“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“To the fundraiser. I want to take her to the fundraiser. Senator Montoya will be there.”
“And?”
“And he’s a sucker for a good hard-luck story and a pretty face. He may be able to exert some influence and help her out,” he finished, goading Brandan.
“I don’t give a shit what he’s a sucker for. She’s not going anywhere with you,” Brandan stated baldly.
“Well, why don’t we let Leila be the judge of that?”
“And when in hell did you decide you wanted to ‘help’ her out? I thought you wanted to buy the land,” he demanded.
“I like her. What can I say?” he responded, shrugging a shoulder.
“I don’t give a damn how much you like her. Leave her alone,” Brandan said, his voice calm and devoid of emotion as the two men stared at each other.
“And if I don’t?’
“Mateo, don’t fuck with me on this. Leave it alone,” Brandan repeated in a deadpan voice as the two men measured one another—one with a deadly gleam in his eye, the other’s mocking.
Brandan glanced around the brightly lit ballroom, his gaze running over the glitz and glamour and fashionably turned out crowd, seeking Leila.
He’d gotten caught up in business and hadn’t been able to call her until several hours after his conversation with Mateo.
Surprised and pleased that he was back in town, he could hear the smile in her voice when she greeted him.
They’d gotten caught up with each other’s news, engaging in the type of conversation new lovers often conducted, her deep husky voice soft, sweet, almost girlish in tone, when he told her what he planned to do to her when he saw her next, before he’d steered the conversation around to the fundraiser.
“Yes, actually, Mateo called me a few hours ago and invited me. I didn’t know you were back in town,” she’d said and he’d heard the hesitancy in her voice.
“So, when the cat’s away, the mouse will play?” he’d asked, anger flooding him.
“What are you talking about?”
He heard the hurt in her voice, but ignored it. “You’re not going.”
“Wha—what do you mean, I’m not going? Since when do I need your permission as to what I can and cannot do, Brandan?” The hurt turned to anger, yet Brandan ploughed on.
“I’m serious. Call him up and tell him you have a change of plans,” he demanded, knowing he sounded like a dominating ass, but not really giving a damn. She wasn’t going anywhere with Mateo.
“And if I don’t?”
Brandan cursed, her words mocking him, echoing Mateo’s.
When he said nothing, trying to check his anger, she continued. “Senator Montoya will be there. And unlike you, Mateo seems to actually want to help me save Aunt Sadie’s.” She threw the words at him and Brandan reacted.
“Mateo doesn’t give a goddamn about you or Aunt Sadie’s. His only concern is trying to fuck you. Don’t fool yourself,” he laughed harshly, and knew he’d gone too far when she gasped. “Damn, I didn’t mean that…”
“Yes, you did,” she paused. “But really, is he any different than you?” she laughed harshly.
“Damn it, Lee—”
“Look, I gotta go. I need to close up early so I can get ready. And Brandan, please don’t make the mistake of thinking you own me just because I let you fuck me,” she said, and before he could refute her claim that all he’d done was “fuck” her, he heard her quietly disconnect the phone, leaving a soft buzzing in his ear.
He savagely pressed end, and slammed the phone down on his desk.
“Damn!”
Now, as his eyes scanned the crowd searching for her, his gaze zeroed in on her. Like a lighthouse beacon, she stood out from the crowd.
She, tall and so gorgeous she made his breath catch, was talking to an older man. He walked closer, watching her animated beautiful face as she laughed and spoke to the man he recognized as Senator Montoya.
She had her long dreads—locs, he corrected himself, remembering what she’d told him the correct name was—long and loose, hanging down her back in a thick curtain, pulled away from her face.
She was wearing a short black dress that draped her long, fit body, molding her soft curves and ending above her knees.
His hungry gaze traveled down her gentle curves, down her long shapely legs, legs that had been wrapped around him as she called out his name while he stroked into her.
“Shit,” he mumbled, forcing his thoughts away from the two of them making love before he embarrassed himself in the crowded room of sophisticated partygoers.
He shook his head when a tuxedoed waiter offered him a fluted glass of champagne, and purposefully strode toward Leila.
16
“I’ve been looking all over for you, darlin’,” a familiar baritone whispered loudly enough for Senator Montoya to hear. Leila felt her cheeks warm in anger.
He nuzzled the side of her neck briefly, and smooth as butter on a hot skillet, deftly removed from the man’s outstretched hand the card the Senator was in the process of handing her.
“Ted, would you mind if I took the beautiful young lady away from you? She’s promised me the next dance.”
The shorter man winked broadly, a huge grin on his face as though the two men shared some joke beyond her weak feminine grasp, and left.
The sympathy she’d seen on his face as she’d spoken to him about Aunt Sadie’s had been replaced by a look of what appeared to be relief, as though he’d been rescued.
Leila opened her mouth to speak, to bring the retreating Senator back to her side. Immediately, Brandan pressed her tighter against his hard body. She felt his warm breath against her temple as he spoke for her ears alone. “Let it go, Lee. I warned you not to come here.”
