The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series) Read online

  THE COWBOY GENIE’S WIFE

  Copyright 2014 © Lyn Brittan

  www.lynbrittan.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this eBook or bound book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This eBook/Book may not be sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this story, please purchase additional copies.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Lyn Brittan

  Cape Elizabeth Series

  The Prince

  The Traitor

  The Chosen

  Alecto

  Lightning Saga

  Rafe's Reward

  Qiang's Quest

  Juan's Journey

  Scott's Solace

  Outer Settlement Agency

  Solia's Moon

  Anja's Star

  Quinn's Quasar

  Lana's Comet

  Outer Settlement Agency Omnibus

  Vin's Rules

  The Djinn Series

  The Genie's Witch

  A Genie's Love

  The Cowboy Genie's Wife

  Waters of London

  The Clocks of London

  The Doctor of London

  Standalone

  Moonlit Embrace

  Watch for more at Lyn Brittan’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Also By Lyn Brittan

  THE COWBOY GENIE’S WIFE | The Dirty Djinn Series | Lyn Brittan

  Website | Mailing List

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank you for reading. Visit http://lynbrittan.com/newsletter for new release alerts.

  Further Reading: Moonlit Embrace

  Also By Lyn Brittan

  About the Author

  THE COWBOY GENIE’S WIFE

  The Dirty Djinn Series

  Lyn Brittan

  Website | Mailing List

  Chapter One

  Rosa pulled her red sports car into the dusty driveway and plonked her head against the steering wheel. Going in immediately wasn’t gonna happen. One does not simply waltz into one’s ex-husband’s house and beg for a place to hide.

  She looked up, rested her chin on the wheel, and groaned.

  Nope. Not house, ranch. Big too—like the rest of him.

  Unbelievable!

  Being married ... ex-married ... estranged, whatever, from a genie was kind of a big deal. She shouldn’t have married the jerk in the first place, but that was a hundred years ago, and she was too stupid then to know better.

  Literally a hundred years ago. She counted out the decades on her fingers. Well, eighty-something years ago. Nineteen thirties, America in the middle of the Great Depression, and she was the eldest of five. New York was rough in those days, and well, Fazil hadn’t been. He’d proven a soft, easy, and gentle reprieve, a bright spot in the grease and filth of the city.

  What was a human supposed to do? Say no? She hadn’t stood a chance. Not against that delicious, ingenious djinn.

  Floodlights from the house—no, fucking ridiculous ranch—lit up her car like a stadium, dragging her to the present.

  Ugh, it should have never come to this. She should have stayed in the tenements that day so long ago, but instead, she’d blindly taken his hand. Now, everyone she’d known growing up was dead, or if they lived, she couldn’t just pop in looking the same as when she’d left.

  She’d run out of time, money, and options. When she had problems these days, Fazil was the one person she could turn to. And this one was a doozy.

  It materialized in a puff of turquoise smoke. “I assume you need something?”

  “Fazil.”

  “Rosa. Lovely to see my wife again. I’d rather you did your groveling in the house.”

  “I don’t need this.” She turned the ignition and shifted into reverse. Forget it. She’d hide out and starve first. She’d live in the woods and eat bear shit to survive before dealing with ... oh c’mon. “Get out of my car.”

  “I’m djinn. I go where I want. Actually, that’s a lie, and you know it. I go where my hamdullah is.”

  Hamdullah. A life mate. It’d been cool, all shits and giggles in the start, but an eternity with a trifling, controlling, self-absorbed, alpha-every-possible-moment genie gets old. Even if he had a jaw cut from a cliff, sweetly lickable dark skin, and eyes the color of the Mediterranean.

  And a mouth that wouldn’t shut up.

  “Things must be really rough—”

  “Fazil—”

  “For you to come all the way out here—”

  “Shut up, Fazil—”

  “To see your deserted husband—”

  “Ex-husband.”

  He had the nerve to laugh. To her shock, a small, teeny-tiny part of her missed the sound.

  “There are no papers between us, hamdullah, you’re my wife. I won’t ever force you to stay, but you can always come home again.” He rapped the dashboard and leaned over. “Stop the car.”

  “Fazil...”

  “Please.”

  Whoa. Eighty years and she’d never heard the man say that. Always “should,” and “now,” and “must,” but never “please.” Not that he’d said it sweetly—there was an edge to it, almost as if it hurt him to spit it out. The old Rosa would have floored it, knowing at some point he’d have to pop back to his lamp or risk being too far away. Fazil wasn’t the type to hoof it back on foot. He didn’t do hard and tough, which begged a certain question. “Why a ranch in Arizona? Why a ranch at all? Can’t be good for your Armani suits.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “It’s in B-F-E.” She broke off into a chuckle and shook her head. “Don’t.”

  Fazil turned, head still on the headrest, a small smile on his lips. “Sure?”

