accept my apology.”
The teen martinet sniffed but appeared mollified. “You’re forgiven. Everyone who’s reading tonight, hurry up and come inside.”
Because Georgie had smoothed things over, Iksander didn’t scold the boy, simply gave him a hard look. The fact that no one batted an eye at him being taken for Georgie’s lover didn’t sink in until later.
~
THOUGH SASHA WAS A great coordinator, he couldn’t oversee everything. Paulette’s friend Maryam volunteered to handle publicity. Because Georgie had some experience with promotion, they arranged to meet the next afternoon in the restaurant Sasha’s parents owned. Georgie ignored her antsyness at attending by herself. If she were going to be exposed as human, it would have happened already. Iksander hadn’t seemed worried. His concern was making sure she had cash to pay for both of them.
“I won’t go wild,” she’d promised. “I know we’re watching our bottom line.”
“It’s a coffee meeting. Our reserves will cover it.”
She hoped this was true. She had a feeling Iksander wouldn’t admit if they were in trouble.
Despite her back-of-the-mind anxiety, she entered the small restaurant with relish. The warm djinn eatery was a mélange of vibrant colors and spicy scents: a feast for her nose and eyes. Maryam—a pretty, fiftyish djinniya—smiled at her from a cushioned booth at a low table. Her layered gold silk dress was the sort traditional local females wore. Her hair was dark and shining, her eyes a striking daffodil framed by kohl. As Georgie sat, she kneeled up to kiss her cheeks in turn.
The gesture touched her. Maryam was greeting her like a friend.
“Thank you for coming,” Maryam said. “I’m grateful for the chance to run these playbill designs by you.” She slid a handwritten sheet across the table. “Here’s the expense breakdown Andrei asked for. And these are the areas I plan to have the kids plaster with posters.”
Georgie looked at the list. It seemed very organized.
“You’re not taking ads in newspapers?”
“I think it’s best to keep a low profile, given our secondary income stream. Besides which, downtown elites relish feeling edgy—as they’ll do if they follow some flyer stuck up in an alleyway.”
Georgie supposed she’d know. She looked up from the accounting to study Maryam. Beneath her skillful makeup, she seemed weary.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Georgie asked. “I know you and Paulette were close.”
“I need to take my mind off that. Plus, I’m the best choice for it. I handled marketing for the Variété when it was still running. Paulette loved that theater. Whatever human nonsense we got our hands on, she’d scrape up the coins to see. She—of all djinniya—would want the show to go on.”
Maryam’s golden gaze had gone teary with sentiment. “Paulette was my best friend. Nobody could pull the wool over her eyes—not the highest djinni or the low. She made sure people knew it too. Too brave for her own good, she was.”
A scoffing noise neither of them expected pulled their attention to the next table. The bearded coffee vendor sat there, partaking a busman’s break of espresso and cookies. Georgie hadn’t seen him except in passing since that first day. He wasn’t among the djinn helping with the play. As she recalled, he’d glared daggers at Paulette over some quip she’d made. Georgie surmised the two hadn’t been buddies.
Maryam narrowed her eyes at the sound he made. “You have something stuck in your throat, Feodor?”
“What’s stuck in my throat is treating that female like a saint. Any decent djinni will tell you God struck her down for disrespecting her betters.”
“If you mean our ‘lovely’ regents, the idiot twins, the only people they’re better than are ifrits . . . and that’s me being kind.”
Feodor threw his napkin down and rose. “They’re cousins, you ignorant hellion.”
“Fine. The idiot cousins are only better than Iblis worshippers.”
“Peace,” Georgie said, getting to her feet to place herself between the pair. “Differences of opinion aren’t worth coming to blows over.”
She hoped her assertive stance, as someone who might actually hit back, would discourage the male djinni. To a certain degree, it worked. Feodor shifted his lip-curling scorn to her.
“I know what you’re up to,” he said ominously. “You’re no better than Paulette was.”
