Make Me Scream (5 page)

Chris’s smile widened, if that was possible. “No laundry. We saw Jamie come in here and thought we’d mosey over and introduce ourselves. Keep her company while she does her laundry.”

Devon just stared. He knew exactly what those two had on their minds and it wasn’t getting to know Jamie, unless you counted in the biblical sense.

The men pushed away from the washers.

“We were on our way to the gym,” Drew said, edging toward the door. “It was nice meeting you, Jamie. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around,” Chris echoed, and they left.

“Is there a problem with me talking to them?” Jamie asked when he handed her a sandwich and her drink. “Is there something I should know?”

Was there? Slowly he shook his head, took a bite of his roast-beef sandwich and swallowed before answering. “No, they’re okay. I was just worried they might scare you. They can be kind of intimidating, especially together.”

She swallowed a bite of sandwich and grinned. “You’re telling me. The testosterone level was getting a bit high in here.”

They chuckled and continued eating their lunch in companionable silence.

Jamie shifted on the vibrating washer and realized it was a poor choice of a place to sit. The vibrations were doing absolutely sinful things to her genitalia. It didn’t help to have Devon sitting there, oblivious to her state, reading a sports magazine. Would he help her relieve her need if she asked him? Would she dare ask?

Devon hid behind an old magazine and tried to regulate his breathing. From his vantage point, he could see clear up Jamie’s dress to her upper thigh. It didn’t take much of an imagination to know what lay beyond.

And Devon had a great imagination.

J
amie crunched an ice cube and watched Devon. So immersed in his magazine, he hadn’t so much as looked her way in a good twenty minutes.

She dug another piece of ice from her cup and glanced his way. Did she dare? What if he saw what she did?

The thought of Devon watching her pleasure herself fueled her excitement. Instead of putting the ice in her mouth, she shifted on the vibrating washer and slid the cool wetness up her leg until she reached the crotch of her panties.

Another quick glance confirmed he was oblivious. She closed her eyes and pulled aside her panty leg, slipping the ice along her aching folds. Up, down, around the spot that yearned for more. The ice quickly melted against her heat. She dug in the cup for another piece and quickly returned to stroke her heated genitals until her lips and petals were numb to the touch.

It wasn’t enough.

Devon clutched the magazine in a death grip. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. A drip rolled down his nose, hanging from the tip like a trapeze artist before plopping with a splat onto the slick page. He watched the gray spot enlarge and wondered how much longer he could pretend to be so engrossed in the magazine he did not notice Jamie doing unspeakably erotic things with the leftover ice.

When she released a shuddering sigh, he almost screamed from pent-up tension.

Averting his eyes, he threw the magazine down on the blue plastic chair and jumped up.

“I, um, I’ll go get a laundry basket so you can carry everything back to your apartment in one trip.” He tripped on the leg of the chair, hitting the doorjamb with a painful thud, but straightened immediately and staggered out the door, rubbing his forehead as he made his way back home.

His toe bumped something warm when he stepped into his apartment. Had he not grabbed the snack bar counter, he’d have done a face-plant onto the tile.

Petunia blinked sleepy eyes at him.

“Damnit, dog! Why do you have to sleep right in front of my door?” Now that he thought about it, what was she doing in his apartment in the first place?

At that moment, Francyne turned her head from the couch. “You’re out of beer.”

“No, there were three this morning.” He leafed through the mail on the counter.

“That’s what I said. You’re out of beer.” She lifted the longneck in her hand. “This here is the last one.” She tipped the bottle up and drained it and then belched. “Now you’re officially out.”

He grinned and tossed all but an official-looking envelope into the trash. “Why don’t you pick up some when you walk Petunia?”

“I don’t go to liquor stores.” She lowered her voice. “Perverts hang out there, you know.” Leaning back, she resumed her TV viewing. “Besides, I’m watching my soaps.”

“What’s wrong with your TV?”

“Someone forgot to pay my cable bill.”

“That would be you.”

“No need for name calling.” She flicked off the remote and stood. “It’s a good thing I came over. We had three calls about the sexual-aids tester position while you were gone. I told them the position had been filled. Also called the paper and told them to stop running my ad.” She looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “You should be thanking me. And you didn’t lock your door again. Anyone could have walked right in.”

He raised his eyebrow and made a show of looking at her. “Looks like anyone did.”

“Hush up. It’s a good thing I was here. You had a visitor.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Don’t know his name, but he was a big fella.” She raised on tiptoe to hold her hand in demonstration. “And he seemed awfully interested in Jamie.”

