Jax sucked in a breath as Charlie dabbed at his wound.
“Sorry.” Anxious hazel eyes flicked between him and the injury. “I have to get it clean. Infection could . . .” Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she set to her task. “The good news is it looks like the bullet only grazed you.” She hiccupped a laugh. “Hardly more than a paper cut.” She swiped again.
He slammed down his mask as flames seared his flesh.
Still she sensed it. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Her head was lowered; all he could see was the top of her hair, tangled from where she’d been yanked and pushed.
Fury the likes of which he’d never known still rode him, bubbling through his blood. When he’d answered her call, the last thing he’d expected was to hear Charlie’s scream. He doubted he’d ever get that sound of terror out of his mind.
“Why didn’t you use magic?” She went deep with her next swipe, and breath whistled in through his teeth. She winced. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” His mind struggled away from the pain to concentrate on her question. “Magic?”
“Yeah.” She set the cloth aside, thank God. Her eyes were on the butterfly bandages she pulled from a navy first aid kit. “When you popped in, why didn’t you just, you know.” She flicked her wrist. “Send him flying. Send a streak of lightning at him.”
Jax stared at what he could see of her face, still made up from Lisette’s Hour. “Adrenaline, I guess.”
A big, fat lie. The truth was that when he’d seen the man holding a gun on Charlie, the need for blood had overtaken him. A craving for violence, for the heady pain of knuckles against bone, had swallowed any light.
If he’d used magic, he would have killed them all.
“Oh.” Charlie set about bandaging his wound. Her fingers grazed his skin, cool against feverish flesh. His belly tensed in reaction.
She frowned. “Stop moving. You’re making the blood run again.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. She could only be nice for so long. What did it say about him that he liked her ornery?
He took a swig from the dusty tequila bottle she’d passed him as she pinched his flesh together. At least she wasn’t trying to sew it. Charlie struck him more as Nurse Ratched than Nurse Nightingale.
“Why’d you call me?” Maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the blood loss, but his head was loose, relaxed, even as his side pulsed. Charlie’s presence was calming, no nonsense tangled with a concern for his life that he found very sexy. Especially when she pulled her bottom lip through her teeth.
“Huh?”
“Why’d you call me?” he repeated. “Why not call 911?”
He expected a sarcastic, sassy answer. Instead, she was silent. Her fingers stroked the skin above his wound, petting him. Her eyebrows knitted as she traced the line of the bullet. “I wish I had.” Her voice surprised him, broken glass and tears. “God, I’m so sorry, Jax.”
“Hey.” The tequila bottle landed on her sturdy bedside table. He curled a hand around her arm. When she lifted her face, all he could see was the blossoming violet bruise decorating her right cheekbone and eye.
His blood simmered. “Jesus.” Lifting a hand, he traced the bruise. “You’re going to have some shiner.”
“I’ll just say you hit me,” she joked, but tears shimmered underneath.
“Gorgeous, why’re you crying?”
“I’m not crying. Only girls cry.”
His smile was crooked and completely genuine, as was becoming the case around her. “What’s up?”
“‘What’s up?’” She planted both hands on his chest as he pulled her in. They were cool and soft and made him think of tangled sheets and hot bodies.
Her eyes became squinty. “I got you shot.”
“No, I think charging a loaded gunman was what got me shot.” Jax stroked his thumb over her elbow. “You got me tequila.”
“How can you joke?” Her hands left him as she stood. She dragged a hand through her straggling hair, revealing a small mark of crusted blood on her temple. “I should never have called you.”
“Yes, you should’ve.” Jax thought about getting up, but it’d be embarrassing if he crashed to the floor. “I was the best choice. Though I’m surprised you never deleted my number.”
“I put you in danger. You warned me things were getting heated.”
“You couldn’t have done anything.” He shrugged, flinching as it tugged his side.
“I could’ve wished.”
“Yeah, you could’ve, but you didn’t. What we need to do is call the police and give a description of the men before they go after somebody else.”
“They were just upset.”
“When I’m upset, I don’t take a loaded gun and assault a woman.” His voice darkened.
Charlie hugged her stomach, smearing blood on the white tee she wore beneath the blazer. “His little sister had died. She was eight.”
“You swapped histories with the gunman?” Disbelief.
“No, I—he . . .” She stopped. “His little sister had leukemia and needed a wish to live.”
Jax had seen guilt before, and it glimmered in Charlie’s eyes like boulders that’d weigh her down.
He shifted. “Charlie, that isn’t your fault.”
