Apache Nights (13 page)

“Oh, that's right. I proposed, didn't I?” He walked over to her and removed a plastic container—the kind that held gumball prizes—from his pocket.

She stared at it. “What's that?”

“A ring.”

Joyce didn't know what to expect, a real diamond or a fifty-cent treasure. With Kyle, a woman could never be sure.

She cracked open the case and found both: an en
gagement ring that nearly knocked her off her feet, and a toy ring that looked as hokey as hokey could get.

Dazzled, she leaped into his arms and kissed him breathless. He tasted like dreams and wishes and wild, crazy love.

After they separated, she put a ring on each hand. He checked out the bling-bling effect and grinned.

Heaven help her, but she adored this man and all of his romantic quirkiness. Their children were going to adore him, too.

The doorbell rang, and they answered it together, handing out candy to a group of dressed-up toddlers who'd arrived with their parents.

Bonnie peeked around the corner, making the little ones laugh. Clyde stayed out of sight, but he still wore his horns.

This was Joyce's family now—her future husband, his animated dogs and the babies they'd agreed to have.

Life with Kyle Prescott would never be boring.

She reached for his hand and linked her fingers through his, where they waited for another group of kids to climb the stairs. He leaned over to peck her cheek, and she realized how lucky they were.

Later that night, when the trick or treaters were gone and the pumpkin light was extinguished, they made love in her room, touching and kissing, whispering in the dark.

He roamed her body, and she reacted to his touch.
She arched to welcome him, to let him slide between her legs. He was hard and thick and desperately aroused.

But this was more than sex, more than an erotic joining. This was a man and a woman making a commitment, a vow that left her breathless.

Moonlight shimmered through the window, sending silvery streaks across the bed. This was the first time they'd made love without protection, without a veil of latex between them.

Flesh to flesh, she thought.

She ran her fingers up and down his spine. He moved inside her, a rhythm so deep, so real, she couldn't think beyond needing him, beyond accepting him as her mate.

She looked up at him, this man she was going to marry, this man who fought to change the world. She could feel the power of who he was, of what he believed in.

Together they would make a difference. Together, their limits were boundless.

Joyce didn't believe in fairy tales. She didn't believe in knights who swept ladies off their feet. But she believed in warriors who made compromises.

He lowered his head to kiss her, and their tongues tangled, the intensity of their lovemaking getting stronger.

Wilder.

They rolled over the bed, fever raging in their blood. Beautiful, sweet, reckless heat. It was part of them, part of what fueled their attraction.

But she couldn't imagine it any other way.

She craved the fire he ignited; she thrived on it, anxious for every sensation. He did exquisite things to her, making her heart pound gloriously in her breast, making her climax in his arms.

And when he spilled into her, she held him, knowing she would love him forever.