The Price of Freedom
Out of the Bottle, 1
Duty will bring them together—and tear them apart!
As a guardian angel, Mischa must protect the one man who may be able to bring about lasting peace to the Middle East. As a djinni, Rafe must fulfill the wishes of a terrorist leader. Their duties colliding, Mischa and Rafe become foes, but the heat between them is undeniable.
When the terrorist learns that a guardian angel stands between him and his greatest wish, he orders his djinni to remove her. Taking creative license, Rafe spirits her away to his private oasis, where she will be unable to protect the peacemaker.
Beyond their mutual desire, they find common ground in honor and loneliness. Passion quickly grows into love. But it’s soon clear to Rafe that love cannot be bound, and Mischa must be true to her life’s purpose. Even if Rafe must sacrifice his own taste of freedom to grant hers…
“You’re interfering,” the stranger said beside her. He stood on nothing, with the skill of an angel, keeping pace with the aircraft’s glide. His robes stirred in a wind of his own choosing, revealing then veiling his face.
Mischa looked away, up to the plane she carried. “Interference is what I do.”
If the stranger was no man, what was he?
Time flicked over to the third second.
“Are you a demon?”
“My father was.” He stretched out a hand and stroked her face.
His fingers played like flame against her skin, calling desire in a bewildering surge of feeling. She turned her head away.
“I give you my name.” He slid his fingers into her hair, twisted and gripped. He forced her to face him. “I am Rafe.”
“Let me go.” She glared into his green eyes, defying the force of his answering fierceness. He wanted her to know him.
Her mouth firmed, sealing shut.
The plane was gliding steadily with her assistance, but she’d have to land it soon—even a stretched second had limits. It would be easier without distraction.
“Give me your name.” He let go of her hair, but the slide of his hand down her face and throat and over her breasts was no release.
Her breasts were high and taut from her upraised arms. They swelled under the slow, exploratory touch. Mischa kicked out.
Rafe sidestepped. “Tell me,” he said on a breath of laughter.
She hadn’t intended to amuse him. Rage fed on the unwanted burn of desire. If he’d been a Scotsman, she’d have set fire to his kilt. As it was…a wicked smile curved her mouth. Why not? Justice meant fighting fire with fire.
A wave of her hand, and his robes went up in flames.
Published by Carina Press
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