  The last time she’d said that particular phrase, he’d whisked her away to Egypt in the blink of a gleaming eye. “Those were different times.”

  “Better times. You’re not here to work things out?”

  “No.” The wind shifted, and her eyes watered. Two huge swallows separated her from pride and throwing up all over herself. “What’s that smell?”

  “Horse shit.”

  She leaned against her own headrest and pinched the space between her eyes. She didn’t need a migraine right now. “I’ll bite. Why do you have horses?”

  “Because I have a ranch. Keep up.” He reached for her, but she slapped him away. He didn’t acknowledge it. “Headaches back? I can’t do anything until you wish them away.”

  “I have medicine. Why do you have a ranch?”

  “You have a djinn, and because I want to. Let me ease your pain. You’re being stubborn for no reason, Rosalinda Wahid.”

  “Rosalinda Gutierrez y Lobo.”

  “And?”

  She hated when he was right. She especially hated when he knew it, throwing a smirk around as if dismantling a curse. He was too close, too charming in
those moments. If she had any chance of making it through this, she needed him to believe she’d left for one reason—that she’d grown weary of his boorish attitude. Heaven help them both if he ever discovered the true reason. “Fine. I wish I didn’t have a headache.”

  And just like that, she didn’t.

  Fazil cracked his neck and drummed his fingers against the doorframe. “Your wishes feel like firecrackers and tequila.”

  “Glad it was good for you. Look, I need your help.”

  “Wish us home. Save the gas.”

  “I’ll wish us to the house.”

  “Coward.”

  She sure was. Home meant something very specific to a djinn and his mate. Lamp was home, and by dios, had she missed it. Green and fabric, white tiles, and a pool that glittered. Going into the lamp reset everything. Her aging would freeze again—not that it’d exactly been at warp speed these last five years. And the pull of the darn thing. She missed it. The sense of warmth and love and togetherness that just being there filled her with.

  “It missed you too.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about your stupid lamp.”

  “Okay.” By the time he’d closed his mouth, her car was in a garage, parked next to his three. None she’d seen before, but no biggie. Djinn magic was weird that way. It worked off wishes, and people wished for things every day—money, a house, a car, and apparently a ranch. Whenever a djinn wanted something, they snapped their selfish little fingers and stole the wish for themselves.

  “Where’s your bag?”

  She popped open the trunk to his surprised whistle.

  “I stand corrected. Bags. Many bags. So, more than a visit?” He mumbled something and slammed the trunk. “Well?”

  She knew what the lazy bum wanted.

  She silently wished them to her ... she stopped herself. Djinn were a tricky sort. Wishing them to her room, would wish them into the lamp and their bedchamber. Testing each phrase first, she closed her eyes and wished her bags into a room, a room separate from his, and that was all her own.

  He grunted.

  He snorted.

  He coughed.

  “Whatever. You want to tell me what this is all about?” He didn’t turn to her as he asked—just sort of forged ahead, leaving her no choice but to follow him inside. They wound up in a very East Coast kitchen. New appliances—everything steel, granite, or blue. “I’ll cook while you talk, and before you say anything smartass, you love my food. Or have you forgotten all about that too?”

  “I’ll give you that.” She eased onto a stool next to the center island, her butt still sore from the unending miles of driving.

  He turned to face her with a smile on his face but dropped it along with the jar of spice he’d been carrying. “What happened to you?”

  “I have laugh lines. Your djinn magic’s wearing off.”

  “That’s not what I meant, but whose fault is that? You have access to my ... to our lamp. And they’re fine. Your face, I mean...” His words trailed off for a more hands-on inspection. Searing eyes raked over her body, top to bottom. Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but she didn’t look away.

  “You have ripped fingernails.”

  “Yep.”

  He tugged at her collar and she knew she was busted. “Is that a bruise on your neck?”

  “Yes.”

  The vein above his right eyebrow twitched. His face darkened, and something changed in the air. It got heavy, as if the very bonds holding the molecules together broke at his command. The last time he’d looked this way, the man up the street, who’d had a hankering for pretty little girls, lost his ability to hanker. And breathe.

  “Do I need to kill anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Rosa. Baby, you need to tell me how—”

  “You don’t need to kill him, Fazil.”

  “Because?”

  “I already did.”

  Chapter Two

  “Well, that’s new.” He kept his voice calm, though his mind zoomed a billion miles per hour. His wife had never been one for violence. It was her kindness that had drawn him to her. She’d hardened over the years to be sure, but murder?

  No. Not unless she had a damned good reason for one. “Are you hurt? Did someone...”

  The constriction around his heart eased at the shake of her head.

  “Okay. So no one attacked you, but you killed someone anyway?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So what the hell are you saying?”

  “I don’t like your tone, Fazil. One might mistake it for sounding accusatory.”

