One Wish Read online

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  Red Sage Publishing

  www.eredsage.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Calista Fox

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  One Wish

  To My Reader:

  Prologue

  One Wish: Chapter 1

  One Wish: Chapter 2

  One Wish: Chapter 3

  One Wish: Chapter 4

  One Wish: Chapter 5

  One Wish: Chapter 6

  One Wish: Chapter 7

  One Wish: Chapter 8

  About the Author

  Red Sage Publishing

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  An eRedSage Publishing Publication

  This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the authors imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden.

  Information:

  Red Sage Publishing, Inc. * P.O. Box 4844 * Seminole, FL 33775

  * eRedSage.com

  One Wish

  An eRed Sage Publication * All Rights Reserved * Copyright (c) 2007

  eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web: www.eRedSage.com

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-136-3 1-60310-136-5 One Wish Adobe PDF

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-137-0 1-60310-137-3 One Wish MobiPocket

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-138-7 1-60310-138-1 One Wish MS Reader

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-139-4 1-60310-139-X One Wish HTML

  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders

  of the individual works as follows:

  One Wish (c) 2007 By Calista Fox

  Cover (c) 2007 by Rae Monet, Inc.

  One Wish

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  by Calista Fox

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  To My Reader:

  At a barbecue last year, my parents introduced me to this little delicacy called a “Wickle.” It's a spicy pickle, and my dad loves them. So I thought it would be fun to take the concept of the Wickle a step further and add a magic ingredient to it-tequila. When a feisty genie samples the creation, she's willing to grant any wish in exchange for more! And, as it happens, lovelorn Jillian Anderson is in desperate need of a few wishes-or miracles-when it comes to too-hot-to-handle Luke Parsons. I hope you find Jillian and Luke's romance, helped along by a mischievous genie hopped up on Wickles, a delicious treat!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prologue

  "Oh, Goddamn it,” Jillian Anderson muttered as she balanced precariously on the platform of the short step-ladder that stood open before the tall wire rack in her storage room. The ancient-looking clay pot her Aunt Fae had bought at a garage sale several years ago teetered on the edge of the shelf it sat on for just a moment before it toppled over and crashed to the Saltillo-tiled floor.

  Jillian's hands were wrapped around a three-pound jar of Wickles-a local phenomenon that was essentially spicy, peppered pickles. Thus, she was unable to stop the fat pot from falling when she'd accidentally bumped it with her elbow. What the decrepit monstrosity was doing in the storage room of The Old Age Saloon was beyond Jillian. Aunt Fae was forever snatching up what she called antiques-though, really, it was all just old crap-and she stashed her wares in the damnedest places.

  As Jillian removed the Wickles from the top shelf and carefully negotiated her way down the step-ladder, her gaze dropped to the mess on the floor of the storage room. A small heap of fine, dark blue powder was peppered with sharp, jagged pieces of brick-red clay.

  "Nice,” she whispered. “As if I have time for this.” She jumped off the bottom rung and her foot came down on a broken piece of clay, which pierced the worn sole of her flip flops and stabbed her little toe. The prick wasn't bad, but it took her by surprise. So much so that her grip on the large jar loosened and the Wickles slipped between her sweaty palms and fell to the floor, meeting the same fate as the clay pot.

  Jillian let out a small cry as she leapt out of the way, but the Wickles, which Jillian added her own magical ingredient to-tequila-splashed her jean-clad legs nonetheless.

  "Oh, for the love of God,” she muttered, knowing she'd reek to high heaven the rest of the night. She shook her head and inquired of no one in particular, “Can this day get any worse?"

  Disgusted with her string of bad luck of late, she marched to the door. Jillian knew she'd have to find time later to tend to the mess she'd left behind, which now made a peculiar sizzling sound as the green-tinted juice from the spiked pickles seeped toward the dust from the broken pot and mixed together to form a strange paste that would no doubt be a bitch to clean up later when it clung to the tiled floor.

  "Just what I need,” she mumbled as she passed under the doorway. “Whatever happened to the eternal bliss Uncle Pete promised when he bequeathed this shit hole to me? I keep wishing for it,” she said as her hands flapped in the air. “But no. All I get is one disaster after another."

  She slammed the door behind her and stalked down the narrow hallway. But Jillian pulled up short when she stepped through the archway that opened to the bar her beloved uncle had left her.

  Her mood instantly changed as she gazed out at the roomful of familiar, friendly faces. Laughter met her ears and a smile touched her lips, despite her previously surly disposition.

  Jillian loved The Old Age Saloon and the regulars who frequented it. They were family. The only family she had left, besides Aunt Fae.

  Bill Clayton sat on his usual stool at the end of the bar, entertaining a pretty brunette sitting next to him with the outrageous tale of his latest UFO sighting. His wallet always seemed to go missing a couple of days before payday, but he never failed to eventually make good on his tab. And Maria Castillo, who'd raised nine children, had no one left to cook for at home, so when she stopped in for a margarita, she always brought enough taquitos and flan to share with her friends.