“I know that—don’t you think I know that?” Her lips thinned. “I just feel bad, sick that I can’t even make a wish to help somebody. Even if I don’t want it, why can’t I just pass it along to somebody else?”
“Because who wins, wishes.” His smile was empty of humor.
“Then why can’t I wish to help? No, I can’t do that, because God forbid I become my mom.”
Jax sat straighter. Instinct quivered. “Your mom?”
Charlie glanced up before resuming her inspection of her carpet. “Yeah.” Breath leaked in a slow exhale.
When she came to sit back on the bed, she seemed more distant than ever. Her eyes were far away as she traced a design on the green quilt. Along with everything else, it too was shabby.
Jax also had the suspicion that that was why Charlie was so skinny—didn’t have enough money to spend on food. His gut pulled taut.
“My mom,” Charlie said in a measured tone. “Well. It was us two, her and me, from the beginning. My dad was a loser who’d stumbled into a bar one night, settled for the first woman to say yes, and then stumbled right back on the open road.”
Though he wondered why she was telling him, his curiosity held his lips shut. It, if nothing else, explained a few things about how Charlie treated charmers.
“It wasn’t a bad life. I mean, we didn’t have a lot of money, but who does? But Mom always wanted more. We lived with her parents in Boston in a two up, two down, and I remember she used to cut photos of mansions and designer clothes out of magazines and stick them on our bedroom wall. That’s where we’re headed, baby.” Charlie shook her head. “She used to lull me to sleep at night with imaginary stories of the birthday parties she’d throw for me in our own white mansion with a Sleeping Beauty tower.”
“She sounds great.” Jax wanted to touch her. He stretched out his foot so it rested against her hip.
She seemed to take comfort from the connection.
Charlie leaned more solidly against his foot and continued to stare at her aimless finger. “Mom was determined we get a place of our own, so she worked two jobs as a night waitress at a swanky bar and a cashier at a supermarket in the day. Even with my grandparents refusing to take rent, it took her a while to save any money. So, we were still living in the guest room of my grandparents’ when I turned five.” Charlie paused. “And then she bought a ticket for the lottery. And she won.”
“You mom won the lottery?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Her smile twisted, sad. “You should’ve seen how excited she was. She whirled me around, singing, dancing, shouting how it was going to change her life. And it did.”
“Why do I think this has a bad ending?”
“’Cause you’re a perceptive kind of guy?” Her eyes sparked with vitality before they dimmed again, lost in memory. “When the Genie came to our house, Mom put on her best dress. It was sunny yellow with massive cabbage roses stamped all over it and darned only at the hem. The Genie was a woman, blond, very beautiful. She smelled like cinnamon. I don’t even know why I remember that.”
“What did your mom wish for?”
“To be beautiful.” Charlie’s face was as pale as porcelain as she looked him squarely in the face. “Donahue women have a tendency to be plain and she figured it was her best shot of getting a better life.”
“You’re not plain, Charlie.” His eyes traced from her tilted hazel eyes to the plump lower lip that drove him crazy.
“I’m not fishing for compliments, Jax. I know what I look like, and I’m okay with it. My mom wasn’t.”
He ignored her ridiculous assertion that she wasn’t beautiful—though when he’d decided that she was he couldn’t remember—and concentrated on what she was trying to say. “Why didn’t your mom wish for a house or money?”
“Mom’s . . . not like me. She needs somebody to look after her. She wanted a man, and she figured a rich one would be more likely to marry beauty. So from that day, she became a stranger to me. She married her first husband six months after that wish.”
“What happened?”
“What soon became a pattern. She demanded attention, her husband got tired of her moods, left, and she started again. She began partying at all the best clubs, wearing dresses that were too tight for her, skirts that were too short. And she left me at my grandparents’ for them to raise.” Charlie shrugged. “I’m not saying they were mean to me. They tried. But they were old and stuck with a five-year-old girl who constantly cried for her mom.”
“Charlie . . .” Jax didn’t know what to say. Her mom must have been a real bitch—figuring a rich man would want a woman without a kid in tow. Leaving a child who loved her for the allure of dollars. Something low down twisted.
Charlie’s lips pursed. “Mom changed. Not only on the outside, but on the inside. Her wish corrupted her, you see. She wasn’t the sweet, hardworking, loving mom who’d tucked me into bed with a story. She was a snobby, impatient, moody woman who always smelled like Chanel and Malboro—on the rare occasions when she visited.”
