Scream My Name

by Kimberly Kaye Terry

  When Carmelicious said her trademark closure and a Queen Latifah oldie, “Ladies First,” came pouring out of the speakers, Leila adjusted the volume on her remote, seeing her exit coming up soon.

  She quickly swerved in front of the SUV in the next lane with an apologetic wave so she could make the turn, and exited. When a horn blasted her, she glanced over her shoulder and cringed when she saw the oversize vehicle behind her narrowly miss being hit by a much smaller car riding its bumper.

  As Leila rode along the exit, she bit her bottom lip in worry when she saw the vehicles trying to avoid a collision. She reached the light and strained her neck to see the two cars, but was unable to.

  Sending a silent prayer upward that she hadn’t unintentionally caused a fender bender, she sped through the intersection as soon as the light turned green, checking the time on the dash, her heart racing, hoping she hadn’t missed the appointment with the investor.

  2

  Leila found a space to park in the underground lot, grabbed her briefcase, jumped out of her car, and wearing three-inch heeled black boots, she sprinted as best she could across the cement floor of the garage. When she came to the elevator, she quickly stabbed a short manicured nail on the elevator button, hoping against hope that with the repeated jabs, the elevator would get there sooner.

  No such luck.

  Impatiently, she checked her diamond-chip antique watch—one of the pieces of jewelry she’d inherited from her great-aunt and uttered a small curse under her breath.

  When the elevator doors finally opened, she briskly walked inside and fumbled in her purse to retrieve the slip of paper with the floor for the offices she needed to go to. Pressing the lobby floor button, she waited as the slumbering elevator rose, thinking she could have simply walked up the flight of stairs and arrived there sooner.

  When she’d spoken to Jacob Swabb’s assistant, she’d been told she’d have to get a pass from security before they’d allow her to go to their offices.

  Once the laboring elevator reached the lobby, she walked across the tiled floor, the heels on her boots echoing a loud click, click, click across the tiles, toward the main elevator.

  Within seconds of pressing the UP arrow key, the elevator doors opened smoothly and Leila breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Miss, I’ll need to see some identification, please.” Leila glanced around and sighed as she spotted an older uniformed man with an obvious limp slowly ambling toward her.

  She forced a smile on her face as she fumbled in her purse for the necessary ID.

  Afterwards, she turned away before his voice halted her. “Who you comin’ to visit, Ms. James?” he inquired, hoisting his already high-waist pants farther up his body, his hand coming to rest on the nightstick holstered to his wide hips.

  “I’ve got an appointment with Jacob Swabb,” she dutifully supplied.

  “You’ll have to come this way to sign in, young lady.” The old man nodded his head toward the kiosk desk where another guard, at least ten years older than he, sat in one of the upright chairs.

  Damn, just what she needed. A geriatric watchdog to make her even later than she was.

  She walked alongside the limping old man, and in her side vision, sized him up.

  She could take him down. Easily.

  Her stilettos added three inches to her already impressive five foot, nine inch frame, making the top of the old guard’s head reach to about the midpoint of her breasts.

  One feign to the left and a swift reverse mad dash to the right. Yep.

  That’s all it would take.

  Old man, you’re going down, she thought.

  She could reach the elevator, be inside, and on her way up before the old man knew what hit him.

  “Lee Lee, God don’t like ugly…”

  Guiltily, Leila hung her head at her mean thoughts as she imagined Aunt Sadie bringing her to task just as she’d done so many times when she was alive.

  After what felt like forever, the guard pulled out a large black book and Leila waited impatiently as he fumbled with his glasses before scanning the book.

  “Hmmm.” He looked away from the book and glanced at Leila over the tops of his bifocals. “You sure you have an appointment with Mr. Swabb?”

  “Yes! Please, I don’t have time for this. Mr. Swabb is waiting for me!” Leila took a deep breath and forced herself to lower her voice at his bushy, white upraised brows.

  “Well, looks like you gone have to wait. ’Cause see here, if you had an appointment with Mr. Swabb, you already missed that boat, honey,” he said in a slow and easy southern drawl before shutting the book definitively.

  “Wha…what are you talking about?” she asked, dread pooling in her gut.

  “Mr. Swabb had a meetin’ to attend. Left ’bout fifteen minutes ago, he did. Ain’t that right, Charlie?” he asked the guard sitting next to him.

  Without glancing away from the paper, the old man nodded his head and said, “Yep. That’s about right, Charlie,”

  “Both of your names are Charlie?” Leila asked, momentarily distracted.

  “Yep. Makes it easier that way,” Charlie number one replied, nodding his head vigorously up and down, his mouth doing some strange movement around his teeth, as though he were chewing on something.

  Leila quickly forgot the strangeness of the matching names, and didn’t bother to question the oddness of his statement.

  What was she going to do now?

  “Whaccha gone do now?”

  With irritation, she glanced at the old man as he mirrored her exact thoughts.

  “Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?” a deep masculine baritone voice, asked and Leila turned as both old men began grinning.

