by Krista Lakes
She didn’t even hear Mr. Hayes slide into the driver’s seat next to her; didn’t even wince as the stabbing, white flash returned with a powerful vengeance.
Tracy felt dizzy, like the world had begun to spin faster on its axis. Everything around was a white blur that was streaked by a dizzying, swirling mix of blue and a deep, blood red. As if in her own little bubble, Tracy watched the dancing colors move around her in a perfect sphere, blocking out whatever lay on the other side.
She reached out apprehensively. Slowly, carefully, she extender her fingers toward it. She could feel an icy wind. Her hair began to whip around her head, blocking out her vision in quick flashes. All the while, she still couldn’t muster the courage to touch the sphere.
The Arctic wind blew even stronger. It forced her back a little and she wrapped her arms around the thin nightgown that covered her supple body.
"Paul?"
She never just called him Paul, but it seemed to make sense to her right then.
Though the fluttering chunks of her hair, Tracy saw a large hand break through the mist, which had by then formed into large, black clouds. On one knuckle, a tiny crescent scar caught her eye. Had he gotten hurt?
"Paul! I…"
The hand slapped down onto her arm and squeezed her so tightly that she could feel the tendons in her wrists crackling. Then, with a powerful jerk that made Tracy feel like the wind had been knocked out of her, it forced her up.
In the car, one of the many yellow street lights that dotted the street passed by overhead and illuminated the sleeping woman in a brief flash. Mr. Hayes looked into his rearview mirror and then turned his attention to Tracy. Her nightmares had been keeping both of them up at night.
"Paul," she muttered softly. The sound of her voice speaking his first name took him by surprise, but he remained silent.
Suddenly, Tracy gasped loudly and turned over in her reclined seat so that she was facing away from her concerned lover. Mr. Hayes reached a hand out and stroked her head softly as he turned his gaze back to the road.
"What is going on with you?"
The powerful hand jerked her back to her feet. In front of her stood a man who wasn’t Paul Hayes. Tracy had no idea who he was. The clouds and colors were long gone, leaving them in an open plane of icy white under a blue sky.
The man’s deep brown, almost black eyes pierced into Tracy’s thoughts. He was a short man, but wrapped in muscle. He had black, buzz-cut hair and his jaw was locked tight, working the muscles in his face.
The two of them stood there for a while, just staring, before the man sprang toward her like a lion. In seconds, he had forced her to the ground and pinned her down. Tracy’s already short night dress flipped up, exposing a pair of lacy, red panties.
Underneath her body, which began to throb wildly from the surge of adrenaline, the ground felt like one giant slab of ice. It sent a violent chill racing through her spine and made her previously soft nipples stand out immediately.
"Who are you?" she tried to yell and bucked her body against the man. "Get off of me!"
The man grabbed each of her wrists again, just as hard as the first time, and slammed them down onto the frozen ground. The force was enough to make her breasts bounce up and down, exposing the very edge of one of her pink nipples.
Tracy tried to scream for Paul. She could feel her mouth moving, could feel the straining vibrations making her vocal chords spasm, but there was no sound except for the constant whooshing of the cold wind racing over them. She tried again to push his body away, this time using her feet to try and kick him off of her.
The man growled – she could see it in the way that he gritted his yellowed, crooked teeth, even though his voice was as silent here as her own – and pushed her down again. He was like quicksand: the more that she fought, the closer the two became.
Finally, after a struggle that felt like it lasted hours, the man sank down between Tracy’s thighs. Leading the way, his massive erection bulged out against his smooth, black slacks. The huge lump settled against Tracy’s pussy, resting there like an anaconda ready to attack.
The man’s eyes flashed with red, and he leaned in so that their cheeks were nearly touching. His lips, a rough as sandpaper, grazed her lips as he spoke on mute. His hips began to grind down onto her, rocking his member against her tender area.
He had taken control of her.
