Enamoured (Escape Fantasy Romance) (2 page)

Oh. My. Lord. It’s The Village People. Or at least, one of them.

He wore a white hardhat, sunglasses and a fluorescent orange vest—and no shirt. His cheeks and chin were shadowed with a day’s growth and loads of dust and mud, framing cheekbones and a straight nose. Tanned skin stretched taught and golden over well-defined muscles. Not a bodybuilding kind of body, but a physique that looked like it worked, and played, hard. With mud-stained khaki shorts—at least, she thought they’d started off khaki—slung low on his hips, tool belt, and dark socks and boots, he looked like the construction worker from The Village People. A dirty, sexy, muscled labourer.

“Sorry, but you’ve lost it,” his deep voice rumbled, and Melanie frowned.

“No, please, I really, really need it. Could you at least have a look for me?” She didn’t want to have to go back into Lionel’s office, or give him any excuse to get close to her again, to touch her. She rattled the gate. “Please?”

“Look, lady, this is a construction zone. Whatever you’ve dropped, just leave it.”

“No!” Damn, why couldn’t he be a lovely, helpful, sexy worker, instead of this unco-operative, uncaring jerk? “Please, I’ll -,” she winced, “I’ll pay you.”

The labourer snorted. “I already get paid enough.” He turned to go back to whatever rock he’d crawled out from under.

Melanie pursed her lips. Jerk. She didn’t have time for this, and she was desperate. She needed what was on that drive. “Please, I’ll - I’ll give you my watch,” she offered, holding up the gold and silver band at her wrist. Her mother had given it to her for her birthday. She’d be sad to see it go—anything from Mum was precious, but if it would help get rid of Lionel, get him and his toxic influence away from her mother, it would be worth it.

He grinned, his teeth white against his tanned face, and he stepped closer. Even from this distance she could see the dimples bracketing either side of his mouth. “What use would I have for a ladies watch?”

Melanie chewed the inside of her cheek. Okay, now this was getting annoying. “I don’t know, maybe give it to your girlfriend,” she called out, saccharine-sweet, pitying any woman gullible enough to see this self-serving jerk as a catch.

He folded his arms, and she couldn’t help noticing his biceps as he did it. She should be calm. No, she should be forceful. She shouldn’t be ogling the workman.

“Don’t have one,” he called back, shifting his feet into a shoulder-width stance, as though he was quite comfortable and prepared to do this all day.

“Figures,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Uh, look. I really need your help.” She took a deep breath. She did most of the sales negotiation on behalf of her boss—she shouldn’t, she wasn’t qualified or registered, but she did. “What would make it worth your while?”

He lowered his glasses and eyed her, and she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes from here, but he made no effort to hide the fact that he was checking her out. He slid the glasses back up his nose and grinned, dimples flashing.

“A date.”

“No.”

“Your loss.” He turned to leave. She sighed and looked away. A man crossing the business estate caught her attention. Lionel. He was on his way to the council chambers across the road. She turned away, trying to hide her face. Please don’t see me.

“No, wait!” she called to the labourer, trying to keep her voice low. Damn it all to hell. “Okay, fine.”

He turned his head, just slightly. Didn’t even meet her eyes. “Dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. Fine. She was ready to agree to anything at this stage, as long as he gave her the flash drive back. She’d take it off him and run.

“Fine. Dinner.”

“Somewhere fancy.”

Melanie’s grip tightened on the chain-link gate. “All right, already. Can you please just get it?”

“And dancing.”

Melanie glanced back over her shoulder. Lionel had stopped on the other side of the street, talking to a man she didn’t recognise. “Fine. Dancing,” she growled as she turned back to the frustrating man who was playing carelessly with her future.

He turned and started walking toward the gate, his shoulders and hips swinging in a loose-limbed gait. He paused when he got to the bottom of the ramp.

“One more thing,” he said, holding up a finger. She cast her eyes skyward, praying for patience.

“What?” she hissed.

“A kiss.”

“No.”

“Yes. Or say good-bye to that…thing,” he said, and waved his hand carelessly at the area underneath the gate that she couldn’t see.

She closed her eyes. This was too much. He was blackmailing her, and she hated blackmail, had seen enough of it to really just want to flick him the bird and walk away. But she needed that bloody drive.

