She looked him over suspiciously from beneath lowered lashes as she took a careful sip of wine.
His overall beauty, again, struck her, totally fascinated her. It wasn’t that she was attracted to him, sexually. Not at all.
There was no strange chemistry arcing between them as there had been with Brandan, yet there was something about Mateo that pulled at her.
He emitted an aura of blatant sexuality, as though it were second nature to him. His dark hair had a slight wave, his thin wide lips curled upward, even when he wasn’t smiling, and the gleam in his chocolate eyes screamed of…sex.
It unnerved her that she couldn’t pinpoint what about him was a bit unsettling.
Shaking it off, she smiled and answered, “That would be nice. We’re planning to give Aunt Sadie’s a new look. Something fresh, hip, with a twist, maybe bring in some old classic style to give homage to my great-aunt. She was a woman with style,” she said with a smile.
“I’ll make sure I get you his contact information,” he said. “Avant-garde projects are his favorites. He agreed to create the murals for Loiseau’s when he found out the restaurant was named after the famous chef, Bernard Loiseau. It appealed to the tortured artist soul in him, I guess,” he replied, and shrugged an elegant shoulder.
Leila raised a brow and titled her head. “How so?”
Mateo leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Rumor has it that the prominent chef had a history of bipolar disorder, and committed suicide when rumors circulated in France that his restaurant was in jeopardy of losing one of its prized star ratings. But as I say, it is only a rumor. At any rate, Renaldo—my friend and the artist responsible for these beautiful murals—found the story and the chef fascinating. For that reason alone, he agreed to create the murals.”
“Hmmm. Interesting,” Leila agreed, and took a sip of the wine.
Just like everything else in the restaurant, it was perfect. She swallowed the bit of natural jealousy that arose and continued, “About the restaurant…” Leila smoothly turned the conversation to the reason she’d accepted his offer of dinner.
“Yes, about Aunt Sadie’s,” he said, and again, she caught the subtle smile as though he held a secret humor. “That is why we’re here. To discuss why you are the only one of the owners who refuses to sell.”
Leila sat up straighter, tossed a few of her locs over her shoulder, and raised a brow, glad they were getting down to business.
As soon as Mateo and Leila left, Brandan swiftly gathered his briefcase and laptop and left, impatiently punching in the his date’s number—what was her damn name?—telling her there was a change of plans for dinner, and to meet him at Loiseau’s, instead of the earlier agreed upon club.
He wasn’t fooling himself, thinking the change was because he suddenly had no desire to go to the popular nightclub for food and dancing.
He knew Mateo. He knew that he would take Leila to Loiseau’s, and he damn well was going to be there as well.
Now, as he and Angela entered the restaurant, after sliding the maitre d’ three crisp hundred dollar bills, they followed the tuxedoed man toward a table.
Scanning the restaurant, it wasn’t long before he spotted Mateo and Leila, and he grinned. From his location, he’d be able to see the couple without them seeing him.
After pulling his date’s seat back, Brandan sat down as well and ordered drinks from the hovering waiter. Brandan glanced back over at Leila and Mateo, making sure he had them in his sights.
He felt like a damn fool, or some amateur dick scoping out his target. But damned if he was going to let his partner get too close to the woman before he’d had the opportunity to find out what it was about her that got him hard whenever he was in her presence, though that had only been twice.
Plus, he was way past the age where being next to a pretty girl should have gotten his dick so hard he could hammer nails with the damn thing.
Squinting his eyes in the dimly lit restaurant, he was able to zero in on them, then clenched his teeth together when he noticed one of her hands clasped between Mateo’s.
The sneaky bastard was reading her palm.
He’d seen him do that tired move more times than he could count.
He’d gotten the “gift” from his grandmother. Mateo had told him that despite his father’s protest that it didn’t look good for someone of his standing to have his mother setting up shop in the market reading palms and predicting futures, she’d ignored her son and continued doing what she had done in her homeland of Columbia before the family had moved.
As a boy, Mateo had always been fascinated with the practice, and after his grandmother told him he too had the “gift,” he learned the art of palm reading.
Yeah, right.
Just another way to get close to a woman, Brandan thought cynically.
“Oooh, I like this! I’ve never been here before.”
Brandan reluctantly turned away from the cuddled pair and smiled at his date.
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied.
“I said to myself after you called, ‘Angela, now why is he changing restaurants? What surprise does he have in store for Angela?’ And you bring Angela here! I’ve been wanting to check out Loosow’s since they opened last spring. What a surprise, Sweetie!” she laughed, butchering the name of the restaurant and letting out a high, shrill giggle that drew other diners’ attention toward them.
Angela. That was it.
Although it irritated him how she referred to herself in the third person, Brandan was glad she had this time, as he kept drawing a blank when trying to bring her name to the forefront of his mind.
“Good,” he said though he doubted she was really listening, as she kept on speaking.
