Enraptured
Enraptured
Shannon Curtis
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Enraptured
Shannon Curtis
What happens when fairytales get the romantic suspense treatment? A cross-genre mash-up with enchanting results!
Once Upon A Crime…
Gabriel Martin was shot by his boss, and now he’s unemployed and unhappy. Furthermore, he has to deal with a continuous parade of in-home carers who just can’t seem to get his treatment right. Physiotherapist Bella Tompkins just wants to do her job in order to pay off her debts. A grumpy client is the least of her problems.
Neither of them is aware that there’s more going on than a rocky client-practitioner relationship. In the land of Fantasia, Esmerelda — Fairy Godmother Enforcer — and Rumpelstiltskin are working frantically to make sure that their beastly charge gets his fairytale ending. It should be a simple task, but nothing is ever as it seems on the Fairy Isle, where dark forces are rising, the consequences are dire, and Esmerelda has only an accident-prone fairy and an untrustworthy imp for help.
With the stakes rising ever higher, can Gabe and Bella get it together to save both their happy ending and the world?
About the Author
Shannon Curtis has worked in such diverse roles as office administration manager, customer service representative, logistics supervisor, distribution coordinator, dangerous goods handler, event planner, ‘switch bitch’ and betting agent, and decided to try writing a story like those she loved to read when she found herself at home after the birth of her first child. Her first two books were shortlisted for Favourite Romantic Suspense for 2012, 2013 and 2014 by the Australian Romance Readers Association.
She lives in Sydney with her husband and three young children, and spends entirely too much time daydreaming about hunky heroes and malicious murders – for her books, of course! She loves reading, writing and hearing from her readers, so visit her at www.shannoncurtis.com and say hi!
Acknowledgements
While we authors create our characters, there are times when our imagination needs bolstering with facts, which is when we turn to the experts. I would like to thank Stephanie and Michael Sawan at Elsie Street Physiotherapy for their information and expertise – and their patience in answering any bizarre question I could form during a session.
For my nieces: Jessica, Jessie-Anne, Chloe and Michelle. Be strong, be kind and be yourself. Each of you are beautiful, just as you are.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
Bella Tomkins pulled her keys out of the ignition and just sat there, looking up at the house. House. She snorted. More like a mini castle. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the far side of the house. Holy mackerel, is that a turret? The place looked like a throwback to another era, all decorative wood trim, sloping roofs, balconies…and a damned turret.
The castle – the house – stood on a bluff at Stanwell Tops, looking out over the Pacific Ocean and down the coast towards Wollongong. She would bet that turret delivered an awesome view. She glanced around. The house was on a landscaped five-acre property at the junction of Grand Pacific Drive and Stanwell Road, and although she’d passed other houses, there wasn’t a neighbour in sight. Private. The garden was studded with topiary, bushes cut into the shapes of mythical beasts like dragons and… well, she wasn’t quite sure what that thing was supposed to be. Maybe a dinosaur. Maybe a dog.
She got out of the car, and whistled when she saw the view. Almost two hundred and seventy degrees of cliffs, coast and ocean. Absolutely stunning. She raised her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes against the sun and glinting water. This place was…gorgeous.
And apparently the owner was a real beast.
Standing on the driveway, she turned and faced the house. The front door flung open, and Tony, one of Bella’s colleagues, ran out and down the stairs as a bellow of rage echoed from within the house.
Tony skidded to a stop on the gravel drive when he saw her. ‘Oh, thank God, Bella. You’re here. I can’t do this. I can’t work with him,’ he said gesturing to the house.
Bella cocked her head. Tony was a sweet guy, with loads of patience. He was great with difficult patients, with a gentle perseverance that generally won over the most dubious client.
Something smashed inside the house, and Tony flinched.
Apparently he hadn’t won over this client.
‘Please, I need you to take this one,’ Tony said, his eyes earnest, his face a pasty white. Dark shadows lined his eyes, and the grooves around his mouth were more pronounced. The guy looked like hell. ‘Nothing I do is right, he’s still in considerable pain, and – and I want to go home to my family.’
Bella folded her arms. ‘Are you suggesting you’re in fear of your life?’
Tony’s eyes darted toward the open door, as if he was trying to figure out the best answer – one that would get him out of his commitment. ‘Not… per se. I’m just not a good fit for this one.’
He scanned her from head to toe. ‘But I’m sure you’ll do.’
She bit back a laugh. Ri-ight. ‘This guy has gone through three carers.’ She held up three fingers. ‘Why do you think number four will be any different?’
Tony shrugged. ‘At this point, I don’t ca – er, know, but four is a charm, right?’
‘No, three is.’
‘Besides,’ he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, stepping closer to speak quietly, as if he was afraid his words would carry into the house, ‘I think he had a bad experience with the first one, and he’s got a prejudice against all physiotherapists now.’
Bella rolled her eyes. ‘Great.’
He lifted a hand. ‘No, you’ll be fine. Seriously.’
