I Dream of Genie

Prologue

Angelique. I want to help you.

The words startled Angelique.

She stared into the darkness, trying to breach the fog surrounding her memories. Her body felt cold and stiff. With alarm, she realized she couldn’t move her arms or legs.

Green branches spread out below her. Panic welled up inside her as she began to remember things. Tremors started inside her.

She glanced at the large picture window, the blinds drawn wide, the lit tree reflected in the glass. There, on top, sat a blond glittering angel dressed in white. An angel who could neither move, nor smile. No one knew the pain that angel felt. The suffering she’d endured over two centuries.

Tears prickled Angelique’s eyes. Tears she could not shed. Because that angel was her.

Who are you? Angelique asked the voice.

A wispy, shapeless form floated toward her.

I am an angel.

Angel? The thought sent shudders through Angelique. It was one thing to know—by personal experience—that the supernatural existed. It was quite another to come face to face with it.

Do you remember Bertrand? a voice asked her.

Memories lurched through her mind like stones in a landslide, one over another, violent in their momentum.

Long ago, she had been in love with a man named Bertrand. She remembered the loving look in his eye and the gentle touch of his hand on hers when he had proposed to her. She had accepted joyously and melted into his arms.

When Bertrand had slipped the ring on Angelique’s finger, panic had gripped her. A strong sense of foreboding filled her, and she felt cold, as if the life were being sucked out of her. Instinctively, she’d known that it would steal her happiness and destroy her life. Before it reached her knuckle, she had jerked away, shaking her head.

I was with you then, the angel said. I warned you.

The wispy shape moved closer, then hovered in front of her.

You see, the Berringer men are cursed. An engagement ring carries the curse from generation to generation. Every time a Berringer male finds the woman he was meant to love and slips the ring on her finger, his love flickers out and dies. Like a candle snuffed out by the wind. I did not want that sad existence for you, Angelique. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the horrible fate that would be thrust upon you when you refused the ring.

Angelique remembered all too clearly what happened after she rejected the ring. She had been slammed in the gut by a powerful force, crushing the air from her lungs. She had felt herself shrink. Her whole body had turned rigid until she could not move at all. She could not draw in a breath. Panic had overwhelmed her as she’d tried to breath, knowing if she didn’t she would suffocate.

But she didn’t suffocate. Mercilessly, the despicable magic of the ring had stolen her life without letting her die. She had been transformed into a tree-top angel, cursed to sit atop a Christmas tree every Christmas season, with a lifeless body, but all the emotions and consciousness of a real person.

As soon as you became a tree-top angel, the ring erased you from Bertrand’s memory, thus protecting him from the rejection of love. You became a family heirloom, passed through the generations.

Angelique glanced around the masculine apartment laid out below her, filled with the sparkle of Christmas. The style was eclectic, accommodating contemporary pieces alongside antiques she recognized from generations of Berringer homes. Many she hadn’t seen since the divorce of George Berringer and his wife, Elise. They’d had two boys. Peter, a toddler at the time, had gone with his mother. So had Angelique.

After his mother’s death two years ago, Peter had made plans to move to Australia. She recognized the grandfather clock in the corner and a few other items from Peter’s small country cottage. He must have passed her on to his brother in Canada.

Nick. That was the other boy’s name. He’d be a man now, but she remembered the wide-eyed, curious boy who used to read books by the fire and would laugh and play games with his younger brother, Peter. He’d had such patience with his younger sibling. His adoration for his brother had been very clear. Angelique had been saddened to see them parted.

Why are you helping me now? Angelique asked.

Because not the time is right, the angel answered vaguely.

Hope swelled in Angelique’s heart.

Will you break this dreadful curse and turn me back to human form?

It’s not quite that simple.

Angelique sighed. Of course not.

The curse can’t simply be broken, but it can be shifted. I will return you to human form—temporarily—to accomplish this.

Elation glittered through her. The thought of being human once again pulsed through her! The angel’s words, however, troubled her.

