Four Blind Mice (Alex Cross 8)

“Be nice,” I said. “You pick something.”

She switched on the CD player and found WPFW, 89.3. Nina Simone’s “Wild Is the Wind” was playing.

“Our song. From now on,” she said.

Jamilla and I kissed again, and her mouth was soft. I was happy to see that the homicide inspector had a gentle side. Her lips continued to press into mine, and I felt myself melting. Maybe that was why I was afraid. Here I go again.

“I’d never hurt you,” she whispered as if she knew my thoughts. “You don’t have to be afraid. Just don’t hurt me, Alex.”

“I won’t.”

A few minutes later, we were dancing to “Just the Two of Us” and I folded Jam in real close. This was good.

She was strong, but she knew how to be tender. Another detective. How about that? We moved well together. My lips brushed the top of her shoulders, then the hollow in her throat, and just lingered.

“Bite me there. Just a little,” she whispered.

I nipped her gently, slowly. I didn’t want to hurry any of this. The first time with someone wasn’t like any other. Not always the best, though sometimes, but always different, exciting, mysterious. Jamilla reminded me of my dead wife, Maria, and I thought that was a good thing. She was tough on the outside, a city girl, but she could be tender and sweet. The contrast was special, and dramatic enough to give me goosebumps.

I could feel her breasts touch my chest, then her whole body was pressing into me. Our kisses became deeper and more passionate, and lasted longer.

I undid her bra, and it slipped to the floor. Then I slid off her panties and she pulled down my shorts.

We stood there and looked at each other for a long time, appraising — admiring, I guess — building up anticipation and passion and whatever else was going on between us. I wanted Jamilla badly now, but I waited. We waited.

“Disappointed?” she whispered so low that I almost couldn’t hear what she said.

Her question threw me a little. “God, no. Why should I be? Who could be disappointed with you?”

She didn’t say anything, but I thought I knew who she was talking about. Her ex-husband had said things that had hurt her. I pulled Jamilla to me, and her body felt hot all over. She was trembling. We slid down on the bed, and she rolled on top of me. She kissed my cheeks, then my lips. “You sure you’re not disappointed?”

“Definitely not disappointed,” I said. “You’re beautiful, Jamilla.”

“In your eyes.”

“Okay. In my eyes, you’re beautiful.”

I raised my head to her breasts, and she lowered herself to me. I kissed one, then the other, playing no favorites. Her breasts were small, just right. In my eyes. I continued to be amazed that Jamilla didn’t seem to know that she was attractive. I knew it was a terrible thing that happened to some women, and some men too.

I lay my head down and looked at her face, studied it some. I kissed her nose, her cheeks.

She was smiling in a way I’d never seen before. Open and relaxed, beginning to trust, which I loved to see. I felt that I could stare into her deep brown eyes forever.

I eased myself inside Jamilla, and I had a thought that this was just about perfect. I had been right to trust her. Then I had another thought that I hated — What will spoil it this time?

Chapter 37

JAMILLA STARTED TO laugh and then she said, “Phew.” She ran her hand over her forehead.

“What’s ‘phew’?” I asked her. “Don’t tell me you’re tuckered out? You look in a lot better shape than that.”

“Phew. I was worried about the two of us being together, and now I’m not worried. Phew, sometimes men are really self-centered, or rough in bed. Or it just feels all wrong.”

I smiled at her. “Slept with a lot of men, huh?”

Jamilla made a little face. Cute. “I’m thirty-six years old. I was married for four years, engaged another time. I date some. Not too much lately, but some. How about you? Was I your first?”

“Why? Did it seem like it?”