“Let me go,” Leila gritted between clenched teeth.
She felt the muscles in the corner of her mouth twitch with the effort to keep the smile on her face, so others wouldn’t know what was going on between them.
The band struck up again, music filling the ballroom, and Brandan turned her around to face him. “Let’s dance.”
Her angry yet hungry eyes raked over his handsome form, decked out in a black tuxedo, complete with bolero tie, his big body looking resplendent in his formal clothes.
She wanted to maintain her anger with him, the last words they’d exchanged still heavy in her mind, and knew that if she was in his company for more than five hot seconds and danced with him, she’d fall victim yet again to their crazy, electric chemistry, something she didn’t feel like doing until she got a grip on her emotions.
She turned away from him, intending to put as much distance between them as she could, but he pulled her back.
Without waiting for her reply, he held her hand firmly within his and led her around the fast-filling dance floor. Once he’d gotten them a space, he turned her around and pulled her close.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her body flush with his as he moved his body and hers in time to the slow, sensual beat of the band.
“What are you doing here? What did you hope to accomplish by coming here with Mateo, Lee?” he asked, giving her no time to compose herself as his hard body brushed against her. Hypersensitive to his touch, she sought to pull back.
He immediately pulled her in again, tightening his hold around her waist.
“What do you care? It’s not your neighbors losing their businesses, their livelihoods, not your children losing their park! And you most certainly don’t care about me!” She refrained from sticking out her tongue at him. Just barely, as she tacked on that last bit out of spite and anger, remembering their last conversation and they way he’d told her not to show up at the fundraiser with his partner.
“Does this feel like I don’t care?” he asked, bringing their lower bodies into closer alignment.
Leila’s heart slammed against her chest, and her mouth went dry when
she felt his hard length pressed intimately against hers.
Leila closed her eyes and shut down her body’s immediate reaction, refusing to get caught up with him again. “That doesn’t impress me,” she lied blithely.
“Not if you don’t want it to, it can’t,” he said, and subtly ground his cock against her body, disguising the bold sexual move as a dance move, as he pulled her hips closer to his and swayed back and forth, side to side, his heat searing through the thin black fabric of her dress.
Despite her best intentions, she leaned into his body, welcoming his touch, and opened her thighs to better accommodate him.
They swayed together to the music, their bodies pressed close, blending, merging, instinctively in tune with the other.
When the song began to end, she shoved away from him and broke out of the sensual spell they’d weaved.
She quickly left the floor, seeking out the ladies’ restroom. Blinded by tears at how easily he got around her, and weaving her way through the crowd, she was desperate to escape the tantalizing promise in his eyes.
Once in the restroom, Leila was thankful it was empty. She’d purposely chosen one that was far from the ballroom, figuring no one would come to it, and with the lateness of the hour, the likelihood was slim that a hotel guest would meander inside as well.
She needed to be alone.
What was wrong with her that just one touch from Brandan sent both her emotions and her sexuality into overdrive? When she was willing to, if not forgive, temporarily shove to the back of her mind the things he said that really pissed her off…and act like a cat in heat rubbing and grinding against him on a crowded dance floor.
Damn…
“Aunt Sadie, what in the world am I going to do?” she murmured out loud, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She could almost hear her great-aunt respond: Well, baby girl, you have to make a decision that you and only you can make. You need to decide what it is you want from this man, what he wants from you. You need to stop trying to analyze the whys of your feelings, and just feel, baby. Life is so short…
Leila squeezed her eyes shut tightly to erase the threat of tears that threatened to fall.
She knew it was all in her head, her conversations with Aunt Sadie. But sometimes, it felt so real…
She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and washed her hands before she walked toward the door.
In the process of opening the door, her heart slammed against her chest when Brandan walked through the opening, determination settling across his face and in his stride.
17
“You can’t be in here! What’s wrong with you?” Leila demanded, but when he continued to advance toward her she quickly spun around and ran into one of the bathroom stalls and slammed it shut.
But not quickly enough.
He tore open the door, and with a screech, Leila backed up until the back of her knees hit the toilet.
She would have fallen had he not grasped her by the crook of the arm. With a thud and an “oomph” of breath escaping her lips, she was hauled against his chest.
With her mouth wide open she stared at him, fearing he’d plain lost his mind following her into the bathroom, and not sure what to say, completely speechless as his big body crowded her in the small stall.
He grasped her chin with his thumb and two fingers and lifted her face, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. As their gazes connected, she noted that within his light blue eyes was a strange gleam, one that scared her as much as it excited her.
He drew her closer. Yet didn’t say a word.
Leila was thrown off balance with his quiet, watchful stare.
Staring into his face, his eyes, she saw her own reflection stare back at her. His penetrating gaze seemed to look directly into her soul, as though he were seeking to discern her every thought, her every emotion.
