Apache Nights

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “I was just coming to check on you,” he said.

  Joyce didn’t respond. There he was, half dressed with his hair loose and his ruggedly square jaw in need of a shave.

  Finally she found her voice. “Where are the rest of your clothes?”

  He made a face at her. “In the closet.”

  “What about the toy car and Wolf Man?”

  “They’re in the living room. I was playing with them.”

  She refused to soften her emotions, to imagine him pushing around Barbie’s Volvo with a werewolf behind the wheel. The man was too damn weird for his own good. “Where are the condoms, the boat and your toothbrush?”

  “In there.” He gestured to the bathroom.

  “They are not.”

  “Yes, they are. I put everything in the cabinet under the sink. I didn’t want you yelling at me for leaving my stuff sitting around.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “You were asleep.” He made another face. “What’s wrong with you? Did you start your period or something?”

  She smacked his bare shoulder. He was obsessed with PMS. “No, you big baboon. I thought you ditched me.”

  A grin crawled across his handsome face. “Before we did it again? Are you kidding? What kind of guy walks out on great sex?” He tugged on her robe. “Are you naked under that ugly thing?”

  She glared at him. She wanted to kiss him silly, but she hated to seem too anxious. “My robe isn’t ugly.”

  “Oh, yeah? My grandmother has one just like it.”

  “Then your grandmother has taste.” She tightened the belt on the conservative terry-cloth wrap. “Go make some coffee while I get dressed.”

  “Only if you promise to have sex with me. Today,” he added. “Before I go home.”

  “We’ll see.” She turned her back on him and heard him grumble. But he left to brew the coffee anyway.

  Joyce brushed her teeth, washed her face and combed her hair, wishing he wasn’t so charming.

  She climbed into her clothes, wondering if she should make him wait a day or two. Just to prove that she wasn’t an easy lay. Of course, that would mean depriving herself, too.

  First things first, she decided. Coffee and breakfast.

  She entered the kitchen and found Kyle watching the dark liquid brew.

  He turned around, and she glanced at his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his jeans were barely fastened.

  He removed two cups from the cabinet and handed her one, making himself at home in her kitchen. “Do you still think I’m a big baboon?”

  “No.” She poured herself some coffee, adding cream and sugar to it. “I think you’re a big, gorgeous baboon.”

  He laughed and stole a quick kiss. He tasted like mint, like her toothpaste. But so did she.

  “What do you want to eat?” she asked. When he shot her a naughty grin, she bit back a smile. “Besides me, you pervert?”

  “In that case, you decide.”

  “Okay, I will.” While she opened the refrigerator, he went into the living room and overhauled the toy car, taking it apart and putting it back together.

  She shook her head and arranged the ingredients for Spanish omelets and broiled potato wedges.

  By the time breakfast was ready, Kyle came to the table with several small toys.

  She sat across from him. “What are those?”

  “Car seats. This one is for a little kid and this one is an infant seat. The Volvo came with all sorts of accessories.” He frowned. “What should I do with them?”

  “How should I know?” She didn’t want to consider anything that had to do with children, especially newborn babies.

  He kept frowning. “Do Ken and Barbie have kids? Or are these for someone else’s kids? Barbie’s friends or something?”

  She cut into her omelet. “I have no idea.”

  “You should keep track of this stuff.”

  “Me? What for?”

  “You have nieces and nephews.”

  “That doesn’t make me an authority on their toys.”

  “If I were you, I’d be an authority on their toys.”

  “Of course you would.” She gripped her fork a little tighter. “You’re an overgrown ten-year-old.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being young at heart. Besides, I like kids. I’m good with them.”

  Joyce gulped her coffee. The last thing she needed was picturing him as the father of her nameless, faceless nonexistent offspring. “If you like children so much, why don’t you have any?”

  “Because I’m never getting married.” He downed the last of his coffee, too. “My mom loved my dad, and he screwed her over. I don’t want someone doing that to me. And I don’t want to do that to someone else.”

  “That’s understandable.” When he set the infant seat on the table, she reached for it. “My parents have been together for nearly forty years. They have an anniversary coming up.”

  “That’s pretty rare these days.”

  “Yes, it is.” She set down the toy, realizing she shouldn’t have picked it up to begin with.

  “Given your family history, it seems like you would be more marriage minded.” He poured ketchup over his potatoes. “But you’re not, are you?”

  She smoothed her napkin, keeping herself from fussing with the infant seat again. “No, I’m not,” she responded, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t lying. “My career has always come first.”

  “I guess that means you’re not mom material.”

  She snared his gaze. “Do I look like mom material?”

  “No.” He gave her critical study. “But that robe you had on earlier made you look like grandma material.”

  “So you said.” She changed the subject, and they finished their breakfast engaged in another conversation.

  Something that had nothing to do with marriage and babies and the hollow ache inside her womb.

  Seven

  “Are you okay?” Kyle asked.

