Enraptured Page 2

  Oh, pixie tricks. She instantly recognised the other figure, taller and broader in contrast to the slight, feminine form beside him. The blue cloak shimmered as though stars infinitum were caught within the weave, swirling and rippling as the figure straightened his shoulders. Esmerelda shot Rump a dark look. Fate was here.

  ‘Esmerelda, Rumpelstiltskin, thank you for coming,’ Matilda, the G.F.C., greeted her. Today the former fairy queen was wearing a flowing gown of lavender and green hues that faded into new shades in a seamless continuation of colour. Her wings draped elegantly behind her, shimmering with golden shards.

  ‘As if we had a choice,’ Rump muttered in a low tone only Esmerelda could hear.

  Esmerelda ignored him, inclining her head toward Matilda. ‘A pleasure, Your Excellency.’ She also ignored Rump’s snort at her words. She glanced surreptitiously at the two people standing beyond the desk. Fate did not look pleased. In fact, he looked downright frustrated. Matilda, on the other hand, wore just a little sheen in her eyes and wings, as though she was pleased with something.

  Either way, Esmerelda wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the conversation.

  ‘I have a mission for you,’ Matilda spoke up, her voice firm as she pointedly ignored Fate. Esmerelda watched as his eyes sparked with silver among the swirling shades of navy, indigo and lavender of his irises.

  ‘We have a fairy tale for you both to oversee.’ The Grand Fairy Coordinator handed Esmerelda a folder, and Rump stepped closer to peer over her shoulder. Too close. Esmerelda shuddered as she felt his breath tease her neck. She frowned, and tried to focus on the information in front of her. She gasped when she saw an image and recognised the man.

  ‘It’s Gabriel,’ she blurted, lifting her gaze to Matilda’s. Gabriel was the hero who’d been shot on their last mission – the one they’d failed. The G.F.C. nodded.

  ‘Yes. He is the subject of your next assignment.’ Matilda shot Fate a dark look. ‘We decided that he deserved his tale, and now is the time. Right, Father Time?’ The head of state asked the question sweetly as she continued to look at the man glaring at her from the end of her desk.

  Father Time – otherwise known as Fate – maintained his stony silence.

  Esmerelda flicked hurriedly through the pages. She’d worked with Gabriel. He’d impressed her with his strong values – something that had unfortunately contributed to him getting shot. He was her one failure. Nobody was supposed to get hurt in a fairy tale – at least, not so seriously. He’d almost died. The Fairy Council still cracked jokes about it. Her perfect record was now blighted. Now, though, she had a chance to make up for it. Not only to save her reputation, but to make reparation to the man she’d been charged to protect.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.

  Matilda smiled, this time sincerely. ‘I thought you would.’ The G.F.C. cast a quick glance at Rumpelstiltskin, who hadn’t moved from his too-near position at Esmerelda’s side. Esmerelda almost stepped away, but didn’t. She didn’t want him to think she was intimidated by him, she told herself. It had nothing to do with enjoying the warmth emanating from his form, or the seductive scent of orange bergamot teasing her senses.

  ‘Make no mistake,’ the G.F.C. said, her tone serious. ‘Nothing has happened to jeopardise this tale.’ She placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘And nothing will happen to jeopardise this tale. You are merely to observe, and offer assistance only if necessary.’ A cool breeze stirred up, as if to emphasise the last three words. ‘This is an opportunity for you both to ease back into active duty.’

  Esmerelda nodded. She understood. It was a babysitting assignment. No challenge, no excitement, but she knew the G.F.C. would be watching them closely.

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Father Time has agreed to refrain from any interference,’ the G.F.C. informed them. Esmerelda furtively glanced at the imposing figure. His white-blond hair moved in shining waves, as though disturbed by a breeze only he could feel. However the agreement had been struck, Fate was not happy about it.

  ‘Beware, though – if something untoward happens to this tale, or this human, there will be consequences,’ Matilda said, her gaze deliberate. ‘This is your second case, Rumpelstiltskin. If you fail again, you will return to Confinement to serve out the rest of your sentence.’