Shifted? You mean, another person would take my place as an angel?

If the eldest Berringer male takes your place, the angel explained, the ring, and its magic, will go with him, never to harm another soul. There are only two Berringers left, but if the ring—and its curse—are gone, the family will heal and grow again. Isn’t one man’s fate worth the future of an entire family?

A queasy feeling stirred in her belly at the thought of condemning anyone to the fate she’d suffered so long, but the angel’s logic was persuasive. For centuries, she’d seen the pain in the eyes of the Berringer men and their wives. If she could stop that pain, she had to do it.

What must I do?

When you refused the ring two hundred years ago, the curse entrapped you. To reverse the curse now, you must accept the ring from Nicholas Berringer.

Why would Nicholas Berringer offer me the ring? He doesn’t even know me.

You must make him fall in love with you. When he proposes and slips the ring on your finger, he will turn into a Christmas angel. You have until midnight on Christmas day.

Two days! How will I make him fall in love with me in only two days?

Silence hung between them like a thick layer of fog.

Remember, Angelique. If you fail, you will return to your current form and this generation of the Berringer family will be the last.

Angelique’s brain seemed to flood with fog and the last words she heard the angel say were, Brace yourself. It’ll take some time to adapt to being human again.

Extreme disorientation gripped her and her mind blanked.

Chapter 1

Luke Jacobs tugged at the stopper of the ancient bottle, but it wouldn’t budge. Perched on the edge of the couch, he pulled and twisted, to no avail. Frustrated, but not defeated, he clamped the ornate, metal bottle between his knees and yanked as hard as he could. With a satisfactory pop, the stopper jerked free.

Victorious, he smiled and peered into the opening. A few tendrils of gold smoke curled up out of the bottle like unsteady fingers testing the air in the room.

What the hell? Startled, he plunked the bottle down on the coffee table and dropped backwards into the plush fabric of the couch. He watched as the smoke flickered one way and then the other, rising slowly, tentatively upwards. More smoky plumes followed until a tall, narrow cloud hung over the bottle, then moved en masse to the floor and hovered there momentarily.

The wispy mass compressed into a tight plume, then coalesced into a discernible shape, a shape that captured his attention as no other could. Before him stood the most exotic, breathtaking woman he had ever seen. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, but she still stood there staring at him.

Dressed in a harem costume.

She stood quietly for a moment or two, as though assessing the situation, then pressed her hands together as if in prayer and inclined her head forward.

Thank you for freeing me from the bottle. Her words, spoken in a deep, melodious alto, intrigued him. I am most appreciative.

Her speech seemed a bit stilted, with a slightly foreign flavor. Thank you for freeing me from the bottle? Was this some kind of joke?

Good Lord, he’d had a few drinks at the company celebration this afternoon, but not enough to conjure a hallucination like this.

Bemused, Luke’s curious gaze followed the curves of her body. Her top, which was essentially an ornately beaded red bra with fringe hanging from the bottom, was cut quite low, revealing the swell of her breasts. She had a matching red armband on each forearm. Though she seemed quite composed, her breasts rose and fell slowly, as though she was taking deep, calming breaths. He forced his lingering gaze onward, past her bare midriff to her hips, encased in the same beaded material as her top. A full skirt of sheer red fabric billowed to the floor.

He swung his gaze back to her face and focused on her eyes, which were a striking, almost unnatural shade of emerald green.

Who are you?

My name is Dawn. That is, of course, a translation into your language.

Of course, he answered, as if he understood what the heck she was talking about. He didn’t know how the hell she’d done that trick with the smoke, but he figured the best thing to do would be to go along with her until he found out what she was up to. How did you get in here? This is a secure building.

I told you, I was in the bottle. When you carried it here, you brought me as well. She flicked her long, dark hair—captured into a ponytail which flowed from a beaded clasp at the top of her head—back over her shoulder.

You’re joking, right? He smiled at her, wondering how she’d arranged to get into his apartment and why. He would have to talk to security about this. Later.

