Rubbing One Out - Susan Mac Nicol Page 0,38

Tess?” he wheedled. “It’s not too cold out there.” He glanced outside the window and shivered. It looks fucking freezing.

Tessa blinked at him with her big chocolate brown eyes and settled more comfortably onto the bed.

“I take it that’s a no.” Ben chuckled. “Looks like you’ll be getting up or finding a way to get back into bed with her here, babe.” He snuggled back under the duvet and Dae stared at him. The casual way Ben had said “babe” left him reeling. Dae wasn’t sure whether it had slipped out because Ben was half asleep or whether it was something else.

He left Ben and Tess sleeping as he shuffled naked to the bathroom, shut the door, and sat down on the toilet seat.

Wasn’t “babe” something people called someone in a relationship, meant for a person you truly care about? Dae knew Ben liked him—last night proved that—but oh frinx, what did it all mean?

The seat was cold under his backside so Dae stood up, took care of his business, then got into the shower. Once he’d done sprucing himself up, he went back into the bedroom. Ben was still asleep, Tess curled up next to him. Dae sighed. He’d fancied a little more hanky-panky this morning with his sexy bed-mate, but it seemed he’d been cockblocked by a dog. He scowled at Tess as he got dressed.

“Bad dog,” he said softly, because after all, he didn’t want to wake Ben. The man looked so delicious when he slept. Tess ignored him and farted. Dae wafted a hand in front of his nose. “Ye Gods, dog. That stinks. I’m out of here.”

***

Curled up in Ben’s favourite chair, a steaming cup of chamomile tea in hand, Dae contemplated his current situation. He’d been on earth for over a week and Ben didn’t seem any closer to making his wishes. He hadn’t even mentioned them, other than the unfortunate incident last night when he’d tried to send poor Rory to Puerto Rico. Dae snickered. He should be glad Ben felt that way about him, even if it was making life a little awkward emotion-wise. Dae had a feeling that was why his magic on Earth was reacting the way it was. His emotions were linked somehow and draining him of energy, more than it ever had before. Back in the lamp, and in Quimaria, there’d always been plenty of residual magic to top up on.

“What do I do?” he asked the squirrel outside, who was rooting in the grass for fallen acorns. “Do I press him to make the wishes and leave this place, or do I wait a bit longer and risk getting my heart broken again?”

Dae knew himself. He was in danger of falling hard for Ben.

Ben with the deep blue eyes, cheeky grin, and sweet soul, which took Dae’s breath away. Any man who loved animals the way Ben did couldn’t have a mean bone in his body.

The squirrel didn’t answer, and ran up a tree and disappeared. Dae watched it go with a sigh. Sooner or later he’d get subliminal messages from Lady Mage Elincia politely asking him when he was going back to Calado’r. Other people may need wishes granted. Dae wasn’t sure how long he could get away with delaying his return.

“If people don’t give me their wishes, then what am I supposed to do?” he grumbled. He sipped his tea and looked out across the meadow contemplatively. Last time, his wish recipient couldn’t wait to tell him what she wanted. Ben was stalling and while Dae now knew it was because of their connection, the time would come when he’d have to push Ben to give him his wishes.

Perhaps he could make some suggestions, get Ben on track. Heartened by the idea of channelling Ben’s secret desires, Dae settled in to read his book and wait for Ben to get up. They could spend a lazy Sunday at home, perhaps with some home-cooked food and a good bottle of wine, then—who knew?

Perhaps Dae’s unsuccessful attempt to get Ben into his clutches again could be realized to a successful conclusion.

Chapter 11

The strident ring of his mobile startled Ben out of a dream he’d been having, involving him, Dae, and a certain part of Dae’s anatomy. He rolled over and picked up his phone from the bedside table.

Beside him, Dae mumbled something that sounded like “poxy son of a troll,” then threw the duvet over his head again with a twist of his elegant arm. He’d taken