Make Me Scream. P.J. Mellor
what you call short. I’m almost five feet, but I guess, to some people, that would be vertically challenged.”
Her smile was contagious. He stood, grinning down at her. “You look nice. Going somewhere?”
“Thanks.” She smoothed her hand down the skirt of her dress. “I need to do some grocery shopping. And buy some sheets and stuff so I can return yours.”
“Want some company?”
She glanced up. “You don’t have to work today?”
“I work every day. And most nights. But I can ask Francyne to keep an eye on the office while I’m gone. I could use a break.”
After Jamie got her purse and shoes and locked the door, they walked to the front of the complex.
She stopped and inhaled the salty breeze. “How do you ever get any work done, living right here on the beach?” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the sun.
“I suppose, after a while, it’s like living in any other picturesque place. You sort of become immune to it.” He glanced out across the white sandy beach and watched the white-capped waves breaking on the wet sand, leaving a gray shadow on its perfection. How long had it been since he’d even looked at the beach, much less walked along it?
He pulled a pair of Ray-Bans from his Hawaiian-shirt pocket and slid them on. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been concentrating so hard on my book, along with my other jobs, I haven’t had time to get out much.”
“Really?” Her amazing blue eyes were wide when she turned to him. “What do you write?”
“I’m a mystery writer. Right now, I’m working on a series of books featuring the same private detective.”
Her gasp sent shivers down his spine. Clasping her hands together, she looked at him with what could only be described as awe. “Where can I buy them? This is so exciting! I’ve never known a real writer before!”
Damn, he hated it when people said stuff like that. “Ah, well, they’re not out yet.” Maybe never will be if he didn’t ever finish them. Or even one, for that matter. Then there was the lack-of-agent thing and actually submitting the finished manuscript to an editor.
Amazingly her animation didn’t dim. “Great! Then I can be the first to read it! You’ll let me read it before you send it out, won’t you?”
Would he? He’d never shared his work. He looked down at her smiling face and then lower to where the sun shone on her exposed cleavage and salivated. If her reading his manuscript got him closer to that, it was no contest. “Sure. If you really want to.”
Fairly skipping with happiness, she took his hand in hers. “Oh, great! I can’t wait!”
They walked, hand in hand for a while, along the boardwalk.
“Are we heading in the right direction?” Jamie scrunched up her nose, her hand shielding her eyes, and looked toward the first cluster of stores.
“Yeah, there’s a linen outlet up ahead and a little mom-and-pop grocery store at the end of the block.” He squeezed her hand a little, more than pleased to see her smile widen and feel her return the squeeze. “I thought, if you were hungry, we might have lunch after we hit the linen place and then go to the grocery store.”
“Okay.”
He could tell she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Instead she kept looking out over the beach, checking out every guy who walked past. He ground his teeth. When she almost stopped to stare at a tall guy who Rollerbladed down the walk, he could stand it no more.
“Jamie? Are you expecting someone? Looking for someone?” Maybe she was just wasting time with him while she waited for a boyfriend.
“Hmmm?” She turned back to look at him. “No. Why?”
“Well, you seem to be looking for someone.”
“No.” She shrugged, her tan skin sparkling with a fine sheen of perspiration. “Just taking in the sights.”
Taking in the sights. Right. He’d like to take in some sights himself. Sights like Jamie naked and glistening in the sun.
They walked past the ice-cream parlor, and he pictured Jamie, still naked, sitting on the table, her legs spread wide, bare feet on the bench on either side of his hips. He’d take his big scoop of ice cream and drag it along her pussy, then lean and lick it off. He swallowed a groan at the thought of how her sweetness would taste, mingled with the melting temptation of the ice cream.
“We can stop, you know.” Jamie’s voice broke through his daydream. “If you really want some ice cream. We can always eat lunch later.”
“What makes you think I want ice cream?” Oh, Lord, please don’t let him have said anything embarrassing.
“Well, the way you looked at the ice-cream shop and the little moan you did as we walked by.” She shrugged, and he held his breath when her cleavage threatened to make an escape over the edge of her plunging neckline.
To his disappointment, she hooked her thumbs under the edge of the bodice and tugged it back up.
“Do you want to get some ice cream?” she asked again.
“No, not unless you do.” He wasn’t sure he could live through the experience of watching her eat ice cream and not ache to fulfill his fantasy. “I’m not a big ice-cream eater,” he lied.
“Then let’s go on to the linen place.”
He’d never had so much fun buying sheets and towels. He and Jamie tried out small appliances, ate several samples, smelled every candle and still managed to fill their cart with bedding and towels.
“I still think you should have bought that flavored massage oil,” Jamie said while they waited in line. “It smelled great. Maybe you could have used it for inspiration in your book.”
Inspiration. She had no idea, standing there in her skimpy fuck-me sundress with all her luscious skin right there to tempt him, what it was he needed for inspiration.
She inspired him. Inspired him to do things he’d never thought about doing. Well, okay, maybe he’d thought about doing them, but never had he had a face to put on his dream girl. Until now. He knew exactly what he’d do with the pineapple-flavored oil.
He’d take the bright, tropical-print comforter she bought and lay her back on it in the cart. She wouldn’t have on any panties, for easier access. He’d stroke the sweet oil between her legs and then lick it away until she was writhing, begging him to fuck her, right there in the twenty-items-or-less lane. He wondered if they could do it on the moving conveyer belt without injury.
“Devon!” Jamie’s voice broke into his fantasy. “Cut it out. You’re pushing the cart into me.”
“Oh! Sorry.” At least she didn’t realize how he’d pushed the cart. Get a grip, Mac. You don’t want to be banned from the shopping center. “You ready for lunch?”
“Why don’t we take all this stuff back to the apartment first so we won’t have so much to carry.”
Devon insisted on carrying all the bags. She held on to his elbow to guide him since his view was obstructed. Where she touched him burned, but she refused to break contact.
All through the store, she’d fantasized about them being married and that they were buying stuff for their apartment. She’d caught a couple of girls eyeing Devon and glared at them, warning them off. For some reason, it felt like he was hers.
Maybe because he was safe. Or seemed to be. He wasn’t breathtakingly handsome. But sometimes…sometimes she caught a flash of such pure sex appeal it took her breath away. At those times she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if he shaved and cleaned up, dressed up a bit, he would be devastating. Literally oozing sex appeal, she’d have to lock him up to keep the women away. Hmmm…locking