Page 8 of Rub

My heart slams up into my throat, and I narrow my eyes at him, chewing on my bottom lip. Maybe…

He studies me back, a smile playing with the edges of his lips. “You have a wish, I feel?”

I swallow. This is insanity, of course. A genie? It’s not possible. I’m in a coma somewhere. I must be. But if Iamin a coma or losing my mind, I may as well enjoy it, right?

“Can you…” I stop, a tight band wrapping around my chest.

He lowers his head down to mine, and his lips brush my temple. “Whisper what it is you want.”

My eyes flutter closed, and for a split second, what Iwantis to turn my head and taste those lips with my own. “I want,” I say, my voice barely a breath, “Jackson Maine to forget I have no formal training as a pastry chef. I wish for him to think I am the greatest pastry chef in Australia. No, the world.”

He lifts his hand, and a smile curls his lips. His dimple flashes, and his eyes glow a deep purple. “Done,” he murmurs.

And he clicks.

four

Camara flashes firein front of me, a frenzied strobe light of blinding white bursts directly in my face. “Aliana! Aliana!” Voices shout my name, also frenzied.

What the…

I stumble back a step, shielding my eyes from the assault. Where’s Kaami? What’s going on?

I get a glimpse of him standing off to the side of the… Where are we? On a freaking stage? What? Our eyes connect, and his lips curl. A part of my brain notices he’s now wearing the bluest, most chest-hugging T-shirt ever known to mankind with a pair of faded blue jeans, also snug in all the right places. The rest of my brain, however, is snagged by the jumble of excited voices calling my name and the camera flashes bursting in my eyes.

“Tells us your secret?” A woman shoves forwards out of the writhing mass of shouting people and sticks her phone in my face. “Why are your pastries so good?”

“Alright, everyone,” a firm male voice says, and a tall man steps passed Kaami and heads towards me, hands raised in the universal calm-the-fuck-down-people gesture. “Give Aliana some space.”

My stomach drops, and my breath catches. Jackson Maine.

Where the hell has Kaami brought us?

From the shadows, Kaami presses his palms together in front of his chest—damn, it’s impressive in the snug blue shirt—dips a fraction at the waist, and winks at me.

Parts of my body tighten and flutter, and maybe I should have wished for the best sex toy in the world?

An image whispers through my head… Me stretched out on purple satin sheets, my breath quick, my limbs bare, as a gorgeous man rises up over me, palms smoothing up the inner length of my thigh, sensual desire in his storm-cloud eyes as he lowers his lips to mine.

Kaami…

No, no. Enough of that.

I drill my focus onto Jackson Maine, watching him address the crowd of…of…reporters? Surely not? Customers? What has Kaami done?

Made you horny. That’s what Kaami has done.

“Oh boy,” I grind out between gritted teeth.

“What?” Jackson says, swinging his attention from the crowd to me. “Did you say something?”

I blink, shake my head, and offer him a wide smile. “Nothing. But…why… What’s…” I flick a look at the throng staring at us. Yeah, definitely a collection of reporters and other people. Oh God, is that Japher in the crowd? Glowering at me? Yes. Yes, it is.

I throw Kaami a quick look over my shoulder. He lifts one eyebrow.

What is going on? I mouth at him.

“Come, Aliana.” Jackson presses his hand to the small of my back and, beaming at me, directs me closer to the crowd. They push forward, phones thrust towards me. “This is your launch, after all. Give the people what they want.”

---