  Esmerelda’s mouth fell open. That would mean…infinity. Rump would be stuck there forever.

  ‘And you, Esmerelda – well, if something were to happen to another in your charge, I would have to assume you require retraining.’

  Esmerelda closed her mouth. Retraining. That meant she would no longer be a Fairy Godmother Enforcer – she would be assigned a new vocation, perhaps working in the mines with the dwarves. She swallowed and nodded, biting back her protests.

  ‘Now, you may leave,’ Matilda said, straightening her shoulders, her gossamer wings catching the light streaming in from the windows behind her, sparkling and glimmering against the gloom of the room.

  Esmerelda turned, then halted. Rump took his time to step away from her so that she could move past him, and she didn’t miss the devilish twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Game on,’ he whispered to her as she passed him. She lifted her nose higher and pretended she hadn’t heard him as they walked out of the office.

  Matilda sank down into the chair behind her desk, shifting to allow room for her wings.

  ‘You may go, too, Fate,’ she said, waving her hand in dismissal, successfully hiding the tremor. He hadn’t lost any of his magnetism, and that shook her as nothing else could.

  ‘Oh, I’m just as eager to leave as you are to get rid of me, Tilly, but a word of warning,’ Fate said as he leaned down to meet her gaze at eye level. ‘I will not be instructed like some fairy cadet of yours. I am Father Time, and bound by no one.’

  Fate stood so close to her, so large and formidable, but she was Matilda, Grand Fairy Coordinator. She, too, had lived through the ages, and she had no intention of letting Fate back into her life. It had hurt too much the first time. She took in his cape, now swirling with the draft of his ire, the flow of hair she’d once run her fingers through. No, she wouldn’t bow to Fate again.

  ‘I am no cadet, either, Fate,’ she replied, emphasising his name, and not his title. ‘And you promised not to interfere.’

  Fate stared at her for a moment, and she was almost mesmerised by the shimmering storm inside his irises. Almost. She reminded herself that she could shimmer up a storm, too, if needed.

  ‘I promised I wouldn’t act unless called,’ he reminded her, his tone all silky and low.

  She pulled an un-stately face. ‘You won’t be called, Fate.’

  Fate’s lips lifted in a slow smile, and her gaze dropped to his mouth, and memories of just how talented that mouth could be rose within her mind.

  ‘You forget, Tilly. I am the past, the present, and the future. I am Time itself. I follow nobody’s bidding.’

  She leaned her elbow on the table and cupped her chin. ‘Well, in this case, you follow mine.’

  His smile broadened. ‘Only because, at present, it suits.’ He shrugged. ‘In the future, it may not.’

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Matilda froze. Blinked. Then sensation swamped her, and she closed her eyes, giving herself up to his kiss. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past her lips to duel with her own. Heat rose within her, her breasts swelling against the clinging fabric of her dress.

  This was how it had always been with them. Instant, consuming, an intoxicating conflagration of the senses.

  Fate pulled away, ending the kiss abruptly. Matilda breathed heavily, sensation thrumming through her, tempted. Frustrated.

  ‘Another time,’ he whispered, then spun and strode out of the room.

  Matilda lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, her heart gradually returning to a normal beat. Pixie tricks. Had she actually thought she could control Fate?
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  Chapter 2

  Bella set up her portable massage table, then tested it for stability. From what she’d seen of her patient, he was a big one. Maybe six foot three inches tall. His feet were going to dangle off the end. He was also broad – but not in a dumpy, plump way, from what she could see. No, he looked like a wall of solid muscle. She tried to give the table a shake. It didn’t move. Satisfied the table would hold his weight, she laid out a cloth around the headrest and a large pump bottle of moisturiser, her movements quick and efficient.

  Her patient was a surly one, that was for sure. He’d barely acknowledged her when she’d set his sandwich down in front of him. She shuddered, making a mental note to do some grocery shopping. His fridge and cupboards were lean, but she’d noticed he had a nice stock of tins of what she thought of as camp food, along with what looked like a year’s supply of two-minute noodles. She still hadn’t found any fruit.

