P J Mellor

by Make Me Scream (lit)

They sat in silence for a while, watching the digital timer on the driers count down.

  “So when are you going to let me read one of your books?”

  “Right now, there’s only one available to read.”

  “Are the others with your agent or publisher?”

  Damn, he hated to lie. “Ah, something like that. So, Jamie, what do you do?”

  What did she do? Nothing for the last year and a half, unless running from Fred could be considered a career. It felt more like a lifetime sentence.

  She licked her lips, stalling for time. “Well, until a couple of years ago, I taught kindergarten.”

  “Really? Wow. I sure never had a kindergarten teacher who looked like you.” His smile flashed white in the dwindling light from the window.

  “Thanks.” Damn, she hated playing the dumb blonde. She plastered on a pleased smile as though she hadn’t heard that line a million times. Although, in truth, her students had not had a teacher who looked like her either. At least, not the way she looked now.

  “So, what happened during the last couple of years?”

  “Well…I was in a, um, less than healthy relationship.”

  “But it’s over now, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s definitely over. At least, as far as I’m concerned.” Her shoulders slumped. “Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to think so.”

  Alert, Devon sat up straighter. Maybe Francyne was right and the Neanderthal really had been looking for Jamie. “Has he been…bothering you?”

  An unladylike snort escaped. “Oh, yeah, you could definitely say that.”

  “Does he live around here?” Just what he needed. He had finally met someone he thought was a nice girl and she had issues.

  “No! At least, I hope not.” She glanced nervously around the empty room as if expecting her ex to pop out of one of the driers. “I think I finally lost him in Tallahassee.” She leaned closer, bringing with her the sexy scent of fabric softener. Pretty pathetic when fabric softener turned him on. “That’s why I haven’t been working as a teacher.” Her words brought him back to their conversation. “I’ve been trying to get away from Fred.”

  “Fred? Him again? What does ole Fred do, that he can travel around making your life miserable?”

  “He’s rich. Independently wealthy.”

  Of course he was. Just his luck, the first girl to interest him in ages not only had baggage, the baggage had deep pockets. Meanwhile, if he didn’t get free rent by managing the Surfside Villas, he’d have to make the choice between living indoors and eating.

  Suffering for your art sucked.

  9

  “J amie, we don’t have to talk about this if it upsets you.” Please. Shut. Up.

  “Hmmm?” She looked up from folding a pillowcase.

  “You don’t have to talk about Fred. I understand.” How could he be getting hard just from watching her hands while she folded? Must be all the stroking she was doing. Damn, the wrinkles are out, for cripes’ sake.

  “I don’t mind talking about him.”

  Great. Discreetly arranging his package, he sat down, folding his hands in his lap. “You don’t?”

  “Devon, you have to understand how totally I am over him. He has severe anger issues, and when his temper is riled, he’s mean as a snake.”

  “Did he hurt you physically?” Men who abused women were pond scum.

  “No, but not because he didn’t think about it. I was just too quick. When I realized how seriously deranged he could get, I left. But he followed me. That’s why I had to keep moving for the last couple of years.” Her shoulders slumped, drawing his attention to her cleavage. “I’m just tired of constantly looking over my shoulder and having to relocate. I’m hoping I outsmarted him this time.” She smiled and stacked the clean laundry in the basket. “I’m originally from Colorado, and I always talked about going back when we were together. When I started moving around, I realized I was heading in that general direction. I’m hoping he thinks that’s where I went. Maybe when he doesn’t find me, he’ll give up.”

  He thought of the man Francyne talked with and decided not to mention the old lady’s hunch.

  Taking the basket from her, he held open the door and then followed her across the courtyard. “If you’re not too tired, I thought maybe we could have dinner at my place.”

  “You cook, too? I love to cook. Baking is my specialty.” Her face fell. “I should have picked up some pans and groceries. I could have brought dessert.”

  “Next time,” he promised, setting her basket inside her door when she opened it. “I made a decadence cake the other day that will still be good.”