“Go jack off to your icons,” Maryam spat. “No one wants your opinion.”
“More fool you,” he declared before stalking off.
Sympathies in the restaurant seemed to run in Maryam’s favor. A couple customers clapped as he exited.
Well, Georgie thought, slowly sitting down again. That was exciting.
She refrained from asking why Feodor claimed the regents were cousins. Probably it was something everyone ought to know.
“He keeps their portraits in his cart,” Maryam said, not yet ready to let her anger go.
“The regents?”
The djinniya nodded. “He’s got a fancy jeweled frame for them. I’ve seen him pretend to talk to them when no one’s in his line.”
“Is he going to cause trouble for the play?”
“That wouldn’t do his business any favors. Though the less he knows the better. Annoying blabbermouth.”
“He sounded like he knew something.”
Maryam grimaced and shook herself. “I’ll ask Sasha’s grandfather to talk to him. He’s good at smoothing smoke. God help my temper if that jackass wants hush money.”
~
AS LUCK WOULD HAVE it, Sasha’s grandfather hadn’t simply played Jacob in the original second feature of their doubleheader; he’d also choreographed the crowd-pleasing fight. This afternoon, he was teaching its moves to Connor and Iksander. In preparation for the lesson, the theater’s stage was covered in wrestling mats. Connor’s first glimpse of the older djinni warned him to gird himself. Grizzled but still athletic, Yarik had the puffed-out chest of a drill sergeant. Sasha stood beside him, probably there to help demonstrate. Per instructions, Connor and Iksander wore baggy drawstring trousers and no shirts.
Seeing them, Yarik grunted in grudging satisfaction and turned to his assistant. “Tell these green wisps the secret to being good students.”
Obviously enjoying this, the younger man flashed a grin. “Sir! Listen well, practice hard, ask questions if you need to but don’t complain.”
“Correct. Now, do either of you know thing one about theatrical wrestling?”
“I’ve seen humans do it,” Connor said. “Other than that, I’m totally ignorant.”
His pleasure at admitting this raised Yarik’s brows. “And you?” he asked Iksander.
“I was taught real wrestling in military school.”
“‘Real’ wrestling, eh? Well, we’ll see if that does you any good today. We’ll start with backward falls. Sasha, please show them what to aim for.”
Sasha showed them by jumping high into the air, falling back with his arms flung wide, and landing with a great thump. Then, as if by magic, he flipped up onto his feet. Connor thought that looked fun, but Iksander rubbed his chin doubtfully.
“Problem, Andrei?” their teacher drawled.
“You really want us to exaggerate that much?”
“You do know what ‘theatrical’ means, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You try it,” Yarik ordered Connor, cutting him off briskly.
Connor was happy to. He copied Sasha as closely as he could but hit the mat harder than he was ready for. Stunned by the impact of his own weight, he couldn’t flip up like the boy had.
“Sorry,” he laughed. “Obviously, there’s a trick to that.”
“All right,” Yarik said. “That was your first try. It’s good you’re not too proud to make a fool of yourself.”
Iksander didn’t need it spelled out that this was a dig at him. He narrowed his eyes before attempting the move himself.
“Bigger!” Yarik barked. “You’ll put babies to sleep like that.”
For the next half hour, he kept them at it. Iksander was soon too tired to scowl, and even Connor ran out of laughs. He did figure out “kipping up,” as Sasha called it, though he suspected his version wasn’t as slick as the younger man’s.
“Show off,” the sultan muttered the first time he managed it.
His powerful chest gleamed with sweat, his lungs heaving with exertion. Liking that, Connor grinned and sent him a kissing noise. To his delight, Iksander cracked a smile.
“Tolerable,” Yarik conceded. “Take five minutes while Sasha and I show you basic holds.”
Basic they might have been, but watching Yarik and his grandson grapple was impressive. Connor studied what they did with every scrap of his concentration, hoping to break each move into its component parts. He found himself jealous of the sultan for having experience. The wrestling he’d studied wasn’t the same as this, but at least he knew the language the others’ bodies were speaking.
