“Who the hell is singing?” Jennifer grumbled in a sleepy voice while peeling both eyelids open to find a pair of hairy legs in black boots hanging off the top bunk above her bed.
Mr. Hairy Leg’s feet moved with the rhythm of the singsong.
Why is there a man singing like a drunken sailor on my bed? More to the point, why is he in my room?
Sitting up with a sweep of the bed covers, she cleared her throat. “Hey! Excuse me! What are you doing in my room?”
“Singing, what the hell does it sound like I’m doing, woman?” The song stopped long enough for him to speak and to her annoyance, he started bellowing at the top of his lungs.
Oh please, no more singing! Oh great, he’s gone pop idol on me.
“Shut up!” She demanded with her hands clapping her ears tightly. Staring at the white bulge in the mattress above her, she groaned as the singer chuckled merrily and the horrible song started a third time. Only with this version, his wild bouncing on the bed made the metal springs ping and buckle.
Why do I get the feeling he’s going to fall on top of me?
If I kick him in the ass, maybe he’ll shut the hell up!
Kicking the covers to the foot of the bed in a temper, she waited for his downward bounce. Lifting her legs up off the mattress, she gave a mighty kick.
The surprise in his exclamation appeased the voice inside her head that suggested the evil deed.
The man’s legs spread out in a last desperate attempt to find a foothold. Before she could blink, he fell onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Tracking his fall, her eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of his outfit.
Oh my god why is he wearing a kilt? Oh, that’s not right! No underwear, that’s gross! Can only be a relative of Greg’s and they told me this was a three-man crew. Just wait till I speak to good old Dale about this!
Jerking her head in the opposite direction, she asked the all-important question. “Um, who are you?” His man grunts she ignored while trying to get out of bed in a hurry without taking the belt off.
The guy lifted a head of silky black hair that pooled around his shoulders as he tried to look in her direction. But the angle was all wrong so he rested his head on his crossed forearms. “I think introductions are a little late, woman?”
Smacking the side of the bed, she cursed under her breath. “Stupid harness,” and untied her safety belt. “Look, about your fall... I’m sorry. I have a nervous condition. It’s called waking up to annoying singing men!” She tossed her head back and forth making her hair fall around her face in waves.
“Well don’t expect an apology from me Miss Cranky Pants. If you were stuck in a fucking bottle for...” he paused as if he were thinking up an answer and added quickly. “...what year is it?”
“Um, less profanity,” she warned and opened her mouth to ask him if he was serious but he talked over her.
“2013, month, and day...?” Waving his hands at the wall in a dismissive uncaring way, he shrugged those broad shoulders of his and continued as if she wasn’t in the room with him. “Never mind, I know. Where was I...?”
Watching and waiting in silence, she stared at him. Not bothering to speak, she waited until he decided to take a moment to breathe or stopped talking for five minutes.
Snapping his fingers seemed to trigger his memory and he bellowed in an accusing tone as if she cared or even knew what he was on about to start with.
“Oh yeah‒if you were trapped in the Atlantic Ocean for five fucking hundred and twelve fucking years I’m sure you’d want to scream and shout, and I’m ecstatic to be out of there, mistress!”
Screwing her face up, she raked a hand through her hair, stopping at the use of more profanity and the word mistress. “Excuse me. Are you trying to be funny or make me mad, because you’re going about it the right way?”
The mystery guy pushed off the floor giving her another reason to kick him. His kilt fluttered open showing off a sexy backside.
Not that I’m going to tell him that little bit of news.
Groaning he confessed, “Not really, it’s not worth losing any sleep over, mistress.”
She heard the sneer in his voice and didn’t like the new title or the implications behind it.
Pointing at him, she used the same acid tone. “Look! I don’t want to see your ugly ass first thing in the morning—” She stopped as Mr. Hairy Legs wobbled to his feet. He looked like he could barely stand up.
Narrowing her eyes, she slapped her thighs out of irritation. Standing, she reached out a hand to steady him and sniffed for alcohol on his breath. “Are you drunk?”
“No! Wish I was.” He barked back at her.
“Whatever you do don’t puke in my room!” When he put both arms to steady himself she realized that maybe she kicked a little too hard. “Hey, you okay?” Trying to keep her emotions neutral, she wondered if he was hurt.
