A High Heels Haunting (5 page)

I smiled back.  It was hard not to.  He was charming without even trying.  “No problem.  You get one free pass.  In fact, I might even let slip what an ass my ex-boyfriend was just to make you feel better.”

He laughed, throwing his head back and doing a warm, low chuckle that sent my stomach on a roller coaster ride.  I had a vision of that laugh, low and warm, waking me up after a long night of staring into Blake’s eyes.  His breath on my ear, lips murmuring against my neck, his body nuzzled against mine as we slept.

“Thanks,” Blake said, pulling me out of my fantasy.  “I needed that.”

“Anytime.”

“So, tell me something about yourself?  R.J. says you’re new to modeling, what did you do before?”

“I worked in high tech.  A little of this, a little of that.  How about you?  Are you originally from the Bay Area?” I asked, switching the subject.  The last thing I wanted to talk about tonight was any part of Plain Kya’s life.

“No.  Actually, my family moved here from Denver when I was a kid.”

“I bet you miss the snow.”

His eyes shot up to meet mine.  “Yeah.  I do.  Actually, it’s the one thing that I really miss about Denver.”

“Well, at least you can get up to Tahoe a few times a year to ski.”

He cocked his head to the side.  “I was just going to say that.  I rent a place up
i
n Tahoe every winter.  Are you reading my mind or something?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

My turn to grin.  I wasn’t sure what it was about him – maybe the fact that I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at his picture – but I felt oddly comfortable with him.  Not the nerve wracking sweaty palms mess I usually was with strangers. 

“Maybe I am reading your mind,” I responded coyly.

“Okay, then, Esmeralda.  What am I thinking right now?” he asked.  He trained his eyes on me, his mouth twitching at the corners like it was ready to lift at any moment.  Then he let his gaze fall from my face, trailing lower, resting on my cleavage.  Then slowly rising again to meet mine.  His eyes went dark and glazed over.

A vision hit me of that look across a big, white bed.  Raw hunger that had nothing to do with the plates of pasta whizzing by our table.  His big, warm hands slowly undressed me, sliding the strap of my dress down my shoulders, his heated gaze never leaving mine.

I felt my cheeks blaze, this time sure it was apparent.  I ducked my head to cover the
X
-rated daydreams filling my head. 

“I don’t think I can voice those thoughts in public.”

His lips quivered into a full fledged grin.  “Damn.  You’re good.”

*   *   *

The riesling was excellent.  As much as I hated to think of Blake with any woman other than me, I had to admit, his ex had good taste.  I had a second glass.  Then a third.  Then the shoes started to work their magic again
,
and I flirted, fawned, and made amazingly not-geeky conversation all the way through the meal and the decadent tiramisu dessert we shared.  Afterward, Blake walked me to my hatchback, not even raising an eyebrow at the dented back fender courtesy of an errant shopping cart at Safeway last year or the fact that my stereo sported duct tape edging.

“I had a great time tonight,” he said, taking one of my hands in his. 

“Me too.  Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for showing up.”

I threw my head back and laughed.  “Are you kidding?  I was here twenty minutes early, I was so eager.”  Crap.  I knew my run of intelligent conversation had to end sometime.

He cocked an eyebrow at me.  “So you weren’t late, then?”

“Busted.  No.  I just said that so you wouldn’t feel bad.”

He leaned in, one hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face as the breeze picked up.  “Wow.”

I licked my lips, my throat growing dry at his touch.  “Wow?”

“Beautiful and sweet.  Not a combination a guy finds very often.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn’t get the chance.  His lips were suddenly hovering over mine.  Nipping.  Tasting.  Sampling.  They were soft and warm.  Tentative at first, but quickly growing firmer and more insistent.  Not that I resisted.  I melted on contact.  My mind
went
on vacation, my body taking over as I lifted my arms around his neck.  His hand circled my waist, heat resting at the small of my back, then slowly traveling upward as his hand snaked up my spine to knead the nape of my neck, then thread into my hair as his kiss deepened.

Just like I had imagined.

My breath caught in my throat and I pulled back, feeling an odd sense of deja vu prickle my skin.

Blake was panting, his pupils dilated, his lips wet and slightly pink from my lipstick.  “Sorry.  I guess I got a little carried away.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I stumbled, trying to shake the odd sensation.  I’d daydreamed about kissing him, then had kissed him.  No biggie, right?  So what if he moved just the way I’d imaged he would.  That was a good thing. 

“Kya, I’d love to see you again.  I mean, you know, more than see you.  Take you out.  Again.  Somewhere.”

I smiled, glad I wasn’t the only one made stupid with lust.  “I’d like that.”

His face lit up with a two-dimpler and I felt an answering light flip on inside me.  God, he really was gorgeous. 

“How about Sunday?  After the photo shoot?  We could drive over to the coast, maybe have a little picnic there?”

I nodded.  “Sounds great.”

“Great.”  He leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek, his lips resting on my skin just a moment too long.  “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

I nodded again.  “Sunday,” I repeated.  Then watched him get in his BMW and drive away.

*   *   *

The first thing I did when I got home was kick off my heels and change into a pair of sweats and fuzzy slippers.  I booted up my computer, shaking a handful of Meow Mix into a bowl for Tabby as I scanned through my email.  A few work related items, a couple of ads promising to end my erectile dysfunction problems for good.  Two new messages from Match members.  But I didn’t even read them.  I didn’t care.  Yeah, I was that ga-ga over Blake.  I know, it was just one date, but I felt like a middle schooler with her first crush.  I swore every time I licked my lips I could still taste him there.

