‘Oh, Mr Martin will still need a live-in therapist,’ Ellie responded quickly. ‘We understand his treatment has had several interruptions, and feel that focused attention in a constant, consistent manner is the best way to get him back to work.’
So she could stay. Bella nodded, hiding her relief.
‘More visitors. Great,’ Gabriel muttered.
‘Why don’t I make us a cup of coffee?’ Ellie asked, and bent down to pick up several shopping bags that sat on the verandah next to the door. Bella hadn’t noticed them until then.
‘Fine. You do that while I call your office for confirmation. Oh, and I prefer tea,’ Gabriel said, and Bella stepped aside as the couple entered the house. The man sounded so darned suspicious, yet the Pells didn’t even seem to notice his rudeness.
Ellie stopped and shuddered. ‘My, this house is chilly,’ Bella heard her murmur, and saw her dart a glance at her partner.
‘Uh, I’ll go back and clean up the room,’ she said. Gabriel nodded absently as he showed the couple to the kitchen. She watched them go. Just moments before, she’d had her hands on his body, touching, gliding. She swallowed. Now he wanted tea. For a moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Maybe she’d totally mis-read the situation. She stomped back down the hallway.
What would have happened if the Pells hadn’t interrupted?
***
Esmerelda shooed Bella out of the kitchen. ‘You go have a break,’ she told the younger woman. ‘Ramsey will help me with the dishes. It’s our job.’ They’d just eaten dinner, and it was still light outside.
‘Are you sure I can’t help?’ Bella asked. Esmerelda smiled. She’d sensed a resistance from the woman that was slowly melting.
‘I’m sure. Go on.’ She waved her toward the door. ‘I think Gabriel is in the living room, watching the news.’
‘Oh. I might go for a walk, then,’ Bella said, and left the room.
Esmerelda frowned as she turned to Rump. ‘I was hoping she’d go sit with Gabriel.’
Rump grimaced. ‘He’s a rude, grumpy, one-armed, one-eyed monster. Why would she want to?’
Esmerelda winced. ‘He’s that way because of us, Rump. He wasn’t supposed to get shot.’
She and Rump had been assigned his case, and she was determined to make sure Gabriel succeeded in his tale. She was a little concerned, though. The dark, dour hulk who’d eaten his meal in silence seemed so different to the easy-going, relaxed man she’d met before. He had changed so much. He still loved his turtles, though. At least that had got him talking. He and Rump had discussed building a turtle pond in the yard.
‘True, and now he has his own tale. Everything happens for a reason.’
Esmerelda frowned as she turned her attention from the sinkful of suds to the imp beside her. ‘That sounds like something Fate would say.’
Rump’s lips quirked. ‘Actually, that’s what you once said to me. These mortals must learn their lessons, everything happens for a reason and all that fairy fluff. It brings the natural order of things about.’ He leaned closer to her, and she paused in her scrubbing.
‘Fey forbid if we actually have some chaos, a little impulsivity, maybe even a little fun, once in a while…’
She felt his breath across her neck, and she blinked as suds exploded in a wet, white cloud around her. The cheeky imp grinned as he withdrew the hand he’d used to splash her with from the sink.
She frowned at him. ‘You can be such a pest. And believe it or not, this is fun for me, it’s very fulfilling, having this sort of impact on the mortals.’
‘This is not fun, Essie. This is work. You’ve just been at it so long you’ve forgotten what fun is.’
Esmerelda scrubbed harder at an invisible spot on the plate. He didn’t know what he was talking about. Imps were notorious for being indulgent, carefree and playful. She ignored the voice that whispered to her that fairies had that same reputation. She enjoyed her work. That was enough.
‘Speaking of work, did you notice the frost?’ She’d seen it, the dark crystals in the gravel. She’d felt the chill in the air immediately upon entering the house. Something dark was happening.
