Make Me Scream (18 page)

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to let her get away without telling him exactly what she thought of his book. Relief washed through her when he smiled and nodded.

“Just let me take Killer out one more time. Then we can go.” He glanced at his sport watch. “If we hurry, happy hour should still be going on. Casa Lopez makes the best frozen margaritas around. You like margaritas?” He clipped Killer’s leash onto the dog’s collar.

“Love ’em, especially strawberry ones.”

Tinny strains of “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere” sounded. Devon extracted a black cell phone from his pants pocket and flipped it open. “Hey, Francyne. I’m just taking him out now, and then we’re going to eat at Casa Lopez.” He glanced at Jamie. “That would be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” He opened the door and motioned for her to go in front of him and then stepped out and locked the door. “Okay, we’ll be right over. Thanks.” He clicked the phone shut and repocketed it. “Francyne says she and Petunia are having a slumber party and want Killer to join them. I told her we’d bring him over after he did his business.”

Jamie walked quietly along the boardwalk with Devon and Killer. Without Killer waiting at home, would Devon plan to spend the night at her apartment? And, more importantly, was that what she wanted?

Devon carried on a running conversation with his dog as they walked. Jamie couldn’t help smiling at the nonsensical things he said. There was something so appealing about a guy who clearly loved his dog.

Before she knew it, they were standing out side Francyne’s door.

Francyne’s apartment made Jamie’s apartment look like it should be condemned.

Besides the obvious difference of the beautifully carved mantel and fireplace, it looked professionally decorated.

Francyne was dressed in her usual brightly colored muumuu, tonight paired with pink fuzzy slippers shaped like flamingoes. In her hand was easily the largest margarita glass Jamie had ever seen.

“Come in, come in.” Francyne tugged them in and closed the door and then held aloft her glass. “Want a ’rita? I just made a fresh blenderful. Best batch to date, if I do say so myself.”

Devon glanced at Jamie. She gave a little shake. Petunia’s dander was already getting to her. Besides, if they were going to get to the restaurant before the end of happy hour, they probably wouldn’t have time.

“We’ll catch the next batch; thanks, anyway. Happy hour is still going on, and we need to get going if we want a booth before the crowd arrives.”

“Do you have time to take a look at the statement my stockbroker sent me? I can’t make heads nor tails of it.”

“Sure.” Devon followed her into the kitchen, their voices becoming background noise.

Jamie wandered over to the fireplace, admiring the high ceiling and large windows facing the beach. No doubt about it, this was prime real estate. No wonder the owners were thinking about selling. It had to be worth a fortune.

And speaking of fortunes…Francyne must have had some serious bucks to afford the high-end furniture displayed in her living room. Jamie squinted at a painting. Van Gogh? She touched the surface. If it was a print, it was a dang good one.

On a round cherry end table Jamie was sure she recognized from “Antiques Roadshow” was an oval framed sketch. On closer inspection, she saw it was a nude and realized it bore a striking resemblance to a much younger Francyne. The signature was barely visible, but it sure looked like it said Picasso. Surely not.

A knock sounded. The door immediately opened, and the man Jamie recognized as the one who’d had sex by the fire when she first moved in entered.

Tall and well built, like all the male tenants seemed to be, he wore his dark hair short and slicked back, which emphasized his tan and the brilliant blue of his eyes. She wondered if he wore colored contacts, too.

“Francyne,” he said as he shut the door, obviously oblivious to the fact that Francyne had company, “we have a problem. Rick and Todd are—”

Devon walked out of the kitchen and stopped short.

“Grant,” he said, “what are you doing in Francyne’s apartment?”

“A
h, um…Grant!” Francyne hurried over and threw her arms around him. “It’s okay, pookie. They’re my friends, they won’t tell anyone about…” she put her hands on each side of his head, staring straight into his eyes, and said, “us.” Then pulled him down for a deep, passionate-looking kiss.

“I think I just lost my appetite,” Devon said close to Jamie’s ear. “Let’s get out of here. I think I need that drink, and I need it right now.” In a louder tone, he said, “Bye, Francyne, Grant. Your secret is safe with us. See you tomorrow.”