  She turned her head to see what—or who—had made Charlie number two turn away from his paper, and both Charlies’ wrinkled faces split in identical Cheshire Cat grins.

  Oh, my. No wonder, Leila thought as soon as she caught the visual of the man coming their way.

  Her breath caught in her throat and everything feminine inside her cried out in welcome as well.

  Leila had always prided herself on the fact that she was no wilting flower, no damsel in distress. She was a strong, capable, independent businesswoman on her own who didn’t need or want a man to complete her.

  She was educated, talented, and had her own business. Even though she was fast approaching the big three-oh, and hadn’t had a date in longer than she wanted to think about, she was more than happy with her life. On her own.

  But…well, damn.

  She didn’t know the last time she’d been presented with a fine piece of manhood like the one coming her way.

  Even from a distance she could tell the man was built like a Mack truck, all broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist and, as her eyes traveled down the rest of his body, legs so thick they looked like they could choke the heck out of a horse.

  Her gaze traveled back up the length of his body. He wore a broad Stetson on his head, shadowing his eyes, but as he drew nearer she could see a finely chiseled nose, a sensual mouth with a slight crinkle in the corner as though he was used to smiling, and a strong square chin with a deep dimple in the center.

  At her height, and with her penchant for wearing heels three inches or higher, even while at work in the café, she was used to being eye level with most men. Usually she had the advantage, and many had to look up to her to see her face.

  But not with this one.

  As he stood in front of the kiosk, his eyes—startling they were so vividly blue—ran over her in a lazy appraisal and Leila felt an instant awareness arc between them. She felt off kilter, strange, as he gazed at her.

  The old guards exchanged remarks, and when the blue-eyed man turned away from her, she let out a small whoosh of air, unaware that she’d even been holding her breath.

  Lord, what a man.

  A man’s man, her great-aunt would say about this one, Leila thought in reluctant appreciation and agreement.

  As
he greeted the guards, Leila’s admiring glance traveled back over him, from his trouser-clad thick legs, over his muscular tight butt she thought she could bounce a quarter off of, over the shirt tucked into his lean waist, and over his thick chest and broad shoulders…until her eyes met his bright-eyed gaze. He tipped his hat in a small silent salute.

  Embarrassed to be caught so obviously ogling him, Leila pulled herself up short and glanced away.

  “Mr. Walters! How you doin’ today?” Charlie number one asked.

  “Nothing much new, fellas. Another day, another dollar,” he returned in a deep, lazy baritone.

  The kind of voice that brought to mind long hot summer days, with her perched on top of an old fence, watching him rope cattle with sweat glistening off his hard bare chest, tight jeans firmly molding his even tighter hind end, wearing the Stetson perched down low…

  As her imagination took flight, Leila felt a chill wash over her skin. She crisscrossed her arms over her chest, running her hands over the back of her arms at her unexpected yet very vivid imagery.

  Her body’s reaction to his sexy baritone, along with her overly active imagination, was as immediate as it was undeniable. Her nipples beaded against her bra, her stomach clenched, and she had to run her tongue over lips, despite the sheen of gloss she’d swiped over them.

  Embarrassed at herself, although no one knew what she was thinking, she cringed. She didn’t know when the last time the sound of a man’s voice got her so hot and bothered.

  But she knew good and well it wasn’t only his voice, as sexy as it was, that had her body acting like a cat in heat.

  She slid her glance over his big body, standing so close to hers, and felt warmth radiating from him, reaching out to her like some kind of heat-seeking missile.

  He turned to face her and removed his hat, running one big hand through the dark, thick strands.

  His hair, a dark rich sable, was cut low in the back, and the front was slightly longer, long enough to form deep waves.

  One corner of his mouth hitched upward as he looked at her, and as if she had no control over her own lips, Leila felt them return the smile.

  His smile widened, showing his canines, and Leila was reminded of a hunter on the prowl. She shivered when goose bumps sprinkled over her arms.

  His gaze roved the length of her body, starting at the point of her high heel boots, and slowly traveled up to her hips in the slim-fitting short black leather skirt, to the indenture of her waist, before he stopped at the fullness of her breasts pressing against her blouse.

  When his hot gaze centered directly on her breasts, she felt her nipples tighten and poke past the flimsy protection of her bra, pressing hot, hard, and thick against the silk of her blouse.

  And obviously very visible.

  She saw his swift intake of breath as his eyes flew to hers. For one moment, the two of them were enveloped in a silent, sensual cocoon, hyperaware of each other as everything else around them faded away to nothingness.

  Leila’s breath caught and her mouth became dry.

  Their attraction was unexpected. Instant. Combustible.

  “Got a busy day planned, Mr. Walters?” Leila heard one of the Charlies ask, as though from a distance.

  When the man turned his head away from her, with what looked like reluctance, she closed her eyes briefly and blew out a breath of air, feeling as though she’d just been slammed with a semitruck and had been holding her breath for hours, instead of the few seconds their exchange had been.

