An Indian Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Now let’s try this again,” he said, and undid her buttons one by one, watching her face. She sat placidly and let him do it. He removed her blouse, and then her light cotton slacks. His eyes moved over her slowly when she was wearing nothing but her lace bra and panties.

  “Your skin is beautiful,” he whispered, bending to run his lips along her bare shoulder. “Like porcelain. I’m glad you don’t have a tan.”

  “I can’t get a good tan,” she answered, her voice wobbling as his tongue probed the hollow of her throat. “I’m so fair I always burn.”

  “You are fair,” he said huskily. “The fairest of them all.” His mouth moved lower and found the swollen nipple that strained against its silken covering. The heat of his lips penetrated the cloth with such intensity that Cindy felt as if she were wearing nothing.

  He sat up abruptly, pulling off his thin knit sweater. The sight of his naked torso brought back vivid recollections of seeing him working at his grandfather’s house. Then he had been too far away for her to appreciate him fully, but now he was close enough for her to see the pulse beating strongly at the base of his throat. She reached out and touched it, feeling the life coursing beneath her fingers, life as precious to her as her own. His skin glowed with a soft patina of health, and the perfectly proportioned muscles it covered contracted as she stroked him. Her fingers trailed over his flat stomach, ribbed with years of conditioning and etched with a random pattern of faint and newly healed scars.

  “Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his lambent eyes resembling those of the sleek animal for which he was named. “You can trust me, princess. Do what you feel. Do what you want.”

  With a strangled sound, half sigh, half moan, Cindy put her arms around him and kissed his chest lingeringly, luxuriously. She rubbed her cheek on the smooth surface of his shoulders and ran her hands down his spare, sculptured back, surrendering herself to the experience.

  “So many people have hurt you,” she murmured, gliding her lips over a thickened weal of pink scar tissue. “So much pain. Drew, how can you bear it?”

  “It’s my life,” he responded softly, holding her to him. “I am Indian. I accept.”

  Cindy pressed her mouth to one of his nipples, sucking gently. He gasped and his hand tightened on the back of her neck. She set her teeth on him, nipping lightly, and he pushed her backward on the bed, looming above her. He twined his fingers with hers and raised her arms above her head.

  “You’re a fast learner, Miss Warren,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth.

  “First time lucky,” she answered. “Lucky to be with you.”

  “I hope you’ll always think so, princess,” he said quietly, kissing her nose, then her brow. His lips returned to hers, and he kissed her deeply, moving to lie against her. Cindy explored the textures of his mouth: softness of lips, smooth wetness of tongue and slick hardness of teeth. He slipped his hands under her and unhooked her bra, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor. He pressed his face to her breasts instantly, closing his fingers around one and taking the hard peak of the other into his mouth. He groaned with satisfaction, and Cindy realized, through the drugged haze of her own pleasure, what it had cost him to approach her so cautiously.

  He gave careful attention to her breasts, and then moved lower, kissing her abdomen. Cindy’s shyness receded before a rolling wave of intense feeling that obliterated every other emotion. She lay supine as he caressed her ever more intimately, nudging her toward the fulfillment they both wanted, but sensitive to her least indication of resistance. When he slid his forefinger under the waistband of her pants, she stiffened automatically. He withdrew his hand immediately, shifting to cuddle her, switching moods to become the unthreatening protector once again.

  “Relax,” he murmured soothingly, rocking her to and fro. “There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”

  He kissed her gently, and she sighed, unwinding visibly. He waited until he could feel that her desire was stronger than her anxiety and then set her back down, bending to kiss her thighs, the swell of her hips, the soft dimple of her navel. Before she knew what was happening she was lifting herself off the bed to help him strip away her last defense.

  Cindy lay naked, and Fox’s lips parted as he drank in the sight of her, his eyes moving greedily over every lovely inch.

  “I wish you could see how you look to me,” he whispered. “I’ll never, never forget.” In a gesture of homage, almost of worship, he stretched out next to her and pressed his burning cheek to her bare belly. His body radiated heat, and the flush staining his skin made him look more primitive than ever. His eyes were closed, and the curve of his lashes swept his cheeks like tiny black webs. Cindy rested her hand on his head, moving her fingers through the thick mass of his hair. He inhaled sharply, and then exhaled in a long breath. She heard it catch in the middle like a sob.

  He sat up abruptly, blinking rapidly, and stood to remove the rest of his clothes. She looked away until he joined her on the bed. He enfolded her, stroking the satiny slope of her spine. The shock of his nakedness was pleasant, and then intoxicating as his legs moved between hers and she felt the hard strength of his body, the urgency of his desire. He kissed her everywhere, her lips, her breasts, caressing her from her fingers to her toes until she was clutching him, straining against him eagerly. She wound her legs around him, so anxious for union that she unconsciously moved into position.

  He was trembling but still in control. He slid his hands beneath her hips, where she could feel the imprint of each finger like a brand.

  “This may hurt,” he said hoarsely, on fire to bury himself in her, but still trying to shield her from all pain.

