Apache Nights by Sheri Whitefeather Page B

surge of adrenaline spiked her veins, she gave herself permission to enjoy him, to take him upstairs, to keep him.
    All night long.
    Â 
    Kyle and Joyce entered her apartment, and when she closed the door, he watched her turn the dead bolt and latch the chain, locking them inside.
    He’d brought their packages in from the car. He’d brought the entire box of condoms, too, stuffing them into one of the bags. He intended to have a wickedtime with Detective Riggs. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly.
    She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. They stood in the living room with two Tiffany-style lamps burning brightly. The mottled glass shades created a prism of color. They were pretty, but they weren’t the real thing. Kyle had a hundred year old Tiffany lamp in storage that would probably blow her away. He wondered if she would think he was crazy if he gave it to her.
    She clutched her handbag, and he noticed the simple gold clasp. Was she being honest about the hearts-and-flowers thing? Maybe. And maybe not. She still had some issues in her life that she refused to talk about.
    â€œIs sex going to help?” he asked.
    She set her purse down. “With what?”
    â€œYour problems.”
    She managed a risqué smile. “I hope so.”
    â€œMore than sparring with me? More than our training sessions?”
    â€œI can’t spar with you in bed?”
    Now it was his turn to smile. “Does it have to happen in bed?” He gestured to her flowery sofa, to the dining room table, to a chair that would probably collapse with their combined weight. “We could attack the rest of your furniture. Or the floor. Or maybe the concrete on the balcony.” He watched her eyes go wide. “I’m not picky.”
    â€œI want you in bed.” She took his arm and led him down the hall.
    He didn’t complain. He liked being a willing captive. Besides, he took one look around her room and got even more turned on. It was soft and feminine, with a white quilt and lacy sheers. She even had a vanity table with a gilded mirror and perfume bottles on the marble top. A 9mm Glock rested on the vanity, too.
    Before he could draw his next breath, she tossed handcuffs onto the bed. Kyle nearly fell to his knees. The double-locking device was even sexier than her gun.
    He emptied their shopping bags, where the condoms, lip sugar and bubble bath tumbled onto the quilt. The toys fell out, too.
    Suddenly they both laughed.
    And then they stared at each other.
    â€œWill you take your dress off for me?” he asked.
    She nodded and reached for the zipper. He watched and waited, his skin going warm. The metal teeth made a sliding sound.
    Finally she dropped the dress and stepped out of it. She wore a black push-up bra, matching panties and thigh-high hose, the modern kind without garters. The tops were banded in lace, where they stayed up on their own.
    â€œYou’re beautiful,” he told her.
    She closed her eyes, held them tightly shut, then opened them. “That sounded romantic.”
    Damn. “It did?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry.” He righted the compliment. “You look like one of those girls who jump out of cakes.”
    She adjusted her bra, exposing more cleavage. “That’s better.”
    He walked over to her. In spite of her bravado, he could tell she was nervous. Earlier, he’d reminded her that he was bigger and stronger. That her badge wouldn’t matter. Yet she’d offered him her handcuffs anyway.
    Was she regretting her decision?
    â€œI won’t hurt you, Joyce.”
    â€œI trust you.”
    â€œNo, you don’t. Not completely.” But he wanted her to enjoy the experience, to have fun, to let her inhibitions go. “We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
    â€œI know, but…”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œEdgy sex scares me.” She fussed with her bra again. By