Releasing her arms, Dane thought; Matt’s good, honey, but I’m better. And if I had my way, I’d be the one going home with you tomorrow. I’d be the one putting myself between you and danger.
Fifteen minutes later they docked the Sweet Savannah in a small, snug harbor, alongside two smaller crafts. The clouds moved across the sky, blocking the sun and creating a gray overcast.
“Wait here on the aft deck,” Dane told her. “I’ll go below and get our bags.”
She surveyed what she could see of the island, lush and green in all its springtime glory. The beach spread out before her and the blue-gray Gulf waters met the azure sky behind and around her. Pearl-white sand covered the beach.
Dane has brought me to a tropical paradise, she thought.
As her gaze traveled across the beach, she saw a curving set of rock steps leading to the hill above. She gasped loudly. Loping downward, his huge feet pounding the sturdy steps, was a bald man the size of an eighteen-wheeler. His mahogany skin was weathered, but Annie couldn’t tell how old he was. She had the oddest notion that the man was ageless.
“Ready?” Dane came up on deck, her suitcase in one hand, his duffel bag in the other. When Annie didn’t respond, he followed her line of vision and laughed. “Don’t let him frighten you. That’s Manton. He’s in charge of Le Bijou Bleu and he’s one of Jeannie Dundee’s adopted fathers.”
“He’s enormous.”
“About seven feet tall.” Dane gave her a gentle nudge, using the end of his duffel bag to prod her into movement.
By the time they disembarked, Manton was on the beach, waiting for them. He neither smiled nor spoke, simply nodded and took the bags from Dane.
As they followed him up the ancient curved stairway, Dane placed his hand in the small of Annie’s back. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him.
“He’s not very friendly, is he?” Annie whispered her question.
“Manton is a deaf mute,” Dane explained. “You can talk to him, if you know how to sign…or if you have a telepathic link to him the way Jeannie does.”
“Oh, he’s deaf.” As she gazed up at the giant’s broad back, a shudder racked Annie’s body. “What do you mean, a telepathic link?”
“That’s something else you need to know before you meet the Dundees—Jeannie is an empath and a telepath.”
“You’re kidding?” Annie considered most empaths, telepaths and psychics to be phonies. However, during her days as a Memphis reporter, she’d met a so-called psychic who, from time to time, worked with the police department. The woman had been unerringly accurate in her visions.
When they reached the top of the hill, Manton proceeded, his heavy, pulverizing footsteps lumbering ever forward. Dane grabbed Annie’s arm and pulled her to an abrupt halt. She drew in her breath when she looked out over the wide, grassy meadow and her gaze caught a glimpse of the two-story, raised French cottage that lay a quarter of a mile ahead. The old house, circled with porches that were edged with banisters, had been built on a rise, giving its owners views of the ocean from every direction.
After a trek across the spacious, verdant lawn, they reached the house. An assortment of dogs and cats greeted their approach. Manton disappeared inside as a big, blond man came out and stood on the veranda. He threw up his hand and waved. Within minutes, a woman, with a cane in her hand, emerged from the house, an infant braced against her chest and a towheaded child at her side.
“Welcome to Le Bijou Bleu,” the woman said, a welcoming smile on her pretty face.
Dane shook hands with Sam Dundee and hurriedly introduced Annie to the man and his wife. “And this little lady, tugging on her mama’s shirttail is Samantha.”
The girl, a tiny, feminine replica of her large, rugged father, looked up and smiled. She pointed to the baby in her mother’s arms. “His name is Manton Julian Dundee, but we call him M.J.,” she informed them. “He’s named after PaPa Manton and Grandfather Julian. He’s only two months old, so all he does is cry and eat and make a mess in his diapers.”
The four adults laughed in unison and Samantha Dundee beamed happily, knowing she had secured their attention.
“Won’t you come inside, Ms. Harden?” Sam held open the door. “We need to go over some particulars of your case so that we can set the wheels of our investigation in motion before Matt meets you in Biloxi tomorrow.”