What if he sues me for grievous bodily harm?
“I’m just peachy, mistress. However, I hate water and boats! Why did it have to be another fucking boat?” Looking at her he went quiet.
She guessed he waited for her to answer as he gave her the once-over. The blessed silence didn’t last long.
“I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t like me already, so feel free to punish me at your leisure ‘cause I love a spanking. What about you mistress, do you like a little bottom smacking before you get it on with a lover?”
“WHAT?” Her voice rose with outrage at his dirty mind, not to mention the audacity of asking her such a personal question.
He lowered his beautiful eerie eyes from her face as if he could see her derrière. “I bet you’re a noisy lover, too.” Walking closer his hot turquoise eyes unsettling her. Biting his lower lip, he shook his head wildly tossing long black hair around his shoulders and asked an off the wall question. “Do you bite?” Moaning suggestively, he stopped a foot away and added, “Oh please tell me you’re a biter ‘cause nipple foreplay is one of my fortes.” Making chomping sounds with his perfect white teeth, he chuckled deeply with obvious enjoyment at her discomfort.
Hooking her hands on her hips, she let him have it. “Okay buddy, first of all, I’m not your mistress so stop calling me that.”
Inspecting the room, she wasn’t sure if he was paying attention to her. Walking around touching things with his fingers making that red and black kilt sway with each strut, the white pirate shirt made her pulse quicken as the material hugged an impressively muscular chest. To make matters worse, his handsome face heightened by a growth of whiskers with long luscious hair, made her yearn to look for golden hoops to complete the whole ‘pirate’ ensemble.
Turning to grace her with the same scrutiny, he spoke. “What would you have me call you, my pop tart? Pop tart?” Dragging in a deep sharp breath, he whistled low and long. The sudden realization, the understanding of what the word meant reflected in his gorgeous peepers. “Oh I’ve got to try one of those. You got any?”
“My name is Jennifer...” Lifting two fingers she raged on, “...you can stop being disgusting and no I don’t have any pop tarts!”
“A real shame,” his voice drifted off as his attention lowered to the floor.
Real confusion showed in her next question. “Why are you staring at my feet?” Her eyes drawn to his, she waited for some silly off the wall answer.
Before raking her body with appreciation, he answered. “I was imagining you naked with high heels.” Putting his hand under his chin, he drew an exaggerated arc with the other arm and snapped his fingers. “Damn, you give me chills and a hard-on. Want to see?” His dark eyebrows wiggled up and down in a truth or dare kind of way.
“Eww, gross!” She covered her eyes with her hands. “I’ve seen enough of your ass already without the front view thank you very much.”
Laughing caused a deep rumble from his chest that was pure male making her stomach flutter with awareness.
“So I’m to take that as a no? You sure...? I mean come on, what do you honestly think the lamp’s instructions meant?” He pressed his lips together and made kissing noises at her.
Her face paled. Turning around, the room spun as she tried to find the urn. The one that said, RUB ME.
Climbing into the twin bed, she searched every inch of it like a mad woman possessed.
It’s not here!
Scooting backward on her hands and knees...
“Nice ass you got.”
At his statement, she shot up, smacking the back of her head on the metal frame supporting the top bed. Reaching up to rub the throbbing pain away, she growled at him.
That’s it. Knock myself out so he can leer at my unconscious body.
Looking at him from under her armpit, she glared back. “Stop looking at my butt you pervert!”
Winking in return, he retaliated. “Well, don’t flaunt it in my face if you don’t want me to look at it.”
Gritting her teeth at his innuendos she wanted to smack him, “I was not shoving my butt in your face. I’m looking for the urn I found yesterday if you must know.”
Shrugging those broad shoulders encased in silk, he locked eyes with her. “For someone that doesn’t want sex talk, you sure are a teaser, pop tart. And the lamp isn’t there, in case you were wondering. Besides it’s not yours, it’s my property.”
Rising to her full height, she gave a sarcastic roll of her eyes. “So what are you supposed to be, a genie?” She gave a short mocking laugh that ended abruptly at the sincerity in his voice.
He winked again. “You got it in one go, pop tart.”
“Genies aren’t real.” She stated with her fists digging into her hips.
