Scream My Name. Kimberly Kaye Terry
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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,