Instead of reading my Match messages, I pulled up a Google screen and typed in: Blake Stone.  Immediately my screen was filled with images of Blake.  In a tuxedo on a runway, in a Speedo doing an ad for sunscreen (I think I drooled a little on my keyboard at the vision of his six-pack), laying in a field touting the merits of a certain cologne.  I physically pinched myself at the thought that I had, just minutes earlier, been in a serious lip-lock with this same man. 

I went back to Google, and despite my rational self, couldn’t help adding a word to the search:  Blake Stone girlfriend.  Yeah, I know, we all have ex’s.  But the way he’d been so upset at the mere
thought
of her, I had to see who she was.  I steeled myself against the idea she was some gorgeous European supermodel.  Or, worse yet, a gorgeous rocket scientist.  I waited as the results came up.  Not nearly as many, but in between the ads, I found a celebrity gossip sight that looked promising.  I click on the link
,
and an article came up about male model Blake Stone seen at a nightclub with girlfriend, Angel Cressley. 

Angel. 

I typed her name into the search engine and prayed she was some homely kindergarten teacher. 

No such luck.

Images immediately filled my screen.  Dozens of them.  Of a tall, long legged blonde in a skimpy black dress, an itty bitty bikini, an evening gown. 

And a pair of red, patent leather ankle strap rhinestone studded stiletto heels. 

It was
her
.

Blake’s ex-girlfriend was the
model
on the
Maddie Springer
website.

It was cold out.  Freezing.  The breeze from the bay cutting through the air.  I was shivering, standing in the dark, waiting.  Waiting for what, I wasn’t quite sure.  But I knew it was coming.  And not in a good way. 
The
feeling of dread grew by the second as I stood there, my teeth chattering against the wind.  And then I felt him.  I felt him long before I saw him.  He was there, behind me.  Closing in.  But somehow I couldn’t
turn around to see him, couldn't
make my legs move
away
.  My feet were glued to the spot.  And he was getting closer.  I tried to scream
,
but no sound came out.  Tears started to roll down my cheeks as I stood there, freezing.  And then I felt him.  I mean really felt him.  His hands on my shoulder.  Clamping down on me, pushing me.  I tried to move away, to lash out with my arms.  But they moved in slow motion like I was under water.  And that’s when I realized
it. 
I was under water.  Cold, wet, shivering, I looked up and saw the glassy surface of the water above me, saw bubbles rising from my mouth as I tried to scream again and again, his hands holding me under, the pressure building in my throat, in my head, behind my eyes.  I thrashed
,
but it didn’t do any good.  I could feel myself slipping away as his grip grew tighter and tighter.  My vision started blurring, my eyelids growing heavy.  And that’s when I looked down and saw the red patent leather heels on my feet. 

And this time I did scream.

*   *   *

I sat straight up in bed, panting, my head whipping wildly around the room.  Alarm clock.  Pink striped comforter.  Tabby lounging on the windowsill.  No large body of water, no faceless man in the shadows.

I gulped in large breaths of air and fell back on my pillows.  A dream.  That’s all it was.  A vivid one, but just a dream. 

I rolled over and looked at the red blinking numbers on my clock.  7:12.  I looked up at the ceiling. 

Would it be wrong to take another vacation day? 

*   *   *

Actually, once I called in and asked for another vacation day, Peterman informed me that the Sholtskie Plumbing account I’d been working on was having server troubles and I might as well take the whole week.  I didn’t argue.  The thought of going back to Kya’s life wasn’t an appealing one.  I wanted to put it off as long as I could.

Instead, I’d much rather spend my day shopping for a hot new outfit to wear for my picnic with Blake on Sunday.  Because, despite my realization that She was Blake’s ex, I was still looking forward to it.  Granted, it was a little unnerving that he’d dated my idol before me, but so what?  Obviously things hadn’t worked out, right?  Maybe he preferred slightly mousy web designers to jet
-
setting supermodels? 

Yeah, right, a small part of my brain told me.  The world is full of men who hate supermodels.  But I told that part of my brain to shut up.  I was going to enjoy this while it lasted.

So, Sunday morning I was dressed in a pair of hip hugging white capris, hot, red little spaghetti strap top and my red heels.  At some point I was going to have to wear some other shoes or Blake would start thinking I was whacked.  But I was still too superstitious for that point to be now.   

I followed 880 north through the
E
ast
B
ay to a warehouse in Oakland where R.J. and Alec’s receptionist had informed me the shoot location was.   It wasn’t a great neighborhood – definitely not one I’d walk alone at night – but it wasn’t in the worst part of town either.  A handful of cars were already parked in the lot
,
and I added mine to the row, making my way inside.

I was immediately assaulted by bright lights
, l
arge, multi-bulb things on tall metal stands.  All five of them
were
focused on a stage set in the middle of the warehouse.  A back wall, painted a light blue like a cloudy sky, was laid out behind a giant four poster bed swathed in layers of gauzy white sheets.  Off to the side a folding table held photographic equipment and a laptop, and beyond that sat wardrobe racks and make-up tables.  A handful of peopled milled around a wardrobe rack while others toyed with the lights, moving them half an inch to the right or left.

“Kya!” 

I tuned to see R.J. approaching, his chinos pressed with crisp lines on the front, his smile as wide as ever.  “Kya, doll, I’m so glad to see you.  Emmy, this is Kya Star.”  He gestured to a women with red hair held back in a ponytail, a camera in her hand.  “Kya, Emmy McDonald is the photographer today.”

“Nice to meet you,” Emmy said, extending one hand.

I shook it.  “You too.”

“And of course you know Blake.”  R.J. gestured behind himself as Blake walked onto the bedroom set.  I felt drool pool in the corners of my moth as I saw he was dressed only in a pair of pale blue boxer shorts.  Through my insta-lust I managed a feeble wave.  Blake returned it, giving me a lopsided grin in the process.