Spellbound (3 page)

The apartment smelled slightly singed, as if a lightning bolt had hit but left everything undamaged. The living room carpet was now cleared of the spell’s ingredients – Belle hadn’t wanted anything in the way if passion had led to a romp on the floor, so while she’d waited for her spirit lover to incarnate, she’d tidily packed everything away and closed the big brass cogs on her spell cabinet.

Maybe a glass of wine would help. It would put her to sleep, if nothing else. Belle headed for the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of Yarra Valley pinot. All her movements were slow, heavy with disappointment and futility. If this didn’t work . . . Belle didn’t know what she could do. Resign herself to a solitary life. Go buy a vibrator.

The red wine splashed into the glass. And then splashed all over the countertop as Belle jumped in fright.

A knock.

At the door.

Belle put the wine bottle down with shaking hands. A bolt of excitement shot through her spine and pooled low in her belly.

It had worked.

Her phantom lover was waiting at the door for her. A night of unbridled pleasure lay ahead, and she didn’t have to worry about anything. If he didn’t like her body, or her taste, or found her unskilled, or frigid, or too enthusiastic, or too loud, or too
anything
, it didn’t matter! He’d be gone in a matter of hours, turned back into dust, a pile of grit to be vacuumed up from wherever he happened to fall.

It was perfect. The butterflies in her stomach were excitement, not anxiety.
Surely.

She opened the door and couldn’t help her mouth dropping open a little at the image before her. She’d expected her phantom to look like Nick in the photo, in board shorts and with a bare chest, but this Nick was wearing jeans like she’d seen in the lift, and a red T-shirt that advertised some blues bar she’d never heard of.

‘Hi, Belle. I, uh . . .’

Belle couldn’t help the little whimper in the back of her throat. His voice. She’d been worried about that. How would the spirits know how Nick sounded from his photograph? But thank the Goddess, they’d got it perfect.

‘Hi, Nick,’ Belle said, her voice weak and nervous. She gave herself an internal kick. What did weak and nervous have to do with tonight? Tonight she was a sex kitten, and Nick was her plaything.

Belle took in a deep breath and didn’t miss the fact that Nick’s eyes glanced quickly down to her décolletage; her breasts swelled in response. That glance definitely helped.

‘It’s nice to see you, Nick. Won’t you come in?’ Her voice was sultry and sophisticated; just right. She was happy.

He looked a little surprised, but then gave a quick nod. ‘Okay. Sure.’

‘Would you like some wine? I was just about to have a glass.’

‘Thanks, that’d be nice.’

He followed her into the kitchen and Belle flinched at the red splash across the counter. Nick raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘You startled me – I was pouring when you knocked.’

‘Oh. Are you about to go out?’

Strange question. ‘No, why?’

‘Just . . .’ He gestured to her dress and stilettos.

Remembering to be sexy Belle, not wimpy Belle, Belle smiled and gave a mysterious shrug of one shoulder. She didn’t bother cleaning up the spill, just poured another glass of wine and handed it to him. ‘Shall we take a seat?’

‘Sure.’

They sat in the living room, on the sofa, and Belle felt a thrill when Nick elected to sit beside her. But once they were seated, her usual ineptness with men came to the fore. What should she do? How should she sit? What should she say?

He was a frickin’ phantom and she couldn’t play the femme fatale!

No wonder she’d had no dates for a long time. The words played in her head:
Belle, you’re just not very sexy.
It was one of Tony’s favourite refrains.

Nick went to speak, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. He took a drink of wine and tried again. Still, no words.

‘Great,’ Belle muttered. She’d stuffed up the spell. And the voice had been such a nice surprise. ‘I guess if you can’t talk you can still use your tongue for other things?’ she said.

‘Excuse me?’ Nick sputtered through his mouthful of wine.

‘Oh good, you
can
talk,’ Belle said.

A confused expression crossed his face. ‘Yes. No. I don’t, uh . . .’ He rubbed his throat distractedly.

‘It’s okay, I want you to talk. You can say anything.
Ask
me anything.’ Belle was hoping her phantom lover would have a dominant side to him. No chains and whips – not
this
time anyway – but maybe the odd little sexy command or forceful gesture. That would be very nice.