To him, it sounded as though her mom had wanted her life a certain way, and a kid didn’t fit into the plan once she had her looks. His blood simmered with underlying anger. He understood it all now. Charlie needed someone to blame—who better than a Genie?
Jax hesitated, then charged ahead with blunt honesty. “It wasn’t the wish that changed her, Charlie. It was the lifestyle. You can’t blame the wish for the consequences.”
“You don’t understand. This change happened too fast. One day, I came down expecting waffles and a hug, and I got a pat on the head and a complaint that I’d spilled milk down her top. She left the next week.”
“Charlie . . .” Your mom was a bitch from the beginning. But he couldn’t say that to her, not when her eyes looked shiny enough for tears to fall.
“I didn’t tell you to start a fight. I just wanted . . .” Her shoulders lifted. “I don’t know what I wanted. To explain why, maybe? I don’t know. It seems stupid now.”
Jax levered himself up so he could reach for her hand. It was even colder, as though reliving the memory provoked old pain that chilled her skin. He squeezed it, caressing with his thumb. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Sure. No problem. I, ah, guess I’ll leave you to get some sleep.” She tugged, hot color splashing her throat. “Jax, let me go.”
He knew what she was doing. She’d shown him her vulnerable underbelly and she was panicking. She’d forgotten whom she was dealing with.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“Haven’t I confessed enough?” Embarrassment shaded her voice as she picked at a loose thread in the quilt.
“Why didn’t you go through with it?” He stared hard at her.
Charlie rubbed the thread between her fingers. Then her shoulders went back, her chin rose. “Because of you.”
Three words, but they said everything.
Jax smiled, bringing their joined hands to his mouth. He brushed a kiss across the soft skin of her palm. “I want to take you somewhere tomorrow night.”
“The only place you should be going is the hospital.” Obviously striving for nonchalance, the quaver in her voice gave her away. “I don’t even know if I dressed your wound properly—not like I have a lot of experience.”
“Hey, you owe me,” he pressed. He winked. “I got shot for you. I want to take you somewhere.”
She eyed him with obvious suspicion. “I don’t trust that grin.”
“Trust this one?” He flashed a seductive, climb-on-top-of-me-now-woman smile.
“Absolutely not. Let go.” She pulled her hand again.
“Charlie. Please.”
She sighed, long, loud, and dramatic. Hot color flushed her cheeks, bleeding into the fast bruise that bloomed purple on her cheekbone. “Fine. I suppose I can clear a space in my social calendar.”
He grinned. “Cute.”
She slid him a look. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Just dress in one of your sexy sweaters and pants. That’ll be fine.”
“Sexy?” Her mouth became a wide oval. “What’ve you been smoking?”
“I’ll swing by ’round five, so close the shop early.”
She arched an eyebrow, at last looking like the old Charlie. “We finally have customers coming in and buying so I’ll be here at six. Take it or leave it.”
“Bossy. I like it. Six it is.” Before she could move away, he brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. A tease to both of them, something he absolutely should not be doing. Blame it on the blood loss.
Lightning snapped through his blood, but he pulled back before he lost himself.
She’d gone bug-eyed with astonishment.
Perfect. With this woman, keeping her on her toes was vital to his game plan. And he didn’t mean the one where he got her to wish.
Jax’s lips curved. “See you at six, gorgeous.”
As soon as he flashed into his own apartment he healed his wound.
* * *
Jax’s smile was slow and smug. “You’re wearing my scarf.”
Charlie stepped out of her apartment and shut the door behind her. Against her will, she stroked the soft nap of the cashmere. She must have wound the stupid thing around her neck, then unwound it, then rewound it again about a dozen times. After her confession—blame it on adrenaline letdown—she’d been unsure where she stood with Jax.
He had kissed her. Briefly and only a whisper of a kiss, but the shock of it had zapped her down to her toes. Oh, she knew they’d exchanged flirty banter and he’d stared at her with desire haunting those gorgeous blue eyes of his plenty, but there was the wish between them still. That if nothing else had come out of the other night, even as he insisted he’d never lied with his touches, his teasing looks.
That kiss and her confession had changed things. And there was the minor matter of him taking a bullet for her. That tended to marshmallow a girl up quicker than you could say “s’mores.”
She ignored his compliment and stared at his waist. “How’s the wound? Is it healing?”
Jax caught her hand as she reached for it. “It’s fine.”
“You know, Jax, I won’t think less of you if you admit it hurts.” His thumb was brushing sexy little designs on the back of her hand. How was she supposed to think when he was doing that?