“Sam, can’t that wait,” Jeannie said. “I’m sure Annie would like to freshen up and have dinner before you and Dane interrogate her.”
“I don’t mind—” Annie said.
“No, Jeannie’s right,” Sam said. “As always.”
The expression in Sam Dundee’s eyes when he looked at his wife said more than words could ever express. Here was a man totally besotted with a woman and didn’t care who knew it. A strange, little ache gripped Annie’s heart. What would it be like, she wondered, to have a man love you like that?
When they entered the foyer, Manton emerged from the staircase that led to the ground level of the house. Jeannie offered her infant son to the silent giant.
“Please take M.J. and Samantha to the nursery,” Jeannie said. “You can let Samantha help give her brother his evening bath.”
Without so much as a whimper, the little girl followed her “PaPa Manton.” Jeannie turned to her guests.
“Sam, I’m sure you and Dane can find something to do while I show Annie to her room.” She laced her arm through Annie’s and led her toward the staircase. “Our guest rooms are on the ground level. Manton has placed your bag in the Sunlight Room.”
Following her hostess’s lead and being careful to keep her own gait in step with Jeannie Dundee’s hampered walk, Annie descended the stairs. “It’s awfully nice of you to welcome me this way. I suppose I actually invited myself, but I didn’t want to delay Dane’s vacation and he wouldn’t leave me and—”
“And you are much safer here on Le Bijou Bleu than you will be in Point Clear or back at home.” Jeannie gave Annie’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You must trust Dane, you know. Unlike other men in your life, he will never hurt you nor disappoint you.”
Annie jerked away from Mrs. Dundee and stared at her with wide, suspicion-filled eyes. “How did you know…Dane told me that you are an empath and a telepath, but I have to tell you that I really don’t have a great deal of faith in any of that hocus-pocus stuff.”
Jeannie laughed, the sound pure and sweet. She gazed sympathetically at Annie. “I have nothing to gain by lying to you, in pretending to have abilities that I don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I?”
“You’re being honest, not rude.”
Jeannie limped only slightly as she made her way down the hall, then stopped in front of an open door and waited for her guest. Annie squared her shoulders, walked quickly to catch up and breezed into the room. She halted the moment she entered, realizing that this wasn’t just a room, but a suite, which extended the width of the ground floor. Windows on all sides, except the north side, wrapped around the sitting room and the bedroom, which lay just beyond the open French doors. Annie noticed her suitcase resting at the foot of the massive cherry four-poster bed.
“Please, make yourself at home,” Jeannie said. “Dinner will be ready in about two hours, but feel free to join us upstairs whenever you like.”
“Thank you.” When Jeannie turned to leave, Annie took a tentative step toward her. “Wait.”
Jeannie turned to face Annie, who immediately reached out and grasped Jeannie’s hand. An odd sensation struck her and suddenly she felt an inexplicable sense of something releasing inside her. Fear. Guilt. Uncertainty. All melted away like winter snow at the first touch of springtime sun.
“What did you do?” Annie asked. “I felt it, but… It’s as if you… I can’t explain it.”
“It’s as if I took away all your worries.” Jeannie clasped Annie’s hand tightly, then released it. “The effect isn’t permanent. Just a temporary remedy.” Jeannie
turned and walked out into the hall, paused briefly and said, “Even a strong woman needs a man, one who is equally as strong.”
Annie stood in the middle of the room, silent and unmoving, until Jeannie disappeared up the stairs. What an unusual woman, Annie thought, and for the first time since her early childhood, she felt totally carefree and at peace. No unhappiness. No fear. No pain.
After removing the soiled bandage on her side, Annie took a shower and reapplied a sterile dressing, then she blow-dried her hair and slipped into clean underwear. Relaxed and sleepy, she turned down the covers on the four-poster. Once she’d taken a short nap, she put on a pair of black slacks and a beige silk blouse. Then she applied a light coating of makeup, neatly rearranged the rumpled bed linen, and headed out the door. Checking her watch, she noted that she’d spent nearly two hours in the suite.
