The pain subsided. She knew he'd felt it, too, but had dismissed it as impossible.
Jeannie moved, lifting up, wrapping her legs around Sam's hips, urging him to resume. Pleasure rippled through him as the pressure built. Pulling partly out of her, he hesitated only a second before plunging deeply again and starting the primeval mating dance.
His iron control cracked in a dozen places, weakening his defenses, making him more vulnerable, open to her possession. The agony intensified, the pressure inside them close to exploding. Jeannie clung to him, whispering his name in gasping little chants. Sam moaned dark, desperate, erotic words to her.
Release hit them simultaneously, or so Jeannie thought, but she soon realized that the fulfillment she felt was Sam's. Wild, hot, savage. He emptied his seed into her, shudders of pleasure jerking his big body. The sensations rocketed through her, and she cried out, trembling with the aftershocks.
Agony turned to ecstasy. But before she fell from the heights of rapture, she gripped his hips, lifting herself up against him, stroking her body against his frantically. Strong, forceful spasms clutched her sex, then threw her headlong into the heaven of carnal fulfillment. She clung to him as wave after wave of joyous release washed over her.
Sam held her, aware of her completion, and fully aware that in some way, though faint and subdued, he shared her release.
Easing off her and onto his side, he drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead. They lay there in the aftermath of a loving so profound neither of them could find the words to express how they felt. When their ragged breathing settled to normal, Sam got out of bed, lifted Jeannie in his arms and smothered her with passionate kisses. She clung to him, knowing that she was now Sam Dundee's woman in every sense of the word. She had never felt closer to anyone in her life.
Sam carried her across the bedroom, kicked open the bathroom door and stepped into the shower. When he turned the faucets, a spray of cold water hit their naked bodies. Jeannie squealed. Sam held her with one hand while adjusting the water temperature. The shower poured over them with refreshing warmth. He picked up a bar of white soap, smelled its sweet perfume, then grinned.
"If I use this stuff, I'll smell like you," he said.
"You already do."
He laughed. She loved the sound of his laughter. So hearty. So genuine. She had to make sure he laughed more.
"And you smell like me." Lowering his head, he licked her breasts, from one nipple to the other. "And you taste like me."
He lathered her body slowly, taking special care to be gentle as he cleaned away the residue of her innocence. He braced her against the ceramic wall, washing her thoroughly.
Lowering himself to his knees, he held her hip with one hand while he spread her legs farther apart. She gripped his shoulders. Her body clenched, released, then repeated the process. While the warm water cascaded down Jeannie's body and onto Sam's back, he sought her feminine core and began a sensual assault that left her breathless and pleading. His mouth covered her, his tongue driving her crazy with its strong, sensuous attack.
She swelled and tightened, then turned to liquid fire. She cried out; he groaned, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. She splintered into a million pieces of indescribable pleasure; his sex hardened painfully when fragments of her fulfillment sizzled through his body. Tiny sparks of white-hot ecstasy claimed him as surely as they had Jeannie.
During the moments of downward-spiraling release, Jeannie squeezed Sam's shoulders, urging him to stand. He stood slowly, sliding himself up and against her. She circled him with her hand. He gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out, and covered her hand with his, instructing her movements. Once. Twice. Three times. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth at the precise moment he erupted into completion. He threw back his head as a deep, guttural cry escaped from his lips, torn from his body with the force of his release. Experiencing to an infinite degree the explosion of Sam's sensations and emotions, Jeannie wrapped her arms around his waist. They clung to each other, weak and exhausted, as the water washed over them. Finally, Sam reached out and shut off the water.
Covering Jeannie in a huge white towel, he dried her with the patience of a parent tending to a child. She reciprocated, drying him, delighting in his playful growl when she stroked him intimately.
Naked, clean and sated, they gazed longingly into each other's eyes. At that precise moment, words were redundant. He kissed her gently; she returned the kiss. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her back to her bed, stripped away the soiled coverlet and jerked the floral blanket up into the air. He flung the blanket over his shoulder, half of it covering Jeannie. She peeked out from beneath the blanket as he carried her outside, onto the veranda. He kissed her on the nose. She giggled.
