Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  She smiled. “I think I found that hidden weapon.”

  Jamie chuckled throatily. “Shouldn’t you check and make sure? You wouldn’t want to be mistaken about a thing like that.”

  Her gaze was drawn inexorably to that severely strained button fly. Again he was inviting her to be the one to take things a step further. The problem was, even before the lightning, she’d been unused to having control in sexual situations. Now, after four years without human touch, she wasn’t quite sure if she knew what to do.

  She hesitated long enough that he said, “Darlin’, if you’re not comfortable with this—”

  “Shh.” India silenced him with a kiss, a long one, during which she brought one hand slowly around to the front of his jeans. She paused briefly, then pressed it over his erection, capturing his spontaneous moan in her mouth. She stroked him through the coarse fabric, gratified to feel his entire body tighten in response.

  When she started undoing the buttons, he broke the kiss. “India... darlin’. I’m not going to lie to you. If we do this, it’s going to get to the point where... I’m not going to be able to stop. Even if you want me to.”

  “I won’t want you to.” She reached under the waistband of his undershorts and closed her hand around his hot flesh.

  He groaned. “Oh, God.” After only a few seconds of her fondling, he seized her wrist. “If you do that, I won’t be able to last. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  India studied Jamie—six and a half feet of nonstop male in unbuttoned jeans, golden and virile in the firelight—and laughed inwardly at the notion that he could ever, in a million years, disappoint her. If anyone blew it, it would be her. What if her mental TV switched on at an inopportune moment and she panicked?

  He gathered her in his arms. “Nothing bad’s going to happen.” He’d read her mind. Was that his blue sense or just deductive reasoning? Or could it be that special affinity lovers were supposed to share? “It’ll be beautiful,” he murmured reassuringly, then placed a hand over the juncture of her thighs, lightly fondling her through the denim. “Let me show you.”

  She nodded. He unzipped her jeans and squatted down to slide them over her hips and fling them aside. Now eye-level with her gold satin string bikini panties, he grinned in appreciation. “Oh, those are very nice. I like those a lot.” Then, taking her by her hands, he pulled her down onto the thick rug and laid her gently on her back.

  She reached for him. He settled onto her carefully, conscious, probably, of his size. Their mouths met in a searing, endless kiss, their legs—hers bare, his still clad in jeans—tangling as they moved together in an instinctive rhythm. He rolled them to the side and cupped her satin-covered bottom, then slid a hand beneath her panties and around to the front, over her damp flesh. He paused as if waiting for her to stop him. When, instead, she covered his hand with her own and pressed it against her, he lowered it and slid a long finger deep inside. India gasped with pleasure.

  “You’re so wet,” he murmured as he caressed her intimately. “I want so much to be inside you.”

  She was ready for him—more than ready. She tore at his jeans and shorts. He sat up with his back to her and swept both off quickly, then pulled a little packet out of his wallet and ripped it open. India wriggled out of her panties, relieved that she didn’t have to bring up the subject of protection. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she reached down and stroked him sensually.

  “India... that feels too good. You’d better not. You’ll make me lose control.”

  “I want you to. I want us both to.” She did. He’d been holding back all along, pacing himself, treating her as if she were made out of spun glass. But she didn’t need that, didn’t want it. She wanted him to take her with primal abandon, as he had in her amazingly erotic dream. She wanted to join with him in a wild, unthinking frenzy. After four years of sensual famine, she was in the mood for a feast!

  He made a sound like a groan crossed with a chuckle as she escalated her efforts to drive him to the edge. “Stop, darlin’. Please.”

  Something made her say, “Make me.” Abruptly he turned, grabbed both her wrists, and pinned her to the rug with breathtaking speed. He wore a “this’ll-teach-you” grin, but his eyes glittered with genuine hunger. His strength and the intensity of his need excited her enormously. He kissed her so hard, it almost hurt. Parting her legs with his knee, he released her hands and reached beneath her to lift her hips.