“Wow,” Iksander murmured when Yarik finished by flipping Sasha over his lean shoulder. “I hope I can move like that when I’m his age. Actually, I hope I can move like that now.”
“Can we try?” Connor asked as Sasha got to his feet again.
“You can try carefully,” Yarik cautioned. “Even if a fight is pretend, injuries can be serious. Protecting yourself and your opponent is more important than selling the drama. Neither of you knows how to do that yet.”
“We’re ready to learn,” Iksander said.
Yarik must have heard the respectful “sir” he didn’t quite tack on.
“Good,” he said. “Sasha will guide you while I observe.”
~
FOUR HOURS LATER, FINALLY back at the power plant, Iksander ached in places he hadn’t known had muscles. Too exhausted to change form and heal that way, he was in the men’s bathing chamber, sharing a hot soak with Connor. The deep square tub was more than big enough. Stretched out from opposite sides, they draped arms and necks on the rim while the churning jets pounded them soothingly.
“Phew,” the angel sighed, his relentless sunniness dimmed for once. “This must be how people feel after trains run over them.”
“Mountains,” Iksander slurred. “Assuming mountains could.”
Connor must have understood, because he hummed. Water sloshed as he shifted his weary weight. “I confess I thought we’d bagged the easy acting job: a little wrestling, a bit of flying, and hardly any lines to learn. Georgie’s playlet is the one with words.”
“Words are easy. Body slams are hard.”
“How do you suppose Sasha does that kick thing with both his feet in the air at once? It ought to be impossible if you don’t have the power to levitate.”
Iksander smiled but didn’t open his eyes. He’d admired the dropkick too. “He’s a freak of nature. You and I will have to cheat.”
Connor grunted and sighed again.
“You’re an okay partner,” Iksander said, languorous enough to give credit where it was due.
“You’re only saying that because I stopped being so cheerful.”
Iksander laughed but didn’t deny it.
“Many humans are the same,” Connor said. “They find happiness suspicious.”
“That’s because it—”
“Ah,” Connor interrupted. “Georgie is back.”
Iksander started and looked around, but she wasn’t in the bath chamber. Was she close? He hadn’t heard her arrive. He was naked under these bubbling waves. What if she came in to greet Connor? High temperatures didn’t dull his kind’s sexual reactions.
“Not here,” Connor elaborated. “She keyed open the plant’s outer door.”
“You can tell that from this distance?”
“I am sensitive to her energy. Probably I’d know if you did the same.”
Iksander stared at the angel’s placidly smiling face. Steam had flushed his classically carved features, causing beads of sweat to glint on his broad cheekbones. His skin was flawless, his mouth a rosy, curved cushion. “You don’t know me as well as Georgie.”
“But I like you nearly as much. For me that is enough.”
Connor liked him nearly as much? Hearing that made Iksander’s chest feel odd. Wasn’t this what every djinni secretly wanted? To have one of the Creator’s messengers approve of him again?
Connor offered the gift too easily. Naturally distrustful, Iksander shifted in the jetted currents. As he did, he became aware of heaviness at his groin. The feeling was sensual, the unmistakable beginning of arousal. He knew the angel was charismatic—both personally and in a physical way. Connor had too much inherent magic for that not to be the case. Certainly, no one could deny he was beautiful. Still, Iksander didn’t expect the male to inspire an erection. For all the kinks he had, that would be a new one.
The discovery distracted him enough that Georgie’s knock took him by surprise.
“Are you two decent?” she asked, opening the door a crack. “Should I pick something to spell up to size for dinner, or do you want to soak longer?”
“You can come in,” Connor said amiably. “We’re neck deep in water.”
Evidently, Connor didn’t think he needed to consult him. Iksander would have rolled his eyes, but Georgie was entering.
“Hey,” she said a little shyly. “How did your lesson go?”