Rump started to reach for a dish, then paused, frowning. ‘Why do we do this?’ he muttered, gesturing to the dishes. A spark flashed, and when Esmerelda glanced down, all the dishes were piled neatly by the sink, clean and dry.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Gabriel or Bella were in the vicinity. ‘Careful, Rump,’ she whispered, but not too sternly. She didn’t like doing the dishes, either. Fortunately nobody was around to witness Rump’s magical display. She frowned. ‘When did your powers come back?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s been a slow process.’
One that he hadn’t bothered to discuss with her. Confinement wasn’t just a prison for the imps. Over time the imprisoned fey were drained of their powers, so that they eventually became something…not. They morphed into a shadow of their former selves, neither alive nor dead, just…shade. Insubstantial and powerless – it was worse than death, the grey numbness that encroached and became their existence. Being deprived of light and dark could send the fey mad.
But Rump was strong, stronger than most fey she knew, stronger than she’d given him credit for. And his strength was returning at a rate that most returned fey could only dream of.
‘Did you see the frost?’ she persisted, twisting so that he was forced to meet her gaze with his own.
He smiled at her. ‘No.’
‘I could have sworn there was black frost about.’
He shook his head. ‘Didn’t see it. You were mistaken.’
He was lying. She could tell it by the cooling in his golden-brown stare, the too-bright smile. He had seen it, he had felt it. He just didn’t want her to know that he’d noticed. Why?
‘We should report it to the G.F.C.’ Dark frost meant dark magic, and all fey had a responsibility to report suspicious activity.
He chuckled, and the warm sound rumbled over her like a summer breeze. ‘Remember, we’re just here to babysit these mortals, make sure Gabriel achieves his fairy tale – although judging by his current attitude, we might be here for a while.’
‘I’m sure I saw the dark frost.’
‘There is nothing to report, Esmerelda.’ He turned to face her fully, and he was no longer smiling. ‘Remember, you’re not in the best position at Fantasia at the moment, not after nearly losing one of your beloved mortals. What would happen if you reported what you think you saw, and were totally wrong, hmm?’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Just thinking of your career, Esmerelda. There is nothing to report – not yet, anyway.’ He tossed the tea towel, and it landed perfectly, draping neatly over the oven handle. ‘I think we should leave, yes? We need to maintain our cover.’
He left the room, and Esmerelda stared after him. Fungus. She couldn’t very well report the dark frost if her own partner wouldn’t even back her up – and he was right. Her position was a little shaky at present. She could face further embarrassment and humiliation if she couldn’t corroborate her findings – or worse, be assigned to retraining. That blasted imp. She was right, there was something going on here, but he either didn’t want her to know or didn’t want her to inform the G.F.C. and the Fairy Council.
She lifted her chin. Fine. He was up to something, and he wasn’t confiding in her. The realisation snuck up and sliced at her, a tiny tendril of pain. He didn’t trust her. She tried not to take it personally. He’d been Confined, after all, she could imagine that wouldn’t make him very trusting. Nor did it make him trustworthy…still. She remembered when they’d once been friends.
He wanted to act as though nothing was wrong? Fine. She would act. But she’d be watching, too…
***
Bella stood at the bluff, looking out across the dark sea. Stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, little pricks of light caught and reflected by the serene surface of the water. She folded her arms, trying to absorb the tranquil
lity as a warm breeze ruffled her hair.
This truly was a lovely place. She could feel the calm wash over her, and it wasn’t until she relaxed that she realised how keyed up she had been, how tense.
Gabriel Martin was an intriguing man. He seemed so quiet, so…angry. All those tense muscles… Her fingers tightened on her arms. Yes, those tight, gorgeous muscles.
Heck, she couldn’t stop thinking about running her hands all over his hard body. That just wouldn’t do. It wasn’t professional – well, screw professional, it wasn’t ethical. He was her client in need of care. He didn’t need his physiotherapist lusting after him. No. He needed to get better.
She turned back to the house. The lights were on downstairs, and she could see Gabriel sitting in the living room, angling his head so he could read in spite of the bandage covering one eye. His shoulders were wider than the armchair, and while she knew it was a chair fit for an adult, he somehow managed to look like he was sitting in a pre-schooler’s seat, his body was so massive.
