A newly freed three-thousand-year-old genie and a widowed cop with baggage. What could go wrong?

Plenty goes wrong when Melody finally gets her wish and is freed from her lamp. With her previous master dead, Melody assumes she’s free to pick her next one.

Jerry, the cop whoís trying to help her, isn’t going for it. He tried to save his wife from cancer, and failed. Which means heís no one to depend on. And why does he get all the crazy-lady cases? He doesn’t want to run anyone’s life, even one belonging to a hot self-professed genie who insists he should be her master.

As Melody learns to become her own master, she also discovers a thing or two about friendship…and dating men. The more independence Melody gains, the more Jerry realizes being needed isnít such a bad thing, and being wanted feels downright good.

But, is Jerry too late to win Melody from a handsome firefighter?

CONTENT WARNING: Meddling coworkers, complicated bus fare and crime fighting.

A Lyrical Press Fantasy Romance

Excerpt:

“Hi, I’m Jerry Howland.” He held out his hand. “Can you tell me your name?”

The girl stared up at him with her huge eyes. Her face was streaked with tear tracks. “Billy’s dead,” she whispered.

Not foreign. Her voice had a faint accent, but not strong enough to pinpoint its origin. He lowered his hand and sat down in the chair across from her. “I’m sorry. Billy was your grandfather?”

“He was my master.”

Jerry set the file on the table. Master. That sounded bad. What would an eighty-eight year old man want with a nubile little – serving girl? He scanned the coroner’s initial report. According to it, the old man had had a really weak heart. No way was he having sex with this girl. “Do you have a name?”

The girl shivered, hugging her knees tighter. “Billy called me Melody.”

Jerry made a note on the file and made the mistake of looking up to meet her eyes. This was why men screwed up when dealing with victims. They got sucked in by the eyes and bang, they turned into big puddles of Anything I can to do make you feel better. “Do you have a last name, Miss Melody?”

“Last name?” She blinked. “My father’s name was Sallah.”

“Okay.” Jerry made another note, fighting the urge to gather her in his arms and swear to protect her against all comers. “Can you tell me how old you are?”

“I don’t know.”

How long had Welsh been keeping this girl in his closet?

“About three thousand years.”

Too long. “Okay. You need some coffee? Something to eat?” He stood. “I’ll get you some coffee and a doughnut.”

 

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