Sam covered a huge wicker rocker with the floral blanket, then sat down, Jeannie in his lap. She cuddled in his arms, their naked bodies warm against each other. They sat in the wicker rocker on the veranda, man and woman, lovers for the first time, and the bonding that had begun on the beach six years ago grew stronger. They both felt what was happening. She acknowledged it in her heart; he fought the truth, unable to relinquish complete control.
For endless moments, time having become meaningless, they absorbed the beauty of the night, the moon and stars, the soft, balmy breeze, the ocean's song.
Hours later, Jeannie awoke in his arms and lifted her head, seeking his mouth, initiating a kiss that quickly turned passionate. Turning her body, she rose over him, straddling him, bracing her knees on each side of him. "Make love to me again, Sam." She nuzzled his ear with her nose.
"It's too soon. You're sore, and I don't want to hurt you again." He stroked her hip.
"I'm not that sore," she told him. "I ache with the wanting, and I know you do, too."
Gripping her buttocks, he lifted her as he stood and carried her across the porch, resting her on the top of the wide banister. She kept her arms locked around his neck as he positioned himself, bending his knees, pulling her forward. The joining was swift and complete. Jeannie gasped; Sam moaned. Clutching her hips in his big hands, he guided her back and forth, lifting her completely off the banister. She wrapped her legs around him, clinging to him as the hard, hot plunges stroked her to an unbearable pleasure. She spiraled out of control, crying out her completion. Sam shook from the sensations he experienced, then fell headlong into oblivion with one final, forceful lunge. While he trembled, she quivered, and he held her in his arms, her legs and arms wrapped around him, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. And the intimate bonding of their hearts and souls continued, binding them together, strengthening their ability to share every feeling.
From inside the house, they heard the soft, sweet strains of piano music. Jeannie's song. Manton knew. And he was paying tribute to their love.
* * *
Jeannie kicked the sand with her bare toes. Sam rubbed suntan lotion on her delicate skin, coating her back and arms thoroughly, then starting on her legs. Beautiful, silky legs. But physically weak, unable to fully support her slender weight. He kissed her inner thigh. She ruffled his thick blond hair.
Sam looked up at her and smiled. "I promise you, my childhood was boring and meaningless. I don't know why you want to hear about it."
"Because I picture you as this serious little boy who went around with a frown on his face." Jeannie giggled when he tickled her foot. "Come on, tell me. This is called getting to know each other. You go first."
Sam completed his suntan detail, recapped the bottle and tossed it on the blanket beside the picnic hamper. "My father was a career soldier, so I didn't see much of him, even before he died. After our mother's death, James and I lived with an aunt and uncle, and I stayed on with them when James joined the marines. Aunt Harriet and Uncle Pete are both gone now."
"Were you a happy child?" Jeannie rummaged around inside the picnic basket, retrieved a bottle of wine and two clear plastic glasses. She handed the wine to Sam.
He opened the bottle, f
illed their glasses, then reached around Jeannie to place the wine back in the hamper. "I guess I enjoyed my childhood as much as any kid does, but I never had a lot of friends. I was a bit of a loner." Jeannie handed Sam a glass of wine. "I idolized my father. So did James. I thought my dad was a real hero. I wanted to be just like him."
"I never knew my real father." Jeannie placed cheese, apples and wheat crackers on a plastic plate. "My mother got pregnant when she was sixteen. She was only twenty-two when she married Randy Foley." Jeannie shook her head from side to side, making her long ponytail bounce from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. "Julian and Manton have both been like fathers to me."
"Yeah, well, when our old man died, James became my substitute father. I followed him into the marines as soon as I turned eighteen. And when he got married, James's wife told me that their home would always be mine. Sandra was a special lady."
Jeannie clasped Sam's hand. "It's all right to still feel sad about their dying so young."
