Read Online The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series) by Lyn Brittan - Free Book Online
Authors: Lyn Brittan
Tags: Urban Fantasy, paranormal romance, Western, alpha male, cowboy, witch, interracial romance, genie romance, western romance, cowboy romance, multicultural romance, interracial paranormal romance, Genie
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and a crackling fireplace, complete with a wagon wheel on the mantle. “Oh, good gracious!”
Underneath the antlers of some poor creature rested every manner of cowboy boots. This was a lesson in and of itself. Some with pointed toes, others rounded. And spurs—actual freaking spurs. Then there were the hats.
Black hats.
Brown hats.
Tan hats.
White hats.
She grabbed the largest she could find and popped it on her head. Before she could wish for a mirror, one materialized on the wall before her—right beneath the blinding display of belt buckles.
Something twinged in her chest. She’d screwed up on so many levels. But she’d woken up with a lot more hope today than yesterday. He hadn’t given up on her, and she sure as Arizona horse shit wasn’t about to give up on him.
Without warning a presence rested on her shoulder. Heavy and solid. It was every bit the sensation of being pushed out the door. Did the lamp want her gone? What was it ... what was she up to now?
Rosa held tight to the hat, wrapped her free arm around her legs, and tugged her head against her knees before wishing herself out of the lamp. Lesson learned the hard way long ago. She would wish herself inside the thing if she were close enough, even without seeing it. But the lamp always spit you out wherever it was. Top shelf, in a kitchen cabinet, wherever.
This time, though, she landed on a king-sized bed with a tray of orange juice and mango slices. Bless him. Fazil had never been one for love notes, but this counted as one in a mighty big way. She had a little of both before placing the tiny lamp on the side table and scurrying naked from the room and toward her husband.
She should have scurried a little faster. Or slower. But damn her timing. Just as she passed the top of the stairs, a group of men in cowboy hats and business suits walked from the living room to the front door. Fazil had his hand on the door, facing her.
He coughed.
One of the men followed his gaze, right to her burning red face. That guy coughed too.
In fact there were a lot of coughs and a lot of backward glances to the front door. She hoofed it down the hall, but Fazil’s laugh hit her like a two-by-four. Oh, she’d kill him.
“Honey?”
Damned if she’d answer him from her crouching position of burning humiliation at the edge of the hall.
“Rosa, baby, don’tcha wanna wish for something?”
Hmmm ... going back in time couldn’t happen. She very much doubted he’d grant allowing her to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.
Maybe.
He cleared his throat. “The longer you wait, the tougher it gets.”
Right.
Some of the men grumbled, asking Fazil what he meant, but she got it right away.
Memories were mercurial things. Terrible and exciting ones blossomed over time. The mundane ones had a tendency to burrow deep, erupting at the most inopportune of moments.
Djinn weren’t neurosurgeons. They could erase memories, but it could turn ugly fast. The less rooting around Fazil had to do, the better. She couldn’t stand the thought of driving these men to madness because of her idiocy.
After wishing the men lost the memory of her boobs flopping up and down, she spider-crawled back to the bedroom, pausing to thank the good, sweet Lord for a husband with such particular talents.
She threw a sheet around her and jetted to the window to survey the damage below. Apparently, there was none. Fazil and the men looked at maps and tablets as if nothing ever happened.
Her husband glanced in her direction, winked, and waved for her to join them. One of the men started to turn, but she dipped behind the curtain in time to avoid future embarrassment.
Seeing the men again ... rather, seeing them for the first time from their perspective, didn’t count as a fun time. But Fazil might have a good reason for it. They’d both need to know if the wish took hold.
The men were all out pointing off in various directions when she scurried down. Overly dressed in jeans,
Underneath the antlers of some poor creature rested every manner of cowboy boots. This was a lesson in and of itself. Some with pointed toes, others rounded. And spurs—actual freaking spurs. Then there were the hats.
Black hats.
Brown hats.
Tan hats.
White hats.
She grabbed the largest she could find and popped it on her head. Before she could wish for a mirror, one materialized on the wall before her—right beneath the blinding display of belt buckles.
Something twinged in her chest. She’d screwed up on so many levels. But she’d woken up with a lot more hope today than yesterday. He hadn’t given up on her, and she sure as Arizona horse shit wasn’t about to give up on him.
Without warning a presence rested on her shoulder. Heavy and solid. It was every bit the sensation of being pushed out the door. Did the lamp want her gone? What was it ... what was she up to now?
Rosa held tight to the hat, wrapped her free arm around her legs, and tugged her head against her knees before wishing herself out of the lamp. Lesson learned the hard way long ago. She would wish herself inside the thing if she were close enough, even without seeing it. But the lamp always spit you out wherever it was. Top shelf, in a kitchen cabinet, wherever.
This time, though, she landed on a king-sized bed with a tray of orange juice and mango slices. Bless him. Fazil had never been one for love notes, but this counted as one in a mighty big way. She had a little of both before placing the tiny lamp on the side table and scurrying naked from the room and toward her husband.
She should have scurried a little faster. Or slower. But damn her timing. Just as she passed the top of the stairs, a group of men in cowboy hats and business suits walked from the living room to the front door. Fazil had his hand on the door, facing her.
He coughed.
One of the men followed his gaze, right to her burning red face. That guy coughed too.
In fact there were a lot of coughs and a lot of backward glances to the front door. She hoofed it down the hall, but Fazil’s laugh hit her like a two-by-four. Oh, she’d kill him.
“Honey?”
Damned if she’d answer him from her crouching position of burning humiliation at the edge of the hall.
“Rosa, baby, don’tcha wanna wish for something?”
Hmmm ... going back in time couldn’t happen. She very much doubted he’d grant allowing her to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.
Maybe.
He cleared his throat. “The longer you wait, the tougher it gets.”
Right.
Some of the men grumbled, asking Fazil what he meant, but she got it right away.
Memories were mercurial things. Terrible and exciting ones blossomed over time. The mundane ones had a tendency to burrow deep, erupting at the most inopportune of moments.
Djinn weren’t neurosurgeons. They could erase memories, but it could turn ugly fast. The less rooting around Fazil had to do, the better. She couldn’t stand the thought of driving these men to madness because of her idiocy.
After wishing the men lost the memory of her boobs flopping up and down, she spider-crawled back to the bedroom, pausing to thank the good, sweet Lord for a husband with such particular talents.
She threw a sheet around her and jetted to the window to survey the damage below. Apparently, there was none. Fazil and the men looked at maps and tablets as if nothing ever happened.
Her husband glanced in her direction, winked, and waved for her to join them. One of the men started to turn, but she dipped behind the curtain in time to avoid future embarrassment.
Seeing the men again ... rather, seeing them for the first time from their perspective, didn’t count as a fun time. But Fazil might have a good reason for it. They’d both need to know if the wish took hold.
The men were all out pointing off in various directions when she scurried down. Overly dressed in jeans,
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