Spellbound (2 page)

Belle returned from the supermarket and stepped into the lift before the idea really hit. It had probably been fermenting in her mind for a while, but it wasn’t until she was fumbling for her keys that she truly grasped it.

Her hand brushed against a vial of unlock powder that she liked to keep in her purse. She had an unfortunate habit of misplacing her keys and finding herself on the wrong side of her apartment’s deadlocked door. A sprinkle of unlock powder, blown into a keyhole, opened any door wide. Until now, Belle had never, ever thought to use it for anything other than getting herself back into her own apartment.

But those photos in the magazines?

None of them had been
quite right
. None of them had been perfect. None of them had been
Nick
.

If she really wanted to create a man who would be her perfect lover for the evening, it would be Nick. And all she needed was a photograph. And maybe a tiny piece of clothing. Perhaps a hair.

He wouldn’t even know . . .

Before she could think too much further about it, Belle hit the button for the floor below hers. A few moments later she was standing in the hallway outside Nick’s door, looking furtively around her, but it was early evening on a Saturday – anyone who was anyone was already out – so she figured she was relatively safe. Still, her tummy danced with butterflies at her own audacity.

She poured a teaspoonful of the powder from the vial into her palm and bent over to rest her hand next to the keyhole below the old-fashioned brass doorknob. ‘
Lock and key, key and lock, open to me, without a knock
,’ she whispered. Now
that
was a decent incantation. A small puff of breath and . . . hey presto! The door swung open.

Belle coughed as quietly as possible. She never seemed to be able to avoid breathing in a little of the powder every time she did the spell, and the sesame seeds that were the main ingredient always caught in the back of her throat.

As soon as she stepped inside the apartment, the enormity of her actions descended.
Breaking and entering!
She’d turned into a weird, freaky, obsessive stalker and poor Nick had done nothing but be kind and polite to her. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. Get out now!

But at the same time, Belle’s desperation argued against her rational side.
He’d never know.
It wasn’t like she was stealing anything valuable. She’d replace anything he might miss before he even knew it was gone.

Trying hard not to trip over her feet in her haste, Belle closed the door behind her and turned on the lights. She searched the lounge room quickly, barely even taking in the details of the masculine decor, the comfortable leather sofas, the books on the shelves against the wall. On a narrow bookshelf near the doorway to the kitchen she found a framed photo of Nick on a beach. It looked like it had been taken in some exotic tropical locale – the water was too blue and too clear to be any local beach. Lush greenery was shadowed behind the sand and Nick was smiling, laughing at the camera. He was wearing boldly printed shorts and nothing else, and Belle couldn’t help reaching out one finger and running it down the image of his naked chest.

A bang from outside in the hallway startled her and the photo frame toppled. Belle caught it before it crashed to the ground, but as her shaking fingers secured it inside her purse, she knew she had to get her little burglary exercise over and done with pronto. Stepping into the bedroom, she refused to notice the rumpled navy-blue sheets or to think about how Nick would look sleeping there. A discarded shirt lay carelessly on the floor next to his laundry basket and, taking a little pair of nail scissors from her bag, Belle snipped off a small corner and shoved it in her pocket.

Back at the front door of the apartment, Belle turned off the lights and stood there, waiting, listening for any noise in the hallway. It had been quiet for a while, and she couldn’t stay here indefinitely, so she made herself open the door, step outside, and close it behind her. A wave of relief rushed through her as she heard the lock click shut.

Positive the insane pounding of her heart would give her away, Belle rushed for the lift and the safety of her own home.

She’d really done it.

Was she certifiably insane now?

Back in her apartment, Belle made a pot of chai tea to calm her nerves. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as grabbing a bottle of vodka and throwing back a shot, but Belle and serious alcohol didn’t usually play well together.

Sitting down on the floor in her living room, surrounded by all the ingredients for her spell, Belle wondered for the millionth time if she was doing the right thing.

Maybe she should just go down to that place on the corner, the one with the darkened windows and neon sign and strange sickly-sweet incense smell, and buy a vibrator?

