Blackfoot Affair by Doreen Owens Malek

neck as he bent his head to kiss her.
    His mouth was softer than she would have guessed, but his body was hard, lean and muscular, as he pressed her into the bed. She kept telling herself that she should pull away, but the delicious contact, so often imagined, was too wonderful to end it. His shirt parted from his belt as he moved and her hand found the naked skin of his back, smooth and warm and supple. He groaned as she touched him and his lips traveled from her mouth to her neck; Marisa arched to expose more of her flesh to his caress. He pulled her tighter against him and she sighed luxuriously; not even the crackling of the bandage beneath his shirt gave her pause. She was too hungry and he was too expert, too eager. When he drew back and pulled her top up she was submissive until his hand slipped beneath it and found her bare breast. Then she gasped and stiffened, but he mastered her immediately, rocking her gently, his breath fanning her cheek.
    “Please,” he muttered. “Oh, please.”
    Marisa was undone. She was no match for him, especially when she wanted him so much. She lay back and lifted her arms; he was tugging her shirt off over her head when the telephone rang.
    They both froze, like blowzy characters caught in the act in a French farce.
    “Ignore it,” Jack murmured, tightening his grip.
    “It might be the office,” Marisa said, coming to her senses, color flooding into her face as she glanced down at her disordered clothes. She struggled away from him and sat up, tucking her shirt into her jeans.
    “Oh, damn the office,” he muttered, falling back on the bed with his arm over his eyes.
    Marisa grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she said hoarsely.
    “Marisa, is that you?” Charlie Wellman said.
    She coughed, clearing her throat. “Yes.”
    “Are you coming down with a cold?” Charlie said.
    “No, I’m fine. What is it, Charlie?”
    “I sent you the files you requested by overnight mail, they should be there by noon. If they don’t come to your room check at the desk.”
    “Thanks, Charlie. I’m going over to the courthouse this morning and I should be able to give you the final figures on the cemetery removal plan in a couple of days.”
    There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Marisa,” Charlie said gently, “it’s Saturday.”
    “Oh, right. Well, let’s say by Wednesday, then.”
    “Is something wrong, kid?” Charlie said.
    Marisa glanced at Jack, who was watching her through narrowed eyes, propped up on his good arm.
    “No, of course not. Events have been moving so fast I’m just losing track of time.”
    “Are you sure you shouldn’t come home? Every time I think about that boy taking a potshot at you I want to put you on the next plane. We’ll find somebody else to take over down there.”  
    “I want to finish what I started, Charlie.”
    “Okay. I can understand that. How is Bluewolf?”
    “Out of the hospital,” she said. And on my bed, she thought.
    “All right. I won’t keep you. Give my best to Tracy.”
    “I will.”
    “Goodbye.”
    “‘Bye.”
    “The long arm of Portland?’‘ Jackson said dryly as she hung up the phone.
    “Yes,” Marisa said shortly.
    “Oh, oh,” Jack said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Is it my imagination or has the temperature in here dropped suddenly?”
    “Please don’t be glib. I don’t think I could bear it,” Marisa said, blinking rapidly. She was horrified to discover that she was on the verge of tears and turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see.
    Jack wasn’t fooled. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.
    “Hey, hey, what’s all this?” he said, concerned.
    “I’m... confused,” she said, wiping at her eyes.
    “I’m not,” he said firmly. “I wanted you ten minutes ago and I want you now. What’s the problem?”
    She stared at him. “What’s the problem?” she echoed. “Does the term ‘conflict of interest’ have any meaning for