  Nutrition was an important part of healing, but one of the most overlooked. Fuelling the body with good food could actually assist in the healing process, along with rest and some exercises tailored to the patient’s condition.

  She could tell Gabriel Martin was in a lot of pain. The lines bracketing his mouth, despite the cover of a beard, the dark shadows under the one eye she could see, the way he held his shoulders. The man was acting like a jerk, but she could understand. Considerable pain, particularly over a long period, wore away at civility. But she was going to fix that. That was what she did; she came, she fixed, she left.

  One of the reasons she’d selected a career in physiotherapy was because she could have a positive impact on people. A physio could take pain away and free up movement, and that directly affected the patient’s quality of life. Small steps with her meant big changes for the patient. She got great satisfaction out of knowing that with her aid, someone’s existence had just gotten that much better.

  Not to mention that focusing on others meant she could quite nicely avoid looking at the emptiness in her own life.

  She stepped back and viewed her station, nodding. Good. She was ready for work. She left the room and walked along the long hallway to the living area that opened out onto a back deck.

  She halted in the doorway. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was magnificent. Endless blue stretched out to a horizon that was only minimally defined. Shaggy sandstone bluffs met the sea with dark rocks and white spray, and the occasional seagull dipped and rose on invisible currents.

  She stared out the windows for a long moment, enjoying the view. A movement to her right caught her eye, and she turned. Gabriel Martin was sitting in a recliner with a book, only he wasn’t reading his book on – building turtle ponds? Nor was he staring at the panorama beyond the windows. He was staring at her.

  Her heart thumped just a little faster in her chest, but she kept her expression calm. She hadn’t noticed him sitting there so quietly in the corner, but she looked at him now. His skin had a natural tan, his hair and eyes were so dark. She guessed he was of Mediterranean or Latin descent. Either way, with dark hair way overdue for a trim, swarthy skin and beard, and a patch over one eye, he looked like a pirate. A sexy, slightly rakish pirate, at that. He glared at her, as though he could burn her to a pile of ash with just one look. She smiled, ignoring his obvious antipathy. A sexy pirate with an attitude. Just what she wanted in a client. Not. But – well, she couldn’t be choosy over a client, just as he couldn’t be choosy over a physiotherapist. They needed each other, no matter how much they - disliked the situation.

  ‘I’m all set up and ready for you, Mr Martin, if you’d like to come through…’

  The man stared at her for a moment, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. Yep, the man was most definitely not happy. She tried to look at it from his point of view. She was the fourth physiotherapist to work with him, and obviously the previous three hadn’t managed to relieve his pain. Not only that, but the insurance policy paid for a live-in situation, to help him with meals and general house duties. That meant she was the fourth stranger to come live in his home and take over his life.

  Well, he’d just have to get used to it.

  Gabriel rose from his seat, and she noticed the slight hitch to his shoulder, as though the movement had caused him pain. She frowned. From the report she’d read, it had been several months since the incident. He should be a lot further along in his recovery than this.

  He stopped in front of her, and her gaze dropped down to his pursed lips. His lower lip was fuller, almost luscious. His dark beard obscured most of his face, but she could still see the handsome features buried beneath, the prominent jaw and cheekbones, although one side looked slightly higher than the other. Far from detracting from his dark good looks though, the aesthetic imbalance gave him a dangerous, devilish air.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ he asked, his voice low and gravelly. Her mouth opened in surprise at his leading question, until she realised his expression wasn’t flirtatious but suspicious. Well, darn. A little spark of disappointment flared at that realisation, followed by irritation at her disappointment. The man was her client, for goodness sake.

  ‘Er…I’m going to, uh, review your status, and then we’ll start with an examination and take it from there.’ He was standing quite close. She leaned back, just a little. Maybe the eye patch interfered with depth perception. Or maybe he was just trying to intimidate her. Either way, she was a little uncomfortable with the close proximity.

  ‘Well, let’s get to it, shall we?’ she said, purposefully cheery, and led him to the small room off the hallway she’d selected for treatment. She wasn’t sure where the other physios had set up; there was no sign of previous equipment or supplies anywhere. She gestured to the massage table.

