Page 8 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Six

I’m dragged from fitful slumber by the unmistakable sound of mischief.

Kevin and Jackie sneak by my bedroom, except they are as good at walking quietly as a horde of stampeding elephants. No to mention they keep shushing each other to be quiet.

“Do you think he’s in the office?” Kevin’s whisper is always louder than his normal speaking voice.

Jackie is only a decibel under him. “Duh, Cassie left the key in the lock.”

“So he’s stuck in there?”

“I guess.”

“What if he has to pee?”

The words sink in and I lurch up in bed. My door is cracked open. I left it that way so I would wake if our overnight guest made any moves, although if he got far enough away, apparently I would be overcome with violent agony, so that in and of itself is a decent alarm system.

I just didn’t want him creeping around our house while everyone was asleep. Despite Mimi’s assurances that he spoke true, there are too many ways to sneak around her lie-detection abilities. I know, I’ve done it myself.

I heave myself out of bed and into the doorway.

Sure enough, Jackie and Kevin are outside the door to my office, Kevin with one hand on the knob.

“Hey.”

They both jump, turning guilty eyes my way.

The scent of syrup and bacon drifts from downstairs. “Smells like breakfast is ready. Go wash up.”

They trudge past me toward the stairs. “The water’s still cold,” Kevin tosses over his shoulder.

Shit . “Cold showers are good for you.” Or so I’ve heard.

I’ll call someone later. I’ll figure out how to pay for it later too. My to-do list stacks up in my mind like a mountain of bricks.

Take care of this Bennet guy and help find his sister so I can get him out of my house, call someone about the water heater, work an actual job that pays money for said water heater... It won’t be enough to solve all the other catastrophes, known and unknown, but it’s a start.

Once the kids are out of earshot, I pad over to the office door and hesitate before turning the key.

Maybe locking him in was excessive, but he agreed to the confinement, which went a long way toward easing my concerns about a strange man in my home. A strange man from another dimension, no less.

I knock gently and then push open the door.

Bennet is splayed out on the couch, his legs hanging over the edge. His broad shoulders are too wide and his legs are too long for the blanket tossed over him, exposing the soles of his feet and the upper part of his chest. His bare chest.

A slender chain hangs around his neck, a delicate gold ring dangling from the end of it. Whose ring is that? A wife’s? A lover’s? He didn’t mention leaving behind a family in Aetheria, but then why would he? Although, if he were married she would have the ring on her finger and not around his neck.

Also . . . is he completely naked?

I glance around the room and finally land on his clothes, folded in a neat pile on the chair in the corner.

My attention drifts back to Bennet.

He’s all long limbs and lean muscles. His dark blond hair is rumpled from sleep, one strand hanging over his forehead and making my fingers itch to push it back. His face is soft with sleep, contrasting with the strong jawline covered in stubble.

I need to wake him, but I can’t get my feet to move.

This would be a lot easier if he looked like a hobgoblin instead of an Adonis.

He shifts on the narrow sofa and the blanket slips down to his waist.

My mouth goes dry. His chest is scrumptious. Like if someone wanted me to conjure up the most perfectly put-together man, muscled but not too bulky, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, and... oh my .

I guess interdimensional travelers are also victims of morning wood. I can’t drag my eyes away from the obvious bulge under the blanket.

Stop gawking.

I clear my throat loudly and knock on the open door with more force.

With a strangled yelp, Bennet leaps off the couch, blanket puddling at his feet.

Holy giant banana.

Flames lick up my body.

He grabs the blanket from the floor and covers himself, but not before I’ve gotten an eyeful and then some. Adonis is almost an insult compared to his masculine perfection. He’s big and hard and holy hell.

Now he’s the one brandishing a stick.

Bennet glances around. “I do not have a stick.”

“Uh.” Did I say that out loud? I smack a hand over my mouth.

My mind is blank. Why did I come in here? What day is this? Who am I? I shut my eyes. I can’t think.

Embarrassment and arousal blend inside me into a murky and annoying cocktail.

I clamp down my rising desire and concentrate all my energy on the bevy of problems swamping my life. An immediate arousal killer.

Once I’m ninety percent sure I won’t say anything incriminating, I remove my hand and open my eyes. “I wanted to see if you’re hungry.”

Do genies eat?

His stomach growls loudly in response. “Yes. I haven’t eaten since... I don’t remember.”