Outside, they looked at each other and began to laugh as they made their way to the restaurant.

Casa Lopez looked like every other hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant Jamie had ever seen. Somewhat dingy, it boasted mismatched chrome tables with scarred Formica tops and a ragtag assortment of dinette chairs surrounded by plastic padded booths.

The hostess looked to be about eighty if she was a day. She toddled over when they stepped into the restaurant.

“Seen-yor Dee-von,” she said, giving him a hug. “We have not seen you for a long time. And you have a new beautiful lady.” She winked. “For you, we will give the best table. Come!”

Frankly Jamie thought all the tables were about the same, but she smiled gamely at the old lady when she waved them to a corner booth and handed them the menus.

“Buenos noches, Devon.” A young woman, younger than Jamie, strolled to their table. Her black hair, scraped back into a tight bun, shone in the dim light. Full figured, she had pouty red lips and sported so much eye makeup it was a wonder she could hold her eyes open.

“Hello, Anna,” Devon said after they hugged. “This is Jamie.”

The women nodded at each other. Jamie noticed that the waitress refrained from giving her a welcoming hug.

“Margaritas. Grande? Frozen, no salt?”

Devon nodded and then added, “But make the lady’s a strawberry.”

That earned a dirty look, but Anna walked toward the bar. Jamie watched closely to make sure the waitress didn’t do something mean, like spit in her drink.

She wondered if Anna and Devon had ever gone out, but she’d bite her tongue off before she’d ask.

“I tutored Anna and her sister in English when they first came here from Mexico. As a favor to the Lopez family. I’ve known the Lopez brothers since junior high.”

Anna returned to place their drinks on the table, along with a basket of chips and two bowls of picante sauce and guacamole. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”

“I know what I want,” Devon said with a smile.

She smiled back.

“Chef’s special,” Anna and Devon said together.

“What’s the chef’s special?” Jamie dipped a chip in the green sauce and took a bite. Blinking back tears, she took a gulp of ice water.

Anna wiped the smirk from her face. “Is good. Grilled cheekon, fajita steak, shrimps, much grilled vegetables, seasoned with bacon. It comes with bean soup and flour tortillas.”

“That sounds good. I’ll have that, too.”

The waitress looked at her for a second and then nodded and left.

“Did I do or say something to offend her?” Jamie reached for another chip but avoided the cups of sauce.

“No, she—”

“Hey! Hombre!” The booming voice belonged to the man striding toward their table, a blinding white smile on his dark-skinned face. His thick hair shone blue-black in the low lights. “I saw the order and knew who was here!”

The man pulled Devon from his seat into a bear hug and thumped him on the back and then looked expectantly at Jamie.

“Jamie, this is my good friend, Moises Lopez. Mo, this is Jamie Cartwright. She just moved here.”

Moises executed a formal bow and kissed the back of her hand. “A pleasure, señorita. If this guy acts up, you tell me and I will take you away.”

Heat climbed into her cheeks, but she kept smiling and nodding. The men talked for a few minutes, and then Moises left with a wave of his hand.

“I take it he’s the chef?” She stuck her tongue against the roof of her mouth to dissipate the recent surge of brain freeze from her drink.

“Are you kidding?” Devon popped a chip, laden with guacamole, into his mouth. “I wouldn’t touch anything that klutz cooked. I’d probably get poisoned. Nah, his twin brother, Miguel, is the chef.”

Sizzling filled the air, along with a mouthwatering aroma.

Anna walked to the table carrying a huge metal serving tray with steam coming from several of the dishes. One by one, she set the food on their table until almost the entire surface was covered. Without a word, she walked away.

Jamie closed her eyes and inhaled the tantalizing scent and then opened them and speared a plump jumbo shrimp that lay on top of the pile of food.

“Ohhh, this is so good!” She chewed appreciatively and then swallowed.

Another round of jumbo margaritas was consumed before she pushed her plate away.

“Oh, man, that was good!”

“You didn’t finish.” Devon nodded at Anna when she dropped their bill on the table.

Anna looked at the half-full plate and then at Jamie. “You want a to-go box?”

