Scream My Name. Kimberly Kaye Terry

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 Brandan 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.

      Whatever the answer, he needed…something, he thought. Something that would ease away the tension that had been steadily growing the longer he went without a woman.

      If he thought about it, the last time he’d been with a woman had been shortly before he’d started communications with Leila James, the owner of one of the properties he and his partners were trying to buy.

      Just the thought of the woman, and her sharp little emails—emails that had started off professional, telling him she had no plans to sell her property, but had grown progressively sharp—provoked him.

      A reluctant laugh burst from his mouth when he thought of their last exchange. She’d emailed him with her usual in-your-face attitude, and he’d shot back an answer, telling her they’d simply build around her and her little shop. He even referred to Dr. Seuss’s tale of the two stubborn creatures who refused to see logic, oblivious to the fact that the world went on, with or without their assent.

      Well…she then called back, and left a blistering message on his voicemail, basically calling him a money hungry, no sex-life having dirt bag whose only aspiration in life was to trump on small business owners’ dreams.

      She’d told him that if he had had a life, he’d have better things to do with his time than harass her. He’d definitely have better things to do than to read Dr. Seuss. Instead of screwing around with her, he’d be out getting screwed by a woman.

      “Damn,” he muttered, and shook his head. “Hell, maybe there’s some truth to that,” he murmured out loud.

      It had gotten to where he looked forward to their exchanges, and if a few days went by and he’d not heard from her, he’d shoot her an email.

      Always polite, to the point…with just a bit of bite. She seemed to like it that way, he thought with a laugh. More than once he’d contemplated calling her and inviting her out to have a drink where they could talk about the issue, but had refrained from doing so.

      He had an image of what she looked like, how she would be, firmly in his mind. He wasn’t ready to chance that the reality, and his fantasy of her might be nothing alike. The conversations, emails though they were, had been the most engaging conversations he’d had with a woman in too long a time.

      Thinking