Pausing in his reach for a bottle of water, his stomach clenched. Was this the guy she was watching for? “That so? What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. He had shifty eyes. Never trust a person with shifty eyes.”

“Francyne—”

“I’m getting to it. Anyway, he didn’t come right out and ask if Jamie lived here. Instead, he kept looking around, like he was casing the place. Then he asked if there were a lot of pretty girls who lived here.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said? I asked him what he’d call me.”

“And?”

“You probably don’t want to know what he said. Anyway, then he asked if any pretty girls had moved in here lately. I said no, that our tenants were mostly men.” She paused and pushed her glasses up on her bony nose. “Come to think of it, he didn’t seem too happy with that answer. Then he says, in a real mean, sort of threatening tone, ‘You mean to tell me no pretty, short woman with dark hair and light green eyes has been here,’ and I said that’s exactly what I’m saying and if you have a problem with that I suggest you take it up with the manager when he gets back from teaching his karate class.”

“Karate? I don’t even know karate, much less teach it.” Damn, he hoped Francyne hadn’t pissed off some Neanderthal who could come back to rip his arm off and beat him with it.

“Oh, relax,” she said, waving her hand. “I also told him you had a black belt and were in special services.”

“What!” The woman was going to get him killed.

“Hey, it worked, sunshine, don’t worry. He left, and I doubt he’ll be back. I think I scared him pretty good.”

“I hope so.” He tried not to shudder at the thought of some goon returning to pound on him. “But if he was looking for a short woman with dark hair and green eyes, what made you think he was looking for Jamie? She’s blonde and blue-eyed.”

Francyne shrugged and nudged Petunia up. “I don’t know. Just a feeling I had, I guess.” She snapped the leash on the dog. “Killer had to be restrained while he was here, and Petunia didn’t like him either. That’s what tipped me off. My daddy always said not to trust anyone an animal doesn’t like.” She opened the door and paused. “Where is Jamie? I thought you told me you’d be gone until tonight.”

She’s masturbating on the washer in the laundry room
. Of course he couldn’t tell Francyne that. “She’s still doing laundry. I came back to pick up a laundry basket for her. We forgot to buy one this afternoon.”

“Well, you’d better get back to her. Them machines always make me horny.” Francyne chuckled and left.

“Way too much information!” he yelled as the door shut.

He hoped she hadn’t ruined doing laundry for him.

Jamie fanned her sweating face and chest with the magazine Devon had been reading and eyed the washer. Who knew it could be such a seductive appliance? Sitting on it during the spin cycle gave a whole new meaning to being wrung out. She easily came three times after Devon’s hasty exit.

The laundry room may be her new favorite place.

Devon stepped through the door, carrying a big blue plastic laundry basket.

“Is everything done?” He placed the basket on the bright yellow folding counter that ran the length of the laundry room.

She shook her head. “No, the driers still have about half an hour.” She patted the chair next to her. “May as well have a seat. Or did you have other things to do? If you do,” she hurried on, “that’s fine. I can fold everything and carry it back to my place and make my bed by myself.”

“Are you kidding?” He slumped down in the chair next to her and crossed a tan ankle over his knee. “And miss all the excitement?” He grinned. “Besides, after spending most of the day helping you pick everything out, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing how it will look.”

He shifted, the action causing the leg of his khaki cargo shorts to hike up. Dang. Devon had sexy legs.

Her gaze traveled from his flip-flop-clad tanned feet up legs that were only lightly furred with soft-looking, dark hair. The tour stopped midthigh, spoiled by the leg of his shorts. Darn.

“Your shorts got a little dirty today. I don’t mind sharing my supplies, if you want to throw them in for a quick wash and dry.” At his widened gaze, she hurried on. “It’s not like you’d be naked or anything. I mean, face it, most bathing suits reveal more than, um, men’s underwear.” Boxers or briefs? It had been difficult to tell in the dark. She’d been wondering since the first time she saw him. Another one of her weird little mind games. In reality, she’d only found out, up close and personal, with about three or four guys in her entire life. Still, it was always fun to try to guess.

“That’s okay.” He looked at her like he was worried she might attack him or something and shifted away a little. “I probably have at least ten pair of shorts just like these. All clean, so it’s no problem.”

“Is it your manager’s uniform or something?”

He laughed, and she felt the warmth speed through her body.

“Francyne would say it is. She’s always accusing me of dressing like the Crocodile Hunter.” He glanced down at his shorts. “I always enjoyed watching him. Still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know,” she said softly.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the digital timer on the driers count down.

“So when are you going to let me read one of your books?”

“Right now, there’s only one available to read.”

