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But no warm, hard body pressed against her now. She rolled over and saw no sign of Zurvan. Her heart thudded like a drum as panic and a disturbing sense of abandonment skittered through her.
“Zurvan?”
“I am here.”
She glanced around to see him setting a basket of pastries and buns on a round table by the window. Relief washed through her.
“I thought you would like some breakfast. I have made your favourite. Eggs Benedict.”
The sunlight rippled across his long black hair as he turned to face her. He wore snug black jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his well-developed muscles. The sight took her breath away. He looked like he belonged in her world. No one would guess from looking at him that he was a three-thousand-year-old genie.
The magnetic pull of his masculinity brought a warm tingle to her depths. She wanted to throw back the sheets and run to him, throw her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless.
She sat up and hugged her knees. “You look quite different.”
“I thought you might be more comfortable with me if I wore clothes from your era. Now, come join me for breakfast.” He pulled out a chair and a sensuous smile curled his lips.
Aware of her nakedness under the sheets, she hesitated.
“Well, I would if I had something to wear. I don’t want to eat wrapped in a sheet.”
His eyes twinkled and his grin turned wicked.
“Then why don’t you leave the sheet behind?”
She reacted immediately to the pure masculine interest in his dark gaze, her heart thumping like a wild thing trapped within her chest. She blushed a little, but grinned.
“Because then I wouldn’t get any breakfast.”
He laughed, a loud, rumbling, joyful sound. Her smile bloomed brighter.
“All right. What would you like to wear?”
“A T-shirt and jeans would be fine.”
He raised his hand, presumably to work his magic.
“Wait. This isn’t a wish, is it?”
“No. The food, the clothing, these things I give you of my own choosing.”
A crimson T-shirt and blue jeans appeared on the bed beside her. She lifted up the T-shirt, beautiful with its tone-on-tone embroidery and delicately scalloped sweetheart neckline. She pursed her lips.
“Zurvan, there’s no underwear here.”
A brief, black thong appeared. She raised her eyebrows and stared at him dubiously, but decided to say nothing about it.
“What about a bra?”
“You don’t need a bra. Your breasts are firm and beautiful. It would be a shame to trap them inside a brassiere.”
The heat of his sultry gaze rested briefly on the swell of her breasts above the sheets and a rush of warmth flashed over her. She touched the soft fabric of the T-shirt and knew that every detail of her nipples would be outlined by the thin cotton, especially in their current pebbled state.
“I would like a bra.”
He sat on the bed beside her and reached for her. She thought he was going to kiss her, but his hands cupped her breasts through the sheets. Her nipples welcomed his warmth by puckering to hardness.
“What are you doing?”