No, I’m quite serious. Her eyes glittered, as though angry that he would challenge her claim.

So, you’re a genie and you’re going to grant me three wishes. Isn’t that the way it goes?

Actually, you are not limited to three. I am bound to stay with you and grant as many wishes as you please. She said the words as though she didn’t care, but he’d conducted enough high-level negotiations in his business dealings in the computer software industry to detect the slight strain in her voice. He ignored that for now, more concerned with why she was here.

Really? How interesting. He stood up and strolled around her, scrutinizing her from every angle, his index finger tapping his lips as he considered the possibilities. Someone had put her up to this hoax. The question was, who?

The obvious answer, of course, was George, Luke’s best friend and partner. Remembering how Grant, the foreman of the construction crew working on Luke’s new corporate headquarters, had given him the bottle earlier today at the ground-breaking ceremony, he realized it could easily have been a set up orchestrated by George. He had been pushing Luke to start dating again for the past three months—ever since Evelyn, Luke’s fiancée, had broken their engagement.

But Luke hadn’t wanted to date anyone else. He’d found himself comparing every woman to Evelyn. The memory of their breakup still sent pain lancing through his heart. Was it because he still loved her or because, as George insisted, he simply couldn’t stand the thought of losing his dream of happily-ever-after?

Luke mentally shrugged. George knew Luke better than anyone, but he had never liked Evelyn, a fact that had disturbed Luke immensely. Not that George had ever said anything against Evelyn or tried to convince Luke not to marry her. Luke had just known.

Over the past few months, George kept offering to introduce him to one woman or another. He had turned him down each time. Seeing this lovely woman, he now wondered if he’d been a fool. In fact, it surprised him that George hadn’t kept her a secret, dating her himself. Luke didn’t think he would be so generous if the situation was reversed.

She stood very still under his scrutiny. He stopped circling and stood in front of her. Suddenly, she exhaled sharply and blurted, You don’t believe me, do you?

He laughed, trying to decide whether to go along with her or toss her out. Seeing the flush on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she drew indignant breaths, he decided that he definitely would not throw her out. This could be a lot of fun—and he hadn’t had fun in ages.

Sure I do. You’re a genie.

She pursed her lips. Don’t lie to me.

He held his hands up as though to fend her off. Hey, I’m willing to go along with this. Don’t get huffy.

She planted her hands firmly on her hips, which had the effect of thrusting her breasts forward. This is serious. Don’t you understand that?

He put his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. Of course, I do. Relax.

Once his skin came into contact with hers, he realized that touching her had not been the wisest move. Their gazes met and locked. He could feel his chest expanding and contracting, each breath an effort. His hands slipped over the silky skin of her shoulders and down her arms, pulling her closer. He could see tiny grains of gold in the depths of her emerald eyes, like sparks of electricity. Her pupils dilated as she gazed up at him, widening to swallow the glittering green of her irises. Her skin pebbled under his fingers and he felt her shiver.

He released her and stepped back, breaking the spell.

During that moment of indulgence, he had come dangerously close to kissing her. Shock cascaded through him. At how easy it had been to forget Evelyn and his pain at having lost her. At how easy it would have been to pull Dawn into his arms and lose himself in her lush curves. At how easy it would be to forget himself entirely.

He realized he still wanted to kiss this woman, yet he knew nothing about her. In fact, she had probably been paid to have a date with him.

A sordid thought jolted into his brain. His eyes narrowed. Are you a hooker?

She raised an eyebrow. A hooker? What is that?

He smiled, despite himself. She really was into this genie role. You know ... a lady of the evening, a ... concubine?

Her eyes darkened, turning a beautiful shade of moss green with the golden sparks blazing hotly in their depths. She drew her shoulders back and raised her chin defiantly.

I am not a hooker! she said regally, glaring at him.

Relief washed through him and he couldn’t help smiling at her look of indignation. He raised his hands in a loose shrug. All right, just making sure. Tell me, what is the point of your little visit? What wishes will you fulfill?

