Fairytale Come Alive

by Kristen Ashley

  She was trying to come to terms with standing, wearing nothing but her bra, panties and saucy shoes in front of a seated Prentice, his hands sliding to her waist then back and down, to cup her bottom, his eyes roaming her body, a body that seemed to heat under his gaze.

  “Got a call from Dougal today,” he announced bizarrely before he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the top edge of her panties.

  “Yes?” she breathed, forgetting her near nudity and Prentice’s strange announcement as her mind focused with pinpoint accuracy on what his tongue was doing.

  “Aye,” Prentice said softly against the skin of her belly, one of his hands stayed cupped at her behind, the other one slid forward, the tips of his fingers trailing the lower edge of her panties, around and in and her breath caught as Prentice went on, “He asked me for pointers.”

  “Pointers?” Elle parroted, losing concentration on what he was saying as her mind preferred to focus on the heat that was building everywhere.

  “Aye, Elle,” Prentice whispered against her then he rubbed the stubble of his chin on her skin, his head tilted back to look at her. “He wanted pointers on how to fuck Annie against a wall.”

  Elle’s body froze but her eyes went wide and her stomach plummeted.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  “Apparently, Annie told him, because you told her and Mikey, that I had a particular talent in that area.”

  “Oh my God,” Elle breathed again.

  Visions of Prentice throwing her out of his beautiful home because she had such a big mouth filled her head but visions of Prentice’s devilish grin filled her eyes as his strong hands suddenly yanked her forward so she was straddling his lap.

  His arms went around her, one tight at her waist, the other hand sliding up and fisting in her hair.

  Elle put both hands to his neck and tried to remember how to breathe.

  When she accomplished this feat, she whispered, “I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I got carried away and –”

  “I’m no’ sorry,” Prentice cut in, his grin still wicked. “Dougal said I’m practically a legend.”

  His heart-stopping grin finally penetrated her panicked mind and her eyes narrowed.

  “A legend?” she asked dubiously.

  His hand in her hair maneuvered her mouth to his. “Aye, practically a legend.”

  “Pren –” Elle started but he kissed her quiet.

  Later, much later, when he stopped kissing her because she couldn’t bear it any longer but his hand was in her panties, his finger was in her and Elle was rocking against it and breathing heavily into his mouth, Prentice finished.

  “Let’s see if we can take away the practically part.”

  Elle nodded dazedly, thinking, equally dazedly, that he’d already managed that. Then she sucked in breath when his thumb found her, put on delicious pressure and swirled.

  “Come for me so I can watch, baby,” he growled his order against her mouth.

  Her hips ground into his hand, her fingers clutched his shoulders and Elle did as she was told.

  * * * * *

  Prentice

  Even later (much later), Prentice slid out of Elle’s silken wetness.

  Then he gave himself a moment to gaze down at her in his bed, her head to the side, her cheek to the pillow, her hair spread against it, her breath heavy, eyes closed, fingers still clenching the pillowcase.

  He was kneeling between her legs, her sweet ass was in the air and, as his hand drifted over one smooth, curved cheek, he looked beside him.

  She was still wearing those sexy, black, spike heels.

  Jesus, he couldn’t believe it but the fucking sight of her ass, her shapely leg and her foot still wearing that sexy shoe made his still hard cock jerk almost to ready again.

  His hands guiding her gently, he shifted her to her side then, one by one, he unbuckled and took off her shoes, kissing her ankles as he did so, tossing the shoes aside, after which he joined her in bed.

  Yanking the covers from under their bodies to over them, he pulled her in his arms.

  She snuggled close.

  He dipped his chin and into her hair, he murmured, “You’re a legend too.”

  Her head came up and she looked into his eyes.

  “I am?” she asked with what appeared to be genuine shock.

  Even though he didn’t want the thoughts to intrude, not now, not after just having her, making her come twice and holding her in his arms, Prentice couldn’t help but feel the jealous anger, knowing, if it wasn’t for her fucking father and his own ego, he could have been her only lover.

  Instead, she’d clearly had plenty of experience.

  His voice was gruff when he replied, “You are.”

  Her eyes drifted away as did her thoughts before she settled into him again and whispered sleepily, “That’s funny.”

  His hand stroked her hair when he asked, “What?”

  “What what?” Her voice was quieter, she was sliding into dreamland.

  “What’s funny?” Prentice pressed, his hand halting its stroking, his arms going around her to give her a gentle squeeze to stop her from falling asleep.

  “That you think I’m a legend.” She nestled closer. “Laurent thought I was frigid. I didn’t enjoy sex with him.” Her voice dropped lower when she finished, “At all.”

  Prentice’s arms squeezed again, this time reflexively.

  This made him inexplicably glad.

  In fact, it fucking thrilled him.

  Laurent Evangelista, renowned international playboy, apparently was shit in bed.

  He’d have to be if Elle, who was the most responsive woman Prentice had ever had, didn’t respond to him.

  That only meant one thing.

  And Prentice knew he shouldn’t ask.

  He knew it.

  But he asked.

  “And your other lovers?”

  “My other lovers?” She, again, sounded drowsy.

  “Did they think you were legend?”

