Four Blind Mice

Almost too nice.”
    And so we explored.
    The Log Cabin Room was an amazing two stories that even included a sauna-Jacuzzi. The loft was reached by spiral stairs and had a full kitchen. The walls and floors were wood paneled to suggest the simply hewn tongue-and-groove design of a cabin. A rough-cut stone-framed fireplace was there to keep everything cozy. There was also an aquarium.
    Jamilla did a quick, gleeful dance. She obviously approved, and so did I, mainly because she was happy. It sure was a whole lot better than the front seats of cars where we’d spent so many hours together during surveillance details in New Orleans.
    As we checked out the suite, we were exploring each other a little too. We stopped to kiss, and I discovered once again that Jamilla had the sweetest-tasting mouth. We held each other, and danced in place a bit. We kissed some more, and my head began to feel light. I was still nervous, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.
    Jamilla slowly unbuttoned my denim shirt, and I helped her loosen and then slip out of a cream-colored silk blouse. Under her shirt, she wore a plain, thin silver chain. Very simple and lovely.
    Her hands gently unfastened my belt, then loosened my pants. I helped her out of her leather ones. “Such a gentleman,” she said. Somewhere along the way I kicked off my shoes and she did the same with her sandals.
    Which finally, somehow, brought the two of us to the centerpiece of the suite — a king-size bed.
    “I like this,” she whispered against my cheek. “Nicest bed I ever saw.”
    The bed was definitely the visual focus of the room. It had four wooden columns suggesting a canopy bed, but without the frills. It was covered with a flannelly comforter and half a dozen throw pillows, which we immediately tossed onto the floor. The room looked even better a little messed-up.
    “Music?” Jamilla asked.
    “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