But a device like that wouldn’t kiss her. It wouldn’t wrap her in warm, strong arms and whisper naughty things in her ear. Besides, Belle was perfectly capable of giving herself an orgasm without the need for batteries – tonight she wanted someone else to do it.

She’d done everything she could to make sure this spell would go right. The man it created would only last a couple of hours before dissolving into dust. He wouldn’t be a real person; he wouldn’t have real thoughts and feelings – just enough fake ones to enable her to pretend.

What was the difference if the automaton looked like her neighbour rather than an anonymous model from a magazine? No one would ever know.

As the thoughts whirled through her head, Belle spread out the ingredients around her: Nick’s photo, the piece from his shirt, the sage she’d picked up at the grocery store. (Not as good as proper magic-shop sage, but it would do the job, she was sure. Damn Aunt Gertrude all over again.) She’d missed getting a hair from his bathroom, but the photo and shirt were probably enough.

In addition there were the less easily recognised ingredients: dried dandelions, a snail shell, a purplish crystal, a pile of something that looked like glittering sand. There was also a withered stick-like thing that was – she shuddered every time she thought about it – apparently a puppy dog’s tail. Organic and cruelty-free, she’d been assured, although she didn’t want to know how they managed that.

And, to make sure the night held more than just sex, Belle had added a couple of DVDs, some books and the day’s newspaper – the dining and entertainment section. After all, conversation was important too.

Nick’s photo was surrounded by images she’d clipped from the magazines – ones that showcased parts of Nick’s body she
hadn’t
seen. She’d also included some clippings with sexy images from the latest
Cosmopolitan
– a feature on the
Kama Sutra
had provided excellent inspiration.

Her life was good – great actually – with the exception of one thing.

Male company. There hadn’t been any since Tony. Since their disastrous, self-esteem crushing break-up, when he’d walked out on her, taking any scrap of dignity she might have had with him.

Guys didn’t seem to want her, but she still craved the presence of a man, hungered for it like it were oxygen, and she wouldn’t survive much longer without taking a breath. If she could create a man for herself, then her life would be perfect.

Nerves made Belle’s hands shake slightly. She still harboured doubts about the morality of her actions, but shook them away, determined to go through with this. She might never need to go through the humiliation of dating again. The desperation of sitting in a bar and never being noticed. The misery of polite but one-sided interactions with men that time and again reinforced what her ex had said: she was simply
not
attractive in a sexual way. Resolved, Belle went to shower and prepare herself for a night of debauchery.

Nick Marchetti frowned and took a long swallow from his beer. The party he’d been invited to had been as much fun as a damp squib, and although he and his friend Taylor had blown it off and headed to their favourite bar, he still wondered if he wouldn’t be better off going home. Something about the night just wasn’t working for him. Probably because he was still puzzling over that bizarre sexual experience in the lift earlier. How could he have been so aroused without even being touched? That had never happened before. Well, not since he’d been sixteen, anyway.

Plenty of women sent him appreciative looks in the bar, as usual, but tonight none of them interested him. None of them had the tumbling brunette curls, emerald-green eyes or lush, creamy breasts that haunted his imagination.

Not that he’d seen Belle’s breasts; just their outline. He especially liked it when she went to yoga – she’d come back clutching that rolled-up mat and wearing loose-fitting pants and a tight, tight shirt looking a little flushed and shiny, just as he imagined she’d look after a good, hard . . .

When had this thing for his neighbour started?

He’d moved into the building several months ago, and he was pretty sure that back then, Belle had been living with a guy. But a few weeks after he’d moved in, the guy didn’t seem to be around anymore, so he could only assume they’d broken up. Nick had waited a decent amount of time, and then, when the moment seemed right, he’d asked Belle out on a date.

Except he hadn’t.

Nick hadn’t ever had trouble asking a woman to go out with him, but with Belle, something stopped him. He couldn’t put his finger on quite what it was. It wasn’t like he’d lost his nerve; more like the words just stuck in his throat.

