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, filled 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."