Tracy squeezed her eyes shut. The man let go of her wrists and cupped one of her full breasts in one hand. While his thrusts continued, his other hand started to trace a line from the top of her head. With one finger, he dragged across her forehead, over the scar that had been left from her accident, and continued on along the top of her eyebrow. From there, he slipped the single digit over her cheek, coming to rest just below the right side of her chin.
The man pressed his finger into the sensitive patch of flesh. Then it went cold, just as cold as the ground beneath them, which had begun to melt from their collective body heat.
The wind stopped abruptly. Now there was no sound at all. No heavy breaths or beating hearts. No hint of Tracy’s protests or the words that the man was still reciting into her ear. Instead, the only thing that broke through the silence was an unmistakable sound: a gun being cocked.
Tracy didn’t have to look, but she did anyway. The man’s icy finger had transformed into a gun and was neatly pressed against the bottom of her jaw. The cool, silver steel that wrapped the body shone like the sun, making Tracy’s eyes water uncontrollably.
Now giving off a glow so bright that it started to melt everything around, the gun started to vibrate against Tracy’s shivering flesh. It was only seconds before it took over everything. The man melted away, as did the freezing ground and baby blue skies.
The last thing that Tracy saw was the gun’s handle. It had been painted a deep, purple-tinged hue of crimson. In her head, the man’s solemn, monotone voice finally burst through the ether.
"I’ll have his blood."
Tracy awoke with a start as the car pulled into the driveway. She was still so tired, and felt like she hadn't had any rest in days. Was what she just saw someone's dreams? Or was it just a bad dream of hers produced by stress? It was all so confusing, and she almost didn't want to go to sleep again. However, as she crawled into bed with Mr. Hayes, sleep claimed her almost immediately.
Chapter 18
The morning of Tracy’s meeting with Gordon Baxter was a frenzied rush of activity, as she had tons of things to do. She was a nervous wreck. Everything that she did was done with half her mind elsewhere, leading to more than one disaster. The coffee machine overflowed after she dumped way too much coffee grounds into the basket. Her solitary piece of toast, the only thing that she thought could stomach, burned into a stinky, square puck.
Even her lowly hair brush wasn't immune. Some time earlier, Tracy had accidentally turned on a flat iron that she’d left out. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t left her brush sitting on top of it. When she stepped out of the shower, she was met only by a molten puddle of plastic and rubber.
If this is how today is going to be, she thought to herself, maybe I should just go back to bed.
Mr. Hayes, who had gone out briefly that morning, walked back into their bedroom and spotted Tracy sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a plush cotton towel. Her hair was still wet and she wore a look of absolute defeat on her face.
"What’s wrong?" He looked around and sniffed dramatically, "And why does the whole house smell?"
Tracy sighed. She wanted to tell him about her concerns, wanted to be able to talk about her last vision. It was, of course, the whole reason why she couldn’t seem to get her head on straight. Who was that man? Could it have been Baxter? Though he was a famous chef, Tracy couldn’t remember his face. After all, today would be the first time that she would meet him in person.
But if she was to confess to the powers that she had, Mr. Hayes could find out about how their relationship really began, and that was so
mething that Tracy wasn’t prepared to deal with. She stared down at the floor between her bare feet.
"Tracy?"
Mr. Hayes’ words snapped her out of her trance-like state.
"Yeah?"
He sat down onto the bed next to her and wrapped his arm around her without saying anything else. Tracy sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder.
The earthy, sweet scent of his cologne filled her lungs.
After several quiet minutes, Mr. Hayes cleared his throat and asked softly, "Seriously, Tracy. What is going on? This has to be about more than just the restaurant."
His words made Tracy’s heart skip a beat. Could he know what was going on while she slept? Did he have any clue? She turned her eyes up, though she could only see the bottom of his jaw, and stared blankly at the light peppering of dark hairs. There was a tension growing between them because of the silence – her silence. She could feel it like the impending shock waves of an earthquake rolling up below them. But, still, she couldn’t relent.