  She laughed and it too sounded sleepy.

  “What’s funny?” Prentice enquired.

  She cuddled closer, her arm sliding along his stomach to curl around his waist and she settled in, her weight getting heavy as she said, right before she fell asleep, her words stunning him solid, “There weren’t any. Just Laurent. And now… you.”

  Prentice’s eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.

  He understood it was selfish, hearing this additional evidence of Elle’s loneliness, but he couldn’t deny what registered deep in his soul.

  And he knew exactly what it was because he’d felt it many times before.

  He felt it when he first met Elle.

  He felt it when they were reunited after their first separation, when he saw her adorable, nervous stutter step while she was approaching him in Fergus’s driveway the second summer she came to Scotland.

  He felt it again, only moments later, when she was in his arms and she said to him with such deep feeling, “Not as much as I missed you.”

  He felt it when she agreed to marry him.

  He felt it when he watched Fiona walk toward him down the aisle.

  He felt it both times Fee told him she was pregnant and after both times she safely delivered a healthy child.

  He felt it when he moved his family into the house he’d designed and built for them.

  He felt it when he read the ridiculous good-bye note Elle left after the first night they shared together, a note that included a PS that there was coffee made and Danish at the ready.

  He felt it when Sally woke up from her coma and recognized him instantly.

  He felt it when Elle forgave him for his betrayal.

  And he felt it now.

  And that feeling was blessed.

  Careful not to disturb her, Prentice rolled and turned off the light.

  And, within seconds of pulling Elle close, Prentice joined her in a deep, dreamless, peaceful, sated, blessed sleep.

  * * * * *
r />   Fiona

  Fiona woke up in her tent wondering when she’d get to go wherever she was going.

  Her work was done.

  And she was pretty damned satisfied with it if she did say so herself.

  Therefore, she was kind of surprised she went back to her tent.

  This couldn’t be it.

  If Fiona existed, both her Nans and her Granda’ were somewhere out there and Fiona couldn’t imagine why she’d be kept from them. She couldn’t imagine eternity was alone.

  Then again, it could be that horrible black place, so she probably shouldn’t complain.

  She wandered out of her tent and stopped dead.

  A man stood at the stream. He was wearing a white suit, he had thick white hair, a white goatee and a white string tie.

  He looked like a thinner, younger Colonel Sanders of chicken fame, except his string tie wasn’t black and he wasn’t wearing glasses.

  “Are you God?” she whispered, thinking it was kind of funny that God looked like Colonel Sanders.

  Then again, the Colonel’s chicken was nothing to sneeze at, it couldn’t be described as divine but it certainly tasted good.

  The man smiled and shook his head.

  “An angel?” she breathed as he walked to her.

  “I’m not an angel, Fiona, I’m a messenger.”

  “An angelic messenger?” Fiona asked.

  “Um…” he hesitated, “something like that.”

  “Are you here to take me to heaven?” she enquired, certain she knew the answer, certain that he was definitely there to take her to heaven but suddenly uncertain she wanted to go.

  She hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye to Sally and Jason.

  Or Prentice.

  Or, even, Bella.

  “No, Fiona, your work is not yet done.”

  Fiona stared at him not getting a good feeling about this.

  Then she asked, “My work?”

  He nodded.

  “What work?” Fiona went on.

  “Before you…” he paused a moment then continued, “move on, you have to commit one selfless act.”

  There it was.

  She got it.

  And she just knew it.

  She had to give up Prentice and her family to Bella before she could move on.

  “Tick that one off, Messenger Man,” Fiona state proudly, straightening her shoulders. “Last night –”

  “You don’t think it would be that easy,” Messenger Man interrupted her and Fiona was back to staring.

  Easy?

  He thought that was easy?

  That wasn’t easy!

  It was, at first, frustrating. Then annoying. Then heartbreaking (okay, so all of the time it was heartbreaking).

  And a lot of other things besides.

  What it wasn’t was easy.

  “I don’t get it,” Fiona told him and she went statue-still when his hand came up and rested on her arm.

  She stared at his hand.

  No one had touched her in fifteen months.

  She didn’t know this man but his touch felt good.

  She swallowed and looked back at him.

  “There isn’t much time and there isn’t much I can say. You’re learning your way but you have to be faster, Fiona. If you don’t, they’ll win,” he told her.

  “Who’ll win what?” Fiona enquired, confused.

  “They’ll win…” he hesitated again before he said, “you.”

  Instantly, she understood.

  And it frightened the life out of her (figuratively, of course).

  “The black,” she whispered and he nodded sadly.

  “We can hold it at bay for only so long,” he explained.

  “I don’t want to go there again,” Fiona told him in a horror filled voice.

  “And you don’t belong there but you have to succeed and you have to do it soon.”

  “But, Bella –”

  “Has experienced a lifetime of pain,” he interrupted her. “One night of understanding is not going to erase that, Fiona.”

  What he said made sense.

  And it was also irritating.

  “I’ve been doing everything I can,” Fiona informed him. “And it hasn’t been easy.”

  “It isn’t supposed to be.”

  “Well, then, you gave me a good task because it’s not,” Fiona shot back.