She watched as Ellie and Ramsey left for the night, lifting her hand in a casual wave in response to the good-byes they called out to her. They seemed…nice. Different, but nice. They quibbled over minor details, much like her own parents had. Tears burned beneath her eyelids at the unexpected thought. She missed her dad. She missed her mum, too, but she’d had more time to get used to her absence. Her father’s death was still fresh, though, still a little raw.
She took a deep breath, letting the salt air cleanse her lungs. Her father had been gravely ill for some time, and it wasn’t as though his death had come as a shock, but she was still taken by surprise, every now and then, by a thought or a memory of him. His bluster, his cheeky smuggling of a cigarette. His hacking cough toward the end. She gazed up at the house, a gothic silhouette against a dark sky.
A figure in the bullseye window in the attic moved.
Chapter 4
Bella blinked, her gaze tracking back to the movement. The space was dark, like a vacant, glassy stare of a Cyclops, the round window a black circle against the lighter grey of the house. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and her heart thumped in her chest a little faster, a little harder.
She frowned. She could have sworn she had just seen a figure up there. She stood there for a moment, gazing at the window. Ellie and Ramsey had left for the day, and Gabriel was still sitting in the living room, reading his turtle magazine. He apparently had a thing for turtles. There was nobody else in the house. She must have imagined it. She told herself the goosebumps on her arms were from the cooling winds off the ocean, and not because she’d seen a ghostly figure – because ghosts didn’t exist, no matter how ideal this particular house would be for a good haunt.
She sighed as she trudged back along the worn track toward the house. It was just her and Gabriel, tonight. Alone. She was equal parts anxious and excited at the prospect of spending the evening with a man whose body tempted her beyond professionalism. Because she was a professional. Uh-huh, that’s right. Her job was to touch the man, make him feel better.
She sniggered. Oh, she’d love to make him feel a lot better. But no. They would have a quiet evening, and an early night. Very dull, very boring, very business-like.
Pity.
***
Gabriel watched in horror as the bullet whizzed toward him. It was as though the world slowed down, holding its breath, waiting for the bullet to hit home.
A burning sensation bloomed in his shoulder, the hot pain rising like a tidal wave of fire, engulfing him, and out of the red haze a face emerged, the once-handsome features of his former boss, Lionel Lowry, slowly morphing into something elongated and pinched, the bones protruding from beneath the skin like horned fragments, the eyes turning an eerie green as they stared at him, advancing on him like alien embers. The mouth opened, exposing row upon row of sharp tiny teeth, glistening, salivating, as the creature approached. The creature that was not of this world; it emanated a chilling menace that spawned a grave sense of disquiet, deep inside his gut.
‘I’m coming for you.’ He didn’t so much as hear the words but feel them, sliding deep inside his brain, entwining with his thoughts with a scratchy, painful determination.
Gabe jerked upright in his bed, blinking the nightmare away. Hell, they were getting worse. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm his racing heart, to bring his shaking, sweaty body back under control. He flung off the sheet, wincing at the pull in his shoulder as he rose from the tangled prison of his bed. He padded over to the window, letting the cooler night air wash over his naked body, providing a slight chill to his heated flesh.
It was just a pair of green eyes, for crying out loud. A shadow, a face that was barely glimpsed – the boogie man. Yet for all the logical arguments he mentally railed against himself, nothing soothed that deep disquiet. He leaned against the window frame. The dreams were getting worse. They all started off the same: that one crystallised moment in time when Lowry shot him, destroying his shoulder, destroying his life. After that, the dreams got darker, more twisted, with an evil rising in depravity and ferocity. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes as he gazed up at the stars, peacefully twinkling in stark contrast to his sleeping terrors.
