Apache Nights by Sheri Whitefeather Page A

grabbed the condoms. She poked through the box, raising her eyebrows at him when she came across a glow-in-the-dark style.
    He shrugged and then laughed. “They’re phosphorous.”
    â€œOnly a man like you would use his penis for a night-light.”
    He laughed again. “I’m a novelty kind of guy.” He moved closer to her, leaning across the center console. “These are my favorite.” He removed several packages that had warm sensations written on them. “They’re lubricated with this stuff that makes both partners feel warm and tingly.”
    Joyce was already feeling warm and tingly. Hisface was only inches from hers. He was close enough to kiss, to taste, to tempt, to tease.
    They stared at each other, and then his eyes, his tiger’s gaze, made a predator’s sweep, moving up and down. She couldn’t help it. Her nipples went hard.
    â€œI want you to take off your dress,” he said.
    So did she. She wanted to strip down to her panties and bra and climb in his lap. But if they got caught, her job would be on the line. Law-abiding detectives didn’t have sex in cars, in public places where they could be seen.
    He whispered against her ear. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen do it.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œThen let me do it.”
    She shook her head. “You’re trying to corrupt me.”
    â€œThen tell me to go home. Send me away.”
    â€œI can’t do that, either.” She traced the angles of his face, the sculpted edges, the hollow ridges, the untamed beauty. “I want you to stay.”
    His lips formed a sensual slant, exposing a flash of teeth. “Now you’re trying to corrupt me .”
    â€œI don’t think that’s possible.”
    â€œYes, it is. You, with your pretty blond hair and cop-girl ways. I shouldn’t be with a lady like you.”He glanced at her satin handbag. “Do you have handcuffs in your purse?”
    â€œWhat? No.” She tried to calm the pounding in her chest, the runaway beats of her heart. “I don’t bring handcuffs on dates.”
    â€œDo you have some in your apartment?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan I lock you up with them?” he asked. “Would you trust me to do that?”
    â€œIs this a trick question?”
    â€œNo.” He slid his hands through her hair, then put a strand a across her mouth. “No trick.”
    She gripped his shoulders, and he kissed her, sucking on her tongue and her hair. She closed her eyes, loving every second of what he was doing.
    When he let her go, she wanted to crawl all over him. But she was nervous, too. The anxiety of being with him hadn’t gone away.
    â€œAre you okay?” he asked.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œYou don’t look fine.”
    She dropped her hand to her knee, curling her fingers around her dress. She didn’t know how to explain her feelings, how to tell him what he did to her. “You overwhelm me, Kyle.”
    â€œI can’t change who I am.” He frowned, then smoothed her hair, taming the strand that had beenin his mouth. “I’m crude and hard. I’m not good at being romantic.”
    â€œI don’t care about hearts and flowers.” And his touch was gentler than it should have been, much too tender for a man who claimed to be so hard. “That’s the last thing I want.”
    â€œMaybe so. But most women like that kind of stuff. Why would you be any different?”
    â€œI just am.”
    â€œBut why?” He pierced her with a ravening gaze, with a look that was becoming all too familiar. “Because you’re a cop? Is that what sets you apart?”
    â€œYes.” That and her determination to stop herself from lusting after a husband, from wanting a baby.
    â€œThen get edgy with me, Detective. Make our cravings worthwhile.”
    â€œI will. I am.” As a