The first time it had happened they’d been in the lift together – which seemed to happen more frequently than chance would suggest – and Nick had opened his mouth to ask if she’d like to go for a coffee. But something choked him and he’d ended up having a coughing fit. After he’d recovered, he tried again. And again. The words simply wouldn’t come. He could speak fine when it came to small talk and the weather, but as soon as he wanted to broach dating, his throat just closed over.

Now, each time he ran into her, his desire for her went up a notch. Perhaps it was simply the male need to have something he couldn’t – to want what wasn’t his – but Belle fascinated him. And as his desire for her increased, so did his inability to speak to her. It was maddening.

‘What’s up, man?’ Taylor smacked Nick on the back. Beer sloshed over the edge of Nick’s glass and onto his hand and T-shirt.

‘Watch it!’ he muttered, transferring his glass to his other hand and shaking off the liquid.

‘Your head isn’t in the game tonight, pal, is it?’ Taylor shook his head.

‘Huh?’

‘Blonde. Four o’clock. Checking you out big time.’

Nick shrugged. He couldn’t be bothered. ‘Only game I’m interested in tonight is the footy,’ he said, gesturing to the wide-screen TV.

‘You’re getting old, man.’

‘Maybe,’ Nick said under his breath. Was that it? Was he just getting old and too tired to play the dating game anymore?

Why exactly did Belle fascinate him so much? Since that guy had moved out, he’d never seen her with another man. A woman like her should be beating them off with a stick, though; maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she was incredibly boring. Or whiny. Or demanding. Or a bloodsucker looking for a rich man.

Somehow, he didn’t think so. She seemed sweet, a little muddle-headed occasionally, and she blushed when he talked to her, which he found cute in a way he couldn’t explain. And she couldn’t be a gold digger – their boutique apartment building wasn’t as fancy as the new high-rises that surrounded it, but it still wasn’t a cheap place to live. His corner apartment had cost him a small fortune, and she had the top floor – so, no, money wasn’t a problem for her.

Exactly
why
hadn’t he asked her out?

He remembered that strange choking feeling. Nerves? He hadn’t felt nervous. If she’d said no, he’d have been okay. Disappointed, but he’d have coped.

Nick looked at his watch.

‘Don’t know why you’re interested in this game,’ Taylor said. ‘Saints are never going to come back.’

He was right, Nick’s team was well down at the end of the third quarter and unlikely to recover. The bar was noisy, crowded, and Nick simply wasn’t having any fun.

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Nick swallowed the rest of his beer in a single gulp and dumped the empty glass down heavily on the table. He gave Taylor a punch on the arm. ‘I’m getting out of here, man. Catch you later.’

Ignoring Taylor’s questioning look, Nick headed for the exit. Just before he reached it, a hand rested lightly on his arm.

‘You’re not leaving yet, are you?’ A pouty blonde stepped in front of him. ‘You haven’t even bought me a drink yet.’

Belle would never ask a man to buy her a drink. She needed to be courted. Seduced. Wooed.

Wooed?
Nick internally rolled his eyes. That was the first time he’d ever used that word – silently or otherwise.

‘Not tonight, sweetheart, sorry.’ Nick neatly sidestepped the blonde whose pout had gone from flirty to stormy, clearly unused to rejection.

Tonight he was going to ask Belle out. Just for a coffee. Maybe she’d like to have Sunday breakfast. If the weather cooperated, perhaps they could head down to St Kilda and have brunch somewhere near the beach. Yeah, that sounded like a ‘wooing’ kind of date.

Somehow he’d have to tamp down his lust while the seduction plan was executed. But if the payoff was even half as good as he suspected, it’d be worth it.

Belle sat in her little black dress blinking back her tears. The lacy thong she’d donned for her night of seduction crawled itchily up her butt, adding to her misery.

It
had
only been forty minutes.

The grimoire was a little vague – it could take up to an hour for the spell to become corporeal. But Belle knew.

Yet again. She’d failed.

She couldn’t cry. The eyeliner and mascara she’d put on would make her look like some distraught panda if she did, but then again, there was no one around to see, so it wasn’t like it really mattered.

A grim thread of hope kept her going, made her swallow hard, look up at the ceiling and force those tears back.