  He had barely positioned himself to enter her when her mental TV switched on, and she cried out, struggling. All she saw was herself, in a blinding procession of images bursting one after another across her field of vision. All her thoughts were his and his alone, all her feelings those of a painfully aroused man about to bury himself deep inside a woman—inside her!

  Jamie’s voice joined the cacophony in her mind. “The remote, India! Picture the remote. You’re holding a remote. Press the Off button.”

  The remote. The remote. With a tremendous effort of will, she managed to do as he commanded. She pressed the imaginary little red button and the mental bombardment ceased.

  When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on her back, Jamie hovering solicitously over her. “You all right?”

  She nodded. He lay on his left side next to her, his back to the fire, and she curled into his embrace.

  He kissed her hair, lightly massaged her back. “What triggered it? Do you know?”

  “I think so,” she mumbled into his woolly chest. “I think what happened was I just reached a... a threshold. I was able to block out your feelings until they got to a certain point....”

  “A flash point,” he said. “Like when paper gets to 451 degrees and suddenly bursts into flame.”

  “Like that, yeah. I guess I can only take so much... well, heat.”

  “Things tend to get pretty hot when people make love, darlin’. We may have a bit of a problem here.”

  She groaned. “A problem? It’s a tragedy. For me, at least. I really wanted this. I wanted so much to make love to you.”

  “Whoa.” Jamie backed away a bit so he could look her in the eye. “I just said we had a problem. Problems can be solved. I’m not very good at admitting defeat, remember?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “India, you say you want this. With me, it goes beyond wanting. It’s right up there with breathing, at this point. I need you. More than I’ve ever needed any woman. I need to make love to you. And I’m going to. Tonight.”

  India found her defeatism evaporating under the weight of Jamie’s single-minded determination. She actually smiled. “All right, hotshot. I’m waiting for the brilliant plan.”

  He settled down again and stroked her hair. “I’ve been thinking. Your fear of touch manifests itself in the form of other people’s thoughts and feelings.”

  Smoothly put, India thought, reflecting that he’d just restated—albeit diplomatically—his conviction that her ESP wasn’t for real. He considered it a psychological aberration, just as Perry and her parents had. The fact that she was lying naked in Jamie’s arms right now made his disbelief all the more painful. She had never intended to let him get this close to her. A relationship with James Keegan could only bring her more of the anguish she’d spent four years trying to escape. Don’t think about it tonight, she commanded herself. She’d have to deal with it soon, though, and she didn’t relish the prospect.

  “You’ve made some progress in keeping these episodes from occurring,” he continued, “but the truth is, they may never go away entirely. Ten years from now, something may trigger one.”

  “Where’s the brilliant part?” she asked dispiritedly.

  “I’m coming to it.” He rose up on an elbow, his right arm draped protectively around her. “The problem isn’t really the episodes themselves, but the fact that you panic when they happen to you. You feel helpless, out of control. I’m thinking that maybe the key to dealing with episodes like this is knowing—really knowing—that you can turn them o
ff at will.” He frowned in thought for a moment and then asked, “Have you ever gone downhill skiing?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know that out-of-control, panicky feeling, your first time out, when you’re speeding down that slope and you’re not sure you can stop?” She nodded. “But then you get good at stopping, and everything’s great after that. Not only do you not panic anymore, you actually enjoy the experience.”

  “Are you saying I might someday enjoy my psychic episodes, as long as I know I can turn them off?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Why not? As long as you really know you can turn them off. With absolute certainty. So much so that even when you get ambushed by one, like you did just now, all you have to do is—” he shrugged “—push the Off button.” He kissed her and enfolded her in his arms. “The next time it happens, don’t panic. That’s the important thing—don’t panic. Stay calm. Take a deep breath. And then picture that remote in your hand.”

  “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  “Good. Now, close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Irritating wench.” He kissed her eyelids closed. “Because I said so.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” she mumbled as he began drawing his fingers through her hair.