“Fine. One kiss. And only one,” she said.

She wanted to smack the smug smile off his face as he disappeared from view.

“What am I looking for?” His voice echoed up to her.

“A lipstick case,” she called back.

“Are you friggin’ kidding me? Lipstick? That’s what this is all about?”

“It’s expensive lipstick,” she retorted. She’d already paid for it in blood, sweat and tears.

She could hear him muttering below, but couldn’t quite work out his words. It wasn’t long before she heard a triumphant shout, and he jogged back into view, holding her beloved lipstick flash drive above his head.

Melanie looked back over her shoulder. Lionel had disappeared. She needed to get out of there before he emerged from the council chambers. There was no way he’d miss seeing her on the return trip.

She made a beckoning gesture as the construction worker sauntered up the ramp to the gate in an effort to hurry him along. He persisted in taking his time, damn it.

He grabbed hold of the top of the gate and leaned casually against it. “I went to all that effort for lipstick?” he chided as he held up the lipstick case, now covered in mud.

“Yep, thanks,” she said as she reached for it.

He moved it out of range. “Tut, tut. Give me your number, first.”

Melanie glared up at him. “Why don’t we just agree to meet somewhere?”

He grinned, and she saw those dimples again as he shook his head slowly. “Nuh. Give me your number.”

Melanie pasted a smile on her face as she reached inside her handbag for her business card holder. It took a little fumbling around, which wasn’t quite the dramatic whip-out she’d been hoping for, before she found the metallic case. She pulled it out, flipped the lid and removed a card. “Here.”

His grin broadened as he took the card through the gap in the chain-links and handed her the lipstick case.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grudgingly and turned to leave.

“Hey, what about our date?” he called after her as she started to walk away.

“Uh, call me,” she responded. She had every intention of hanging up on him. No way in hell was she going out with the jerk.

Another worker, this one taller, with a figure that seemed just a little bigger and bulkier, and not so much tanned as sunburnt came up behind her, and quickly moved out of her way as she turned.

“Can I help you, lady?” he asked, tipping his hardhat.

“No, thanks, I think I’ve got it,” she said absently as she stepped around the hulk and started to jog down the street to her car, hopefully before Lionel saw her. She put the flash drive inside the side pocket of her handbag and retrieved her keys, climbing into the car hurriedly. She drove away without looking at the construction workers, or the council chambers.

Jerks.

Esmerelda knocked on the door and folded her arms as she waited for admittance. She was right in the middle of testing a potion, and didn’t appreciate the summons. But she couldn’t really say anything. Flutterbies, no. She’d find herself painting dew again.

“Come in,” a lilting, feminine voice called from within.

Esmerelda rolled her shoulders back, settling her wings into place and pushed the doors open. Whatever the problem was, she hoped it could be sorted quickly so that she could return to her cooking. The imposing doors slowly opened inward, their massive weight causing them to shift with the speed of a sloth.

She entered the room, her slippered feet making soft flapping noises as she walked across the parquetry toward the large desk situated in front of the massive floor to ceiling cathedral windows. Originally the flooring had been carpet, but the fairy dust had created such a monstrous cleaning bill, and with the recent budget cuts, it was decided to remove the carpet to save on costs. She missed the carpet. So soft, so plush. So sparkly with all that glitter. Pretty.

The chamber was enormous. The large columns were giant tree trunks, and the walls were a combination of stone and tree limbs, creating a strong, living shell. The windows were framed with branches that rose and entwined, like graceful fingers clutching the glass panels. The ceiling was high, like the pointed canopy of a rainforest.

She approached the large desk, while the tiny woman who sat behind it continued to read over a file. After a moment the fairy sighed. Her face was smooth, her dark hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, threaded through with scarlet blossoms to match her flowing gown. Her wings were a pearlescent white, her skin dusted with a shimmer that oozed power. She was an old fairy, yet still looked beautiful, her powers still strong.

Bet she doesn’t have any problems with warding potions. Esmerelda waited patiently for the G.F.C. to address her. Nobody hurried the G.F.C.

Matilda, the Grand Fairy Co-ordinator, finally closed the file and looked up, her glistening grey eyes showing a calm astuteness. She inclined her head in greeting. “Esmerelda, thank you for coming so quickly.”