  “And I’ve told you both, my name is Brandan. Mr. Walters was my daddy,” he replied with an easy smile.

  The men spoke briefly and the sensual fog she’d been wrapped in slowly cleared.

  Walters. Brandan Walters.

  Damn, why did that name sound so familiar? Leila worried it over in her mind until realization dawned.

  Sanchez, Walters and Reed.

  Her eyes widened and her heart slammed against her chest as she glanced back over the man…Brandan Walters…as he casually spoke to the two Charlies.

  Sanchez, Walters and Reed was the name on the letterhead at the top of the legal papers she’d been receiving over the last two months from the corporation trying to buy out the block of downtown businesses where her restaurant was located.

  The same corporation she was hell-bent on fighting. The same corporation that was just as hell-bent on acquiring her property to capitalize on the city’s downtown revitalization project.

  Their plans were to build a set of high-end condominiums that would compliment the city’s plans for building an exclusive shopping district, hoping to attract wealthier patrons to the downtown area.

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared a hole in the back of his head.

  This was the same man she’d been involved with in heated, sometimes down-and-dirty notes and emails over the last two months.

  The same man she’d also decided it was high time she met face-to-face, once their heated exchanges had reached the point where she was dreaming of the unknown man at night.

  Embarrassed, confused, and thinking there was something seriously wrong with her when she’d woken just this morning with her hands buried in her cooch after having a wet dream about a man she not only loathed, but had never met. The time for some lovin’ was long overdue if he began to invade her dreams at night.

  Leila felt incredibly stupid at that moment. In her excitement over meeting the investor, it hadn’t dawned on her that his address was the same as that of Sanchez, Walters and Reed’s.

  She narrowed her eyes and glanced at him leaning casually against the kiosk talking to the old guards, her mind at work, furiously trying to figure how she could use this time to her advantage.

  “I’d better head on up to the office, gentlemen.” His words brought her mind to a spinning halt.

  Yes.

  He turned to her and smiled. “Have a nice day, ma’am,” he said, nodding his head, a glint in his bright blue eyes. He paused as though waiting for something.

  She simply nodded her head in return and murmured some good wishes. God, what could she do? What could she say to prolong the moment? She had to think of something, and quick, in order to use this time.

  Aunt Sadie’s Café depended on it.

  She felt his hesitation, as though he wanted to say something to her, when Charlie number one spoke.

  “Sir, I believe a young lady headed up to your offices a bit ago, said she had an appointment with you? Isn’t that right, Charlie?” he asked, scratching his head and turning to Charlie number two who sagely nodded his head, his attention focused on the newspaper.

  Damn those Charlies!

  “Thanks for the heads-up, guys. Guess I’d better go then,” he said, and with one final look her way, left, his long legs taking him away from them.

  Then he walked away, cheerfully whistling, no doubt thinking of some other poor woman’s dreams he was going to demolish. Leila grit her teeth.

  She shoved out of her mind the fact that he’d invaded her dreams the night before, before she’d ever met him. And now that she’d met him in the flesh…

  She shook her head. No time for those thoughts.

  She unconsciously began to drum her fingers on the kiosk and stared at his broad, retreating back before her lips stretched into a wide smile.

  “Anything else we can do for ya, Miss?” Charlie number one asked, a frown on his aged face as he stared down at her.

  “No. Thank you, men, for your help. I’ll just call next week and reschedule with Mr. Swabb.” With a nod in their direction she quickly walked away.

  Leila turned as though walking toward the exit. She glanced over her shoulder and once the old men were no longer looking in her way, she quickly reversed her steps and walked briskly toward the closing elevator.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do now,” she murmured and stepped inside the elevator. “I’m going to pay Mr. Brandan Walters a little visit.”

  3

  After Bran
dan entered his inner office, he casually tossed his Stetson in a nearby chair.

  He sat down in the oversize leather chair behind his desk, picked up the phone, and buzzed his assistant.

  “Judith, what do I have scheduled for this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Why don’t I bring in your calendar when I bring your coffee, Mr. Walters?” she asked, and Brandan agreed.

  Today was Friday, the last Friday of the month, and he wanted to break away early if possible so he could make it to Austin before the rush hour traffic hit.

  He had a full weekend ahead and the past few weeks he hadn’t had the chance to get away, kick back with a beautiful woman, and leave business behind.

  This weekend he had plans with a beautiful hot blonde he’d met the previous week, and he wanted to spend the entire weekend letting her prove she could do all the things her body promised it could deliver.

  Damn, it had been too long since he’d been with a woman. By choice. He’d been restless lately, and although he’d had plenty of opportunities, he’d declined the many offers thrown his way, much to his partners’ amusement.

  Damian told him he needed to stop “ho-ing” around, settle down, and find the right woman. And after he’d stopped laughing at that thought, Mateo accused him of being in a sexual slump, and claimed the cure wasn’t abstinence—as their happily married partner, Damian claimed—but the exact opposite. His advise was to go out and saturate himself with women, all the while laughing at Damian’s assertions of true love and commitment to one woman.