“Good to know.” He linked their fingers and tugged. “Come on—we’d better get going.”
“Where are we going?”
He grinned at her over his shoulder as he led her down the hall. “It’s a secret.”
She made a face, then noticed where he was leading her. “Ah, Jax? That elevator’s been out of order since I moved in. I really don’t think—” She broke off as the lift dinged and the doors slid open in welcome.
Her jaw dropped. “How on earth . . . ?”
Jax tweaked her nose. “Let’s just say it’s good to date a Genie.”
Any moisture in her mouth dried up like a puddle on a fiery summer’s day. “Date?” She allowed him to pull her into the enclosed space.
His eyes flashed hot gold. He pressed a button without looking. “You got a problem with that?”
Charlie lowered her gaze to their joined hands. “You confuse me.”
“Good.” The lift shuddered to a halt and the doors glided open. “Come on.”
It was as though she was on a perpetually spinning disk. She couldn’t see the floor anymore, or anything around her. The only solid thing in her sight was Jax.
“You know your building’s security is a joke,” he commented as he walked with her outside. The sleet from last week had vanished, leaving an endless wash of gray cloud. Still, it was dry and relatively bright, and a handsome, charming, kind man was holding her hand. She’d had worse days.
With that in mind, Charlie decided to live for the moment. Who cared what Jax was up to? He’d taken a bullet for her—either he was really committed to his job or he cared for her, at least a little.
She enjoyed the cool breeze as it wound through her hair. “Security?”
“I could get in here with a credit card.” He shook his head. “You need better security.”
“Tell it to the landlord.”
“Why do you live here if your shop’s on the Upper West Side?”
“Because my shop’s on the Upper West Side. Rent doesn’t come cheap there, you know. Besides, this area’s not so bad.”
“You got assaulted a block away.”
A shiver tickled her spine. “Well, it wasn’t that bad before the lottery win.”
He squeezed her hand as he led her to the edge of the sidewalk. “Maybe you should move.”
“To where? Trust me; nowhere that I can afford is going to be safer than here.”
“I could loan you money.”
“Easy, charm boy. I’m fine here.”
His lips pressed together like he was going to argue, but he let it go with a sigh. “At last let me secure the building. You don’t know if those men will try again.”
“Gee, thanks for that nightmare waiting to happen.”
“Well?”
She lifted a hand in concession. “Fine. But I’m paying.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t press. For now. Instead she looked around. “Any reason we’re standing at the curb?”
Jax grinned, a wicked slant. “I’m waiting for you to hop on.”
“Hop on what?”
When he waited, her eyes flickered. “If you think I’m going to ‘hop on’ you just because you called it a date, forget it.” She tried to yank her hand away from his. “I’ve got better things to do than trade innuendos.”
His laugh was whiskey smooth as he held fast to her hand. “Charlie, you surprise me. I never knew you had such a dirty mind.” He gestured to the motorcycle parked just down from where they stood.
Charlie blinked and instantly burned twenty different shades of red. “Oh.”
“But if you want to ‘hop on,’ please, feel free.”
She sent him a sour look. “Cute.”
He smiled and plucked the bike helmet from the back seat. “For you.”
“Wow, nobody’s ever got me a helmet before.”
“And I even stenciled a pink star on the back just for you.”
Charlie fluttered a hand in front of her face. “You sure know how to treat a girl, Jax Michaels.”
His grin was delighted. “Charlie Donahue, are you flirting with me?”
She slipped the helmet over her head. “Get on the bike, Michaels.”
His chuckle was muted as he straddled the machine.
Her thighs clenched at the image he presented. With his sapphire-blue shirt unbuttoned partly, a battered black leather jacket slung over it, and jeans worn in the right places, he was sex and sin and temptation beckoning her to slide her hands up those powerful thighs and explore what she could “hop on” if she let herself.
She carefully sat behind him, relieved she’d worn pants. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but truth be told, she’d always longed to try it. Safety was severely overrated.
Charlie linked her hands around his waist, scooching forward to nestle her front to his back. Then memory blasted her and she jerked back, her arms sliding free.
“What’s the matter?” His voice was clear over the engine’s growl as he gunned it.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she shouted. “I’ll squeeze your wound.”
He felt for her hands, drawing them back around him. “Trust me; I’ll let you know when it hurts.”
With that, he took off and she grabbed hold before she knew what she was doing.