  “I’m fine.” Joyce ran a sponge across the frying pan she’d used to cook the omelets. She hadn’t quit thinking about marriage and babies, and she hated herself for being so weak, so longingly maternal. “I’m rinsing the dishes.”

  “Looks like you’re washing them to me.”

  She didn’t turn around. He was standing behind her, nearly breathing down her neck. “I can’t put them in the dishwasher if they have food stuck on them.”

  “Then what’s the point of having a dishwasher?”

  “Some models clean better than others. This is a cheap one, I guess.” She reached for their plates, and he slipped his arms around her waist. To her, the affection seemed husbandly, and that was a dangerous perception.

  Extremely dangerous.

  She liked the feeling.

  He nuzzled her hair. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You seem preoccupied.”

  “I’m into the dishes.”

  “And I’m into you.” He sent a ripple of air along her skin. “Really into you.”

  Water splashed over her hands. She was still rinsing their plates, still trying to control her emotions. He felt so big and strong behind her, so perfectly powerful. The kind of husband a female cop should have. “You just want to have sex.”

  “Can you blame me?” His voice made her shiver. “We’re good together.”

  Too good. She shut off the faucet, but she didn’t turn around. Not yet. For now, she liked being pressed against the sink. Snared. Trapped. At his mercy.

  Kyle leaned forward and closed his hands over her breasts, rubbing, making her nipples hard. Then he told her to lift her arms, so he could remove her T-shirt.

  She let him undress her. After he discarded her top, he tugged on her sweatpants, pulling them down and helping her step out of them.

  Finally she turned around. There she stood in her bra and panties while he still wore his jeans.

  Joyce couldn’t think of anything to say
. Her hands were slightly damp from the dishes, and the sun streamed through the window, bathing Kyle in a warm glow.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  Softly. Gently.

  When they separated, she teetered on her feet. Her brain had zapped back into the husband mode. “Did you bring a condom?” she asked, trying to steer her mind in a safer direction.

  “Yes. And I brought this, too.” He reached into his pocket and removed a black cloth.

  “Your headband?”

  “I always have one with me.”

  “What does that have to do with us?”

  He moved closer. “I want to blindfold you.”

  Her breath rushed out.

  “Will you let me?” he asked.

  Suddenly he didn’t seem like her husband anymore. She glanced at the material in his hand. “Have you done this to other women?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has anyone ever done it to you?”

  “You almost did.”

  Confused, she frowned. Then she recalled teasing him during their first training session, pulling his headband over his eyes while they were rolling around on the sparring mats. But that was before they were lovers. “That doesn’t count, Kyle.”

  “Yes, it does. It turned me on.”

  She bit back a nervous smile. “Everything turns you on.”

  He dangled the cloth in front of her. “So can I do it?”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” He pinned her against the sink, the way she’d been trapped before. Only this time, she was facing him. “Right now.”

  She agreed to play his game, to let him seduce her. “My kitchen will never be the same.”

  His mouth twisted into a wicked grin. “Every time you wash dishes, you’ll think of me. Of this.”

  He covered her eyes, tying the makeshift blindfold in place, and she became aware of the darkness, of the morning light fading from view. There was nothing but the contact of her lover’s hands. A man she was still learning to trust.

  “Does it make you feel vulnerable?” he asked.

  “Yes. But it feels good, too.”

  “You like the way I’m touching you?”

  She nodded. He roamed her body, molding her as if she were made of clay or wax or a substance she couldn’t quite name.

  When he reached back and unhooked her bra, her senses heightened, goose bumps peppering her skin. He discarded her panties after that, leaving her naked.

  And alone.

  He wasn’t touching her anymore.

  She tried to listen, to decipher what came next. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking at you.”

  Now she felt even more vulnerable. “Whatever you do, don’t tell me I’m beautiful.”

  “But you are. It’s not fair that I don’t get to say it.”

  She considered removing the cloth from her eyes and grabbing her clothes. “Being naked and blindfolded isn’t beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is.” Before she could end his game, he pulled her tight against him, kissing her hard and fast.

  There was no time to let her emotions linger, to give into being self-conscious. She kissed him back, devouring his tongue the way he devoured hers.

  He used his fingers between her legs, and she squirmed against the pressure.

  “Are you going to take off your jeans?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Can I take them off of you?”

  “No,” he responded again.

  She gulped the air in her lungs. “Now who’s being unfair?”

  “Me.” He dropped to his knees and put his mouth all over her.

  Joyce feared she would lose her mind. She nearly melted on the spot. She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t watch. But she could feel every warm, spiraling sensation.

  She slid her hands through his hair, tangling the thick, straight strands. She wanted more, so much more. By the time it was over, she wanted him inside her.

  Dizzy, she leaned against the sink to keep herself steady.

  He stood up. She could hear him unzipping his pants and pulling them down. Then the sound of the condom packet being torn open reverberated in her ears. She waited, assuming he was putting on the protection.

  What was taking him so long? The seconds seemed like hours.

