Spellbound (5 page)

His cock throbbed hotly at the thought, but Nick deliberately released himself and headed for the shower. Anticipation would only make it that much better.

As he showered and dressed and waited for the clock to tick over, a strange melancholy settled over him. He had no rational explanation as to why he pulled out an old blues album and put it on, listening with a heavy heart to the raspy vocalist sing of lost love and broken hearts.

By the time he was climbing the stairs between his floor and Belle’s, Nick couldn’t have felt any lower. Maybe he needed a therapist or something, because so far his weekend had been pretty great and only looked like getting better. Yet instead of the excitement he expected, it was as if he were going to his mother’s funeral.

Halfway up the stairs he paused, and the cloud dogging him lifted. Sunshine streamed through the small stairwell window and lit up the dusty space. It was going to be a great day, Nick was suddenly sure of it. He took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

But then, as he opened the door to the hallway outside Belle’s apartment, the shadows returned. He stopped for a moment, hoping to recapture the sunny feeling, but it eluded him.

He only made it a few steps into the hallway before he realised he couldn’t take another step. It was like walking through thick swamp, a murk that surrounded both his body and mind.

Nick was a take-charge kind of guy. He was decisive, authoritative, and good in a crisis. This crippling feeling was pathetic, and he snorted with disgust at himself.

Filled with the certainty that Belle didn’t want to see him, Nick turned and went back down to his apartment, where he put on the blues album again and sat down to eat three bowls of ice cream.

He didn’t even
like
ice cream.

Belle’s week went much like every other week – busy, tiring, but mostly satisfying. She’d worked late to meet a pitch deadline on Monday night, which the agency had then gone on to win. Her team celebrated their success with a night out after work on Wednesday. In the bar she’d thought she’d seen Nick, so she’d quickly made her excuses and run home – still completely unready to face him.

Her thighs and butt ached from the six-storey stair climb each morning and evening, but it was good exercise. And no matter how hard it was, it was still easier than the potential mortification of running into Nick in the lift.

Aunt Gertrude hadn’t appeared again, and there’d been no further news of anything to do with her phantom lover, so Belle was trying to put the whole thing behind her.

But as she was heading home on Friday night the familiar feelings of dejection and loneliness returned. The weekend stretched out in front of her. All her married and paired-up friends were busy. Her two best friends, Larissa and Beatrice – both single – had asked her to come to a cocktail bar to see who they could meet, but Belle just knew she’d be ignored, like always, and couldn’t bring herself to work up the courage for it.

Instead, she’d been to the supermarket and bought gourmet food, hired some romantic comedy DVDs and spent far too much money on a stack of romance novels. The city’s weather seemed to be conspiring with her – the forecast was for a cold, drizzly weekend, best spent cuddled up inside.

Determined not to feel sorry for herself, Belle settled in for an indulgent weekend.

Meanwhile Nick was still carefully negotiating the Friday night rush hour on his motorbike. The leathers and his helmet protected him from the worst of the icy rain but he was more than ready to get home, dry off and grab a beer. It had been an exhausting week – one of his major projects had hit a snag and although he didn’t usually spend much time on building sites, this week he’d had to be on site supervising a lot of details to keep the client happy. It wasn’t a great hardship – as much as Nick enjoyed the drafting work that was the main component of his job as an architect, there was something extremely satisfying about seeing the drawings come to life. Being on site also satisfied his need to do something physical – especially when that need wasn’t currently being satisfied anywhere else.

Memories of his encounter with Belle the weekend before still managed to arouse him at the most inconvenient moments. And the bizarre events of Sunday morning still puzzled and annoyed him.

Belle.

What was it about her?

He was royally pissed off with himself every time he remembered that he’d stood her up. Nick couldn’t say he had a one hundred percent clean conscience when it came to the way he’d treated women in his life, but he’d tried hard to be a gentleman. He didn’t play games and he didn’t lead anyone on. But he never stood someone up. In his books, that was inexcusable.

He’d gone back up to her apartment on Monday night, a lying excuse and apology ready at hand, but she hadn’t been home. He’d tried again on Wednesday, but she wasn’t home again, and by then it had really been too late.

Maybe he’d try again over the weekend.

Maybe not.

An arrow of icy water snuck in under his helmet and trickled down his back. Holding back a shiver, Nick gunned the bike, keener than ever to get home.

Something flashed in of the corner of his eye. And then, just a few metres ahead, the door of a parked car flew open.