Bella thought she’d almost half-way believe him if he’d at least make eye contact when he told her the lie. And wasn’t backing away toward his car. He clasped his hands together, as though praying fervently. ‘Please, do this for me. Take this case. I need to go home to my wife and kids and hug them.’
Bella’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that why you picked me?’ Her father had died several months earlier, and there was nobody waiting for her to come home. There’d be no home in a few weeks’ time, either, after the auction.
Tony’s eyes widened as he shook his head. ‘No, no, no, not because of that. God, no.’ He stopped creeping away long enough to frown at her. ‘How could you think that? No, you owe me, remember? If you take this, consider our debt paid in full.’
Her eyebrows rose. During the last weeks before her father passed away, Tony had taken on several of her appointments, and he’d covered for her with the district management. She eyed the open front door, which revealed nothing but a dark cavity like the open maw of a gargoyle. This one client, and she and Tony were Even Stevens. She hated to feel indebted to people. She had enough bills to address after her father’s death. Besides, how hard could it be?
‘Fine.’
He closed his eyes and raised his clasped hands. ‘Thank you.’
He climbed into his car, started the engine and wound down the window. ‘Oh, and I think the house is haunted,’ he called out.
‘What?’ She’d barely finished the word when Tony revved the engine and drove off, his wheels stirring up a hail of
gravel. She stepped back to avoid getting hit by the tiny projectiles, then looked up at the Victorian home. It was stately, elaborate, grand. An elegant façade for what sounded like a living hell.
She leaned in through the back passenger window and grabbed her bag. She’d had difficult clients before. In her line of work, she’d discovered the crankiest people were those in the greatest pain. She was a physiotherapist. Alleviate the pain, and they would finally remember their manners. And if not, she’d stick cotton wool in her ears. It always helped to tune out the groans, the yelps – and the harsh curses. She still got paid, regardless of whether or not the patient was effusive in their praise. And she got paid well. In-home physiotherapy and general care didn’t come cheap. She’d be able to pay off her debts. Her shoulders sagged. Oh, the debts. So much debt. But she’d get there, eventually.
She hefted the bag and trudged up the stairs. Time to face the beast.
***
‘Hello? Where are you?’
‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Gabe Martin yelled as he slammed the pantry door shut. Damn it, he lived alone, he liked his damn solitude, and it felt like his house was turning into bloody Pitt Street. He scratched at the medical tape that pulled the skin at his temple. He still needed to wear the eye patch for another two weeks, and the itch was driving him mad.
The footsteps in the hall stopped for a moment, before resuming again. They were measured, brisk steps that seemed neither timid nor retreating. He eyed the door with a scowl, projecting a ‘get the hell lost’ vibe, as though that would make his newest intruder run in the opposite direction.
No such luck. The woman pushed the kitchen door open and strode through as though she had every right to be here. He glared at the tin of Spam in his hand, hefting it as if he was considering throwing it.
‘I wouldn’t,’ she warned him, a smile on her face. ‘Because I’ll peg it right back at you.’
Gabe turned his consideration to the woman. She was tall, with a long brown hair pulled back into a braid that hung over one shoulder. Her hazel-green eyes met his gaze with a challenge that dared him to throw the processed meat product at her. She wore jeans and a navy t-shirt that looked soft and thin, as though it was a well-loved and well-worn. On the left side of the chest was a faded logo of a hand, with the words ‘Hands On Physiotherapy’ in an arc above it.
He looked at her with barely concealed suspicion. Another damn physio. She walked over to him, stretching her hand out.
‘I’m Bella, by the way. Bella Tompkins, your new carer.’
‘I thought I’d gotten rid of you lot,’ he said, ignoring her hand. Every time one of these ‘carers’ turned up, he experienced more pain – and no discernible improvement in his situation.
The woman shook her head as she slowly dropped her hand to her side. ‘Nah. I’m the one they call in when they want to break out the big guns.’ She gestured to the tin in his hand. ‘Need some help with that?’
He looked down at the can he gripped tightly in his good hand. It had an attached ‘key’ that had to be removed and slotted onto the metal tongue, then twisted to slowly peel the strip back. It was a two-handed job.
‘No.’
He slammed the tin onto the counter and turned to face her. ‘I don’t want you here.’
She nodded. ‘I understand, but the conditions of your insurance payout are that you receive physiotherapy, rehabilitation and in-home care until such time as you are re-employable and able to take care of yourself.’
He scowled at her. He knew the conditions, damn it. If he didn’t go through with the rehab, he didn’t get the insurance money. No insurance meant no food on the table and the very real possibility of losing the home he’d just inherited from his great-aunt. Damn it. He clenched his fists – well, one of them, anyway. His left fist just curled a little, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.
It wasn’t fair, damn it. His boss, Lionel Lowry, had accidentally shot him. Accidentally, in that Lowry had fully intended to fire his weapon, just not at Gabe. No, Gabe just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was only the half of it. Gabe had then had to prove his innocence and clear his name with the police after Lowry and his partner, Dunn, were arrested on a whole host of charges ranging from fraud to assault.
And now he was stuck with an arm that didn’t work. He was a builder, damn it. How could he build with one arm?