"Work," she said. "It’s just work."
Tracy could feel Mr. Hayes’ shoulders sink down ever so slightly in defeat.
"Okay," he muttered with an air of resignation. "I understand."
He stood up and walked out of the room with a big, damp circle on his t-shirt where Tracy’s head had been. She watched him go and nervously rubbed her thumbnail over the tip of her middle finger.
It was going to be a long day.
Over an hour later, and with only minutes to spare until Gordon Baxter was scheduled to arrive, Tracy stumbled through the restaurant’s back door with one arm full of papers and the other precariously balancing a paper bag of odds and ends. She hustled through and dropped everything on the long, sleek prep table with a sigh.
"What a…"
The paper bag toppled over, sending dozens of glass salt shakers spilling out with an enormous clatter. Tracy grabbed one before it could hit the floor. Unfortunately, there were about five more that she didn’t have the reflexes, or the spare hands, to grab. The rest smashed on the tile in small, glittering explosions.
"Great. Just great."
Tracy grabbed a broom and started to sweep up the mess. Right away, the repetitive stroking motion let her mind wander back to her earlier vision and the mysterious man in it. What were his intentions? Why was he appearing to her? Tracy knew that she was safe for the time being. After all, it was "his" blood that the man wanted, not hers.
What if he was lying? Her thoughts took it further. What if he shows up at your door right now?
She froze and stared down. The constant drag of nervous apprehension was starting to get to her. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pumping a mile a minute.
What are you going to do if it is him?
It had to be. She could feel it in her gut, which had quickly twisted itself up into tight, painful knots.
A hard, firm pounding sound made Tracy jump, the broom’s handle slipping from her hand and falling down into the glass pile.
Again the knocking came, and this time it was enough to get Tracy moving. She walked slowly over to the door, took a deep breath and jerked the thing open.
At first, the bright light of day made it hard for her to make out the man’s features. Tracy squinted her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to see the man she was sure would be her undoing.
When her eyes finally came into focus a few seconds later, she saw Gordon Baxter’s light skin and dirty blond, swept-back hair.
Tracy sighed a deep breath of relief and extended her hand. "Hi. I’m Tracy."
Gordon met her handshake with a smile.
"It’s a pleasure," he said and softly flicked his head to get a stray chunk of hair out of his eyes.
The award-winning chef’s features were chiseled and rugged. Even his crystal blue eyes screamed masculinity. He was taller than Tracy, though not by much, and he was already dressed in his newest whites.
Realizing that they’d been standing there a little longer than they should have, Tracy released her grip on his rough hands and stammered, "Come, uh, come in. Please, Mr. Baxter."
"Thanks. And, please, call me Gordon."
He walked past Tracy, who had already started to relax. In fact, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted, though the impending grand opening was more than enough to keep her spirit bogged down in the mean time.
Gordon walked in and set a sizable case down next to the bag of spilled salt shakers. Tracy had been so distracted that she didn’t even notice he had it.
"What happened here?"
He poked the scattered pile with the tip of his black shoe.
"Oh, oh!" Tracy scampered over and quickly swept the mess up into a dust pan. "That was nothing. I was just finishing cleaning it up." She dumped it out and cast the pan aside. "Can I show you around?"
"That’s okay. I'll take a look while you finish." Gordon’s voice faded as he walked away.. While she was busy sweeping up, he made himself comfortable in the kitchen. By the time she looked back, he was inspecting the range.
"Is everything okay?" Her voice did little to mask her anxiety. She needed him to want to work here.
Gordon looked up at the stacks of new pots, pans and dishes. "It looks like it to me."
"Good," she sighed. "Do you want to have a seat and go over the paperwork?"
"No problem." He smiled at her, and her knees wobbled slightly. The man was incredibly attractive, and the force of his smile was something else.