  Admittedly, Jillian loved this place. But she was in desperate need of turning the money pit that was the Old Age Saloon into a profitable bar before it officially bankrupted her. She didn't have the luxury of dwelling on what was actually lacking from her life. A real family. Love.

  She kept her deepest desires and endless longing to herself, tucking them away in the far recesses of her mind.

  Someday, all of her wishes would come true. She'd have a successful career and her own family.

  Someday she'd find that eternal bliss Uncle Pete had promised her before he departed this earth.

  Someday...

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  One Wish: Chapter 1

  "Some men should come with a warning sign,” Jessica Leighton said with a long-suffering sigh.

  Jillian grinned, not needing to lift her gaze from the beer tap before her to know Luke Parsons had just entered the saloon. Jess propped her hip against the bar as she waited for Jillian to fill her drink order. Jillian cracked the tap, letting the frothy liquid flow into the glass pitcher she held underneath it.

  "Just a small, discreetly placed tattoo,” Jess added. “That says something like ‘Caution: Contents Under Fire.’”


  "How about ‘Warning: Too Hot To Handle'?"

  Jess laughed. “Yeah. That'd work."

  The beer reached the rim so Jillian closed the tap and set the pitcher on the bar for Jess to deliver. Only then did her gaze slide to the tall, hot and hunky man who made the rounds, greeting fellow patrons.

  Dressed in a muscle-hugging T-shirt in a deep shade of navy blue and faded Levi's that had conformed to his body years ago but still accentuated his powerful thighs, the bulge behind the button fly, and an ass that made mouths water, he was a sight to behold.

  Jillian's stomach did a curious little flip, despite the fact that warning signals went off in her head. Jillian knew the dangers of playing with fire. Luke really was too hot to handle. The man needed more than a “discreetly placed tattoo.” He was the type who ought to come with a loud siren and flashing red lights.

  Danger, danger! The voice in her head screamed.

  For the moment, Jillian ignored it.

  If one could get past Luke's ruggedly handsome face and perfectly sculpted body, there was still that lazy, half-assed grin that ignited internal infernos. His smile alone could make a woman instantly wet. Too, his ocean blue eyes, which complemented his tanned skin and sandy brown hair, could bore so deeply into a woman's soul, she'd swear they were destined to be together.

  Forever.

  But Luke Parsons didn't do forever.

  And Jillian knew it.

  For Luke, it probably took no more encouragement than a wink and a nod on his part to land a beautiful, buxom bed-mate, or an amorous afternoon romp. She knew from personal experience that a one-night stand was too much commitment for Luke Parsons.

  Admittedly, she'd never seen him flirt with anyone other than her. But consider ing his bad boy ways, which could be lethal to a girl's heart, Jillian suspected he had a bevy of beauties vying for his attention. And no doubt, he'd left a string of broken hearts in his wake over the years.

  Jillian's was well-protected, but not one hundred percent off limits to Luke. Sometimes, he managed to scale the wall she'd erected around her heart. Usually it happened when they were in bed, where Luke had the uncanny ability to promise the moon and the stars-and make her believe in everything he had to offer at the time. Of course, he always delivered on his promises of erotic bliss. Usually with the kind of gusto that left a girl-okay, Jillian-wanting more, more, more. But when the sun rose, life went on ... and Luke moved on.

  To his credit, he didn't leave her bed for another woman's after they'd shared a hot, steamy evening together. No, after a night with Jillian, Luke typically left town on assignment, which wasn't a whole lot better than leaving her for another woman. She didn't just push him into the arms of another-she pushed him right on out of town.

  Jillian frowned at that thought. She'd never really given much consideration to it, but now that she thought about it ... Shit. Was she the reason Luke was rarely ever in town?

  Sure, he was a renowned photographer and his work took him out of the small community of Sedona, Arizona, for weeks or months at a time. But did he purposely go after a night with her?

  Oh my God!

  How utterly humiliating!

  Jillian's eyes narrowed on the Cassanova who slid onto the only empty barstool left. It happened to be positioned right in front of her. Competing with a bevy of beauties would be infinitely more dignified than losing Luke to a herd of wild mustangs, which he had a penchant for photographing. Sure, National Geographic bought his pictures and he had his own national bestselling book, but still...

  It was incredibly frustrating to have the hottest night of your life followed by a quick kiss on the forehead and a nonchalant, “Gotta run, babe. There's a herd in Montana to photograph."

  Nine times out of ten-or maybe they were up to ten out of eleven?-a groggy, sleepy Jillian would utter, “What the fuck?” just as the door closed behind Luke.

  Thus, she knew better than to get tangled up with him, in or out of bed.

  And yet...

  There was a certain tingle of excitement that shimmied up her spine whenever Luke sauntered through the door of The Old Age Saloon.

  And with that thought, her frown disappeared.

  There was no getting over her infatuation with the man, which was obvious.

  Still, Jillian didn't like to think of herself as foolish or easy. After all, Aunt Fae had done her damnedest to raise Jillian right. Fae had forever spouted pearls of wisdom-mostly clichéd pearls, but they were invaluable, nonetheless-about living right.