  “Decadence cake?”

  “You never heard of a chocolate decadence cake? It’s devil’s food with fudge marbled through it. Very rich and moist. Gooey fudge frosting, and then I go one step beyond by adding whipped cream and a drizzle of hot fudge right before I serve it.”

  “Stop!” She placed her hand on her flat stomach. “I think I just gained five pounds from talking about it! What time should I come over? I saw a shop on the corner, would you like me to bring anything? How about wine?”

  “Wine would be good, but I have some, so don’t bother unless you just want to go out. How about in an hour or so?”

  “No bother.” Her teeth flashed in the shadows when she smiled. “See you in an hour.” She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek, setting off sparks to travel up to the tops of his ears.

  Jamie twirled in front of the mirror at the resale shop around the corner from her apartment. The blond hair and deep tan no longer shocked her, and the yellow tank dress she had on looked fabulous with her new coloring. A glance at the price tag had her chewing on her lower lip. Though not pricey, the dress would easily pay for a week of groceries.

  “That dress was made for you, doll,” Shirl, the salesperson of questionable gender, said in her/his deep, gravelly voice. “You should buy it.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Shirl resumed flipping the pages of a tattered issue of Vogue.

  “I should, shouldn’t I?” Jamie turned and glanced at her back in the mirror, enjoying the way the yellow brought out the tan on her skin and the way the neckline dipped scandalously low. “But…I just don’t know.”

  “Didn’t you see the sale sign in the window?”

  “What sale sign?”

  They walked to the plateglass storefront and looked at the signless window.

  “Damn kids,” Shirl said. “Must’ve snatched it. Anyway, today is Tuesday. It’s half off of half off day.”

  “Really?” What luck. She did some quick tabulations. The dress still would set her back more than she really should spend.

  “And it’s also, ah, blond-hair day. You get an additional thirty percent.”

  “But I’m not really a blonde,” she confided.

  “That’s okay.” Shirl patted the voluminous pile of red hair he/she sported. “I’m not really a redhead either. So what’s your name, doll?”

  “Jamie. But I—”

  “Listen up, Jamie.” Shirl looked around the deserted store. “Tell you what I’m gonna do. For today only, for the next five minutes, I’m giving a special Jamie discount. An additional fifteen percent. You look totally hot in that dress. You know it. I know it. Whoever you’re dolling up for will know it, too. So what do you say?”

  “Sold!”

  Devon stirred the rapidly thickening sauce and shot a worried glance at the clock. He should have waited to add the sherry. Jamie said she’d be there in an hour. That was one hour and fifteen minutes ago. If she didn’t get here soon, he couldn’t guarantee the quality of the Shrimp Newburg. As for the pastry cups he’d planned to serve it over…well, even Killer wouldn’t want them in a few minutes.

  A knock on his door brought a wave of relief that surprised him. Tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the pot, he quickly covered it and set the spoon on the trivet before going to the door.

  What he saw there was w
orth the wait.

  The sunset gilded Jamie’s shoulder-length hair and made her tanned skin glow like burnished gold. The warm, sunny yellow of the minidress she wore had him salivating, eager to peel it off.

  But that would have to wait. If he didn’t serve the food immediately, he may as well pitch it.

  “I didn’t know what you were making, so I brought a Lambrusco and a white,” she said with a smile, holding up two wine bottles. “Mmm. Something smells great!”

  “You like it? It’s a new aftershave I got at Christmas—oh!” He grinned at her. “You meant the food, I guess.” He pretended to wince when she cuffed his arm. “It’s Shrimp Newburg. I consider it one of my specialties.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it.” She wandered into the living room, shoved a pile of magazines to the side and sat down on the sofa.

  “It’s a lot like Lobster Newburg, only made with salad shrimp. And I add a few other things to give it a kick. It’s just about ready.” He went back into the kitchen and took the pastry puffs out of the oven.

  She nodded and watched Devon walk into his kitchen. He was so cute in his Kiss the Cook apron. And she fully intended to kiss the cook before the night was through.