  ‘Take a seat.’ She lifted her chart off the sideboard in the room and unclipped the pen from the top of the chart. There were basic diagnostic diagrams on the chart, and she looked up, pen at the ready. ‘So, where does it hurt?’

  Gabriel settled himself down on the table, his feet touching the floor. He frowned, and she ignored the inner flutter of unease at his harsh expression.

  ‘You don’t know? They didn’t brief you?’ Gabriel made a rough sound of annoyance.

  She pasted the sweet smile back on her face. ‘They did, but I want to hear it from you.’

  ‘All the other guys just went ahead with their job,’ Gabriel muttered.

  Which could be part of the problem, Bella thought, but she could hardly blame them. Gabriel was…prickly. He didn’t quite inspire the desire for conversation, she’d noticed.

  ‘I always take the time to listen to my clients, instead of relying on someone else’s paperwork.’ She raised the pen. ‘So, where does it hurt?’

  ‘My shoulder.’

  She waited, then raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s it?’

  Gabriel’s frown deepened. ‘That’s not enough? I got shot in the damn shoulder. It hurts.’

  She nodded, keeping her expression calm. ‘I understand. Does your arm also hurt? Or your neck? Your back?’

  Gabriel stared at her for a moment. ‘My arm,’ he answered finally, reluctantly. ‘Maybe my neck.’

  She arched an eyebrow. ‘Maybe?’

  ‘Okay, my neck hurts, too. I get a twinge every now and then when I move it.’

  She nodded as she quickly marked out the areas on the diagram as he mentioned each pain point. ‘Headaches?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How’s your vision?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She glanced up briefly from the chart. ‘Why the patch, then?’

  He blinked. ‘Most people don’t mention it,’ he said stiffly.

  She frowned. ‘Why not?’ It wasn’t like it was a faint scar. The white bandage and tape was quite obvious. Did he hope nobody noticed?

  ‘Probably because most people are polite,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  She shrugged. She’d learned if you never asked, you never learned. ‘I’m not most people, then.
Why the patch?’ There was no mention of a facial injury or vision problem in the notes she’d read. She might need to factor this in to his recovery exercises.

  ‘I had a fractured eye socket and cheekbone.’

  She winced. ‘Ouch. That usually doesn’t require an eye patch, though.’

  His brown eye glared at her with impatience. ‘The fracture pinched some eye muscles, and now I have to wear the patch to retrain those muscles back into shape.’

  She nodded. One of her friends from primary school had had a similar issue – although not from a fractured eye socket. ‘Does it hurt when you bend down, or strain to lift something?’

  He nodded, his expression surprised. ‘Yeah, it does.’

  She made a note on her chart. ‘Handy to know,’ she murmured. She’d have to make sure she avoided exercises that involved those movements. ‘Okay, so these headaches you experience – tell me more about them.’

  She jotted down more notes as he talked about his injuries. She shook her head at one stage when he told her about the pinching pain at the side of his neck. ‘No wonder you’re…’ she broke off when she realised she was speaking aloud, and lifted her gaze from the chart.

  His dark eyebrow rose. ‘I’m…what?’

  Testy. Rude. A regular old cranky-pants. ‘In so much pain,’ she finished lamely. ‘What kind of pain killers are you taking?’

  ‘None.’

  She gaped at him. ‘None? Didn’t anyone prescribe you anything?’ The man was in such pain.

  ‘Sure they did. I don’t take them.’

  Bella placed the chart carefully back on the sideboard. ‘Why don’t you take your medication?’ She’d had patients before who were reluctant to fill their prescription.

  Gabriel’s lips firmed, and she watched the movement for a moment before trying to switch her attention to his answer.

  ‘I don’t like taking the pills.’

  That was it. His whole answer, abrupt and succinct.

  ‘Why? They’d give you some relief, maybe help you sleep.’

  ‘That’s the problem. They make me groggy, dopey. I don’t like feeling out of it.’