  “And breathe in deeply, then let it out slowly. And again.” He stroked her lightly as he urged her, in a low, soothing voice, to let go of her tension, to concentrate only on what she was feeling. India’s response to the now familiar routine was so ingrained that she felt its tranquilizing effect almost instantly.

  “Feel the rug underneath you,” he said. “Feel my body next to you, and the heat from the fireplace. Feel my hand, touching you.” He trailed his fingers over her face, her throat, her breasts and hips. “Feel me touching you. Just that. Just my hand on your skin.” He traced paths of heat all over her body, heat that awakened as it soothed.

  India felt him ease her onto her back, but he stayed close, his mesmerizing caress never pausing. She sensed warmth near her mouth, and then the whispery movement of his lips as he murmured, “Focus on where I’m touching you. Let everything else fade away.”

  He kissed her lightly, then glided his hand down her belly, and lower, to explore her damp heat. “Just feel this,” he whispered as he worked his magic, coaxing her gradually into a state of breathless arousal. She heard soft moans and realized they were hers. She felt movement, and knew she was writhing with pleasure in his arms. In the midst of this sweet delirium, she became dimly aware of him shifting himself, and her, so that their legs were scissored together, he still on his side next to her, she on her back.

  “Just feel,” he whispered as another sensation joined that of his caressing fingers—the sensation of pressure as he prepared to enter her. “Just feel.” She felt him push in, just a little, and then stop. “What do you feel?”

  “Heat,” she murmured, opening her eyes to meet his intent gaze. “Stretching.”

  “It’s been a long time for you. It’s not uncomfortable...?”

  “No, it feels tight, but... wonderful.”

  “Yes.” He pressed in slightly further. “Incredible.”

  She wondered how it felt for him, then quickly banished such speculation from her mind. Just feel just feel just feel.

  He continued touching her as he filled her, little by little, speaking softly to her, taking his time. The effect was intoxicating; she’d never felt so inflamed, never been kept hovering so long on the brink of release.

  Sweat-dampened hair hung across his forehead. She felt a shudder pass through him, and he closed his eyes, his body taut, his face flushed. Just feel just feel just feel...

  But this time the TV did click on. She stilled, strange new sensations gripping her body as her mind exploded with fleeting images—her pale skin, her soft breasts, her ethereal eyes. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  Taking a deep breath, she visualized the remote in her hand and knew she could stop this any time she wanted. That knowledge gave her the confidence to pause a moment and consider, as a matter of curiosity, exactly what it was she—or rather, he—was feeling.

  She felt his tightly clenched muscles, the knot of pleasure in his groin, but most of all the enormous strain of holding back... for her. She felt a current of tenderness within him, felt his deep concern and affection for her. But most of all she felt the extraordinary thrill of hot, wet flesh closing tightly around him, inciting him to drive himself deep into her warmth—an urge he struggled to rein in, for her sake. Hold back... take it easy...

  Enough. In her mind’s eye she pressed the red button on the remote, and in a heartbeat she was herself again, looking into his eyes, glazed as if with fever. She guided his head toward her and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “You don’t have to hold back, Jamie,” she whispered.

  “But—”

  “Please don’t.” She reached down, pressing on his hips as she lifted hers.

  Jamie groaned as he sank deep inside her.

  “Please,” she breathed as she flexed her hips again. “I want this.”

  That was all it took. Abandoning his resistance, Jamie thrust again, and again, deeply but at a wonderfully unhurried pace. India met his languid strokes, their sweat-slicked bodies writhing in intuitive rhythm. She felt drunk with pleasure, losing track of time as he kept her suspended, trembling on the edge of climax. He knew just how to move to drive her to the limit and hold her there, backing off now and then to make it last before renewing his efforts.

  “Jamie,” she panted, feeling her fingers dig into his hips. He, too, was shaking with his need; she knew he was close. “Oh, Jamie, please. Now.”