He was on a narrow street; the road wet and slippery. A huge truck dominated the lane on his right; there was a car directly behind him. There was no space for a motorbike between the open door and the truck.

He had only a split second to react.

Pulling on his brakes and twisting the handlebars, he steered around the car door. His knee just clipped it and, to his right, his bike’s mirror scraped the side of the truck.

It was over in the blink of an eye, and Nick’s relief was such that he couldn’t begin to ponder the impossibility of it all. Clever riding, he put it down to. Somehow that masterful bit of manoeuvring had saved him from a very sticky end.

He twisted again, pulling the bike off the road and coming to a stop a few metres down from the parked car. Taking in a shuddering breath, he whipped off his helmet and strode back to the careless motorist, prepared to give them a piece of his mind.

‘What the hell do you think —’ Nick halted at the vision in front of him. A short, rotund woman, almost as wide as she was tall, waddled over to him, closing the door she’d flung open in his path with as cavalier an attitude as she’d no doubt opened it.

‘Young man! Do you realise you could have hit me?’ she called out, pointing an accusing finger at him. Even over the sound of the traffic, Nick could hear the clinking and clanking of the jewels and beads she wore. Her red and blue paisley muumuu was topped with a pink knitted scarf and day-glo-orange raincoat, making her almost eye-wateringly bright against the rainy evening gloom.

‘Did you even look before you opened that door?’ Nick asked. His anger had begun to evaporate a little – it was difficult to be irate at a woman who looked like an oversized carnival version of Yoda.

She stepped close to him, peering up from underneath her frown. She smelled like incense and cookies and Nick had the strange impression he knew her somehow. Where from? His memory wouldn’t cooperate.

‘You weren’t paying attention,’ she scolded.

Nick didn’t flinch, but he realised she was probably right.

She shook her head. ‘Silly boy. You do have the power, you know. Not enough to bring you to my academy, but it’s there nonetheless. No wonder she likes you.’

‘Huh?’

The old woman rolled her eyes. ‘It’s always such a shame when I have to resort to this,’ she muttered under her breath.

Nick was just raising his helmet to put it back on, thinking it was time he got away from this batty woman before she started blaming her senility on the near accident that had been entirely her fault, when she dramatically pressed a hand against her forehead. She swayed wildly, and Nick automatically reached out to steady her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

‘Oh my dear boy, I am cursed with the sight!’ she moaned. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye as if to ensure he was paying attention. ‘Spirit has sent a message for you through me!’

‘
What?
’ Nick glanced around to see if he could spot any hidden cameras. Surely in a moment someone was going to leap out and yell, ‘Gotcha!’

‘
She
is the witch, but
you
have to show her how the magic works,’ the woman said theatrically.

‘Who’s a witch?’ Nick asked, not sure why he was even entertaining the conversation.

‘The beauty you dream of. Your belle.’

That gave Nick a start.
Belle? His
Belle?

‘Yes, that Belle, you idiot,’ the woman muttered. She straightened up, pushing herself out of Nick’s embrace. ‘Nice arms, by the way,’ she said, giving his biceps a pat.

Nick was too stunned to respond.

‘Belle is imprisoned in her tower and must be rescued. The green crystal holds the cure. You alone can break the enchantment.’

‘Green crystal?’ he echoed.

‘Yes, the green crystal is the cure. Now, go, hurry!’

Nick stood there, his helmet still hanging from one hand by his side. It was all a little too much to take in.

A poke in the chest broke him from his frozen state and he looked down to find a pink bamboo cane pointing at his sternum.

‘Get a move on, boy. Honestly, not too bright, are you? I thought she’d have better taste. Anyhoo. Off you trot.’

Nick shook his head. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked, suddenly desperate to get away from the eccentric old woman, but his gentlemanly nature made him stick around until he was sure she was okay.

‘Pish.’ She was already walking away, and waggled her fingers at him over her shoulder in the ultimate dismissal.

Completely mystified, Nick mounted his bike again and rode home slowly and carefully. His mind whirled and he paid little attention to the cold rivulets of water that ran down his back.

When he reached home he pulled over and stared up at the old building. As usual, a handful of
For Sale
signs littered the front – he really couldn’t understand why there was such a high turnover of residents in what had to be one of the city’s most amazing buildings. In its heyday, it had been home to some of the city’s most rich and famous families. Then in the sixties it had been subdivided into tiny rooms to serve as a boarding house and had slid into disrepair. For a while, it’d even become a far too glamorous warehouse – that was when the clunky freight elevator had been installed. Then, a few years ago a sympathetic developer had converted it into several apartments and restored its facade to its former glory – Nick was still amazed that it hadn’t been bulldozed for a high-rise like the other places that surrounded it. It was a great conversion – the basement had become a car park and the apartments held all the usual mod cons – but the essence of the old place had been retained. Nick was as fond of the ornate building as only an architect could be.

