Zarah's eyelids fluttered as she moaned softly, waking up to a pounding headache... what had happened last night? She only remembered having two drinks, not nearly enough to be hung over... She stirred gently, and only then noticed that her movements were strangely restricted... Her eyelids flew open as she suddenly took in her surroundings, her eyes locking on wrists wrapped securely with rope and attached to leads bound to the bedposts of the big four-poster bed in which she lay. She struggled fiercely and screamed herself hoarse, trying to wriggle and pull herself free, or at least get someone's attention -- but it quickly became clear that her efforts were useless. The cords were just tied too tightly.
Heart beating frantically, she cast her eyes about the room, trying to get her bearings. The light was rather dim, but as her vision focused she could make out the room's details clearly. The bed that held her captive was the only furniture in sight... and she could see neither window nor door in her prison's smoothly curving walls. It was illuminated by the flickering light of many candelabra... which was reflected and seemingly magnified by a great number of ornate, gilded mirrors of all shapes and sizes that nearly covered the surface of both the walls and the ceiling. These decorations reflected the bed, and herself, from every angle. She shuddered, wondering what that could mean...
She now realized that she was still fully clothed in the red dress she wore last night. Her makeup was only slightly marred as she stared up at her reflection in the mirror above... her hair was a little tousled but she looked none the worse for wear, with the exception of being tied spread-eagle to a bed. She barked a laugh at the thought...
Suddenly, she heard a door open somewhere beyond her vision, and her heart thrilled with terror. Footsteps came slowly around the bed, and in the scant light a familiar face looked down upon her. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise. "You!"
*********
Jeremy smiled as his eyes moved over her body slowly, taking in the way that the fabric of her dress clung to her curves as she twisted in her bonds, trying instinctively to escape the inescapable. He leaned close to her neck and breathed in her scent for only the second time, savoring it like a connoisseur savors a fine wine. She smelled of sweet pears... and of sex, he thought. The scent of her fruity perfume had faded in the night, and her own natural scent had become stronger. He could not wait to taste her...
He had been waiting for this night since the moment he first laid eyes on her, months ago. For nearly two years, he had been playing a regular weekend gig with a local blues band at a small bar. It didn't pay much, but the folks there were nice and the crowd appreciative... and it gave him something to do on weekends.
He lived a rather solitary, if comfortable, life, on what he made as a studio musician. He had a nice house, an expensive car, and many lovely things... but that did not include female companionship. When the last woman who had been in his life had cruelly betrayed him -- so many years ago -- he had sworn off women and turned to his other love, music, for solace. He played at that little bar because it was the one thing that could make him forget his past and feel truly alive. It was a cold existence, and his mind felt strangely detached from reality... yet it was comfortable and familiar. Free of love, but also free of risks and pain. Just how he liked it.
But then she sauntered into his life. All alone, and dressed to kill in the selfsame gown she now wore... red and clinging, with a plunging neckline that showed off ample cleavage. Her long golden blonde hair was done in glamorous big curls and waves that framed her face like a 50s movie star, and she had the curves to go along with it. She looked out of place in such a low-class joint, but she didn't seem to care. She gave every appearance of being confident and relaxed as she tossed back a single shot of tequila and leaned back in her bar stool to look appraisingly at the band.
Her full lips were as red as her dress, and looked as if God in his tender mercies had designed them expressly for kissing... not that he believed in a God, but she was enough to make him consider the idea. Her body captured his attention, but it was her eyes that held his gaze... they were a vibrant bluish-greenish-grey that he could not quite put a name to. Yet he almost shivered at her glance when she turned his direction. How can something so beautiful have eyes that are so cold? he wondered.
She was not only alone, but also made no secret of her intention to stay that way. Her icy blue eyes flashed angrily at anyone who dared approach, warning off all but the boldest (and drunkest) of suitors. She dismissed both with casual disdain, intent on only one thing...
The music. He saw how she moved to the music; how, during the best parts when the band would hit that groove that cannot be described in words, she would close her eyes and drink it in like she had been thirsting for it all her life. She lost herself in it, until she WAS the music, and nothing else. After one of those moments, she opened her eyes and her glance met his. Without warning, her cold demeanor had melted away and fire now danced where only ice had reigned supreme. Suddenly he felt as if he was looking into a mirror. The same pain, the same longing... the same emptiness that had no name... but just as quickly, her icy armor slipped back into place. Her eyes were steel once more, and she looked away as if nothing had happened.
