Apache Nights. Sheri WhiteFeather

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Olivia walked him to the door. “You want to sleep with her.”

      “That’s doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

      She shook her head, as if she didn’t believe him, as if he didn’t have the slightest bit of willpower.

      As if a blue-eyed blonde, a cop no less, could bring him to his knees.

      The following day, Joyce prepared for the silent war churning inside her. Her personal fight. And the battle she intended to wage against Kyle. There was more than one way to skin a cat, to strip a tiger down to the bone. This time, she was going to dupe him.

      She glanced around, surprised by what she saw. His basement had been converted into a gym, and unlike the rest of his house, the room was spotless. Every piece of machinery gleamed.

      Finally she met his gaze. He stood across from her on a sparring mat. He wasn’t armed. No holster. No semiautomatic weapon. He wore standard gray sweatpants and a ribbed tank top.

      He looked dangerous, tall and strong and strapped with muscle. His hair was secured in the usual manner, with a cotton cloth tied around his head.

      He moved closer, and she withheld a triumphant smile. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her cleavage, off her scooped neckline.

      “You’re staring,” she said.

      “Because that’s not proper attire.”

      “These pants are made for working out. Lycra stretches.”

      “I was talking about that skimpy top,” he said, even though her skintight capris had caught his attention, too.

      “I didn’t know there was a dress code. Besides, I’m wearing a push-up bra.”

      His gaze drifted again. “I noticed.”

      “I wore it for you. For your fantasy.”

      “Don’t mess with me, Joyce.”

      “Is that what I’m doing?” She batted her lashes, poking fun at their attraction.

      He rolled his eyes, and she laughed, breaking the tension, the male-female heat that crackled in the air.

      But she was just getting started, letting him think she wasn’t a threat. That she wasn’t clever enough to outsmart him.

      “Good thing I didn’t wear spiked heels,” she told him. “Or no panties.”

      He merely blinked.

      “Are you ready?” she asked.

      He didn’t answer.

      “Kyle?” she pressed.

      “Of course I’m ready.” He copped a macho stance, widening his legs and planting his feet in a solid position. “I’m not going to fall for your little game.”

      She glanced at his tank top. His nipples were erect. Hers were, too. They protruded like .45 caliber bullets, jutting against the silky fabric of her bra. A condition that didn’t go unnoticed.

      He was already falling for her game.

      She tucked her hair behind her ears and told herself there was no such thing as a dumb blonde. Women who used their sexuality knew exactly what they were doing.

      Not that she was going to seduce him. The idea was to set him up, to divert his attention. The way he’d done to her when he’d faked that kiss.

      The session began, with Kyle pointing out the mistakes she’d made yesterday, explaining why her moves hadn’t been effective on him. According to him, she’d been trained properly in the past, but she wasn’t using her knowledge to her best advantage.

      She stepped back and watched him demonstrate his style, his techniques. He reminded her of Tarzan. Fluid, natural. A man who’d been born to bend his body, to kick, to spin, to conquer the jungle.

      When they began sparring, she went after his vulnerable areas. He blocked her, of course. He wasn’t going to let her crush his Adam’s apple or knee his kidneys. But he commended her anyway.

      For a moment, she wondered if she should cut her losses and forget about the way he’d tricked her. But then she caught him looking down her top, stealing peeks between all those muscular moves.

      Tarzan was getting turned on.

      They kept sparring, making physical contact. She worked hard, concentrating on the lesson. She listened to his instructions. She followed his advice.

      He was a damn good instructor. But that didn’t mean she was going to let him win.

      By the time they took a break, her skin was damp and warm.

      He walked over to a minifridge in the corner, removed two bottles of water and handed her one.

      “Thanks.” She sipped, and he guzzled, like the Cro-Magnon he was. She wasn’t buying his story that his predecessors didn’t drag women off by their hair.

      He wasn’t swigging from thirst. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. If anything, he was trying to temper his overactive libido.

      Time to go for the gold, she thought. To get her revenge. With as much 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 СКАЧАТЬ