Suddenly the lights went on in the top-floor windows. Belle’s apartment.

A shadow crossed one of them and then he could see her, silhouetted against the light, looking out over the city. She was standing in the corner window, in one of the little rounded turret-style confections that graced the quirky building.

Belle was sad. Nick had no way of knowing that – he couldn’t see her face at all – but somehow he could feel it.

Imprisoned in her tower
. The words of the weirdo psychic whispered through his mind.

The woman was a nutter. Certifiable. No point taking anything she said to heart.

Talk of witches and magic. Nonsense. It reminded him of that strange cousin of his father’s, the one who’d stopped being invited to family functions because of her unfortunate habit of predicting who at the party would be next to die. It was something they all could have laughed off if she hadn’t been unfailingly accurate.

Why then did he have a desperate urge to race up there and rescue Belle? Suppressing a ridiculous and potentially fatal impulse to run for the fire escape and start climbing, Nick steered his bike for the basement. He’d go in, get changed, and then go visit Belle. Not for any magical or fairytale reasons. Just to make sure she was okay.

‘Aunt Gertrude, I’m in no mood for another lecture,’ Belle called out grumpily as she headed to the door to answer the knock that had interrupted her romantic comedy. ‘And it’s about time you stopped using me as a substitute supermarket,’ she added as she opened the door.

All her breath left her at once.

‘Hi, Belle.’

Belle blinked slowly, but he didn’t go away. ‘Hi, Nick.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment, which was just as well – it gave Belle time to soak in his presence. He wore jeans, well fitting and worn at the knees. His casual blue shirt was a little rumpled and rolled up at the sleeves. It looked like he’d been caught in the rain, because his hair was damp and tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it multiple times. Today, because it was Friday, he was clean-shaven. And he still bewitched her with that delicious scent, although right now he smelled more like he did when he’d come in from a run – a faint whiff of fresh, masculine sweat that only made him all the more hypnotising.

‘Did you need something?’ she said in a rush. ‘Is everything okay? Is there water leaking? Is my TV too loud? Is the building on fire?’ They were the only reasons Belle could come up with as to why Nick Marchetti would be on her doorstep. Apart from the stolen photo, of course. But that was still safely hidden away in the drawer of her bedside table. She hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to find a way to return it.

He shook his head. ‘No, none of those.’

Belle’s already fluttering stomach took a tumble, but she told herself to rein in her excitement.

His lips parted to speak again, but no words emerged. He grimaced and his hands curled into fists at his side. He opened his mouth, looking as if he were going to yell at her and Belle flinched in expectation, but again there was only a strange choking sound as if he were being strangled.

‘Damn!’ he cursed. He turned away from her and began to pace in a circle in front of her door, muttering to himself. After a moment he turned back to her.

‘Okay, let’s try this,’ he said.

‘Try what?’ Belle answered, completely flummoxed.

‘Just . . . trust me.’

Belle nodded. She barely knew the man, but she did trust him, for reasons she couldn’t define.

‘Do you like coffee?’

‘I prefer tea.’

Nick smiled, he looked pleased about something. ‘Good. Okay, how about this: what do you do for work?’

‘I’m a graphic designer at an ad agency,’ she answered.

His smile grew. ‘Excellent. What are you doing tonight?’

Belle coloured slightly, but admitted the truth. ‘Having a John Cusack rom-com film festival.’

A slight expression of distaste crossed his face, but overall he still seemed pleased. ‘Okay so, would you —’

And then that choking noise again. His voice simply died out.

Looking disgusted with himself, he took a step back and swore as he paced back and forwards, using language that would have had Aunt Gertrude flinging a cone of silence over him.

Belle waited patiently to see what would happen next.

He took a deep breath and, in a voice heavy with resignation, asked, ‘I don’t suppose you would happen to have a green crystal, would you?’

‘
Huh?
’ Having Nick Marchetti ask for magic ingredients was just about the last thing Belle could ever have imagined happening.

He rolled his eyes. ‘I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous. Humour me.’

Belle was about to shake her head, but then she remembered the golf-ball-sized thing that Aunt Gertrude had left with her the weekend before. She gave a small shrug. ‘Um, I might,’ she answered hesitantly.