He smiled and nodded at what he guessed were the appropriate times, but he didn’t really know or care.
She had several irritating habits, and referring to herself in the third person was just one. She could go on for hours talking nonstop, not noticing if he edged a word in, in her shrill, strongly accented southern drawl.
He hadn’t asked her out for her scintillating conversation anyway, more out of boredom if anything.
Lately, all his female companions had merged into one homogenous blurb in his mind. None were distinguishable from the other.
All tended to be the same. Petite, because for some reason those were the ones he attracted more than any other type. Blonde or brunette, didn’t matter which, banging body, and into themselves and what they could get out of a man.
Completely self-absorbed. Angela was no different than the rest. And that had been the way he liked it, until recently
The last time he’d gone to dinner at his partner Damian’s home, he’d brought one of them with him at Wanda’s—Damian’s wife’s—request.
The next day at work, Damian made an offhand comment about her being like the rest. He said it in a joking manner, but it had struck Brandan.
Something was missing from his love life.
Not the sex.
He could get that easily. Flash a handful of money, flashy car, and nice trinkets, and it was his for the taking. His eyes slid to the woman across from him, chattering away like there was no tomorrow.
He knew women were drawn to him because of the money, the perceived power. It was a heady combination. From the time he started playing ball in college, and later pro, it had been a sweet exchange.
In exchange for great sex and ready availability when he needed it, he gave his women what they wanted. Generous when it came to gifting, as well inviting them into a nightlife that catered to the rich and famous.
But of late, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Though he volunteered to coach football at a local youth center, along with Damian, he felt as though something was lacking in his life.
He glanced back over at Mateo and Leila in time to see him pulling her chair back for her. She smiled at him and quickly walked away from the table, weaving her way through the restaurant toward the back.
Quickly, he turned to Angela and excused himself. He briskly followed Leila’s retreating back, wondering what had happened in the few seconds of his mental musings that had her racing away from his partner.
7
Leila washed her hands in the sink and peered down at them, noticing the fine tremor as the water ran down her fingers.
She laughingly allowed Mateo to “read” her palm, thinking it was a cheesy effort on his part so he could hold her hands. Really, what were they, in the eighth grade, she thought, but she went along with it.
She had no idea she’d be left unsettled and shaken to the degree she was now, after the “reading” was over.
Mateo cradled her hand in his, his lean fingers trailing a path along the dark lines in her palm. Leila waited patiently for him to explain what each line meant, and as she knew he would, he went into a spiel on what each line represented.
“You see this line?” he asked. “This line represents your life line.” The pad of his thumb outlined one of the creases, and he continued without looking up at her. “Yours shows that barring unforeseen accidents, you’ll have a fairly long life. Prosperous even.”
He went on to explain several other lines. “This one is your love line,” he said, then stopped, a frown settling across his wide forehead. “Hmmm,” he murmured, running his thumb across the line in a back and forth seesaw movement.
“And?” Leila prompted, intrigued despite herself, knowing full well this was all a part of some game he was playing. Another player out to score. Albeit in an original way, with the whole my-grandmother-was-a-soothsayer thing, but still a game.
“You have a large capacity for love,” he continued, and Leila hid her smirk. Now he’d get to it, that she was a woman made for love, that she’d never met the right man to—
“But, you’ve haven’t met the man yet who does it for you,” he finished the thought in her mind and she hid her surprise. But really, what else would a man say when trying to get a woman in bed, she thought, and bit her lip to stop from laughing.
“They’re all the same to you, indistinguishable from the next. And easily interchangeable. And easily they irritate you, within a short time.”
She began to grow uncomfortable and laughed nervously. It was just some game, she reminded herself.
He didn’t know her, didn’t know anything about her. It didn’t matter that his words eerily echoed what her great-aunt had once said to her after she’d dumped her latest boyfriend. What Sadie had said was that she had a tendency to let them work her nerves too soon, that if she found fault with any and every little thing a man did, she’d be irritated for the rest of her life. And alone.
“You’re strong willed. Independent for sure,” he laughed as though to himself, totally immersed in what he was doing to the point that Leila felt as if he’d forgotten she was there. “At times too strong.”
Okay…
Then he looked up at her, a strange look in his dark brown eyes, a serious look. Although she knew nothing about him, it was an expression she wouldn’t have expected to see in his eyes. No slick flirtation, no sly sexual vibe was he throwing off.
“You’ll love once. A real love, and that’s all. You’re the type of woman that draws men to you with effortless ease,” he laughed softly, “with the type of ease other women are envious of, and you’re not even aware of. But no one has made an impression on your heart. None of them have managed to touch you in any profound way. Haven’t gotten past that shield you carry.”
Her breath had caught at his words.
“You’ll know the man when you meet him. When you do, it won’t be calm, or sneak up on you gradually. It won’t take many days or months of dating to know that he’s your man. You’ll know the minute you lay eyes on him.”