The wind slashed at her as they roared into the dusk, the scents and noises of the city blending into one and rushing past her. He was solid and warm, his familiar apple scent teasing her nose. She squeezed her thighs around his. Her eyelids fell a little as the throbbing of the engine loosened something inside.
Her fingers brushed his shirt, completely of their own volition, as she imagined what he’d do if she unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand inside. Would he have hair on his chest or would he be smooth?
Liquid heat pooled as she imagined her hands reversing direction and gliding to the impressive bulge between his thighs.
Okay, so she’d looked. Sue her, she’d been a single, celibate woman for two years now. And she’d noticed enough to know there was enough there to feast on.
When he stopped on the Upper West Side twenty minutes later, she was totally, embarrassingly, inevitably aroused.
He cut the engine. “We’re here.”
“Okay.” Her voice was husky, broken from her effort to hold back from lunging at him.
He got off the motorcycle, turning with an easy smile. “Did you enjoy it?”
Oh, God, yes.
“It was . . . fast.” Charlie clenched her thighs as she slid off. Her knees were weak and she stumbled. Jax caught her against him, strong arms around her hips.
“Whoa.” His teeth flashed. “You need to get your cycle legs. Happens to us all the first time.”
“How’d you know it was my first time?”
“I probably have bruises on my hips from the first mile.” He lifted the helmet off her head and chucked it on the seat. He combed his fingers through her hair, as easily intimate with her as she wasn’t with him. Every touch was akin to pain, her skin sensitized from so much close contact.
When she didn’t return his smile, his dropped. “Are you sure you liked it—I didn’t scare you, did I?”
“No.”
“Then why . . . ?” His fingers tightened on her hips as he cut off. The heat of them seared through the thin fabric of her pants.
“Charlie?”
His voice made her quiver.
As if he felt it, his eyes darkened to a shimmering navy. The gold in his eyes heated as he drew her between his legs. “You have the worst timing,” he groaned.
“What do you mean?” she managed as he pressed her closer.
His grin was crooked. “Gorgeous, I know when a woman’s turned on. The motorcycle got you hot, didn’t it?”
Charlie flushed and pushed away. Get control, Donahue.
“So what if it did?” she retorted. “It’s a cliché for a reason.”
To his credit, he didn’t laugh. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching her with predator eyes. “Worst timing,” he repeated.
A sigh left him. When he looked back, the heat was banked. “Come on.”
Charlie ignored the desire tearing apart her insides and hurried to catch him as he walked toward the pretty block of apartments. “Where are we going? You never said.”
“To see a friend.”
“Mystery.”
“Man of, gorgeous.” His smile was less magnificent than usual as he held the door open. Warm air rushed to embrace them.
A curved reception sat to the left, a spiffily dressed guard reading a newspaper directly behind. The pages rustled as he put them down. “Mr. Michaels.”
“Hey, Stan. How’re those Yankees?”
“Doing good, thanks, Mr. Michaels. You here to see Mrs. Harrow?”
“Yeah. It’s a surprise, so if you don’t mind . . . ?”
The guard shrugged, reclaiming his leather chair. “I don’t mind, Mr. Michaels. She’s always happy to see you.”
Charlie’s brow knitted as she walked in silence toward the row of elevators at the far end of the grandly decorated foyer. Plants dotted the area, along with a water feature carved into the wall. Piped-in classical music lilted in the background as Jax pushed the button to summon the elevator.
She waited until they were inside. “Jax?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not here to see an old girlfriend, are we?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“Good.”
“Would you be jealous?” His eyes slid her way.
She stared at their wavy reflection in the brass doors. “I’d be pissed.”
“Good to know.” His mouth twitched.
He settled back against the wall as the numbers climbed, seemingly content to let the mystery lie. Charlie, on the other hand, positively itched with the need to know.
She broke down around the twentieth floor. “Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “What is it? Secret club? Pop-up restaurant? Selling me into white slavery?”
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
Her eyes slitted. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Relax. All will be revealed.”
When the doors slid open, Jax took her hand in his and led her out, heading directly for the final apartment on the floor. He knocked on the wooden door.
It swung open after a thirty-second delay. An older woman, about fifty, stood framed in the doorway. She was dressed in lime-green pants with an orange floating top, a bizarre combination on anyone, let alone someone who lived at such a fancy address.
Her features were refined, with only a few wrinkles showing her age. Interested green eyes the shade of jade widened before narrowing a second later. “Jackson Michaels, you utter reprobate. You’d better have brought my motorcycle back in perfect condition or I’m taking it out of your hide.”