Guilt knots in my stomach. I hadn’t even thought to offer him food last night. I’d been too preoccupied with Jackie, my family, and the danger he might pose to even consider it.

I twitch a hand toward the hall. “There’s food downstairs. You can use the same bathroom you used last night if you need to,” I wave a hand at his clothes, “get dressed or whatever.”

Before locking him in my office last night, he used the bathroom attached to my room to take care of whatever djinn need to do before bed.

I didn’t ask questions, even though I am intensely curious.

Do magical creatures have to pee? Their anatomy is clearly human enough.

If anything, maybe a little more enhanced.

“Do you have any other clothes?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

Another problem to deal with. I blow out a breath.

“Maybe I can find something that will fit you.” Dad’s clothes are still in the closet, neatly hanging or folded in the dresser like they’re just waiting for him to come home.

A ghost of a hope I haven’t let go of, no matter how ridiculous it is after three years.

He wasn’t quite as tall as Bennet, but it will have to be good enough.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Did you bring any money from Aetheria?”

Bennet stares down at his feet. “No. I didn’t think I would be here long enough to need it. And if I did, I could use my magic to manifest whatever I required.”

A pang of loss flutters through me. But it’s not mine.

I blink, thrown off-balance.

What was that?

This isn’t the first time emotions have fluttered through me that don’t belong.

Last night, I kept catching these echoes that didn’t quite fit.

The hunger even after the large meal, the excess fear and confusion.

Sure, some of that was mine, but there was just more.

I chalked it up to exhaustion and one hell of a crazy day, but now, if we’re connected, does that mean?—

“Can you feel what I’m feeling?”

He bites his lip. “Maybe a little.”

“A little? A little?” My voice squeaks. “What does that mean, exactly?”

He winces. “I noticed it last night but wasn’t certain. I was overwhelmed. I thought I could block it, so it would be a nonissue.”

So the connection isn’t only physical. It runs deeper than that. “Were you going to say something or were you just gonna pretend not to notice that you can feel everything I am feeling?”

His eyes dart to the side. “I was planning on telling you.”

I point at him. “Liar.” I don’t need to be a truthsayer to figure that one out.

His cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. But it’s not like it matters. You don’t hide what you are thinking.”

“Who cares if I’m honest? I don’t like you knowing how I feel. It’s invasive.” What if he can tell how attractive I find him? I want the floor to swallow me whole. “How do I stop it?”

“You can block it with your mind, by forming your mental shields.”

“Mental shields? How does that work?”

He frowns. “You protect your thoughts and emotions from intrusion with an imagined object. It’s all in your head.”

“Great. How do I do that?”

“I can show you.” He sits back on the couch, the blankets covering him from the waist down.

I have to force my gaze to stay on his face.

He gestures for me to sit beside him. “I can help you through the connection itself. If you are amenable? It will be better if we are touching. Stronger.”

“How does that work? I thought you didn’t have access to your magic.”

“This does not require channeling magic. It’s simply connecting to something that exists between us. The bond itself has the energy we can tap into.”

Hmmm. This is a bad idea.

But leaving an emotional channel wide open between us is worse. Maybe I should make him put some clothes on, but I’m not sure I want to wait.

I walk further into the room and lower myself onto the couch beside him, my hands clenched in my lap.

Bennet sets his hand on his knee, palm up.

I stare at it like it’s going to sprout fangs and bite me.

“Would you like me to take your hand instead?” he asks.

“No.”

I appreciate that he’s letting me set the pace, but what the fuck doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“This is all just very weird,” I mutter.

“Yes.”

“I guess for you too.”

Considering he’s in a whole other dimension surrounded by strangers who haven’t exactly been rolling out the red carpet, it’s probably been worse for him.

Flustered—and hating that he can probably sense that too—I place my hand on top of his.

His palm is big, fingers long, warm, and dry. The moment our skin touches, a charge surges between us, like static but deeper, a low hum under my skin. I jolt, but his grip tightens ever so slightly, grounding me.

And then another sensation rushes in.

Heat. Arousal.

Not mine.

I don’t think it’s mine.

I haven’t been this turned on in years. I take a deep breath.

It’s only the bond. It has to be. An unnatural, forced connection. That’s why it’s so intense, so overwhelming.

How do I know what’s mine or his? Do they amplify each other?

What would it be like to sleep with someone when you could sense their arousal, have it feed into your own?