The psychiatrist had told him to expect the nightmares. He glanced at the pill bottle lying on his bedside table. He had sleeping pills, but he found the dreams were worse when he was doped to the gills. Not so much in the degree of horror, but because of his inability to wake up, to truly shake them off. For a while he’d stumbled around the house, seeing that ugly, fearsome creature in the halls, in the darkened corners of the rooms, as though he was caught between the conscious world and something far darker and more sinister. So he had to weigh up a moment of blessed, deep unconsciousness against days of torturous fear. He chose the sleepless nights.
He rubbed at the ache in his shoulder. His life sucked. Totally. That bullet had ripped apart not only the muscles and tendons in his shoulder, but also the very fabric of his life. He enjoyed building. He enjoyed putting his body to the test, making something out of bricks and mortar, creating something substantial with his hands that gave people shelter or purpose. He liked the bone-weary exhaustion at the end of the day, the sense of satisfaction and pride that came from working hard for an honest day’s pay.
It was the kind of job where he could earn a good wage, and put that money to use – in projects like the turtle refuge he’d built with a local council and school near his old home. But that was all gone. He was useless now. Couldn’t hold a brick, let alone a tool with any dexterity. What the hell did a builder do when he couldn’t build?
Some of his friends had suggested he take on truck driving, but racing around and fighting traffic – and customers – didn’t appeal to him. He would need to lift and move things, and with his current limitations he wasn’t sure if he could manage it. And he liked to be his own boss. Sure, he’d worked for a construction company, but he’d been the site supervisor for several projects. He liked the responsibility, the teamwork, working with his hands… He was touched that Melanie Rhys was following up on him. She was the stepdaughter of his former – now imprisoned – employer. The bullet that had injured him had originally been intended for her. She and Cole Strange, the undercover officer who had instigated the whole sting operation against Lionel Lowery, had kept in touch with him once his name was cleared. Cole especially understood his frustration, having worked with him on those building projects.
He glanced down at his hands, turning them over in the pale starlight. He wanted to work again. He wanted to go a day without pain. Could this new physio actually help him? Each time he received treatment from a different physio, everything changed. Each had a different way of approaching the problem, and it seemed as if he experienced a different new pain each time as they manipulated different muscle groups. He just wished he could get the full use of his hand and arm back, and if Bella could do that for him, then he’d be forever in debt to her. If she couldn’t – w
ell, that would be just one more failure in a long line of agony, another blow to his draining store of hope.
Thinking of Bella, of the massage she’d given him, brought other muscles stirring to life. He didn’t know how long he could endure her touch – and he wasn’t talking from a pain perspective. Her touch, the sensation of her skin gliding against his, had been stimulating, arousing, making him want things he had no business wanting, especially while he was in this predicament. He couldn’t hold her – not properly. He had no job, no future to bank on. Yet the body wants what the body wants, and he wanted Bella Tompkins.
***
Bella poured coffee into her mug, fighting back a yawn.
‘Not sleeping well?’ Ellie turned from her position at the bench where she was rolling something out onto a breadboard.
Bella blinked, forcing a smile to her face. ‘I need the caffeine jolt.’ This was her third coffee in an hour. She wasn’t sleeping well, that was the truth. She kept dreaming of creepy creatures and menacing shadows, waking up several times during the night at perceived sounds in the darkness, only to discover there was nothing there.
She crossed over to the laptop that she used to send her reports back to the office and opened up a browser window.
‘Do you want me to fix you something for breakfast?’ Ellie asked as she proceeded to cut out shapes with a cookie cutter from the pastry on the board.
‘Oh, please, no. I’ve already gained two kilos from your cooking,’ Bella responded. It had been just over a fortnight since Ramsey and Ellie had arrived, and the household had settled into a routine. A big cooked breakfast on the days that Ellie was on site, followed by exercises for Gabriel – he’d finally stopped grumbling about them. Then there was lunch, usually consisting of sandwiches that always seemed to taste much better than anything she could produce on her own, and a massage for Gabriel in the afternoon to prevent the muscles seizing after the treatment in the morning. Then there was a scrumptious meal for them in the evening.
Enraptured Page 4