"Elizabeth was only twelve. She really needed her parents, but she was lucky. She had a great-aunt who understood what it meant to be psychic. Legally, I was Elizabeth's guardian, but her great-aunt Margaret was the one who raised her."
"You love Elizabeth dearly, don't you?"
Sam brought Jeannie's hand to his lips, kissed the open palm and laid it over his heart. "She's the only person I had in my life to love." He gazed down into the wine, sighed, then took a sip. "But she's a grown woman now, married and a mother. Every time I look at her little boy—"
"You want a child of your own, don't you, Sam?" She sensed the need in him, tapping into his emotions simply by touching him. Big, macho, hard-edged soldier, government agent and bodyguard, Sam Dundee had a central core of goodness, a wellspring of pure golden love just waiting to be lavished on a child.
He jerked away from her, spilling his wine. Standing, he faced the sun, then shaded his eyes with his big hand. She watched him, his broad shoulders moving slightly when he breathed.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I couldn't help picking up on what you were feeling. I didn't mean to intrude on something that's obviously painful for you."
She knew! Dear God, she knew. She had gotten that deep inside him.
Sam willed himself not to think about what had happened six years ago, about what had happened to the child who might have been his. "Your childhood was pretty rotten, wasn't it?" he asked her, deliberately changing the subject. "Until you went to live with Julian and Miriam Howell."
"You can't imagine." Jeannie sipped the wine slowly. "From when I was six and Mama married Randy Foley, until I was thirteen and they died in the car crash that crippled me, I lived in pain every day of my life. Except…"
Sam sat down again on the quilt beside Jeannie, cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward. She stared into his eyes. "Except when you came to Le Bijou Bleu for vacations."
"This island was my heaven. And Manton was my guardian angel. He was the first person I communicated with telepathically. I never told Mama and Randy. It would have been one more thing they would have tried to exploit. And I didn't try to develop the talent. It never happened again until Miriam became sick and…" Tears gathered in Jeannie's eyes; she bit her bottom lip. "I loved her so dearly."
"Cancer can be a horrible way to die," Sam said.
"She suffered unbearably near the end." Jeannie swallowed her tears as the memories of Miriam's final days flooded her memory.
"And you shared that suffering. You made it bearable." He pulled her into his arms, stroking her back, resting his head atop hers, his cheek brushing her hair. "It must have been terrible for you."
"Yes and no. It would have been worse for me if I hadn't been able to absorb some of her pain, to take away the suffering for just a few hours, to give her a little relief. There came a time when the drugs didn't help."
"She was very fortunate to have you." Sam kissed the side of Jeannie's face.
She slipped her arms around his waist, touching his naked skin beneath his loose cotton shirt. "I was fortunate to have her for a mother for so many years. She was an extraordinary woman. Beautiful. Brilliant. Compassionate. I would have done anything for her."
"And you did." He soothed her with his hands, caressing her tenderly.
"Can't you understand?" She looked at him, asking him to put himself in her place. "If you saw someone you loved in excruciating pain, wouldn't you want to make the pain go away? Wouldn't you, if you could, suffer that pain for them?"
Sam kissed her. Hot. Fierce. Demanding. Yes, he understood what it meant to care so deeply for someone, to be willing to die for that person if necessary. When he released her mouth, she gasped for air.
"Sam?" She'd felt it, that tiny kernel of emotion called love. It was there, buried so deep within Sam that he wasn't even consciously aware it existed. All these years, there had been no one to keep love alive in Sam, no one except Elizabeth.
But Sam had never been deeply in love, had never bonded with a woman. Not until— But their bonding was incomplete, despite a week of making love and sharing private thoughts and feelings. He wouldn't allow himself to love her. The risk was too great. And as much as he wanted a child—even if he denied that great desire—he had not made love to Jeannie again, after that first night, without using protection.
And just who was he protecting, she wondered, her or himself?
Sam peeled off his shirt, dropped it on the quilt and nodded toward the ocean. "How about a swim before we eat lunch?"
