Three Wishes by Jenny Schwartz

shifted his hold, pressing her closer, trying not to frighten her with his own driving need. He was so greedy for touch.
    Her fingers released his shirt and her hands crept around to flatten against his back. Through the shirt, his skin burned at her claiming. His arms tightened and his kisses became more insistent. Her head tilted back as he kissed a line down her throat. He licked the wild pulse in its hollow.
    She shivered and clutched his shoulders. “Andrew?”
    He heard her uncertainty and gentled his hold, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. “See, love? I’m a thief too, stealing kisses and pleasure.”
    “I’m trembling.”
    “I know.” He recognized her desire and it fed his own. But kisses were one thing. Seduction required consent—and that couldn’t be given while she was emotionally vulnerable. Tempted though he was.
    He kissed her black hair, then rested his cheek against it. Overhead, the seagulls called.
    It wasn’t passion his Cali had to be seduced to accept, it was tenderness.

Chapter Seven
    Cali rested against Andrew, stunned at her blazing response to his kisses. She could taste him on her lips and feel the rapid thud of his heart. She shivered at her awareness of their bodies touching, of their breathing and heartbeats settling into rhythm. She half wanted to tear herself away and dive into the cold sea, but the other half wanted to dive into him.
    His cheek moved against her hair and his arms shifted from tight need to a cherishing hold.
    The comfort further undermined her resistance. He might have stolen a kiss, but now he freely gave the gift of his embrace and she fell into it. His large body aroused and reassured her. She relaxed and let his strength support her and felt his satisfied sigh.
    Oh God, I’m relying on him. She pulled back.
    For a second he resisted.
    She panicked and dematerialized, slipping away from him.
    “Cali.” The urgent plea faded as Andrew also dematerialized.
    Shock sparked through her as his spirit body stroked along hers. It was like two clouds on the verge of merging. But where she was small and amorphous, Andrew had a shining quality and a definite shape.
    She realized he was trying to surround her, bottling her up to prevent her escaping him. It triggered centuries of sensitivity to her captivity. She lashed out, but in this form she had neither hands nor feet, nor would they have connected with Andrew’s spirit form. Instead she attacked with pure energy.
    Streaks of lightning cut at him. When he flinched, she fled.
    She rematerialized inside her bottle, wrapped her arms around herself and shook with a mix of pain and panic.
    “It’s all right, love.”
    “You can’t come in here.” It was her prison and sanctuary. “Get out.” She pushed at him, then recognized the burn across his cheek and the scorched shirt. “I hurt you.”
    “I deserved it. I scared you, chasing after you. I went too fast.”
    Her fingers hovered over the burn on his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her fingers trembled. She fisted them and spun away. “I have ointment.”
    The jar was in the bathroom and collecting it, rather than summoning it to her, gave her a few seconds of privacy in which to regain her composure. Being with Andrew undid all her hard-learned lessons of survival. He undermined her control and made her someone she didn’t know. Someone uncertain, vulnerable—
    No. I’m not vulnerable. Never again.
    The jar of ointment was on a high shelf. She stretched up. The jar was carved from rose marble, cold and heavy. She held it with two hands and walked out of the bathroom to face Andrew’s anxious gaze.
    He hadn’t moved. But his expression gave away his fears. He’d thought she might run again.
    To where? David bound them both. Andrew as his guardian angel and she as servant-djinni to his wishes. She would have to face Andrew at some point and defeat him, if she was to keep her vow to kill David. She had to remember—she and Andrew