That night, he had lain awake tossing and turning. Her eyes haunted him, and would not let him rest until he wrote a song about them. He hadn't been able to write lyrics for years, but that night they came unbidden to him and forced him to put them to paper. He wondered if he would ever see her again...
But he didn't have to wonder long, for she was back the next weekend... and the one after that, until she was accepted as one of the regulars. She always came alone and left the same way. The lead singer of the band, who was famously successful with women, tried to chat her up a few weekends later... but she put him in his place with such cold disdain that the band still made jokes about her steely gaze. "If looks could kill, this would be ground zero of the nuclear holocaust," they laughed. They figured that she must be a lesbian... but something caused Jeremy to doubt that very much.
Despite seeing her every weekend for months on end, Jeremy never got up the courage to speak to her... but he often found himself looking her direction. His most wonderful nights were those when she looked back and rewarded him with a rare smile. He fancied that she felt safe smiling at him alone, if only because she knew he would never dare approach... she was like a lioness in his imagination, so proud and beautiful, unable to yield to any but the true King of Beasts...
One night he asked the bartender for her name... and had exulted in the knowledge for a full week afterward. Zarah. He mouthed the name silently, savoring the taste of it. Sweet and soft. Like he knew she could be, if she would let herself...but she was closed, closed to everyone and everything, just like he had been until her steely eyes had shattered his armor...
Tonight, all that was going to change.
*********
Ever since moving into the city seven months ago, Zarah had been coming to this bar. For some reason she felt safe here. It was hardly a classy joint, but the drinks were cheap and the music was good. Really good, not what you would expect in a little hole in the wall. The same band played every weekend, and they had to be worth ten times what a place like this could afford... especially the lead guitarist. He was phenomenal, obviously a seasoned pro, and a born performer. She had heard her share of talented guitarists, but his sweet riffs practically made her toes curl in pleasure. She couldn't figure out what he was doing playing gigs at a divey little blues bar when he could probably be touring with a big-name band... Guess sometimes I just get lucky.
He was handsome, too, she thought. Long, dark blonde hair that hung loose about his face and tossed about like a golden mane when he played a solo... Piercing, deep-set hazel eyes that glinted from beneath a brow oft furrowed in concentration. Muscled arms that gave away the strength of his tall, lithe frame. A strong jawline that had a set of stubbornness about it, but only added to his appeal. And it was strange... she saw beautiful women try to talk to him during every break, but he always dismissed them politely. Not cold, exactly, but certainly aloof.
She caught him looking her direction far more often than mere coincidence would dictate... but he had never tried to talk to her. She even chanced a smile at him now and then, when she thought no one else was looking, and he always returned her smile in the most surprised, gratifying sort of way... but still, he did not approach her. She should be pleased that he had the good sense to leave her alone... but inwardly she was confused by his lack of interest. She didn't know why she cared... she did not want even friendship with a man, let alone romance... but her analytical mind was drawn to puzzles, and he was a walking, breathing, guitar-playing enigma.
She found herself thinking of him at odd times of the day. He wasn't married – there was no ring on his finger – nor had she ever seen him in the company of a woman. He was obviously unattached, yet unwilling to change that situation. There was a sort of... sameness... to him, pain in his eyes that could not be assuaged. She wondered if some woman could have hurt him as badly as she herself had been hurt... but no. She would not think of that. She would be strong, and forget the past.
She swiveled in her bar stool, sipping slowly at her margarita as the band finished their last song. Uncharacteristically, the lead singer had something to say.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you. Our very own guitar hero, Jeremy Aston, wrote a brand new song and we're gonna play it for you tonight. It took us months to convince him to sing it, so you'd better enjoy it," he finished with a wry grin.
So that's his name, she thought. Jeremy. It suits him somehow. I didn't know he could sing. She flashed him an encouraging smile as he stepped a little sheepishly to the front of the stage. But when he strummed the first chord, his self-consciousness vanished like smoke in the wind. He began to sing, and his voice was deep and clear and more beautiful than she could have hoped. A hint of an accent came through in his words... was it British? Australian? She strained to try and hear more of it while listening to his lyrics...
Late at night I see you standing there
Tequila in your hand and a ribbon in your hair
Your face so beautiful, but your eyes are so cold
Makes me wonder who left you here all alone
And I think I might have to take a chance