  His tone? Was she serious? None of this would have happened if she’d stayed where she’d belonged. Not that she’d bothered to tell him what this was yet.

  When Rosa crossed her arms and her nails were digging into her flesh, Fazil knew he’d gone too far. She wouldn’t be here if things weren’t completely in the shitter. Whatever she thought of him, she was still his to protect. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  She clasped her hands together and looked heavenward. “Oh, Himself allows me to speak?”

  “Rosa—”

  She wished for a glass of wine, gifting him with a wobbly smile when he produced her favorite, along with bread and spiced olive oil. “The beginning. Right. Okay. I got a job cleaning houses and...”

  He choked on his wine, shaking his palm in the air and sputtering out words not lost in translation. “A maid? That’s not the beginning.”

  “It is for this story.”

  “Rosa—”

  “Just because you’re a billionaire—”

  “Baby, they don’t have a word for how much money I have, and you’re telling me that you’re ... wait. Time out. I send you money. Even though you haven’t said a word to me in years, I send you money. A shit ton of it.”

  “I needed more.”

  “Ask! That’s all you ever have to do. Hell, wish. It’s kinda my shtick.”

  She knew enough of the old language that her cheeks reddened at his curses. Good. It was bad enough that his hamdullah had morphed into a cash-guzzling parasite who couldn’t stand the sight of him, humiliating enough for him to avoid his brothers. It was something else to have it known that a djinn’s wife was out working for someone else. “Why do you need extra money? What the hell is it going to? Did anyone see you? Any—”

  “There’s a dead body in my rearview mirror, and you’re worried about what your little genie friends think? Is this a serious conversation we’re having right now?”

  He folded his arms and drank straight from the bottle this time and counted to ten while she sliced the cheese and flatbread. “Go ahead. Finish”

  “A couple of weeks ago, one of my clients left his safe open. I found buckets of cash. Literally. I’ve never seen so much.” She waved away his arched eyebrow. “I don’t dive in lakes of gold coins like some people, and no, that wasn’t a wish. It was just there, and I figured he wouldn’t miss a little of it.”

  “You little thief.”

  “Not helping,” she said between bites. “And it wasn’t a lot. Maybe a grand. But the guilt ate me up, even though the money was going to a good cause.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She shot him a look and didn’t continue until he apologized. “So, I brought the money back, or tried to, but the safe was closed. The only way to return it was to tell him. So I did.”

  “And it didn’t go well.”

  Rosa shoved some bread in that cute little mouth of hers. A bit of oil from the dip drizzled out the corner of her mouth. He fought the urge to wipe it off. Memories are jacked-up things. They come at the worst and best of times. Like now. His mind wandered back to the first time he’d made her bessara. Her puggish nose wrinkled up at the sight of it, but her eyes soon glazed over in delight. It’d been her favorite ever since.

  She pointed to him with a flatbread square. “This almost makes it worth it, but no. It didn’t go well. He had me on camera, Fazil. He kne
w I’d taken it. He waited for the right time to strike.”

  Her eyes misted, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. Unable to control himself, soon he was beside her, holding her to his chest as she cried. Each of her tears melted away the lost days between them. His anger, his hurt didn’t stand a chance against them.

  But she froze and drew back. He had to remind himself not to mistake her moment of weakness for a moment of love. That’s what made all of this so much worse. He’d always love her. He’d always be here, but as a human, she could walk away at any time. She wasn’t a slave to him as he was to her. His magic could only grant a hamdullah long life. It couldn’t make them see, or feel, the soul-consuming adoration that came with it.

  So, he let her go and walked back to his side of the counter, suddenly a lot colder than a few moments ago.

  Rosa wiped her chin on her shoulder and soldiered on. “He told me he’d press charges, unless I slept with him.”

  “How long ago was this? To the hour?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Yep. If the soul was close, he’d find a way to torture the bastard for the rest of eternity. Instead, his Rosa suffered. “He tried something?”

  His chest tightened at her nod.

  “He pushed me onto the sofa. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t get up, so I grabbed the stylus from his tablet and shoved it into his eye.”

  “Shit.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked away.

  “I tried to run away, but he grabbed me by the neck and started punching. When he got me on the floor, he wrapped his hands around my throat. My vision started to blur. I didn’t have a choice. I swear. We’d knocked over a table. I grabbed the vase and I—”

  He tried again for her hand, and this time, she was either too scared, exhausted, or just over it to push away. He’d take it. “You survived. That’s all. You should have wished for me.”

  “I was scared. I wasn’t even sure if you’d hear from so far away.”

  Did you try?

  The words almost escaped, but he didn’t push the point. She’d been through enough without him piling on. If there’s one thing he’d learned living out here, it was patience. The woman was skittish. Too much emotion from him and she’d wall up. Best to stick to the facts for now. “Rosa, if he had cameras on to see you stealing, they may have captured the whole thing when you went to take it back.”