Jamie shook her head. “No. Thank you, though. It was delicious. But I couldn’t eat another bite.”

She thought she heard Anna mutter something like “too skinny” but wasn’t sure.

“Enjoy the rest of your drink.” Devon stood, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll go pay the bill and come back.”

She sat, half asleep, with her stomach full of the best food she’d had in ages and savored the remnants of her margarita.

Someone stopped at her table.

Assuming it was Devon, she looked up with a smile.

Her heart tripped. The sip of frozen drink lodged somewhere in her throat.

Fred.

“H
ello, Jamie.” He leered down at her, icy hatred in his brown eyes. “I see you’ve moved on.”

Instincts kicked in, and she screamed.

Fred got a panicked look on his face. It looked like he was trying to say something, maybe calm her down. But she was so far gone, all she could do was keep screaming.

She grabbed the steak knife still lying on the table and lunged for him.

His eyes widened, mouth slacked. He turned and ran.

He’d just disappeared when Devon ran back into the dining room, followed by what looked to be most of the waitstaff.

Within seconds, Devon was beside her, gathering her into his arms.

“Jamie, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She shook so badly she could barely speak but finally was able to say, “Fred.”

“Fred?” She nodded. “He was here? In this restaurant? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! Why do you think I screamed?”

He looked around. “Did you see which way he went?”

In response, she pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the patio doors.

Moises jogged over to the table. “I called the police. They should be here momentarily.”

The police arrived, sirens blaring, and did a thorough search of the restaurant and surrounding area. After taking the report, they gave Jamie a card with a case number and their phone number. Like that was going to do her any good if Fred got hold of her.

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Wrapped in Devon’s arms, she walked home. And when he asked if she’d like to come in, she didn’t hesitate.

It was not the time to be brave. Or alone.

While Devon locked the door, she wasted no time. By the time he walked into the kitchen, she was naked. Sex may not be the answer for everything, but it sure helped.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Devon managed to say between kisses while she tugged at his shorts.

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips, her hand snaking into his boxers. “And so are you.”

“But where? What do you want—” His teeth clicked against hers.

“Anywhere. Anything. I’ll do whatever you want to do. We can play with the toys. Get down and dirty in the tub. Whatever you want.”

Although he’d waited most of his adult life to hear those words from a willing female, suddenly it was no big deal.

The only thing he wanted, really wanted, was Jamie. Naked, preferably. Warm and willing in his bed.

“While I appreciate the offer, and I admit I’ve had some kinky thoughts of late, what I’d really like is to just make love to you. Without gadgets, without flavor enhancers or tools of any kind. You. Me. Naked. In bed. How does that sound?”

She blinked back tears. “Heavenly.”

After lighting several candles, which was really very heroic, considering his innate fear of fire, Devon stretched out next to Jamie and began by kissing the silky, fragrant skin of her shoulder.

From there, he trailed kisses down her arm to the tips of each finger, biting back a smile when he felt her shiver.

He worked his way to her toes, the arches of her feet and then back up again, determined to taste every delicious inch of her.

When he had her writhing on the sheets, he brought her to a climax with his mouth and then his hand.

Damn, he loved it when she screamed.

“My turn,” she said, tugging him away from her wetness.

“No,” he whispered, poised between her legs. “Tonight it’s all for you.”

She lay panting after Devon rolled away. The air clicked on, cooling her sweat-slicked skin. The last orgasm had more than rocked her world. It had been almost an out-of-body experience. Shoot, they may have even wiped out a few brain cells.

The mattress dipped. Devon walked into the bathroom and then returned a moment later to pull her close and kiss her forehead.

So content she almost purred, she snuggled against him, listening to his breathing as it changed.

Her lips brushed his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Devon lay in the dark long after her breathing told him she slept.

She had said she was falling in love with him when she thought he was asleep.

In the past, he would have run screaming if a woman had said that to him. Oddly that urge was not present.

Did that mean he might be falling in love with her, too?

He turned to his side, cradling her against his chest, and kissed the back of her neck.

No, he wasn’t falling in love with Jamie Cartwright.

He’d already fallen.