Leila had laughed it off, and tried to withdraw her hand, but he’d kept his grip firm.
He peered at her intently across the candlelit table and told her, with regret in his dark eyes, “It’s too late for that man to be me. Seems you’ve already met your man. He’s your other half,” he’d said, and Leila had grown even more uncomfortable with her “reading,” unable to shake it off as some ridiculous nonsense.
With more force than before, she pulled her hand back, and unconscious of the meaning behind her actions, had wiped her palm down the side of her skirt, as though to erase the words he’d uttered.
His expression had lightened and he’d allowed her to remove her hand.
The hair at the nape of her neck had stood up, goose bumps had feathered down her arms and she glanced around the crowded restaurant feeling strange, eyes on her, as though someone was watching her.
When she’d hastily gotten to her feet, mumbling that she needed to get away, he’d said nothing. His dark eyes had instead followed her as she’d pushed back her chair and quickly gone to the restroom.
Leila shook her hands, shaking off the excess water, and turned off the gold-tipped faucet, stared at her reflection in the smoky mirror, and blew out a shaky breath. She refused to admit the effect Mateo’s “reading” had on her.
She shook her head as though to erase the image of Brandan that had sprung to her mind, an image that had been hovering in her subconscious since she met him early that morning.
“Are you okay, miss?”
Leila turned away from her reflection in the mirror, smiled absentmindedly at the waiting attendant, and nodded her head before accepting the soft towel the woman held out for her.
Brandan ignored the curious glances cast his way as he leaned against the wall outside the women’s restroom, arms crossed, and waited for Leila to come out.
He glanced down at his watch, impatient.
She’d been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes, and the longer he waited the more he wondered what Mateo had said that sent her flying from her chair.
He’d not been able to see her expression from his distance away, but the hurried way she stood, her chair almost toppling in her haste to get away, and the long strides that had taken her across the restaurant in less than a minute had been telling.
Just as he glanced up, the door opened, and although he’d been waiting for her, expecting her to come out, he was caught by surprise when she opened the door and took halting steps, her head down, a deep frown crossing her smooth forehead.
She would have walked past him had he not pushed away from the wall and stood in her path. With an “umph” she bumped into his chest, and he reached his hands out to steady her.
She looked up at him, an apology on her wide, sensual lips, before her eyes widened and she realized who she’d walked into.
“Wha—what are you doing here?”
“Enjoying your dinner date?” he murmured, ignoring her question.
He slowly ran his hands down her arms, ending at the tips of her fingers. So close to her, Brandan saw her response to his touch, feeling the rush of small bumps flash across her smooth honey-colored skin.
Despite her height, coupled with the heels she wore, she still had to look up to meet his eyes. Just barely, but enough for Brandan to notice her small breasts rise with the sudden breath she took, and her nostrils flare at the tips.
Her wide-spaced light brown eyes stared at his mouth.
His cock jumped in response to her reaction to him.
Shit.
What was it about this woman that had his body acting like a randy-ass prepubescent boy, he wondered.
When she tugged her arm away from him, he reluctantly allowed her to go.
“Yes, it’s a beautiful restaurant. But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? I thought you had a date with Tiffany,” she said, a frown creasing her forehead, her brows puckering.
“Angela,” he corrected easily.
She knew what the woman’s name was, of that he had no doubt. She was a sharp woman—he’d found that out from their interchanges over the last few months.
She’d been irritated that he’d had a date. And although that shouldn�
�t please him, shouldn’t matter one way or another, it did.
“And you didn’t answer my question. Are you enjoying your dinner date?” he murmured, his eyes trained on her lips. She wore no color on them, none that he could detect this close, nothing but a shimmering of gloss, but they were a soft light pink color. His gaze followed her tongue as it snaked out and made a quick swipe across the fuller bottom rim.
Just then a large woman walked past them, brushing against him before issuing an apology. Brandan used it as an excuse to push her gently against the wall while he boxed her in.
When she simply looked at him, not saying more, he pressed closer, both physically and mentally. “Why did you go out with him? Why not me? I was the one you came to see, the one you want…to talk to about your business.”
“Like I said, you had other plans. And I don’t want you, I just want you to leave my business alone. Nothing more, nothing less,” she insisted, her tone cool. But her body was telling him something else.
Without touching her, he felt her body heat reach out and sear him as her chest sharply rose up and down as she took short shallow breaths.
Yeah, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
“Keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll start to believe it.”
He raised a hand to touch her cheek, wondering if it was as soft as it appeared, before he could stop himself. He never pressed a woman like this. He wanted a reaction from her. And damn if he had any intention of stopping.
She placed her hand on top of his before he could make the connection and stared at him with an intensity that stole his breath. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts and shoved his hand away.
“I don’t need to remind myself of anything, Mr. Walters. Our only connection is Aunt Sadie’s Café. Now, it’s time for me to go back to my dinner date. If you’ll excuse me…”
Scream My Name Page 5