Esmerelda nodded. “What’s the problem?” She had a pot on the boil, and warding potions were tricky. Left too long and they bubbled over. It would take ages to clean her kitchen, and she wouldn’t be able to practice any more spells or potions until the effects wore off.

“A challenge, Esmerelda, not a problem. We have a challenge.”

Esmerelda nodded. Some say potato … “Certainly, G.F.C. What challenge do we face today?”

Matilda lifted the file on her desk, and Esmerelda took it. “We have a fairy tale off-track.”

Esmerelda frowned as she scanned the contents. “The Frog Prince? What is wrong?”

Matilda sighed. “Our Frog was late. Missed his opportunity.”

Esmerelda read the status report, shaking her head slowly. “Interesting. The Interferer has made the appropriate responses, almost to the letter.” She read the last demand and smiled. Ah, a romantic. Or a creep. Sometimes it was difficult to tell.

Matilda nodded. “True. The thing is—he’s not the Prince. He doesn’t look anything like a frog. He’s not supposed to be there. Now the fairy tale may not play out. We can’t allow that to happen.”

Esmerelda nodded. “Of course.” Fairy tales were necessary. They taught lessons. They charted destiny. Things were supposed to happen in a certain order. What if Little Mermaid ended up in the Goldilocks tale? Esmerelda shuddered. Anarchy. No, Little Mermaid had her tale, Goldilocks had her three bears, and never the twain should meet. There was a reason those characters ended up with those stories, those particular personalities. Lessons and destiny. Messing with a fairy tale was like messing with Fate. You didn’t want to mess with Fate. Fate could destroy the very fabric of the Fairy Isle.

“You need to go and sort it out.”

Esmerelda winced. Fungus. She could sense her pot bubbling over. “I’m supposed to be dropping in on Cinderella,” she demurred. “What about one of the other F.G.Es?”

Matilda shook her head. “Unfortunately they’re not available. Many of them are in preparation for Sleeping Beauty’s christening.”

“What about Mistyweather?” Mistyweather was a fairy floater; she drifted from tale to tale, helping out wherever needed. Some said the reason Mistyweather didn’t have her own fairy tale was because she was incompetent. Others believed she was cursed. Esmerelda preferred to think Mistyweather had her own destiny, her own lessons to learn.

Matilda grimaced. “Mistyweather drank just a little too much dandelion wine. She’s in detox.”

“Oh, poor thing.” Dandelion wine was delicious, seductive, and sickening in too large a dose. “I hope she’s all right.”

Matilda nodded. “She’ll be fine. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for the seven dwarfs. They’re going to have to work off the damages they caused to Snow White’s glass coffin. Again.” The G.F.C. shook her head. “Another fairy tale postponed. Again.” She smiled brightly. “But that’s why you’re here. We need to get the Frog Prince back on track. You’ll be taking a partner, but you need to get going. Our frog has missed his opportunity, so you’ll need to orchestrate another one.”

Esmerelda slowly closed the file. “A partner?” She didn’t need a partner. She was a Fairy Godmother Enforcer. One of the best, as a matter of fact.

“I don’t need a partner.”

Matilda’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sparked with impatience, just a little, and Esmerelda ducked her head. Nobody argued with the G.F.C.

“This partner has already done some background work. You’ll need his access to be able to get to the princess.”

Esmerelda nodded. “Yes, G.F.C.”

Matilda glanced past her, and lifted her chin. Esmerelda felt a cool breeze quiver through her wings, a suggestion of orange bergamot teasing her nostrils. Her skin prickled with unease. No. Surely not. It couldn’t be…

She turned and watched the figure stepping out of the shadows by the door, and her wings shifted. She wished she had her warding potion on her right now.

The imp smiled at her as he approached. Contrary to popular belief, the imps weren’t so tiny, or so benign. This one was taller than some, and yes, maybe well-formed, but she recognised him instantly. His golden brown skin was dull, crackling, but it was his impish grin, the twinkle in his eye, that dragged at her memory. Enticing, seductive, he could charm the hair off a witch’s head. She lifted her chin. But she was immune to his charms. And if she wasn’t, she’d make another potion.

“Rump. What are you doing here?”

Rumpelstiltskin bowed. “I am at your service, Essie.”