Nick’s face suddenly relaxed and he settled more comfortably into the couch. ‘That’s better,’ he said. He shook his head and gave her a puzzled look. ‘I was feeling kinda strange, but now I feel fine.’

‘It’s probably the shock of being corporeal.’

He frowned. ‘Uh, I guess.’

There was a moment’s silence and Belle took the opportunity to study the way Nick’s jeans stretched tightly around his muscular thighs. Any last remaining nerves disappeared, replaced with anticipation for the night ahead.

‘Belle?’

‘Nick?’

‘Are you busy tomorrow?’

‘Why?’ What would a phantom with a two-hour lifespan care about the future?

‘I was reading in the newspaper this morning about a new cafe in St Kilda. Apparently they do great breakfasts. Would you be interested in trying it out with me?’

Reading the newspaper!
Belle’s nerves finally began to settle. Apart from that little hitch with the talking, it looked like the spell had not only worked, it had worked perfectly! She’d put in the newspapers and the movies so they’d have something to talk about, so that it would feel more like a regular date.

Only now that it was going all regular-date-like, Belle found herself itching to get to the pointy end. The bedroom side of things. Or the floor. Or the sofa. She wasn’t picky.

‘I’d love to have breakfast with you,’ she said, putting on her best sultry voice. ‘I’m not sure if you’ll last that long, but let’s go with it for now.’

He paused for a moment. ‘You’re really quite odd, you know that?’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘No.’ He sounded surprised. ‘It’s . . . interesting.’

‘You know what else is interesting?’

‘What?’

‘How much I want to kiss you.’

His eyes went wide. ‘Really?’ One side of his mouth quirked up.

Belle’s confidence faltered. So far she’d been doing pretty well, sounding all sexy and in charge. But throwing herself across the small space between them and launching her mouth at Nick’s seemed somehow undignified. And scary.

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Why do you think that is?’ he asked. He twisted a little in the seat, bringing them closer together.

Oh yes, this was more like it.
‘I really have no idea. Possibly your arms.’

‘My arms?’

‘I like your arms.’

‘Oh. That’s . . . nice.’

‘Very.’

He leaned a little further forwards and Belle was close enough to see his long dark eyelashes framing soulful blue-grey eyes, and the prickle of his stubble along his jaw. ‘And I like your smell.’ Her brain, fully occupied with taking in every detail of his face, was paying little attention to what her mouth was doing.

Her comment made him pull back and squint at her in disbelief. ‘My smell?’

Belle’s cheeks flamed. ‘I didn’t mean to say that aloud.’

He chuckled and the sound went straight to Belle’s stomach, making it tumble over. She laughed a little nervously in response.

Then, suddenly, he was right next to her, not touching, but his mouth and nose were just inches from her neck. She could hear his breathing close to her ear and feel the puff of warm air against her skin.

‘You smell beautiful,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper.

This was better than she’d even dared dream. ‘Okay, now I really have to kiss you.’

Belle wasn’t sure who leaned forwards first, but then her eyes were closed, his lips were on hers, and it was the best thing in the whole entire world.

He was gentle, nibbling at her lips in small, sweet kisses, taking in her mouth from one side to the other.

Belle sighed and when her lips parted he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling on it and releasing it before giving her top lip the same treatment.

Belle squirmed, not sure what to do with the heat pooling low in her belly, with the anticipation building inside her, with the ache beginning to throb between her legs.

His hand rose to cup her neck, one long finger reaching behind her ear to stroke her softly, and she almost purred.

Some synapse in Belle’s brain woke up and reminded her that she could also touch him. Her hands rose tentatively, resting lightly on his shoulders before slipping down over the swell of muscle in his arms. She squeezed, unable to help it, and groaned when her fingers met solid resistance.

He chuckled against her lips. ‘Arms, huh?’

Embarrassed she’d been so obvious, Belle winced. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he breathed, and then his tongue plunged inside her mouth, sliding against hers, gently exploring, and Belle didn’t care anymore. Her hands ran from his elbows to his shoulders and back again, taking in every dip and bulge of the muscles, pushing the sleeves of his T-shirt out of the way to give her access to his hot skin, the juxtaposition of silky soft over steely hardness.