  “I don’t care,” she moaned, no longer needing his restraint. She was all woman now, restless, seeking, digging her heels into the back of his legs. Her nails scraped his shoulders, slick with sweat, and she surged against him.

  He entered her partially and she grimaced, but made no sound. He waited, perfectly still.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, fighting off the instinctive urge to continue.

  Cindy opened her eyes to look at him, and in his gaze she saw the love he had never expressed in words.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered and kissed him. He kissed her back eagerly, and on his lips she tasted the salt of his effort to control himself.

  “Then hold me tight,” he said. She did so, and he thrust again. She gasped as he joined with her fully and lowered his weight onto her, embracing her completely.

  “Oh, Drew,” she moaned. “I feel like part of you.” Her head fell back and he settled against her, their bodies interlocked, a perfect fit.

  “You are,” he responded, moving within her so skillfully that she arched her back and her breath hissed between her teeth.

  “Now come with me,” he added.

  “Anywhere,” Cindy answered. “I’ll go with you anywhere.”

  And she did.

  * * * *

  Cindy awoke to the sound of running water. She was alone in the bed. Fox’s scent was everywhere: in the sheets, on her skin, like a warm and musky perfume. She was drunk with it, and him.

  She glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight; he had made love to her for a long time.

  She got up and wrapped the sheet around her, wandering to the bathroom, the source of the noise. Fox was kneeling on the floor next to the tub, sprinkling salts into the rushing water and splashing them around to make suds.

  He looked up and saw her in the doorway. “I’m running this for you,” he announced, holding out his hand.

  Obediently, Cindy padded to his side. He helped her out of the sheet and into the water.

  “Be right back,” he said, as she sank up to her chin in fragrant bubbles. She shrugged philosophically, and stretched, letting the wet heat soak into her bones. Her glance fell on the bottle of salts on the shelf above the tub. It was an expensive brand, and obviously not his. She tried not to think about the woman who had left
it behind with him.

  Fox returned with a tumbler half filled with amber liquid. “Brandy,” he said, and handed it to her.

  Cindy accepted it without thought, and then started to smile. The smile soon escalated into laughter. She grabbed a handful of foam and threw it at him. He stared at her.

  “Goose,” she said, and laughed again.

  He put his hands on his hips.

  “I’ve lost my virginity, Drew, not my mind. You’re treating me like a psychiatric case.”

  His face fell, and then his mouth assumed the stubborn line she knew indicated trouble. He didn’t like being laughed at, even by her.

  “Well, I don’t know what to do for you,” he said resentfully.

  She raised her brows and looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t you?” she asked.

  Never a man to miss such a cue, he dashed to the tub and grabbed her, hauling her bodily out of the water. She kicked and flailed her arms, streaming water and suds onto the tile floor. Foam flew in all directions as he carried her, laughing and struggling, to the bed.

  “I’m all wet!” she protested, as he tossed her onto the sheets and stripped off his jeans. “And covered with soapsuds.”

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he said piously, and jumped in with her. She settled down immediately as he pinned her under him, holding her still.

  “What?” he said, teasing. “Nothing to say?”

  “Nope,” she answered, putting her arms around his neck.

  “Okay,” he said, feigning ignorance. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want.”

  She squirmed, not comfortable with putting it into words.

  “You know,” she whispered.

  He shook his head.

  “Mm If ti muh,” she muttered.

  “Can’t hear you,” he said, putting his finger in his ear.

  She narrowed her eyes, fuming.

  “Guess I’ll be going,” he sighed, and levered himself off her. She reached up and yanked him back down to her, where he collapsed, laughing.

  “You’re so funny,” she said disgustedly.

  “Still haven’t heard the magic words,” he said, shrugging, his grin roguish.

  “Make love to me!” she yelled, and his eyes widened.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked, and kissed her.

  She punched his shoulder once, lightly. Then her fingers curved around his arm, and she kissed him back, ravenously.

  “Wow,” he gasped, raising his head. “I’ve created a monster. Are you sure you’re new at this?”

  “You know I am,” she answered, pulling away.

  “Don’t get huffy; I was only kidding,” he said mildly, holding her fast. “I just meant that you’re a quick study, that’s all.”

  “I always catch on to new concepts easily,” she recited stiffly, and then heard what she had said. She giggled and he covered his eyes with his hand.

  “Give me a break,” he moaned.

  “You asked for it,” she reminded him.

  “So I did,” he agreed, nuzzling her neck. He drew her against him, and she fitted herself to his body.

  “Time for a quiz,” he murmured. “We have to test how much you’ve learned in the past few hours.”

  “I’m ready,” she sighed.

  “Now pay attention,” he began, and they took the test together.

  * * * *

  In the morning Fox woke Cindy with a kiss.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, as she yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Looks like I exhausted you.”

  “Are you the handsome prince who breaks the spell?” she asked, regarding him contentedly.

  His face clouded. “I’m no prince, sweetheart. I thought I already made that clear.”

  “Well, handsome, anyway,” she said, smiling, trying to joke him out of his sober reaction.

  He stood up silently and lit a cigarette. She followed after him, reaching for his shirt and slipping it over her head. It drifted to her thighs like a mini-dress.

