Magic Gone Wild by Judi Fennell

through a lawn seared dry by the summer sun.
    He didn’t have a choice. He tilted her chin up. “Close your eyes.”
    “But—”
    “Close them, Vana.”
    She did.
    “Now, what do you want to do?”
    “I want to put out the fires.”
    “Okay. So kiss me.”
    Her eyes flew open and he put a finger on her lips. “Close your eyes, say what you want to do, then kiss me.”
    It worked beautifully. In so many ways.
    “Well, well,” cackled Merlin. “Looks like ol’ Zane here has figured out the key to your magic and a way to get himself some.”
    “You, bird, are foul.” If he were in range, Zane would throw the phoenix for a line drive right into the row of hedges.
    “Oh sure, you get to make jokes. Of course I’m fowl.” Merlin held up his wings. “Duh.”
    “Not amusing.”
    Merlin flung his wings down. “I give up.” And with that, he disappeared in a burst of flames.
    Which Zane had to swat to keep them from igniting the trellis.
    “It worked, didn’t it?” Vana hunched her shoulders.
    “Yes. Both fires are out.”
    The one she’d ignited inside of him, however, was still raging. Fast, hot, furious. Which made no sense, considering what she was.
    Or maybe it did…
    “Vana, did you put a spell on me?”
    “A spell?” She nibbled her bottom lip again. “I don’t do spells. Only witches and warlocks and the occasional gypsy do. Genies don’t need spells. Our magic comes organically from us. As easy as breathing.”
    Or kissing— not that he needed the reminder.
    “Zane? Are you okay?”
    No, he wasn’t, but he grumbled a “yeah” anyway. He’d wanted to blame it on her magic but couldn’t. And he really didn’t need the complication of a woman right now. Especially her.
    And then she licked her lips. Again.
    He spun around and headed to a nearby garden shed. Good, old-fashioned manual labor was the perfect way to work off frustration. He rummaged through the assorted tools and grabbed two shovels, a rake, and an ax.
    On second thought, he put the ax back. Her magic was dangerous enough.
    As was the shovel she almost brained him with when she rested it on her shoulder to head to the garden.
    Everything about Vana was dangerous: the way she affected him, the magic she couldn’t control, and the threat of what the press would do if they ever found out about her. He’d be labeled a laughingstock, insane, or a fraud, none of which would help contract talks.
    He dug into the mess of brambles, figuring the concentration he’d need to keep the thorns from drawing blood would keep him from thinking about her, but every little grunt she made while digging, every puff of breath when she flung the dirt, every “ouch!” when a thorn snagged her was as loud as a ref’s whistle, and he found himself watching her more rather than less.
    Maybe he should just put her back in her bottle, stop it up, and store it in a safe deposit box for his heirs to open in another hundred years or so.
    Or, better yet, toss it into the ocean so it could wash up on a beach somewhere and turn someone else’s world upside down because, on top of everything else going on in his life, the last thing he needed was to not be able to stop thinking about an inept and utterly adorable do-good genie who could twist his life inside out with just a twist of her lips.
    Literally and figuratively.
    ***
    Gary shoved the mail into the hall drawer. Bills and more bills. A letter from the bitch’s attorney. All shit he didn’t feel like dealing with at the moment.
    He dropped his keys onto the table and yanked off his tie. He was done stomping for votes for the day, an activity on par with dealing with Lynda’s attorney.
    He popped the cap off a beer from the fridge, stretched out in his recliner, and turned on a sports show. The commentators were discussing the local college’s upcoming season. He’d been halfway through his first season of college ball when Lynda had shown up with the news of the pregnancy.
    To this day, he still