If this was how good something as simple as touching his arms felt, would she even survive sex?

His kisses became deeper, more searching, and his hands gripped her elbows. A moment later, he was lying against the arm of the sofa, she was lying on top of him, and their lips hadn’t unlocked for a second. His hard body was unyielding beneath hers, his angles and planes so different to her own curves and softness. The buckle of his belt bit into her belly, the swelling in his jeans pushing against her mound.

And then his fingers did exactly what she’d imagined that afternoon in the lift. One hand traced her spine to the dip in her back and made wide circles, each one skirting down further over her derrière. His other hand traced the path of the zipper in her dress, ending up at the nape of her neck, and her skin rippled with goosebumps as his fingers threaded through her hair.

He pulled his mouth from hers to trail wet kisses over her cheek to her ear. ‘God, Belle, I don’t know why, but you drive me wild.’

A damp tendril of uneasiness began to worm its way through the haze of pleasure. Of course he didn’t understand. He was a phantom. Bewitched to do her bidding. He had no control except what she had given him.

Desperate to ignore the warning signal, Belle pressed herself more firmly against him, sighing as her breasts met the hardness of his chest, as one of his legs slipped between hers and her aching clit came to rest against his solid thigh.

‘Nick,’ she said, because her brain was too full of sensation to think of anything sensible to say. She kissed his jaw and found his stubble softer than she’d thought, long enough to have lost a little of its prickle.

The hand that had been running through her hair moved to trace her collarbone, gently pausing as if to feel her pulse where the bones met in the middle. Then it dipped down to push the neckline of her dress out of the way and find the lace edge of her bra. Belle’s breath caught in her throat.

She raised herself slightly so her hand could trail down his body, bumping over his belt, skirting her fingertips close to where the denim strained over his erection.

He moved his hips into her touch, and Belle groaned as his thigh pushed more firmly against her with the motion. She shifted further astride his leg and tilted her pelvis until he was positioned
just right
against her mons, providing her with blissful pressure and friction. She began to move against him, her breath no more than a gasp as her swollen clit sent waves of pleasure through her body.

But the ecstasy was short-lived.

‘Belle!’

She lost her balance and tilted towards the floor. Nick’s arms wrapped around her, but she’d already tipped too far and all he managed to do was slow her so she didn’t hit the floor with quite the thud she might have. He landed on top of her, but braced himself with his elbows and knees so that his weight didn’t crush her.

They looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment before they burst out laughing.

Nick rolled to the side and, bracing his chin on one hand, looked down at her. One of his legs was thrown over hers. ‘Are you okay?’

Belle looked up into his eyes. They’d darkened to a smoky grey, the same colour they’d been in the lift earlier that evening. The Goddess had thought of everything. ‘I’m fine. You?’

‘I’m . . .’ His mouth twitched with amusement. ‘I’m fine. A little confused, but fine.’

‘Confused?’

‘Yeah. Not that I’m unhappy with what was just happening, but how exactly did we get here?’

‘On the floor, you mean?’ Belle asked to cover her nerves and disappointment.
Oh no.
It was going to be like one of those science-fiction movies where the robot starts having an existential crisis and asking its creator about the meaning of life. If her phantom lover asked what these things called ‘feelings’ were, she’d be really cross.

‘On the floor,’ he agreed, shifting a little closer to bring his body into contact with hers again. His hardness pushed insistently at her hip. ‘And on each other.’

‘It’s good, though. Isn’t it?’
Stop sounding so needy.

He nodded. ‘Oh, yeah, it’s good. It’s just, not what I . . .’ He broke off and gave her a sweet, disarming smile. ‘I like you, Belle.’

The tiny squirm of uneasiness that had been slowly spreading through her system suddenly invaded Belle’s solar plexus like a swarm of eels. She’d known all along that this was wrong. How could she ever look at the real Nick again, knowing she’d used him this way?

At least a vibrator was honest. You were alone with an inanimate bit of plastic and it didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was. Belle wasn’t just sexually attracted to this version of Nick, she actually
liked
him. That wasn’t going to go away after she had an orgasm and he faded back into dust. Now she knew: she’d be worse off than before, because she’d know exactly what she was missing out on.