Scream My Name. Kimberly Kaye TerryЧитать онлайн книгу.
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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