The simple answer was – he couldn’t. He couldn’t work. He had no job. The construction company he’d worked for was now in the hands of financial administrators, and he couldn’t physically work.
He was useless, damn it. His shoulder ached constantly, he had a limited range of movement, he’d lost muscle strength and he still couldn’t feel all of his fingers. The tingling sensation in his fingers fluctuated from annoying on a good day to excruciating on a bad one.
And now he had another pest who thought she could poke and prod around, cause him more pain, just for the hell of it.
Several months after the accident, and he still couldn’t open a tin of Spam, for Pete’s sake. Just getting dressed was an ordeal that left him achy and trembling with fatigue.
‘Why don’t I make us some lunch, and then I can assess the damage to your arm and shoulder and take it from there?’ the woman said brightly.
He brushed past her and stormed out of the kitchen. ‘Screw you.’
***
Esmerelda waited patiently at the great oak doors. The G.F.C. wanted to see her. This was a good sign, right? She ruffled her wings, creating a cool draft around her shoulders, before settling the gossamer more comfortably against her back. She clasped her hands together, composing her features into a serene expression. She’d done everything that had been asked of her. She’d helped Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers prepare for the christening. She’d helped train the young Fairy Godmother Enforcer cadets – sunshine and sparkles, she’d even taken Mistyweather under her wing. Literally. The klutzy fairy had tried a shrinking spell on a blossom, only it had backfired and shrunk Mistyweather herself. Esmerelda had had to carry her around for days until the spell finally wore off. Her mask of serenity slipped for a moment. Yes, spending time with Mistyweather was enough of a penance for the G.F.C. to finally assign her a mission, surely?
The whisper-soft sound of slippers on marble reached her ears at the same time as she caught a whiff of orange bergamot. She sighed and turned.
‘What are you doing here, imp?’
Rumpelstiltskin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Whoa, imp? I don’t even rate a proper greeting, now?’
She smiled sweetly at the imp. ‘Why, what name would you like me to call you? Traitor? Deceiver? Troll Dung?’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Take your pick.’ She was still upset with him, still so very angry. And hurt. The reason she was doing the junior, mundane tasks now stood before her in all of his golden glory.
And he was glorious, damn it. Her heart sped up, just a little. Goblin guts, it just wasn’t fair, the affect this imp had on her. She should have known better; she had nobody to blame but herself. Rump had changed from the mischievous, light-hearted yet caring imp she’d known in the days of old. He had been a good friend – even more, if she allowed herself to admit it – but he’d changed. He’d gone all gold-dust crazy on his own tale, holding a babe to ransom – what had he been he thinking?
She’d thought – hoped – he’d changed after his stint in Confinement, but he’d betrayed her. As part of his parole from Confinement he’d done a work placement with her as a Fairy Godmother Enforcer. She quelled the tremor in her wings at the memory of their fairy-tale hero being shot and losing his princess to another. All because Rumpelstiltskin had invited Fate to interfere. She was doing penance for a crime of Rump’s doing, and he stood there, all golden and gorgeous and teasingly dangerous, damn it, and all she could do was admire the strength in his arms, the breadth of his shoulders.
I need a break. Esmerelda nodded to herself. Yes, that was it. Maybe the Enchanted Fore
st? There was many an opportunity to forget your troubles in a flask of elderberry wine, perhaps dancing in the arms of a handsome pixie. Maybe Mistyweather would like a break, too? And she knew seven dwarfs who were always up for a party…
‘You can call me anything, anytime,’ Rump said with a suggestive grin.
Esmerelda snapped her attention from her wistful holiday dreams to the present, to the golden-skinned tease in front of her. How is it that he could make lechery looked so gosh-darned good?
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I have plenty of names for you, turncoat.’
Rump’s gaze turned from teasing to shuttered in a blink. ‘I have my reasons, Essie.’
She glared at the large oak doors, willing them to open before she fell for his lines. ‘Not interested, Rump.’
As if on cue, the massive doors swung in, and a pixie flitted out into the hallway, looking pale and just a little anxious. Her expression relaxed into relief when she spied Esmerelda and Rumpelstiltskin waiting in the hall.
‘Oh, thank the stars. You can go in.’
She gestured toward the open doorway, her hands moving with a spark of impatience. ‘Quickly, now, you don’t want to keep them waiting.’
Them? Esmerelda shot a curious look at Rump, who merely shrugged and sauntered in. She followed.
The doors closed behind them with an echoing bang, and Esmerelda tried not to flinch. She walked across the smooth parquetry floor. She used to like this room, with the tree limbs and vines twining up to form a living shelter, the cathedral-style windows looking out over Fantasia, the capital city of the Fairy Isle. That was before she disappointed the Grand Fairy Coordinator. She peered through the gloom. The wall sconces remained unlit within the cavernous room, and the light streaming in from the pointed windows only stretched so far. The Fairy Council budget cuts were affecting everyone.
Two figures stood at the large desk in front of the windows, and Esmerelda’s steps faltered, just slightly. She’d hoped to see only the G.F.C.