  “I’m too tall for you,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. It will be easier if we—” He stopped talking and lowered her onto the floor, opening her legs to accommodate him.

  Finally—finally—-he entered her, deep and slow. The closeness, the roughness, almost made her weep.

  He hadn’t removed his clothes, not completely. The texture of his jeans abraded her, but she didn’t care. Being blindfolded was beautiful, especially when Kyle was inside her.

  He made erotic love to her, pushing toward his release. She realized she was on top of her clothes, with her sweatpants cushioning her head.

  His climax triggered hers, and for the second time that morning, she burst like a water fountain.

  He collapsed on top of her, his body hitting hers with the force of dead weight. But she liked it. She liked the connection.

  Maybe too much.

  “You’re heavy,” she said.

  He didn’t budge. “I am?”

  “You know you are.” And besides that, he had her arms pinned. She couldn’t remove the blindfold. “Come on, Kyle.”

  “I already did.”

  “What?”

  “Come.”

  “Very funny.” She pushed against him.

  A smile sounded in his voice. “That feels good.”

  “You’re insufferable.” But she smiled, too.

  He stole a quick kiss—something he kept taking the liberty of doing—-and removed the blindfold. She met his gaze, struck by his gold-flecked eyes.

  Finally he let her go, lifting his body from hers.

  While she sat on the floor and gathered her clothes, he stood up and disposed of the condom, wrapping it in a paper towel and throwing it away in the trash can under the sink. Then he zipped his jeans. She climbed to her feet and got dressed.

  “Are you going to get mad if I go home?” he asked.

  She adjusted her top and smoothed her hair. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” In some small way, she was angry. Yet in another small way, she wanted him to leave, to quit seducing her.

  He shoved the black cloth into his pocket. “I have a training session this afternoon.”

  “With who?”

  “No one you know.” He watched her tie the drawstring on her sweatpants. “Are you on vacation for the rest of the week?”

  She nodded. “I go back to work next Monday.”

  “Do you want to come over tomorrow? We can hang out with the dogs or something.”

  She tried to find an excuse not to drive to the desert, to be with him. “Clyde doesn’t like me.”

  “He’ll get used to you.” Kyle swooped, pulling her into his arms. “And I want to make the most of what’s happening between us.”

  Her pulse pounded out of control. “What is happening?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s fun. We might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Yes, she told herself. While it lasts. They both knew they wouldn’t be sleeping together forever. She took a moment to lean into his embrace, to nuzzle, to kiss. Then she pulled away. “Go home and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” He collected his belongings and within no time, he was gone.

  The only things he left behind were the toy car seats. Joyce contemplated throwing them away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Instead she tucked them away in a rarely used drawer in her dresser.

  Out of sight and out of mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell sounded. Joyce answered the summons and found her youngest sister, Jessica, on the other side. Accompanying Jessica were her two childre
n. Five-year-old Owen had spiky blond hair, ruddy cheeks and a boyish grin. His baby sister, seven-month-old Gail rested on their mama’s hip. Gail, the little gremlin, as Joyce called her, was grinning, too.

  “Aunt Joy?” Owen gave her a perplexed look. “How come your Halloween guy looks like that?”

  “Like what?”

  The child pointed to the door. “Like that.”

  She poked her head around and saw that Kyle had blindfolded the plastic skeleton before he’d left. Good grief. “One of my friends was goofing around.”

  “It’s funny,” the boy said.

  “I have funny friends.” She lifted the black cloth and changed it to a headband. Owen thought that was amusing, too. A second later, she glanced at her sister. “It’s great to see all of you.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I was worried about intruding on your time off.” Jessica transferred Gail into Joyce’s arms. “I have to get her playpen. She’s been a monster today.”

  Gail giggled like the gremlin she was. Joyce rubbed her cheek against the baby’s hair, her maternal yearnings kicking into high gear.

  “Will you watch these two while I go to the car?” Jessica asked.

  “Of course I will. But I can help you. We can all go together.”

  “It’ll be easier if I do it alone.” Jessica leaned in close. At twenty-six, she hadn’t outgrown her long blond hair or her high-school-type rebellions. She hung the diaper bag over Joyce’s shoulder. “I’m dying for a cigarette.”

  “You’re supposed to be quitting.”

  “I know. And that’s why I don’t want them to see me. Owen will tattle on me. He’ll tell his daddy.”

  Jessica disappeared, and Joyce brought her niece and nephew into the apartment. Owen showed her his latest toy police car. He had a collection of them. He liked officers of the law. He’d been taught they were his friends, and he was old enough to appreciate that Joyce was a cop and that his grandpa used to be one, too.

  Joyce sat on the couch, with an overly active Gail on her lap and Owen pushing his black-and-white cruiser around the living room. She thought about Kyle and decided Owen would like him.

  When Jessica returned, she barreled into the doorway. In spite of the playpen she’d lugged up the stairs, she had a nicotine-satisfied look on her face.