  “What’s this?” she asked, surveying the food he had put out on the dresser. “What time did you get up? Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “Not much,” he replied, exhaling a stream of smoke. “It’s a waste of time.”

  “Did you make any of this?”

  He shook his head. “No chance of that. I got it from the take-out place where I bought the picnic lunches. I’ve been keeping that deli in business for ten years.”

  Cindy bit into half of an English muffin and took a sip of the juice provided in a plastic container. “Don’t you want any?” she asked him.

  He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up a styrofoam cup of coffee. He regarded her thoughtfully over its rim, his eyes unreadable.

  “Guess what I want to do after we eat?” she said, and he coughed.

  “Please,” he said, setting the cup down and closing his eyes in a parody of strained endurance. “You’re going to put me in the intensive care ward.”

  Cindy went to his side and lifted his hand to her face, studying it. The long brown fingers had broad, spatulate nails. The veins on the back were raised to prominence by long years of physical activity. She turned it over and kissed the hard palm.

  “I doubt it,” she said, setting her teeth on the edge of his thumb.

  “Okay,” he sighed, allowing her to tug him toward the bed. “But when you see me in an oxygen tent, hooked up to a heart monitor, with those tubes running out of my arms, remember that I warned you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replied, proceeding to unbuckle his belt as she hummed under her breath.

  He laughed, seizing her and kissing her hard. “You’re like a kid with a new toy.”

  “And I need some further practice in using it,” she answered, with a sly upward glance.

  He took his shirt by its hem and yanked it over her head. “Practice makes perfect,” he said piously, and tumbled her onto the sheets.

  * * * *

  They spent most of that day in bed. Fox answered the phone twice, disposing of the calls briefly. From the tenor of what she overheard Cindy gathered that they were business. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it in front of her. After the second call, he switched on his answering machine and turned off the bell.

  Hunger drove them out that evening. Since his refrigerator yielded nothing but beer and lettuce, they decided on a restaurant and got ready to go. As they were leaving Cindy asked, in a casual tone that failed to disguise her true feelings, “Drew, who was that woman in the Golden Door with you the other night?”

  He shot her a sidelong glance. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me that.”

  “It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. “I’ll tell you. That was Rosalie, Walter’s wife. If you had hung around for another five minutes you would have seen him join us. It was her birthday.”

  “Oh,” Cindy said in a small voice, feeling silly.

  “I guess we both jumped to conclusions that night, huh?” he said, smiling down at her.

  “I guess so,” she replied, thinking that there was still no explanation for the perfumed bubble bath. But she didn’t have the nerve to ask him about that. One thing at a time.

  Fox had parked his car in the underground garage. He had found the back window jimmied the previous week and had taken this precaution against theft. They took the elevator to the basement, where they were very much alone, since it was an unusual time for a departure. The workers had already returned home and it was a little early for the evening traffic. Fox was walking a little ahead of her, and as he turned to put his arm around her, his expression changed from a slight smile to sudden alarm.

  That was the last thing she saw before the world went black.

  Chapter 8

  Cindy woke to semi-darkness, with a throbbing pain in her head. It took her several seconds to determine that she was in a hospital. Antiseptic
smells drifted in from the corridor, where she could make out the curved bar of a nurses’ station. There was a rustle of starched fabric and she realized she was not alone.

  “I see you’re awake,” a man in a white lab coat said. “Just let me take a look at those eyes.” He took out a tiny light which looked like a fountain pen and shone it in her face.

  “Drew,” Cindy said hoarsely.

  “Pupils look good,” the doctor said, as if congratulating her on some achievement. “How’s the head?”

  He put the light back in his pocket and made a note on a chart.

  “Where’s Drew?” Cindy said louder, sitting up straight. Pain shot through her head like a bolt of lightning, and she dropped back to the pillow, trembling.

  “I would advise against any sudden movements,” the doctor said cheerfully, too late. “That’s quite a concussion you have there.”

  “Is Drew all right?” Cindy almost screamed. At least she tried to scream. It came out like a croak.

  “Mr. Fox is fine,” the doctor said soothingly, answering the question at last. “Or he will be, once we get him patched up.”

  ‘‘Patched up?” Cindy repeated faintly.

  He looked at her for the first time, as a person rather than a patient, and saw the depth of her anxiety.

  “Mr. Fox was stabbed in the arm, and one of my colleagues is putting in the stitches right now.”

  “Stabbed,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.”

  The doctor replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and then came to stand next to her. He patted her hand awkwardly.

  “Don’t be upset,” he said. “Mr. Fox is an old hand at this sort of thing.”

  “Well I’m not,” she mumbled, and he smiled.

  “No doubt. But you shouldn’t worry unduly about your friend. He’s been with us before, you know. He shows up every few months with something like this.”

  Cindy was silent, trying to put it all together.

  “Aren’t you interested in what happened to you?” the doctor asked.

  She nodded, and discovered that it hurt to do so. “Yes.”

  “Apparently one of the men Mr. Fox put back in jail got out on parole. He found out where your friend lived and waited for him in that garage area. When you passed he jumped both of you.”