When she reached the top of the staircase, she heard voices coming from the front parlor, a spacious room with soft white walls. Entering the room quietly, she found Dane and Sam, drinks in their hands, standing in front of windows facing the veranda. Jeannie sat demurely in one of the cream damask Victorian chairs on the other side of the room. As her gaze scanned the room, Annie noticed a gleaming black baby grand and wondered who played.
“Manton plays,” Jeannie said as if she’d read Annie’s thoughts. “Please come and join us. We can go in to dinner whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh, I hope y’all haven’t been waiting for me.”
“You’re right on time,” Jeannie assured her.
Dane moved in beside Annie and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Sam and I have been discussing your case.”
“I wish we didn’t have to think about that now.” Annie heard herself say the words, but knew the sentiment wasn’t her own. She’d never been the type to pretend everything was all right when it wasn’t. “But I’m sure we need to talk about it. Have you and Mr. Dundee come to any brilliant deductions?”
“I think we can postpone business until after dinner,” Jeannie said. “Come this way.” She gave her husband a beguiling smile.
“Business talk after dinner,” Sam agreed.
The dinner postponement turned out to be a three-hour event. The meal itself took thirty minutes, then coffee and dessert were served on the veranda. Jeannie and Sam excused themselves for twenty minutes to put their little ones to bed, but returned to share Manton’s speciality drink with their guests. The fruity concoction was a secret blend, Jeannie told them. Annie could taste pineapple and rum, but try as she might, she couldn’t quite make out the other ingredients.
The foursome sat on the veranda in huge wicker chairs. Annie couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been more relaxed and content. It was all Jeannie Dundee’s doing—her hocus-pocus magic touch.
Piano music drifted outside, something powerful and beautiful, but completely alien to Annie. She’d never heard the piece before and asked Jeannie about it.
“Manton is a composer,” Jeannie explained. “That’s one of his sonatas.”
“But if he’s a deaf mute, then how can he… No, don’t bother answering that. It’s a magical, supernatural thing, isn’t it? Just like your abilities.”
Sam and Dane both chuckled, the sound drifting off on the night breeze. Jeannie rose from her chair to bid them good-night. Dane and Sam stood immediately, and Annie couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a touch of Southern gentleman in Mr. Dundee. Jeannie paused at her husband’s side. He leaned down so that she could whisper something in his ear.
“I’ll say good-night, too.” Sam shook Dane’s hand and then nodded to Annie.
“What about discussing my case?” Annie asked.
“Dane is in charge of your case, until Matt takes over tomorrow. You can discuss things with him.” With that said, Sam left them alone on the veranda.
“That wasn’t very subtle, was it,” she said. “Their leaving us alone.” Annie looked up at Dane, who had braced his hip on the banister and was gazing out at the ocean.
“Did it ever occur to you that they weren’t thinking about us, that they were the ones who wanted to be alone?”
Annie rose from the chair and glided down the veranda toward Dane. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people so much in love. It’s almost painful watching them, knowing—” She stopped herself, realizing what she’d almost said. What the hell was wrong with her? It wasn’t like her to get all sentimental and romantic. She’d outgrown that girlish hogwash a long time ago.
“Knowing what?” Keeping his back to her, he glanced over his shoulder. “That you’ll never love or be loved that way.”
She swallowed hard. He had known what she was going to say and finished her sentence for her. “Yes.”
“This island does strange things to people,” Dane said. “Makes you start thinking all sorts of odd things.”
Annie moved closer, as if drawn to him by some powerful magnet. She longed to reach out and touch his broad shoulders, to lay her head on his back and wrap her arms around him. She could almost feel the loneliness in him—a loneliness so great it was palpable. He turned slowly, his gaze fixed on her eyes, and she wondered if he could sense her loneliness the way she had his. Could he read in her eyes what she felt?