  Nervous, she picked up a wrapped square from the candy dish on the scarred end table and frowned. What was that? It looked like one of those thin red licorice strings she used to love as a kid, rolled into a circle. Must be leftover from Halloween or something. She ripped open the cellophane packet and popped the treat in her mouth.

  Wow. It must be really old. The cherry taste she’d been expecting was a bit off, kind of dusty tasting. She chewed a little more. Man, the licorice was rubbery.

  “All set!” Devon’s voice caught her attention. “Ready to eat?”

  She quickly swallowed the licorice bite, trying not to gag. Embarrassment heated her cheek at Devon’s look of outrage. Maybe he was particularly territorial of his candy.

  “What the hell did you do?” He set the basket of something down on the table, which she now noticed was set with a light linen tablecloth and mismatched plates.

  “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d mind if I had a piece of licorice. I—”

  “Licorice!” He roared with laughter. “Li-lic-licorice!” He wiped tears from his eyes and snickered again before speaking. “Jamie, that wasn’t licorice.” Another snicker.

  “It wasn’t?” Whatever it was had formed a wad in her stomach. “What was it?”

  “Was it in that bowl?” He pointed, and she nodded. “It was a condom.”

  “A condom!” Her face could quite possibly burst into flames at any moment. “Who keeps condoms in a candy dish?”

  “I do. I write for a few sex-toy manufacturers, for their catalogs. They send me all kinds of samples so I can see what they look like, what they feel like. How they taste.” He burst out laughing again. “H-how did it taste, by the way?”

  She giggled. “Rubbery.”

  10

  “S hould I try to throw it up?” That would really make it a fun date.

  “I think you’ll be okay.” He held the chair out for her. “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?”

  With a grimace, she sat down. “Very funny. Yes, I’m starved! That’s why I ate the, ah, thing in the first place.”

  The cherry dust taste made her stomach revolt practically before the words left her mouth.

  Gagging, she held her hand over her mouth and looked frantically around the apartment.

  Eyes wide, he pointed, and she ran, barely closing the bathroom door before losing the battle. The condom hit the water of the toilet with an echoing plop. What little lunch she’d had left soon followed.

  Weak, she leaned against the counter and turned on the cold water. After splashing her face, she rinsed her mouth and then helped herself to a fingerful of toothpaste from the tube on the counter.

  A light tap sounded on the door, followed by Devon’s concerned voice. “Are you okay? Do you think you should see a doctor?”

  She took her time refolding and hanging the towel, then opened the door. “Thanks. I’m fine. Just incredibly embarrassed.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have known better than to leave stuff like that lying around.”

  “Um, do you have a lot of need for…um, those things?” Maybe she should have stayed home. The guy didn’t look like some sex fiend, but you just never knew about stuff like that. “I should probably go now.”

  “Wait. You haven’t even had dinner yet.” He held up his hand when she began to protest. “I can’t eat it all, and Killer is allergic to shellfish. C’mon. You would be doing me a favor.”

  “You have a dog who’s allergic to shellfish?”

  He shrugged. “No, not really, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

  “Well, I guess I could at least eat and help you clean up.”

  “Thanks.” He motioned her to sit and went back into the kitchen only to reappear a moment later with a steaming serving dish. From a basket on the table, he placed a little pastry bowl on each of their plates and then ladled the thick coral-colored sauce over it.

  He stomach gurgled its anticipation. “Mmm,” she said, hoping to cover the rumble of her stomach. “That smells wonderful!”

  “Thanks, I hope you like it.”

  She took a cautious bite of the sauce and had to hold back a moan of ecstasy. The delicate flavor of the shrimp blended with other flavors on her tongue to make her taste buds sit up and take notice. “Are those mushrooms?”

  He nodded. “Is there a problem?”

  Swallowing, she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just wondered.” She cautiously swallowed her bite. Man, she hated mushrooms. Always had. It was like swallowing slime.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Devon poured her another glass of wine after she gulped down the first one.