  Treat others the way you want to be treated, girlie. And be careful what you wish for...

  Unfortunately, Jillian hadn't always taken Fae's advice to heart-sometimes to her own detriment. Hadn't she wished, at the tender age of fifteen, for a dreamboat like Luke Parsons to come to Sedona and liven up the sleepy town?

  And voila. Not more than two days later, he'd shown up in school-in her third period Algebra class. And Lord how he'd shaken things up!

  Jillian's life had never been the same.

  Some days were better than others, of course. From time to time, she found herself idiotically pining over him, which could be painful when she let her melancholy get the best of her. To that point, Fae had also taught Jillian that affairs of the heart were much too dangerous to be taken lightly. She'd warned her about guys like Luke. And Jillian, for the most part, had heeded those warnings.

  But not always...

  "You're looking exceptionally hot today, Jilly,” he said, cutting into her all-too-preoccupied mind. Luke still used her childhood nickname and Jillian had to remind herself time and time again that it wasn't his own particular term of endearment. It was just an old habit he'd never broken.

  A habit as unbreakable as his free-spirit. He was as carefree and wild as the mustangs he photographed. No woman would ever tie Luke down. No woman would ever claim him as her own. Yet many would try, despite their better judgment. Luke was just that irresistible. That sexually potent. That desirable.

  "It's a hundred and two outside, Luke. I believe they call this a heat wave. So, yeah, I'm exceptionally hot today."

  The corners of Luke's tempting mouth twitched. “Never could take a compliment,” he mused as he reached for a napkin. He spun it absently on the deeply scarred wooden bar before him and then said, “Gimme something different today, sweetheart."

  She could remain immune to his deep, intimate voice and his cocky demeanor if she forced herself to concentrate on something else. So Jillian turned away and surveyed the multitude of bottles sitting on the glass shelves before her, thinking about what drink to serve Luke, rather than the fact that she wanted very much to fall into bed with him again.

  Because that was all bad and wrong.

  And they were ancient history, anyway. No need to repeat her past mistake. Or rather ... mistakes. Jillian had succumbed to Luke's wicked charm and talented hands a few too many times since they'd graduated high school nearly seven years ago.

  Planting her hands on her jean-clad hips, she contemplated what clever concoction she'd whip up for him. Mostly, he liked beer. As long it was cold and fully loaded-no watered-down, light beer for this guy-he was generally pretty happy. But every now and then, he got a wild hair and wanted her to make him something exotic.

  Not a problem, except ... usually when Luke was looking for something exotic, it didn't stop with a drink.

  With that one thought, a prickly sensation teased her at that oversensitive spot between her legs that really hadn't seen enough action lately to be immune to Luke's seductive grin.

  In truth, Jillian hadn't had sex in nearly a year. Not since that last time with Luke when she'd sworn to herself the morning afterward that she would never, ever fall prey to him again.

  Yeah, right.

  Suppressing a grin-because she knew how ridiculous it sounded to say she'd never succumb to Luke again-she reached for a bottle of Chivas and splashed a healthy amount over a glass with ice. She turned back to Luke, who eyed her curiously. His
beautiful blue irises glowed seductively in the soft light that filled the small saloon.

  "That's not making me a drink, sweetheart. That's pouring me one."

  She nonchalantly lifted a bare shoulder, feigning disinterest. “I'm busy. I don't have time to create special drinks for you today, Luke."

  Absently, she brushed strands of light brown hair from her cheek and forehead. The long locks had escaped her high ponytail while she'd worked the room earlier, keeping everyone's glass full. Her pale pink lace tank top had splashes of beer on it, and her low-rise jeans were streaked with sweat from her palms.

  Damn, it was hot in here. And getting hotter every second.

  She turned away from Luke again and marched over to the far wall to inspect the thermostat. The dial on the old-school, round, faux-gold-coated fixture read eighty-seven.

  Jillian frowned. Were it not for the two ceiling fans working double-time, and the half-dozen oscillating fans she'd set up earlier, the bar would be unbearable. At least a slight breeze swept through the place because of the fans. But the A/C wasn't keeping up its end of the bargain, which meant she'd have to get her on-call handyman in to look at the unit. Another invoice she'd agonize over reconciling.

  Considering this heat wave seemed inclined to stick around, though, she had no choice. This summer would be a real scorcher, according to the local weatherman.

  Returning to her post behind the bar, she found Luke frowning at her in that little boy way that made her insides tighten. If the corners of his mouth dipped just a fraction more, morphing into that sexy pout she'd loved since junior high, she'd be a goner.

  Clearly, he didn't like that her attention was elsewhere today.

  "I thought you were going to hire another bartender so you weren't working all the damned time,” he said.

  "That's the plan. If I ever find the time to interview somebody.” How ironic, she thought.

  Luke dragged a hand down his clean-shaven face, then ran it along to the back of his neck, which he rubbed for a minute. Jillian was mesmerized by his movements, finding it damn near impossible to tear her eyes away. Or think of anything besides Luke's hands on her body.