Spellbound Read Online Free

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.
    The apartment smelled slightly singed, as if a lightning bolt had hit but left everything undamaged. The living room carpet was now cleared of the spell’s ingredients – Belle hadn’t wanted anything in the way if passion had led to a romp on the floor, so while she’d waited for her spirit lover to incarnate, she’d tidily packed everything away and closed the big brass cogs on her spell cabinet.
    Maybe a glass of wine would help. It would put her to sleep, if nothing else. Belle headed for the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of Yarra Valley pinot. All her movements were slow, heavy with disappointment and futility. If this didn’t work . . . Belle didn’t know what she could do. Resign herself to a solitary life. Go buy a vibrator.
    The red wine splashed into the glass. And then splashed all over the countertop as Belle jumped in fright.
    A knock.
    At the door.
    Belle put the wine bottle down with shaking hands. A bolt of excitement shot through her spine and pooled low in her belly.
    It had worked.
    Her phantom lover was waiting at the door for her. A night of unbridled pleasure lay ahead, and she didn’t have to worry about anything. If he didn’t like her body, or her taste, or found her unskilled, or frigid, or too enthusiastic, or too loud, or too anything , it didn’t matter! He’d be gone in a matter of hours, turned back into dust, a pile of grit to be vacuumed up from wherever he happened to fall.
    It was perfect. The butterflies in her stomach were excitement, not anxiety. Surely.
    She opened the door and couldn’t help her mouth dropping open a little at the image before her. She’d expected her phantom to look like Nick in the photo, in board shorts and with a bare chest, but this Nick was wearing jeans like she’d seen in the lift, and a red T-shirt that advertised some blues bar she’d never heard of.
    ‘Hi, Belle. I, uh . . .’
    Belle couldn’t help the little whimper in the back of her throat. His voice. She’d been worried about that. How would the spirits know how Nick sounded from his photograph? But thank the Goddess, they’d got it perfect.
    ‘Hi, Nick,’ Belle said, her voice weak and nervous. She gave herself an internal kick. What did weak and nervous have to do with tonight? Tonight she was a sex kitten, and Nick was her plaything.
    Belle took in a deep breath and didn’t miss the fact that Nick’s eyes glanced quickly down to her décolletage; her breasts swelled in response. That glance definitely helped.
    ‘It’s nice to see you, Nick. Won’t you come in?’ Her voice was sultry and sophisticated; just right. She was happy.
    He looked a little surprised, but then gave a quick nod. ‘Okay. Sure.’
    ‘Would you like some wine? I was just about to have a glass.’
    ‘Thanks, that’d be nice.’
    He followed her into the kitchen and Belle flinched at the red splash across the counter. Nick raised an enquiring eyebrow.
    ‘You startled me – I was pouring when you knocked.’
    ‘Oh. Are you about to go out?’
    Strange question. ‘No, why?’
    ‘Just . . .’ He gestured to her dress and stilettos.
    Remembering to be sexy Belle, not wimpy Belle, Belle smiled and gave a mysterious shrug of one shoulder. She didn’t bother cleaning up the spill, just poured another glass of wine and handed it to him. ‘Shall we take a seat?’
    ‘Sure.’
    They sat in the living room, on the sofa, and Belle felt a thrill when Nick elected to sit beside her. But once they were seated, her usual ineptness with men came to the fore. What should she do? How should she sit? What should she say?
    He was a frickin’ phantom and she couldn’t play the femme fatale!
    No wonder she’d had no dates for a long time. The words played in her