“Are the others with your agent or publisher?”

Damn, he hated to lie. “Ah, something like that. So, Jamie, what do you do?”

What did she do? Nothing for the last year and a half, unless running from Fred could be considered a career. It felt more like a lifetime sentence.

She licked her lips, stalling for time. “Well, until a couple of years ago, I taught kindergarten.”

“Really? Wow. I sure never had a kindergarten teacher who looked like you.” His smile flashed white in the dwindling light from the window.

“Thanks.” Damn, she hated playing the dumb blonde. She plastered on a pleased smile as though she hadn’t heard that line a million times. Although, in truth, her students had not had a teacher who looked like her either. At least, not the way she looked now.

“So, what happened during the last couple of years?”

“Well…I was in a, um, less than healthy relationship.”

“But it’s over now, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s definitely over. At least, as far as I’m concerned.” Her shoulders slumped. “Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to think so.”

Alert, Devon sat up straighter. Maybe Francyne was right and the Neanderthal really had been looking for Jamie. “Has he been…bothering you?”

An unladylike snort escaped. “Oh, yeah, you could definitely say that.”

“Does he live around here?” Just what he needed. He had finally met someone he thought was a nice girl and she had issues.

“No! At least, I hope not.” She glanced nervously around the empty room as if expecting her ex to pop out of one of the driers. “I think I finally lost him in Tallahassee.” She leaned closer, bringing with her the sexy scent of fabric softener. Pretty pathetic when fabric softener turned him on. “That’s why I haven’t been working as a teacher.” Her words brought him back to their conversation. “I’ve been trying to get away from Fred.”

“Fred? Him again? What does ole Fred do, that he can travel around making your life miserable?”

“He’s rich. Independently wealthy.”

Of course he was. Just his luck, the first girl to interest him in ages not only had baggage, the baggage had deep pockets. Meanwhile, if he didn’t get free rent by managing the Surfside Villas, he’d have to make the choice between living indoors and eating.

Suffering for your art sucked.

“J
amie, we don’t have to talk about this if it upsets you.” Please. Shut. Up.

“Hmmm?” She looked up from folding a pillowcase.

“You don’t have to talk about Fred. I understand.” How could he be getting hard just from watching her hands while she folded? Must be all the stroking she was doing.
Damn, the wrinkles are out, for cripes’ sake
.

“I don’t mind talking about him.”

Great. Discreetly arranging his package, he sat down, folding his hands in his lap. “You don’t?”

“Devon, you have to understand how totally I am over him. He has severe anger issues, and when his temper is riled, he’s mean as a snake.”

“Did he hurt you physically?” Men who abused women were pond scum.

“No, but not because he didn’t think about it. I was just too quick. When I realized how seriously deranged he could get, I left. But he followed me. That’s why I had to keep moving for the last couple of years.” Her shoulders slumped, drawing his attention to her cleavage. “I’m just tired of constantly looking over my shoulder and having to relocate. I’m hoping I outsmarted him this time.” She smiled and stacked the clean laundry in the basket. “I’m originally from Colorado, and I always talked about going back when we were together. When I started moving around, I realized I was heading in that general direction. I’m hoping he thinks that’s where I went. Maybe when he doesn’t find me, he’ll give up.”

He thought of the man Francyne talked with and decided not to mention the old lady’s hunch.

Taking the basket from her, he held open the door and then followed her across the courtyard. “If you’re not too tired, I thought maybe we could have dinner at my place.”

“You cook, too? I love to cook. Baking is my specialty.” Her face fell. “I should have picked up some pans and groceries. I could have brought dessert.”

“Next time,” he promised, setting her basket inside her door when she opened it. “I made a decadence cake the other day that will still be good.”

“Decadence cake?”

“You never heard of a chocolate decadence cake? It’s devil’s food with fudge marbled through it. Very rich and moist. Gooey fudge frosting, and then I go one step beyond by adding whipped cream and a drizzle of hot fudge right before I serve it.”

“Stop!” She placed her hand on her flat stomach. “I think I just gained five pounds from talking about it! What time should I come over? I saw a shop on the corner, would you like me to bring anything? How about wine?”

“Wine would be good, but I have some, so don’t bother unless you just want to go out. How about in an hour or so?”

“No bother.” Her teeth flashed in the shadows when she smiled. “See you in an hour.” She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek, setting off sparks to travel up to the tops of his ears.

Jamie twirled in front of the mirror at the resale shop around the corner from her apartment. The blond hair and deep tan no longer shocked her, and the yellow tank dress she had on looked fabulous with her new coloring. A glance at the price tag had her chewing on her lower lip. Though not pricey, the dress would easily pay for a week of groceries.

