dumping ground for spare lab equipment, textbooks, posters, small animal cages, and myriad other crap he’d collected over the years.
The Djinn regarded him uncertainly. “I’m not particularly encouraged by the way you said that.” He rolled his eyes. “Never matter. I’ll have it all sorted soon enough.” He turned, and Ben had a marvellous view of a pert backside and strong thighs. But the item that caught his attention most was the intricate tattoo curling up from beneath Daeliel’s low-slung trousers, across his back and spreading across his shoulders. It was an intricate lacing of thin branches winding around a central tree trunk. The colours of dark blue, grey, and black entwined to form an intriguing expanse of mystery across a smooth, tanned back. Ben thought he spied a large black bird—a raven, perhaps—perched on one of the branches.
“Your tattoo is incredible,” he murmured. “It looks so authentic and beautifully rendered.”
Daeliel turned and regarded him with hooded eyes. “The curse of the Djinn lives on me, and inside me. It is a thing I’d gladly relinquish.”
The genie walked out the door, and in Ben’s last glimpse of that enticing back, he was sure the raven had moved some branches.
Chapter 4
Ben woke to the sound of soft chanting, and once again, there were bloody chimes, but different from last night. Must be in the lane outside. He scowled. Had the local home store had a damned special on them, or what? It was only seven on a Saturday morning, and whoever was playing with them was an inconsiderate wanker.
He grunted and pulled his pillow over his head. Tess snored on beside him. “It’s not enough to have horses’ hooves, tractors, and bloody chatty cyclists passing by, now I’ve got some sort of Hare Krishna group outside?” he muttered. The chanting grew louder, and Ben frowned. It didn’t sound as if it were coming from outside, after all. It sounded suspiciously like someone was in the house. Downstairs in the lounge to be exact.
Unease meandered up Ben’s spine and laid insidious eggs in his brain. Surely that sexy guy from last night had been a dream, and he wasn’t still here. No, that couldn’t be. Ben must have left the TV on, and there was some sort of morning exercise routine going on.
He heaved a sigh of relief. That was it. Problem solved. He snuggled back into his duvet with a sigh. The chanting grew louder, and suddenly there was a loud crash.
“Frozen Satan on a flying pig,” a familiar voice shouted out on a snarl.
Ben couldn’t take it anymore. He bolted out of bed, pulled on his joggers—this time he wasn’t going to be showing all his bits—and dashed down the narrow stairs into the lounge. The sight that met his eyes was one he never could’ve imagined.
Daeliel lay, crumpled on the floor, his long legs twisted in a fashion Ben didn’t think was possible. He was overwhelmed by three facts.
1) Daeliel was still here.
2) He wore nothing but a tight pair of white, near see-through yoga pants.
3) A vase Ben had hated, but treasured for many years was now lying in several large pieces on the floor.
He moved over and picked up the bits. “What on earth did you do? And why the hell are you still here?”
Daeliel straightened himself out, puffing with exertion, then glared at Ben. “What part of ‘Hello. I’m a Djinn here to grant you two wishes’ do you not understand, you moronic son of a beaver? Until I grant you your wishes, I’m here to stay.”
Ben could only gape at Daeliel as he sprung off the yoga mat in one graceful move and reached for a small towel lying on the couch. The Djinn wiped the sweat from his face and flung the towel back down.
“Some clueless animal was making an infernal racket this morning, and I had no option but to leave my bed,” Daliel said waspishly. “You should shoot the damned thing.” He waved outside. “I saw it on the fence over there.”
Ben blinked at the thought of getting rid of Tricky Dicky. Christine would kill him if he did. She adored her rooster.
“That’s not happening,” he mumbled. Ben sank into the armchair and passed a hand across his eyes. “You were supposed to be a dream. Are you telling me this is all real?”
Daeliel picked up a bottle of water—Ben noticed it was the brand he bought, so it had come from his fridge—and drank thirstily. Despite his panic at being caught