  “There are dangers,” he warned, his voice was dire and Fiona felt her stomach twist.

  “Dangers?” she whispered.

  “To Isabella. There are dangers lurking,” he replied.

  Oh no.

  “What dangers?” Fiona asked. “Her father?”

  He shook his head, clearly not going to answer.

  Fiona’s irritation grew. “You have to help especially if Bella’s in danger! I wouldn’t know what to do!”

  “Use your magic,” he advised.

  Fiona, again, stared. What was he on about?

  “Magic?”

  “Yes, your magic.” When she continued to stare, he explained, sounding impatient, “You are her fairy godmother.”

  Fiona broke her stare to blink.

  Then she asked, “Fairy godmother?”

  His brows drew together. “You didn’t know?”

  “No,” she snapped. “I didn’t know. I’m Prentice’s wife. Sally and Jason’s mother. I thought I was a ghost. A fairy godmother is fat and jolly and has a magic wand and didn’t used to be in love with and married to the heroine’s handsome hero, for goodness sake!”

  Messenger Man got closer and squeezed her arm. “There are those, not many, who slide straight to black. There are those, not many, who lived lives so filled with good deeds, they move directly on. But all the rest, Fiona, are put to one final test. Especially if they’ve lived lives, no matter how short, filled with bounty. You,” he squeezed her arm again, “had a life cut short but it was a life filled with bounty. You have to share your bounty before you move on. It might be difficult, my dear, but it is the way, the only way, for you to move on.”

  Fiona sucked in the breath she did, indeed, breathe in this strange world.

  “It’s hard,” she admitted quietly. “And it hurts.”

  “Selfless acts normally do,” he replied, dropped his hand and, even though what he was saying was upsetting (and also kind of pissed her off), she missed his touch when it was gone. “But you want them to be happy, all of them, I know you do.”

  Fiona nodded. “I do.”

  “Then find your magic, Fiona, and do your deed so you can go home.”

  “How do I find my magic?” she asked.

  He shook his head but answered, “I misspoke, you don’t have to find it, you have to recognize it.”

  She blinked and said, “What?”

  But she asked nothing and no one.

  Because he was gone.

  Disappeared.

  Vanished.

  She stared at where his white-suited body used to be.

  Then she looked to the blue sky with its fluffy white clouds and she shouted, “This moving on business better be worth it!”

  She received no reply.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carver

  Prentice

  The doorbell buzzed to Elle’s apartment and Prentice woke instantly.

  This was unusual, Prentice was a deep sleeper.

  But from the moment they arrived in Chicago, he’d been waiting for this.

  And he was looking forward to it.

  Therefore he rolled into Elle who had woken too and looked into her shadowed face.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  “But –” she whispered, her voice sleepy but full of fear and Prentice felt his temper flare.

  And he was glad for it. He wanted to be angry. He did not intend to keep a very tight hold on his control. If it snapped, he’d welcome it.

  “Don’t move,” Prentice repeated.

  “The children,” she said.

  “It’ll be
okay.”

  “I don’t –”

  His mouth found hers and he kissed her quiet before murmuring, “Elle, baby, trust me.”

  He heard her pull in a soft breath and watched her shadowed head nod.

  He threw the bedclothes aside and the bell buzzed again.

  Jesus, the bastard was impatient.

  Prentice wanted to make him wait. However Carver could wake the children, both also deep sleepers like their father, and Prentice courted this if he delayed.

  So he didn’t delay.

  He also didn’t put on a shirt but walked to the front door only in a pair of pajama bottoms.

  He did this on purpose.

  He wanted Carver Austin to be confronted with Prentice and Elle’s intimacy. He wanted that man’s imagination to run wild. He wanted him to know that he’d pulled Prentice from Elle’s arms, from her bed. He wanted him to wonder what they might be doing there.

  It didn’t say much about him but he didn’t care.

  After what that man did to Elle and took from the both of them, Prentice wanted Carver Austin to be tortured by every conceivable way Prentice could make Elle happy.

  Prentice weaved his way around the many obstacles to the front door.

  They’d been in Chicago three days and there were boxes everywhere. They spent the mornings packing or, Elle, Prentice and Jason did, Sally spent it mostly digging through stuff, showing treasures she found to Elle and asking, “What’s this?” and alternately chattering. They spent the afternoons seeing the city.

  Sightseeing was strange, not unpleasant but not as pleasant as it could be and this was mainly because people recognized them everywhere they went. They gawked, they whispered behind their hands and more than once they opened their phones and took photos.

  Sally seemed not to notice a thing.

  Jason found it funny and once made a face at one of their impromptu photographers.

  Prentice found it startlingly easy to ignore.

  It would be easier to ignore if it didn’t make Elle visibly anxious.

  All of this partly had to do with Elle already being famous, partly the photographers who’d already sold their pictures but mostly it had to do with fucking Hattie Fennick.

  Hattie Fennick had sold Prentice and Elle’s story to a rag and it was printed the day before Prentice, Elle and the kids flew to Chicago.

  Hattie had fortunately painted Prentice and Elle as star-crossed lovers, torn apart by a wicked, evil man and thrown back together by fate.