As they left the kitchen, Tracy glanced over to the case that he brought with him. She wanted to know what was inside, but didn’t dare ask. Who was she to question one of the best chefs in the world, after all? Instead she grabbed one of the yellow folders near it and continued on her way.
Out in the dining room, she put the papers on the table where Mr. Hayes took her and pulled the other three seats down.
Gordon sat down across from her and scooted his chair in.
"So," he said, folding his hands together. "I trust you’ve had a chance to look at the contract that the lawyers finally agreed on."
"Yes. It all looks good to me." Tracy smiled and held her breath. This was where any problems would come up.
"Great. Where do I sign?" he asked.
Tracy rifled through the papers and plucked out one with a little, red flag sticking out. She handed him a pen. "Right there, please."
Tracy glanced down. There, near her shoe and in plain view, was the pair of lacy panties that she hadn't bothered to put back on from the night before. On seeing them, Tracy did her best to muffle the gasp that rose up in the back of her throat. Hoping that Gordon hadn’t seen them, Tracy quickly kicked them under the table’s raised feet and bit down on her lip in a feeble attempt at hiding her embarrassment.
Gordon scribbled his name quickly and handed the pen back to her. "Looks like we’re in business."
Tracy suddenly felt giddy. It took everything she had to keep from melting into a giggling school girl right then and there. Gordon, for his part, didn’t seem to notice.
"I know we’ve talked about the menu at some length," he said and leaned back in his chair, "but obviously I would prefer to do a private tasting so that I can get your final approval. We need to nail this down so we can get our orders out to the vendors."
The way in which the confident chef spoke made Tracy hold onto his every word. Every minute of his years of experience shone through in his tone. Anyone could tell, just by listening, that he knew exactly what he was talking about. To Tracy, that kind of confidence made her imagination run wild.
More than that, however, she found herself helplessly drawn to him. For all of the press and attention that his successful career had drawn, people actually knew very little about Gordon Baxter. It was, so it seemed, to be just the way that he wanted it. But to Tracy, it was only a begging invitation to want to know more.
He brought his hands up and rested his index fingers on each side of his tightly-angle
d chin. His eyes bored into hers, making her core heat with his intensity.
"So what do you say?" he asked.
"That would be great,” she whispered. For a moment she wondered if he wanted to be alone with her for this tasting. In her mind's eye, she could quickly see it turning sexual. The way he looked at her was primal and full of desire. As much as the thought piqued her interest, she was with Mr. Hayes. “It will be me and my boyfriend, Mr. Paul Hayes."
"Of course." Gordon nodded and pushed the contract back toward her as if he had expected that all along. "How about tomorrow night around seven? I need some time for prep and all that."
Tracy smiled. Her thoughts finally felt a little lighter for the first time in weeks.
"I can’t wait."
“Neither can I,” Gordon replied, fixing her with his stare again. Tracy bit her lip. It was a good thing Mr. Hayes was coming to dinner, or she would be tempted to do so much more than just eat Mr. Baxter's food.
Chapter 19
"So," Tracy turned to Mr. Hayes, who had his eyes fixed on the road in front of them as it whipped by their luxury car. "Are you excited?"
He quickly turned to her and flashed a smile. "Yes, but probably not as much as you."
Tracy wrapped her fingers around the seat belt near her shoulder and sank down into the seat with a giddy giggle.
"Probably not,” she agreed. The look of desire Gordon had given her flashed into her mind.
As time went on, the nervousness started to relent and gave way to a hesitant air of child-like excitement. Tracy knew that nothing was guaranteed: her restaurant, her relationship, the life that she was living. All of it could be so easily yanked out from under her by a few different people. If Gordon or Mr. Hayes had a change of heart, she knew that her dreams would go up in smoke. Still, that knowledge had been progressively pushed back into the recesses of Tracy’s mind.
Pulling up to the empty parking lot, it felt like Christmas morning.
Tracy shifted and sat up in her seat. From inside, the light from the kitchen poured through the empty slits of the windows.