Her shoulders drooped a little as she answered. Whatever you command.

He smiled again, confused but willing to play along. If she had been a hooker he would have sent her on her way. Gazing at her beautiful face, at the gentle curve of her cheek, and the fringe of black lashes, impossibly long, that flickered across her eyes when she blinked, he decided there was no way she could be a hooker. Despite her brave stance, somehow she looked vulnerable and—innocent. But, of course, in this day and age that didn’t make any sense. A woman as beautiful as this would not still be innocent, especially if she made a habit of going around in a skimpy little outfit like this one. The mere sight of it made his pulse pound.

Look, I know you don’t believe I am what I say I am, so why don’t you wish for something to prove it? she suggested.

Maybe the drinks at the celebration party had affected him more than he thought, because he found the desire to touch her almost irresistible.

All right. I wish you would kiss me, he said, his mouth forming the words before his mind could stop them.

What the hell had come over him?

Curiosity, he reasoned. He desperately wanted to know why this woman—above all others—affected him this way. Surely she wouldn’t begrudge him one little kiss. And if she did, she could simply refuse.

Her eyes flashed wide, and she gasped, but immediately stepped toward him. Her scent intoxicated him, a heady perfume of exotic wildflowers and spices. Her face flushed a deep rose color as she brought her lips to his in a light kiss. His arms slid around her automatically, and he pulled her body against his, capturing her lips again. She struggled to push away from him.

I wish you’d be a little more co-operative, he muttered. At his words, she melted against him, her lips moving under his in such a sweet response that he groaned and tightened his embrace.

When he finally released her lips, she exhaled roughly. Please, I don’t think you understand what you’re doing. She enunciated each word carefully, as she tried to push some distance between them. Wish for something that a mere mortal woman couldn’t give you.

He found that suggestion particularly intriguing. Exactly what do you have in mind? he asked, eyebrows raised.

She wriggled a little in his arms, and he reluctantly released her from his embrace. She scurried away, placing herself out of reach.

I mean like asking for something to appear out of thin air or to be transported somewhere. Something that would prove to you that I have magical powers.

Oh, he said. You are persistent with this story, aren’t you? What did she want from him? It would be easy to prove that she wasn’t a genie with the right wishes, yet she seemed to want to challenge him. I warn you, I love games, and I play to win. I’m afraid I’ll wind up forcing you to admit that this is just a setup.

She planted her hands on her hips. No, you will not.

He admired her gumption. She looked ready to take on the world. He cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers, dramatically preparing to meet her challenge. Okay, let’s see just how good you are at improvisation. He rubbed his hands together. Now, then ... a wish ... a wish... He stroked his chin as he thought carefully. A question skittered into his mind. If he proved she was not a genie, would her mission be over? Would she leave? He realized he didn’t want this to end so soon.

All right. How about dinner? he suggested.

This was definitely the right approach. With this wish, she would cook a nice meal they could linger over while he watched her in that incredible costume. He had some microwaveable gourmet meals in the freezer and a fully-stocked wine refrigerator so, if she was resourceful—and somehow he was sure she was—she could pretend to whip something up in a few minutes.

Whenever you want something, you must state your wish. You can start with ‘I wish’ or ‘I want,’ but you don’t have to, as long as you state clearly what it is you want, she explained.

I want dinner.

For how many?

Oh, just the two of us. He smiled. Now, why don’t I just go freshen up? he suggested, wanting to give her the opportunity to prepare the meal and make it appear as though by magic, but as he turned around, a rich aroma teased his nostrils. His gaze flew to the dining room table where a huge feast laid waiting.

I don’t know what you like, and I’m not sure of your modern foods, so I hope my selections please you.

Stunned, he approached the table and lifted lids off silver platters, amazed at the variety of dishes before him. One platter was heaped with cubed lamb mixed with a thick grain and a variety of vegetables. Another contained chicken with lemon