At the thought, a new tingling awareness coursed through her body, sending chill bumps to curl around her spine. Cupping his palms around her cheeks, he dropped his mouth and covered her lips with his, giving soft, whispering caresses with his lips that soon turned to long, drugging, and devouring kisses.
“I told you not to come here, Leila,” he whispered hotly against her lips once he released her.
“And I told you, you don’t dictate—” her words were cut short when he lifted her easily, and hiked up her skirt to her waist before he wrapped her legs around his waist.
“No…what are you doing? I don’t want thi—” Her breathless protest was cut short when he slanted his lips over hers and turned, fumbling behind them to lock the door to the stall.
She heard the rasp of his zipper, and with his other hand he ripped her panties from her body and watched with dazed eyes as the flimsy scraps floated to the floor.
“Brandan…are you insane?” she whispered, her chest heaving as she turned her eyes back to his.
He nuzzled her neck, sending electric pulses of heat racing over her body. He licked her, grabbed the lobe of her ear between his teeth and pulled. One hand found and caressed her clit before he slid between her now-slick folds to slip inside her, and withdraw her own moisture to lubricate her.
Her body arched sharply, her back slammed against the door as he pressed his fingers deeper.
“Do you want it? Do you want me, Leila?” he asked.
She should have been angry.
She should have been afraid of the hot, intense look of determination brightening his light blue eyes, and struggled to get away from him.
She should have done and been all of those things.
But, she didn’t. She wasn’t.
Instead, she reached out for him, as desire and anticipation swirled around and over her, covering and submerging her until she felt weak and drowning in a sea of need.
A need only he could fulfill.
She wanted…needed him with a desire that was limitless, one that knew no boundaries, and one she wasn’t going to analyze…
With her breath coming out in a shallow rhythm, she nodded her head yes.
18
Leila’s heart was slamming against her chest like a jackhammer.
Not waiting for her garage door to open, she slammed on the breaks, grabbed her purse, and after fumbling with the door, yanked the key out of the ignition and raced out of the car.
The very thought of the feral look in Brandan’s eyes sent fear mingled with insane lust through her veins.
She couldn’t believe what they had done.
Taking her in the women’s restroom, of all the places in the world, like a damn animal. And she’d let him do it. In the end, she’d all but begged him to.
On legs that were still wobbly, she raced toward her front door. After a few fumbles, she managed to find the right key to the door. Just as she was inserting the key, a low rumble alerted her that Brandan was hot on her heels.
After their torrid activity in the restroom, she’d gathered her things and fled, leaving him to run behind her to try and catch up.
She’d thrown her useless panties in her purse, and raced down the hall. At the door to the ballroom, she’d left a message telling Mateo she’d gotten a headache and was going home.
As she’d impatiently waited for the keys to her car, she’d sent a prayer heavenward in thanks when she saw someone reach out and pull Brandan’s arm, forcing him to stop and speak, giving her enough time to get into her vehicle and speed away, as though the hounds of hell were after her.
“Damn it!” she cursed, looking over her shoulder to see his low black Lamborghini slide next to her beat-up Jeep in her driveway. The powerful engine had barely been cut before he was out of the driver’s side.
Fumbling in earnest, she got the key in one lock and glanced over her shoulder to gauge if she had enough time to get the other two unlocked, when his tall, dark, menacing-looking form quickly advanced on her.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” she mumbled.
Her heart thudded, hiccupped, and stuttered.
She spun around and nearly wept in relief when she unlocked the last one all of three seconds before he made it to the door.
Once inside, she turned to slam the door shut.
But not fast enough.
One large black, ostrich-skin cowboy boot lodged between the door jam.
Leila chose not to wait around for him to catch her. She kicked off her heels and took off running.
Where the hell she was running to, she had no idea.
But the chase was on.
19
Brandan’s lips stretched into a predatory smile.
So she wanted to run, did she?
He took his time, gave her a head start.
Just to make it that much more—tasty—when he caught her.
As he walked through her home, he heard the echo of her racing steps in the dark, quiet loft.
He hoped that if she ever decided to leave the restaurant business, she wouldn’t turn to a life of crime. Her stealth abilities sucked.
As he walked around the loft, he headed straight to the back where he knew she’d be, and found her in the kitchen, paying no attention to his surroundings in his single-minded intent.
He turned in the darkened room and saw her staring at him, her nostrils flaring, chest heaving, her purse clutched against her chest as though it were some magical shield that could protect her from him.
“Come here.”
“Come here,” he said again.
Although he spoke in a low tone, the demand in his voice was subtle, and the look in his bright blue eyes promised a delicious retribution if she were to disobey his request.
But still…
“Make me.”
She had all of two seconds before he was on her.
“Look, what we did in that bathroom was crazy, and I don’t want a repeat performance, thank you!” She shoved against his chest with all the strength she had, but to no avail.
He picked her up as though she weighed no more than the purse she held clutched in her hands, a crazy glint in his light blue eyes, and carried her through the dark loft toward her bed, tossing her in the middle.
Scream My Name Page 10
