Blurb
Owen only has one wish left. And this time, he wants
to ensure it doesn’t come with nightmare side effects like his first two did.
Unfortunately, Cleo, the scornful genie granting his desires, isn’t willing
help. With the wish deadline fast approaching, Owen must find a way to gain
Cleo’s assistance, or he’ll be stuck forever in a tangle of his own making.
Where
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Excerpt
“…Maybe if you’d executed my first two wishes better
I wouldn’t be so strung out.” Wrong thing
to say. If I could have punched myself, I would have.
Cleo stiffened, eyes wide. And then they narrowed,
and I could almost see the millions of ways she was killing me in her mind
right now. I braced myself for a barrage of scorn mixed with profanity. If
there was one thing I’d learned about Cleo in the past couple of months, it was
that she had an extensive vocabulary of swear words. Not only was her range
impressive, it was also interestingly exotic. I was well acquainted with it
because it’d been directed at me on the frequent occasions I managed to get her
to come out of the pill box. I’d thought I’d heard it all at this point in my
life, but she proved me wrong. And somehow, whenever she directed her skill at
me, I couldn’t help but feel that every term she used was eminently fitting.
“I’m so sorry you’re dissatisfied with your first
two wishes, Master,” she drawled in
an uncharacteristically chilly tone that made me shiver. “I shall return to my
vessel and spend my time reflecting on how to do better with your third wish.”
She turned and moved away from the door.
Fuck.
The lack of profanity made me panic. I leapt up the stairs in one bound and
grabbed her arm in desperation. If she evaporated back into the box, I’d have a
hell of a time getting her to come out again. “Cleo, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m
an asshole, okay? A dick. I’m—I’m every foul word you’ve called me since we
met.”
The skin of her arm was soft beneath my fingers, but
the biceps was firm. Did she work out? Would a genie even need to, being able
to shapeshift and all? There was a small strange golden tattoo on her arm. I
watched, fascinated, as it shifted from a crescent moon, to some intricate
round design that reminded me of snowflakes, and then into a symbol of some
kind. This close, her scent was warm in my nostrils. It was a mix of jasmine,
incense, and something spicy that I had yet to identify. The intoxicating medley
had visited me in my dreams more than once.
“Take … your hand … off me.”
The words were spoken slowly and in a deadly acid
that had me snatching my hand back as though I’d touched a hot exhaust pipe.
She glared up at me and twitched her arm as if to dislodge any germs I’d left
on her creamy skin.
“Sorry. So sorry,” I said, my words coming out light
and breathy as though I might set off a bomb. I took a half step back from her,
lifting my hands in front of me in that universal I’m-not-armed gesture. “Please
don’t go,” I pleaded. “I really need your help. Please.”
There were less than three days left for me to make
my third wish, and I was desperate not to fuck it up. I’d made the first two rather quickly, and
they hadn’t turned out exactly as I’d hoped. Well, no, I can’t say that. I’d
gotten exactly what I’d wished for. I was now ridiculously wealthy and famous.
The problem was that both of those things had come with a lot of problems, like
fleeing from people who were trying to kill me for reasons I had yet to
determine. And I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my life using my new,
magically-granted resources running, hiding, and generally having to look over
my shoulder for the rest of my days. Of course, I could always wish to undo the
first two wishes. But who in their right mind would do that? I ran a hand
through my hair, and pleaded with her with my eyes.
Cleo made a scoffing noise and raked a critical gaze
from my black biker boots, over my favorite well-worn jeans and grey t-shirt,
and finally to my face, which no doubt looked more haggard than ever from worry
and an overgrown five o’clock shadow. “And why should I help you? Out of the goodness of my heart?”
I scrambled to think of something to say, but my
mind was blank. I was a mere human. And before she’d come into my life, I was
only doing a passable job at being that. There was nothing I could give her
that she couldn’t give herself, not even freedom.
“I can’t think of anything,” I said, feeling
deflated. “But maybe you can.” It was a shot in the dark, but worth it. There
was a faint glimmer in her caramel-colored eyes that signaled I was on the
right track. Inspired, I pushed forward, desperate. “Is there something?”
She relaxed her stance, making hope soar within me.
Then she dropped her gaze to the floor as if—No. Could it be?—as if she was reluctant to say it. I closed the
gap between us again, feeling bolder, but I didn’t touch her. “Tell me,” I
urged in a low voice, fascinated. “I want to know. No, I have to know. What I could possibly give you that you would want?”
About
the Author
Jewel
Quinlan is a bestselling paranormal and contemporary romance author. Since her
debut in late 2013, she has published fourteen stories and has many more to
come. Restless by nature, she is an avid traveler and has visited sixteen
countries so far. Lover of ice cream, dark beer, and red wine, she tries to
stay fit when she’s not typing madly on her computer drafting another romance
novel. In her spare time, she likes to do yoga, hike, learn German, and play
with her spoiled Chihuahua, Penny.
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