Jeannie held up her arms to him. He lifted her, carried her across the beach, and together they dived into the water. Within minutes, his dark mood lightened and the sadness left her eyes. They frolicked in the Gulf like two playful children. Later they sat in the shade of a huge old live oak with branches that drooped to the ground and had taken root. They ate the cheese and fruit, drank the wine and made slow, sweet love.
With each passing day, with each shared intimacy, Sam and Jeannie's joining became stronger. If Sam could ever bring himself to love her, truly love her, they would become one. Every beat of his heart, hers. Every breath she took, his. Her thoughts, her emotions, her feelings, would belong to him, and his to her. How deep the bonding would go, even Jeannie did not know.
Chapter 13
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Jeannie cuddled in Sam's arms. The late-afternoon sun was behind them, the ocean breeze soft and warm on their bare skin. With an occasional backward sweep of his foot, Sam kept the wooden porch swing in slow but continuous motion as he held Jeannie close. Caressing her shoulder with one hand, he rested his cheek against the side of her head. Her fresh, clean smell surrounded him. Turning her head just a fraction, she glanced up at him and smiled. Bringing his mouth down on hers, he kissed her with the wonderful sweetness of familiarity. In the twenty days they'd spent on Le Bijou Bleu, Sam had allowed himself to drown in the pleasure of loving Jeannie, of being at her side night and day, of discovering the incredible sensations of having his lover experience his every emotion, just as he was beginning to experience hers.
They hadn't spoken about what was happening to him, the fact that he was becoming more and more attuned to Jeannie's thoughts and feelings with each passing day. Although Sam didn't scoff at the idea of psychic powers, having been exposed to Elizabeth's psychic talents for so many years, he'd never experienced any himself. Until now, with Jeannie. Although whatever was happening to him was on a limited basis, he had to admit that he could communicate with Jeannie telepathically, to a certain extent. And each time they made love, the sensation of feeling what she felt grew stronger and stronger. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her, experiencing his fulfillment and her own.
Manton's piano music drifted through the open French doors. Every afternoon, without fail, the gentle giant of a man played his sentimental compositions.
"Listen," Jeannie said. "That's something new. He's never played it before."
The tune seeped into Sam's mind, and for some odd reas
on, its sweet, vibrant melody resurrected long-buried memories. That night six years ago, a three-piece band had played on the riverboat nightclub owned by Louis Herriot, a man the DEA wanted badly enough to place Sam and new agent Brock Holmes in a dangerous undercover operation. And everything had gone exactly as planned, until Connie Bell inadvertently walked into the middle of things as the sting was coming down.
"Sam?" Jeannie touched his face.
He jumped, then stared at her, suddenly aware of where his thoughts were leading him. "I'm all right."
"No, you're not." She caressed his cheek.
Closing his eyes, loving the feel of her, he covered her hand. "There's no point in talking about what happened. It's over and done with, and I'll have to live with the consequences the rest of my life. All the talking in the world won't change anything."
"Talking might help you deal with the grief and the guilt." She sensed his resistance, his fear, his guilt. Several times she had been right on the verge of telling him she was aware of the terrible pain eating away at his soul, but he'd sealed himself off from her, and she had respected his privacy.
"Don't you know you can share anything with me and I'll understand? If you'll only let me, I can ease your suffering."
Releasing his hold on her, he moved away, then stood, keeping his back to her. He thrust his hands into the front pockets of the cutoff jeans he wore. "Like you did the day you saved my life?"
She shivered with the force of his anger as it spiraled inside her. Reaching for her cane that rested against the wall, she slid to the edge of the swing. "Yes, like I did the day I found you on the beach. You felt guilty for two people's deaths. You didn't think you deserved to live."
"Yeah." Sam walked down the veranda, stopping several feet away from her. "I thought I was dying, and when I came to and saw you, I thought you were an angel." He emitted a grunting laugh. "Ironic, isn't it? As it turned out, that's exactly what you were."
"You can't spend the rest of your life blaming yourself, hating yourself, letting that guilt destroy your ability to live and love." Positioning her cane, Jeannie stood and took several steps toward Sam. She laid her hand on his back. He flinched.
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