Your Wish Is His Command Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman sprawled with her face in his lap.
    Now there was an image.
    Okay, he was a sick bastard to even go there
when she had yet to move.
    “ Hello?” He wiggled his legs, but
she didn’t budge.
    A blue, no, purple butterfly flitted onto the
slice of midnight black ponytail that slid sideways from under a
veil clipped to the crown of her head. The rest of her hair fanned
an expanse of tanned skin below the half-shirt plastered to her
body.
    He looked around. The storm left few people on
the street, and those who were held their umbrellas so low they
appeared to be dueling the weather. No one was paying any attention
to the woman. Looked like it was up to him.
    “ Miss.” He tried jiggling her
shoulder. The butterfly moved, but she, sadly, didn’t. Christ, he
hoped she wasn’t seriously injured, although it’d be just his luck
if she was—mainly because bad was the only kind of luck he’d
been having lately. The Riverview project was a no-go, Jerry hadn’t
called with an update on the Baker roof, and now, thanks to the
weather, he’d have to reschedule a job that would’ve covered the
cost of the damaged materials some moron had backed over and hadn’t
ponied up the cash for yet. Yeah, definitely a shitty
day.
    Matt eased out from under the woman and
something slid off his thigh onto the sidewalk. Faceted yellow
crystal, or maybe a hunk of glass, with enough weight to do some
damage—an ornament or paperweight about the size of a walnut on
steroids. That would explain why she was out cold.
    He shoved the crystal into his pocket and
turned her face to the side. Dark lashes swept tan cheeks. Her lips
were pursed, and the rain was channeling into her mouth. Not
good.
    He put his hand on her back. She was
breathing, but her outfit was hardly appropriate for the weather.
The gauzy pants were soaked, plastering them to a pair of legs that
showed her ass wasn’t the only toned part of her and revealing
those boy-cut shorts women were into these days. Why they thought
guys liked clothing called boy-cuts on women he didn’t get,
but at least she had something on. Otherwise she’d be naked and wet
in front of him.
    He was definitely an ass for that
thought.



 
    Every wish comes with
complications…
     
    November 17, approximately 10
p.m.
     
    Samantha Blaine held her breath and rubbed the
copper lantern on the desk in her father’s office one more time. A
little harder. A little longer.
    But still… nothing.
    No smoke, no genie, not even a dust bunny. She
was being ridiculous; the thing was as much a genie lantern as
Albert, her double-crossing, soon-to-be-fiancé—make that, her
double-crossing, soon-to-be- ex -soon-to-be-fiancé—was Prince
Charming.
    Useless . Albert thought she, like this
lantern, was useless.
    “ Trust me, Henley,” he’d said
during the phone conversation she’d inadvertently overheard not ten
minutes earlier. “Daddy’s little girl is clueless. Useless. On all
fronts. Run the company? Her old man must have had another stroke
back when he had that will drawn up. She’s incapable. Inept. Hell,
she doesn’t even have a clue what I’m up to. She doesn’t have a
clue about any thing, so as soon as this memorial thing is
over, I’ll get my ring on her finger and my hands on the contents
of that safe. Then you’ll get your money.”
    Samantha flicked the edge of the letter with
the combination to the safe. Dad’s attorney had given it to her
earlier. He’d said Dad had wanted her to have it tonight during the
funeral—no, during Dad’s life celebration . That was her
father, always looking for the good in everything, but what good
had there been in opening it now, in the middle of this party, just
to retrieve a souvenir from her parents’ honeymoon? She didn’t
really want a reminder of the happily-ever-after she apparently
wasn’t going to have with Albert. Without him. Whatever.
    She traced the lantern’s curved spout,
thoroughly appreciating the irony that Albert had been