  He touched her lightly where their bodies were connected. It was like pushing a button. Pleasure exploded inside her and she cried out, shuddering violently.

  “Yes,” Jamie whispered hoarsely as he caressed her, extending her climax for so long that she thought she might die from gratification.

  As her pleasure ebbed, he locked his arms around her and shifted, deepening his penetration. His entire body quivered, every muscle tight as he drove into her with increasing urgency. He moaned and threw his head back, his body rigid.

  India’s mental TV flickered on, but all she saw was blinding white light. She instantly squeezed her eyes closed, picturing the remote. Don’t panic.

  Her overriding sensation was of a white-hot, excruciating pleasure centered in her groin... his groin... no, hers. She thrust her hips reflexively, and a growl of fulfillment rumbled all around her as that pleasure spread in pulsing waves throughout her body. She heard her name called out, and her own shuddering groan as the pleasure erupted, pumping from her in hot, fierce bursts.

  Two voices cried out in unison; two bodies quaked with a single, shattering release.

  * * *

  “INDIA? DARLIN’, OPEN your eyes. Please.”

  With a supreme effort, India lifted her heavy eyelids and saw Jamie’s face, very close to hers, his eyes wide with concern. She felt softness all around her and saw that she lay on the sofa, naked under an afghan. He knelt beside her. “Jamie?”

  He let out a giant lungful of air and cupped her face with his big hands. “Thank God. I thought maybe you’d stroked out or something. I was just about to call for an ambulance.”

  “What... what...?”

  “You fainted, I guess. A couple of minutes go.” A lopsided grin replaced his worried expression. “Was I that good?”

  She chuckled, but it emerged as a growl. “Oh, my God, Jamie. Oh, my God...”

  He laughed incredulously. “Yeah, it was pretty amazing. Especially at the end. I thought you were done, and then... God, it was wonderful. What happened?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  He lay down next to her and gathered her in his arms. “Try me.”

  She bit her lip. “Remember when you said I might actually be able to enjoy my psychic episodes, as long as I knew I could stop them?”

  �
��You mean...” He blinked. “You’re saying that’s what happened at the end? You felt me... you felt it when I...”

  “Everything.”

  He nodded carefully.

  “You don’t think that’s possible,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  He kissed her forehead. “It’s awfully tempting to think it is. It would be incredible, if that could really happen.” He took a deep breath. “But the truth doesn’t care what we want it to be. It just is.”

  A great sadness engulfed India. “So you still don’t believe me. Even a little bit.”

  He ran his hands through her hair. “Darlin’, it’s not a matter of belief, exactly. It’s more a matter of interpretation.”

  India thought about that. She captured his gaze with hers and said quietly, “No, it’s not, Jamie. I wish it was, but it’s not. It’s entirely a matter of belief. Of faith. Your faith in me. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I can’t just shrug off your disbelief the way you want me to. Especially now, after... after tonight.”

  He studied her for a moment. He didn’t look happy. “What are you saying?”

  The phone rang before India could formulate an answer.

  Jamie sighed irritably. “I’m on duty. I have to answer that in case it’s for me.”

  He crossed the room and picked up the phone in the corner. “Keegan. Yeah, hi, Sam. What’s up?”

  In the dim light of the dying fire, India saw that he’d put his jeans back on while she’d been unconscious, but clearly rather hurriedly. They were only halfway buttoned, revealing a patch of dark hair where the top of his undershorts would have been had he bothered with them. She closed her eyes and looked away, wishing he wasn’t so damned sexy.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jamie growled. A pause. “Where was the body found?”

  India sat up, wrapping the afghan around her.

  Jamie looked at his wrist and grimaced to find it bare. “It’s what, about nine-thirty? Do me a favor, Sam. Send a uniform over to keep an eye on—” He smiled briefly, but it never reached his eyes. “You are one step ahead of me. Thanks. Yeah, Len will do—just barely. I’ll head on over there now. Tell those clowns not to even think about touching anything unless they’re looking for a demotion.”