He rubbed his hands together before cracking his knuckles. “Okay, make a wish then and see for yourself, pop tart.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows before blowing a seductively kiss at her.
I wish he’d stop with the flirting.
“A lamp?” he reached inside with a pair of tongs to remove the piece of metal.
Lowering the charm into a pitcher of ice water, it hissed as orange steam rose from the bucket.
“I have to say I’ve never found anything but dead bugs inside the ice.” Standing, he pulled a thick red towel off the stool by the fireplace and rubbed the lamp to dry it.
Discarding the towel, Adam held the charm in the palm of his hand as he took a seat in his old rocking chair.
“There’s something written on the side...” Glasses in place, he ran his thumb over the lettering.
The charm bounced around in his hand. Jerking backward sent the rocking chair over with him and the lamp flew through the air hissing and gurgling.
“Damn it, that hurt...” he snarled. “Great‒ my glasses... where did they land this time?” Kicking the chair out of his way, he searched on hands and knees. Moving around in a circle, he caught movement out the side of his eyes.
Fingers dancing, tapping, searching for his spectacles, he nearly jumped when something hard brushed against his forehead.
“Master, are you looking for these?”
Kicking his feet against the floor, he went sailing backward on his butt. “Who’s there?” Squinting he couldn’t make out much, just blobs of color.
“Here, Master, let me aid you in standing. If you wish it, I can make you see without these.”
He pulled back as warm fingers curled around his arm. In a tug of war, he lost as his body flew up into the air before landing on the floor.
Shaking his head, he tried to focus.
“Men, such strange creatures indeed, I cannot use my powers until you command it. So wish your eyesight to return.”
“Did I hit my head on the floor?” He asked the female voice.
Laughing the voice spoke to him again.
“No, I don’t think so. Would you like me to take a look Master?”
“Yep, I hit my head for sure.” Adam replied with sarcasm.
“Why do you ask questions if you know the answer already?”
“Huh,” he paused in the middle of rubbing his head. “...are you for real?”
Looking around as if he were talking to someone else, she tilted her head sideways. “I am real, Master. Now take these or wish to see, I’d like to sit down and talk. It’s been a very long time since I spoke with another person.”
Inching forward, hands out waiting, he swallowed hard at the familiar weight of his glasses. Unfolding the earpieces, he slid the frames up onto his nose and looked up slowly.
As soon as the lenses settled over his eyes, his mouth fell open.
She’s breath taking!
“How did you get in here?” Taking in the poor state of her clothes, he scouted the room for a discarded shirt, but found nothing clean enough to be appropriate. So he fetched a blanket from his bed and wrapped her in it.
Standing, the blanket fell to the floor as she appeared next to the lamp pointing at it.
He shook his head. “No I’m not accepting that as your answer?”
She pouted, crossed arms and legs and floated into the air. “Why, do you have a better one?”
He sputtered, yanked his glasses off to wipe them clean on his shirttail before slamming them back on his face and started feeling, digging into his head, expecting to find a huge lump.
“I hit my head and you,” he stopped searching long enough to point at her then started feeling his scalp again while he carried on talking. “...aren’t here. When my brain settles, you’ll disappear like ice melting in the sun.”
“Nice answer,” she landed on the floor Indian style directly in front of him. “What’s your name?”
“Adam, Adam Carter,” he pushed the thin wire glasses back in place and stopped the bump searching. Clearly he didn’t hit his head hard enough, but he definitely knocked something loose upstairs.
Picking the rocking chair up, he dusted his hands on his backside. “Since I’m alone, I guess talking to oneself is the norm.”
“I talk to myself sometimes, Master Adam.”
He paused at her admission and blinked rapidly. “Did you just call me Master Adam?”
Nodding, she imitated his stance. One arm resting on the other to prop her chin up.
“Stop that!” he barked at her.
He watched her try to lift one dark eyebrow and make the same expression he was, but a struggle was taking place and he barely managed to keep the humor from his face.
“Why do you frown so much? You should be happy,” then she seemed to realise something as she slapped her thighs. “I guess living in a place like this; it must make a person irritable. I can give you anything your heart desires.” Placing her overlapping hands on her chest she wiggled her nose. “Wish it and it will be done, Master Adam.”