The Djinn's Dilemma Read Online Free Page B

clean mug for herself when the door chimed. She looked up and almost dropped the mug. Dream guy. Rukh, in the flesh, strode into the bakery.
    What was the likelihood of running into the man two days in a row? As a journalist, she didn’t believe in coincidences. Last night’s suspicions swamped her. Was he in cahoots with the others? Was he stalking her? Her heart beat out a nervous SOS.
    Today, he’d slicked back his hair and tied it into a neat ponytail. So much the better to show off his handsome, harsh features: the dark winged brows, sharp cheekbones, strong jaw. Her gaze lingered over his sensuous unsmiling lips. Memories of kissing him with a lot of tongue flamed through her. Oh God, she’d molested the poor guy yesterday. No wonder he didn’t look happy to see her. Good thing he had no clue about the fantasies. Heat sizzled through her in a slow burn as she recalled every intimate detail.
    Sarah threw a desperate glance over her shoulder at the kitchen. Maybe she could get Amy to take his order. The clang of pots and pans emanating from behind the curtain dissuaded her.
    Squaring her shoulders, she faced him again.
    A tailored gray jacket and slacks revealed the tempting line of his body wrapped in a blue silk shirt, from wide shoulders to tapering waist to the flare of his hips. He held himself tall and proud, and moved with barely-disguised menace. Rukh sauntered up to the counter and gave her a curt nod.
    So close she could smell his aftershave or cologne or whatever. Warm with hints of spice and musk. Every breath left her tingling. “A-are you following me?” she managed to ask.
    “Shouldn’t that be, ‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine?’”
    “ Casablanca . Clever,” she said. “Though I’d change the she to he.”
    “How are you?” His low-voiced question seemed to be for her ears alone.
    She’d been fine. Actually, great. She’d woken up relaxed and satiated from the hottest wet dreams she’d ever had. Dreams he’d starred in. Heat rushed to her face, and she thanked the powers that be for her mocha coloring. Her gaze slipped to the knot in the wood by the register. “Good. What can I get you?”
    He leaned back his head and read the menu behind her.
    She seized the chance to study him again. Just a hint of his tattoos, a few blue-black tendrils, peeked from the collar of his periwinkle blue shirt. The darker gray silk tie, neatly knotted at his tawny throat, was the straw that broke her.
    The mix of cool refinement and dangerous wildness left Sarah’s heart beating in her throat, turned her knees weak. She grasped the counter edge for support.
    He glanced down at her. “A blueberry yogurt smoothie and a rum-butter muffin please.”
    She jotted down the order, then forced herself to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be a bit of a wait, we’re short-staffed this morning.” The next words rushed out of her. “And breakfast’s on me.”
    “Normally I wouldn’t protest,” he said, leaning closer. “But in public, I’d prefer a plate.”
    An image of Rukh, hair untied, licking whipped cream off her navel flashed through her mind, left her staring. “I-I meant—”
    “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” The twinkle in his eyes belied his apology.
    Sarah glanced down at her shoes as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Ha, ha.” For a wordsmith, her comeback was lame. “Anyhow, I meant I’ll buy your breakfast.”
    “Why?” He studied her with a cool level gaze.
    She shrugged. “As a thank-you for coming to help me.”
    “I thought I’d already been rewarded.” A hint of a smile graced his face. His gaze dipped to her lips. “Or is there some other explanation for that kiss?”
    Okay, she wanted the earth to swallow her. Now.
    “Miss, can we get a refill here?”
    Sarah leaned to the left and peered out from behind his solidness.
    A table of six old men—Amy’s regulars—waved empty mugs at her. She blessed their hearts. “Be