Dane reached out and grasped her face with both hands. She held her breath as his head descended. When he pulled her toward him, she closed her eyes, desperately wanting what she knew he was going to do to happen. Wanting it in a way she had never wanted anything else. The air between them was so hot and heavy, neither of them could breathe properly. Tension spiraled higher and higher, like a live wire ready to ignite a spark that would set the world on fire.
His lips were warm and moist and demanding. If she had struggled, he would have released her. But she didn’t struggle. She participated. Willingly. Wholeheartedly.
She had no idea exactly when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body into his. She only knew that as he deepened the kiss, she wanted it to last forever.
They stood under a tropical moon, with a cool, June breeze drifting in off the ocean, and devoured each other with the hunger raging inside their bodies. When Dane lifted her off her feet, she draped her arm around his neck.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered in her ear.
If only he hadn’t spoken, if only he hadn’t left the decision up to her, they would have become lovers. She shuddered when reality severed the sexual chain that bound them.
A fragile smile trembled on her lips. He eased her down his body, allowing her to feel his erection, then set her on her feet.
“We never got around to discussing my case,” she said.
“We can do that tomorrow when I turn you over to Matt.” Dane shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“Yes, of course.” Annie hesitated for a split second, a part of her somehow still connected to Dane—an invisible cord that tied her to him. “Good night.”
“Good night, Annie. Sleep well.” He turned away from her and faced the ocean again.
She left him there on the veranda. Only when she entered the house did she realize that Manton was still at the piano, the tune he played, soft and melancholy. She paused, looked back onto the porch where Dane stood, then ran to the stairs and hurried down to the ground level. Once inside her suite, she closed and locked the door, then rushed into the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed.
Annie cried. Cried as if her heart would break. She hadn’t cried over a man since the first time she discovered that Preston had been unfaithful. But this was different. She had loved Preston, had been his wife. They had shared a life together, had made plans for the future together. Dane Carmichael was little more than a stranger. They had no past and no future. What she felt for Dane wasn’t love. It couldn’t be love!
Chapter 6
“Damn!” Dane slammed the receiver down on the telephone.
“What’s the problem?” Sam asked.
“Matt O’Brien
was in a minor car wreck last night. He’s got some cracked ribs, a broken leg and—” Dane released an exasperated breath. “And he’s the only agent who isn’t on a case, other than Denby, and she agreed to man the office so I could take a vacation. There’s no one else free and probably won’t be for another couple of weeks.”
“Looks like you’ll have to refer Ms. Harden to another agency.”
“I could take her case myself.”
Yeah, Carmichael, you do that. You take this case yourself and you know what will happen. You almost made love to Annie last night. If she hadn’t come to her senses in time, you’d be in her bed right now.
“Let someone else take this case. You badly need a vacation,” Sam told him.
“I need to keep Annie safe,” Dane said.
Sam placed his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “If I gauged the lady correctly, I’d say she’ll throw a fit when you tell her that you’re taking the case. That one isn’t going to give in without putting up a fight.”
“Did you know that she thinks being a gentleman—a Southern gentleman—is similar to being a devil with a couple of horns and a forked tail?” Dane chuckled, the sound edged with indignation.
“Just the woman for you, huh?” Sam laughed, but gave Dane’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
“Don’t you know it,” Dane said. Annie Harden had none of the qualities he usually found appealing in a woman. She was the exact opposite of Lorna. But there was something about Annie that excited him in a way no other woman ever had. Maybe it was that hint of vulnerability beneath all the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar attitude.
“When are you going to tell her?” Sam asked.
“Tell her what—oh, about Matt not being available.” Dane shrugged. “No time like the present.”
“I think she and Jeannie are in the nursery with the children.”
Dane nodded, then headed out of Sam’s study. “Why do I feel as if I’m about to go into battle.”
Sam’s husky laughter followed Dane down the hallway. He stopped outside the nursery door, which stood wide open. Jeannie rested in a white wicker rocking chair, her son at her breast, and Annie sat on a large oval rug in the center of the nursery, Samantha Dundee at her side. Little Samantha turned the pages in the book Annie held as Annie read to her all about farm animals.
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