  “Yes.” She smiled her brightest smile. “This really is delicious. I’ve made Lobster Newburg before, but this has a different flavor to it, besides the fact that it was made with shrimp.”

  “I use a little extra spice to give it more kick.”

  Sweat broke out along her upper lip and forehead. She wouldn’t be surprised if her cheeks were heat flushed. She drank her wine in three swallows. “Delicious. Really unique.”

  He nodded, his smile transforming his features from cute to devilishly handsome. “Cayenne. About four times the amount called for, plus seafood cocktail sauce. And about twice the amount of cooking sherry, just to kick it up another notch.”

  “Well, you certainly did that.” She set her glass down.

  His opinion of Jamie had ratcheted up while watching her devour her meal. It was great to find a woman who liked to eat and had a healthy appetite.

  Killer chose that moment to crawl out from under the chair and yawn while he stretched. The dog spared little more than a glance at their company before coming over to sit next to Devon’s chair.

  “Not tonight, sport, we have a guest.” Devon looked over at Jamie, who was watching Killer with a strained look on her face. “He’s harmless, Jamie. Really. He just likes to be included, and shrimp is one of his weaknesses. I usually give him any leftovers.” He shrugged. “I guess I spoil him, but he has had such a hard time eating.”

  Her heart tugged at the expression on Devon’s face. What a guy, to be worried about hurting a dog’s feelings.

  “I totally understand. It’s just that I’m allergic to most dogs….”

  “From what I’ve been told, Pomeranians are hypoallergenic. Killer shouldn’t bother you.”

  “You know, come to think of it, I had a reaction the first day, but I seem to be okay now.”

  “I bet it was Petunia, Francyne’s dog, not Killer, that was getting to you.” Noting her empty plate, he rose, clearing the dishes. “Save room for dessert?”

  “Absolutely. Do you need some help?”

  “Nope. All under control,” he called from the kitchen.

  He returned to set a piece of c
hocolate sin, if she ever saw it, in front of her. Topped with a satiny dollop of whipped cream that was sectioned by drizzles of hot fudge cascading to be soaked up by the dark chocolate cake, the scent alone probably caused weight gain.

  “This looks positively decadent,” she said once he’d sat down and picked up his fork. She took a tentative bite and had to force back a moan as the moist cake melted in her mouth, the combination of rich whipped cream and warm, smooth fudge topping sliding down her throat with the smoothness of an experienced lover’s caress.

  The taste was so purely seductive, an image of him painting her body with the dessert and licking it all off flashed through her mind. Her nipples hardened to needy peaks. She swallowed and pushed away from the table.

  “That was delicious. Here, let me clean up, since you cooked.”

  He leaped to his feet. “No, not necessary. You’re my guest, after all. I can take care of them later. Would you like a cup of coffee? I have some made.”

  “That would be great, thank you.”

  “Have a seat. Let me feed the beast and I’ll bring it right out.”

  She wandered over to the bookshelf and took in the vast array of books. Her host certainly had eclectic taste in reading material.

  She trailed her hand along the sofa table, only somewhat surprised to find it dust free.

  The plaid sofa was old, but the burgundy, navy and green colors were still vivid. The cushions gave to hold her in a comfy hug. It wasn’t hard to imagine snuggling up on the couch to read or watch a movie.

  “Here you go. I hope you like flavored coffee. This is from the shop down the beach. Amaretto toffee.” He handed her a mug and grinned. “I added the whipped cream.”

  The smooth sweetness of the coffee warmed her mouth and throat. “Mmm,” she said, licking away her whipped-cream mustache. “This is so good! You’re going to make me fat.”

  The way his gaze swept her body caused a wave of heat to follow.

  “I doubt that,” he said, his voice low and intimate.

  She resisted the urge to scoot over when he sat down as close to her as possible without sitting in her lap. Should she move? Ignore the tingling where their hips touched? Rip his clothes off and jump his bones?