“Brutal,” Connor answered happily. “You’d have been impressed with us for surviving.”
Georgie pursed her lips in amusement. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Iksander knew a lot already. He studied grappling and other fighting moves in military school.” Connor laughed. “Yarik didn’t appreciate him calling that kind of wrestling ‘real.’”
“Got you in trouble, eh?” Georgie’s grin for Iksander made his blood redirect to places that weren’t in need of more. “I could have warned you teachers don’t like know-it-alls.”
“If only I had known it all. I’m not used to pulling my punches. I’m afraid I made too much contact a couple times.”
“Knocked me on my butt!” Connor exclaimed as if it were a good thing.
Still smiling, Georgie tilted her head at her lover. “I suppose you spent so much time hanging around me you never had a guy to do guy things with. There was Tommy, I guess, but he was more my friend than yours.”
“I didn’t mind, Georgie. You’re a tomboy. I did guy things with you.”
“Uh-huh,” she said drolly.
She didn’t mention the not-guy things they did together, but Iksander could tell they were thinking about them. Their gazes held, their mouths taking on similar humorous curves. His mouth tingled as the idea of kissing both of them rolled without warning into his mind. He shouldn’t have let his imagination stray onto that track.
His cock throbbed so intensely it startled him.
“Well,” Georgie said, breaking the strange—at least for him—moment. “I’ll leave you guys to your guy talk. I can fill you in on my meeting with Maryam over dinner.”
“We’ll be out soon,” Connor said before glancing at Iksander.
Iksander braced as the angel’s focus turned to him. How could such soft blue eyes feel so much like spears? Connor might have been looking into his soul.
“Soon,” Iksander agreed, willing his voice to remain normal.
Sometimes he thought the angel saw right through everyone.
~
GEORGIE HELD OFF ON fanning her face until she was alone in the small kitchen. The sight of Connor and Iksander lolling naked in the djinn equivalent of a hot tub threw her hormones into turmoil. Probably, she should have expected the reaction. The men were handsome and healthy and of course they attracted her. She was human. And female. Anyone who didn’t like that could sue her. Being human, however, wasn’t the reason she had to brace on the sink with her pussy wet and her knees wobbly.
The reason was seeing the men together in the same body of water. They could have been lovers with that matching flush riding their cheekbones, with those beads of sweat glinting on their chests, and their beautiful arms and fingers gone indolent. She’d wanted to slip into the hot waves with them, to lick and kiss them all over until their recently sated passion rose one more time for her.
That didn’t happen, she told herself. They aren’t lovers. Stop being delusional.
She was glad Connor had a chance to experience male friendship. She forgot sometimes how limited his experience of life was. He deserved to be friends with more than her and their absent cat, Titus. Trying to turn his bromance with the sultan into something else in her imagination was simple selfishness.
Resolved not to indulge her fantasies, she turned to the cleverly organized storage unit that held the miniature meals. The compartments reminded her of an airplane galley—assuming an airline would construct their drawers from handsomely etched brass. She pulled out the section that held meat offerings. Maybe the men would like lamb stew tonight. Protein anyway, considering how they’d spent their afternoon.
She scanned the little labels, wondering idly if djinn had a version of humans’ mile high club. Would someone else have to fly the carpet while they had sex? Maybe they did it in their smoke forms. Come to think of it, hadn’t she read an article about that in Ishmael’s Daily Demon Mirror? The story was, the sultan went walking on the wild side after mistakenly assuming his wife cheated. Georgie recalled a mention of “numerous lowborn females” he’d plundered in his disembodied state. The tabloid implied his behavior was scandalous. Would that make it sexier to a djinni? Like the thrill of the forbidden? Had Iksander been remembering his former debauchery when he flew Georgie above the school? She’d thought at the time he’d been especially warm . . .
“Crap,” she murmured as a zing of feeling streaked up her palpably swollen clit.
She had enough questionable fantasies of her own. She didn’t need to heap Iksander’s on top of them.