“That dress was made for you, doll,” Shirl, the salesperson of questionable gender, said in her/his deep, gravelly voice. “You should buy it.”

Without waiting for a reply, Shirl resumed flipping the pages of a tattered issue of
Vogue
.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Jamie turned and glanced at her back in the mirror, enjoying the way the yellow brought out the tan on her skin and the way the neckline dipped scandalously low. “But…I just don’t know.”

“Didn’t you see the sale sign in the window?”

“What sale sign?”

They walked to the plateglass storefront and looked at the signless window.

“Damn kids,” Shirl said. “Must’ve snatched it. Anyway, today is Tuesday. It’s half off of half off day.”

“Really?” What luck. She did some quick tabulations. The dress still would set her back more than she really should spend.

“And it’s also, ah, blond-hair day. You get an additional thirty percent.”

“But I’m not really a blonde,” she confided.

“That’s okay.” Shirl patted the voluminous pile of red hair he/she sported. “I’m not really a redhead either. So what’s your name, doll?”

“Jamie. But I—”

“Listen up, Jamie.” Shirl looked around the deserted store. “Tell you what I’m gonna do. For today only, for the next five minutes, I’m giving a special Jamie discount. An additional fifteen percent. You look totally hot in that dress. You know it. I know it. Whoever you’re dolling up for will know it, too. So what do you say?”

“Sold!”

Devon stirred the rapidly thickening sauce and shot a worried glance at the clock. He should have waited to add the sherry. Jamie said she’d be there in an hour. That was one hour and fifteen minutes ago. If she didn’t get here soon, he couldn’t guarantee the quality of the Shrimp Newburg. As for the pastry cups he’d planned to serve it over…well, even Killer wouldn’t want them in a few minutes.

A knock on his door brought a wave of relief that surprised him. Tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the pot, he quickly covered it and set the spoon on the trivet before going to the door.

What he saw there was worth the wait.

The sunset gilded Jamie’s shoulder-length hair and made her tanned skin glow like burnished gold. The warm, sunny yellow of the minidress she wore had him salivating, eager to peel it off.

But that would have to wait. If he didn’t serve the food immediately, he may as well pitch it.

“I didn’t know what you were making, so I brought a Lambrusco and a white,” she said with a smile, holding up two wine bottles. “Mmm. Something smells great!”

“You like it? It’s a new aftershave I got at Christmas—oh!” He grinned at her. “You meant the food, I guess.” He pretended to wince when she cuffed his arm. “It’s Shrimp Newburg. I consider it one of my specialties.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it.” She wandered into the living room, shoved a pile of magazines to the side and sat down on the sofa.

“It’s a lot like Lobster Newburg, only made with salad shrimp. And I add a few other things to give it a kick. It’s just about ready.” He went back into the kitchen and took the pastry puffs out of the oven.

She nodded and watched Devon walk into his kitchen. He was so cute in his
Kiss the Cook
apron. And she fully intended to kiss the cook before the night was through.

Nervous, she picked up a wrapped square from the candy dish on the scarred end table and frowned. What was that? It looked like one of those thin red licorice strings she used to love as a kid, rolled into a circle. Must be leftover from Halloween or something. She ripped open the cellophane packet and popped the treat in her mouth.

Wow. It must be really old. The cherry taste she’d been expecting was a bit off, kind of dusty tasting. She chewed a little more. Man, the licorice was rubbery.

“All set!” Devon’s voice caught her attention. “Ready to eat?”

She quickly swallowed the licorice bite, trying not to gag. Embarrassment heated her cheek at Devon’s look of outrage. Maybe he was particularly territorial of his candy.

“What the hell did you do?” He set the basket of something down on the table, which she now noticed was set with a light linen tablecloth and mismatched plates.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d mind if I had a piece of licorice. I—”

“Licorice!” He roared with laughter. “Li-lic-licorice!” He wiped tears from his eyes and snickered again before speaking. “Jamie, that wasn’t licorice.” Another snicker.

“It wasn’t?” Whatever it was had formed a wad in her stomach. “What was it?”

“Was it in that bowl?” He pointed, and she nodded. “It was a condom.”

“A condom!” Her face could quite possibly burst into flames at any moment. “Who keeps condoms in a candy dish?”

“I do. I write for a few sex-toy manufacturers, for their catalogs. They send me all kinds of samples so I can see what they look like, what they feel like. How they taste.” He burst out laughing again. “H-how did it taste, by the way?”

She giggled. “Rubbery.”