Apache Nights. Sheri WhiteFeather
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drama as she could muster, she poured some water down her top, letting it trail between her breasts.
He gaped at her. “What are you doing?”
“Cooling off.”
“This isn’t a wet T-shirt contest.”
“I’d have to take my bra off for that.”
“You better not.”
She almost laughed. He was angry. Ticked that she was toying with him. Big, primordial ape.
He moved closer. “Cut the crap, Joyce.”
“I’m just having a little fun.”
“And I already told you that I wasn’t going to fall for your game.”
She glanced at his groin. She wanted to give him a swift kick, but she knew he was wearing a cup. Men like Kyle didn’t spar without protection.
She tugged at her water-misted top. “Maybe I will take off my bra. It’s starting to itch.”
“Do whatever you want. It’s not going to make a difference.”
Oh, yes it would. She reached back and unfastened the hooks. But as she maneuvered the garment under her top, she pretended that she was having trouble. That she couldn’t get the straps down.
He chuckled under his breath. And better yet, he moved even closer, letting down his guard.
“You’re a hell of a seductress, Detective.”
She played up her dilemma, giving him a slapstick show. She kept flailing her arms. He was too tall to punch in the nose, so she raised her fist and surprised him with an uppercut, catching his jaw, hitting him as hard as she could.
Score one for the cop. His head snapped on his neck.
Her big bad trainer wasn’t chuckling anymore.
“Damn.” He rubbed his chin, scraping his hand across the surface of his skin. “You got me good.”
She took his unexpected compliment to heart. Her knuckles throbbed like crazy, but it was worth it. “Thanks.”
“Want to smack me again?”
While he was primed and ready? Fat chance of that. “That’s okay. We can just call it even.”
“Like hell we can.” He locked his foot around her ankle and tripped her. No fancy moves. No spins, no kicks. Just a smart-aleck trip.
She landed on the mat with a thud. He laughed, and she grabbed his leg and pulled him down, too. They attacked each other, wrestling like a couple of kids.
The horseplay continued, back and forth. She yanked on his headband and tried to blindfold him with it. He faked a blow to her chin, teasing her for socking him in the jaw.
Then he rolled on top of her. Two hundred pounds of testosterone. Within an instant, her body was pinned beneath his, a lot like yesterday. “You’re on a power trip, Prescott.”
He smiled. “You think?”
“Yeah, I do.” She noticed he gave her more rein this time, enough to fight back if she wanted to.
Suddenly he stopped smiling. “You’re even prettier up close.”
Her heart zapped her chest, a lightning effect that charged her like Frankenstein’s monster. She flinched, warning herself to be careful.
His voice turned rough. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“Me being pretty?” She cursed the ragged feeling, the fire-hazard risk. “Actually I’m okay with it.”
“I was talking about you and me.” His gaze stormed hers, as fierce as a silent war cry, as the ghost of a warrior howling in the wind. “I hate being attracted to you.”
She struggled to contain her emotions, to stop herself from shoving her tongue down his throat, from tasting every inch of him. “Then get off me.”
“I don’t want to.” He traced her top, running his fingers along the neckline. Finally he moved lower, untangling the twisted straps of her bra, where they were falling down her shoulders. “And you don’t want me to, either.”
She’d forgotten about her unhooked bra, about being half-naked under her shirt. No wonder she looked pretty to him. “Maybe I should force you off of me.”
“Maybe you should,” he told her, without the slightest trace of malice. He was still touching her, still righting her mangled clothes, respecting her in a way she’d never imagined.
Like a heart-pounding fool, she let him stay there, body to body, breath to breath. But even so, she fought the urge to put her arms around him, to hold him. She’d known him for eight months, almost long enough to have a baby.
That alone scared the death out of her.
Her biological clock wouldn’t quit ticking.
“We’re in trouble,” he said.
Joyce didn’t argue. She looked into his eyes, knowing he was going to kiss her.
As softly as they both could endure.
Three
Kyle studied Joyce’s expression. She was waiting for his lips to touch hers, for the confusing tenderness they both craved.
He smoothed a strand of her hair. She looked delicate, vulnerable, so unlike the tough-girl cop he knew her to be.
His willpower sucked, he thought, as he lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Their mouths met, and the flavor swirled in his mind. He tasted lipstick and spearmint, a combination that made his head spin.
She ran her hands along his spine. A touch so light, so tentative, he barely knew it was happening. Wanting more, he used his tongue, taking the kiss to the next level.
She reciprocated, making pleasured sounds. Then she lifted the hem of his tank top and rolled it up a little, just enough to create a shiver.
Fingertips and bare flesh.
He wanted to lift her shirt, too.
Anxious, he positioned himself between her legs, then cursed the metal cup he was wearing, the barrier that kept him from straddling her, from rubbing his body against hers.
He pulled back and opened his eyes.
Silent, she gazed at him, as well.
There she was, all soft and blonde, with her bra still undone and her top slightly skewed. Earlier, he’d tried to fix her clothes and now he wanted to peel them right off. Along with his tank, his sweatpants and the jockstrap that had brought him to his senses.
“You don’t have to stop,” she said.
“Yes, I do.”
“It was just a kiss.”
“It was more than that.” It was foreplay, he thought. An explosion just waiting to happen. “I don’t do this kind of thing. Not with—” He stalled and got to his feet.
“Not with what?” She sat up and struggled to hook her bra. But she was careful not to lift her top, at least not in front.
Kyle thought her cautious manner made her seem vulnerable again.
“Not with what?” she repeated, frowning at him. She still hadn’t fastened her bra.
“With women like you,” he admitted. “I don’t get involved with white women.”
Her jaw all but dropped. “That’s what this is about? My race? The color of my skin?”
He didn’t know how to respond, how to explain why it mattered. She was looking at him as if he were some sort of monster. “I’ve never been drawn to white women.