* * *
Constantly vigilant, Sam repeatedly scanned the room, which was filled with the Mississippi Gulf's elite, along with visitors from Mobile and New Orleans. Many of the people who belonged to Julian Howell's social circle, though cordial and nauseatingly polite to Jeannie, had watched her every move for the past hour during dinner. What the hell were they expecting? That she'd sprout wings and fly? Or cast a spell over the whole room? Unfortunately, there had been one dear old lady who, despite her breeding and sophistication, had been unable to refrain from requesting that Jeannie heal her spastic colon.
Julian rose from his chair, held out his hand to Marta McCorkle and asked her to dance. The warmth of her smile softened the age lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear years younger than sixty.
Sam noticed the way Jeannie watched the couples on the dance floor and couldn't help wondering if she had ever danced.
"Would you like to go downstairs and play the slot machines?" Sam asked.
"Not yet," she said. "I haven't finished my dessert." Lifting her spoon, she dipped into the chocolate mousse.
Sam concentrated on Jeannie's mouth. Full. Soft. A warm peach color. And so inviting. She ate the spoonful of mousse, then unconsciously licked her bottom lip. Sam swallowed, thinking of how her tongue had felt, mating with his, sampling his taste.
His gaze moved over her face, across her nose and her delicately tinted cheeks to her expressive brown eyes. When she smiled at him, her eyes smiled, too. Her pale eyes were almost identical in color to her beige-streaked ash brown hair.
Sam tried to return her smile, but somehow he had never perfected the art of smiling. Without opening his mouth, he curved his lips slightly. His niece Elizabeth had told him he needed to smile more, that he most certainly needed to laugh occasionally. And sometimes, with Elizabeth, he had.
"Everything's just perfect, isn't it?" Jeannie reached across the table, laying her hand flat, her palm open, gesturing for him to respond. "The weather is wonderful, not too hot, even for August. The casino is lovely, and everyone is having a good time."
Julian and Marta had kept a steady stream of conversation going during dinner, but Jeannie had been very quiet. He had noticed she wasn't prone to idle chitchat and that suited him fine. What didn't suit him was the way she kept getting inside his head. He had felt her probing a couple of times and had blocked her entrance. They were alone at the table now. If she had something to say to him, she could use the normal means of communication.
"Are you having a good time?" he asked, glancing at her hand, wanting to cover it with his. But if he touched her, she would connect with him. She would feel what he felt. And he'd be powerless to stop her.
"I'm pleased that we've had such a good turnout. If this function brings in a lot of money for the Howell School, Mr. VanDevere, the CEO of the company that owns the Royal Belle, has agreed to make it an annual affair."
Sam followed Jeannie's gaze to the dance floor, to Marta in Julian's arms. The older couple were gliding smoothly in a slow two-step.
Sam glanced down at Jeannie's hand again. She curled her fingers, relaxed them, curled them, relaxed them, signaling him to touch her. "How long have Julian and Marta been dating?"
"For several years. They've known each other since they were children. Julian and Miriam were close friends with Marta and her husband, who died a year after Miriam."
"Julian told me before we left the house that he wouldn't be coming home until morning." Sam watched her face for a reaction. "He said that you'd know where to reach him."
"He and Marta have been lovers for about a year now." Jeannie's smile widened. A sigh of humming laughter vibrated from her throat. "You aren't surprised, are you?"
"No. Besides, it's none of my business." He wished she'd take her hand away; the temptation to accept her invitation overpowered his common sense.
He laid his hand in hers. She grasped it gently. He repeated the gesture. Sam stared directly into her compelling brown eyes and knew he'd have a hell of a time denying this woman anything. Just as a tingle of awareness passed between Jeannie and Sam, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.
Sam released Jeannie's hand, scooted back his chair and stood. He stepped away from the table, making sure Jeannie couldn't overhear his conversation. "What's wrong?"
"Maynard Reeves just arrived with a lady named Danette Suddath." Hawk inclined his head to the left.
Sam scanned the area to their left, catching a glimpse of Reeves's sandy hair, gleaming in the muted lounge light. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed Hawk by the arm. "Why the hell did the guards let him in here?"
"The lady has an invitation, and he's her guest," Hawk said. "Kane is making a phone call to check on this Suddath woman, but she acts like she belongs here. She's spoken to several people, calling them by their first names."
"Reeves is a strong antigambling advocate." Sam repeatedly clenched and unclenched his hands. "I wonder how he'll justify socializing in this den of iniquity."
"I'll keep tabs on Reeves," Hawk assured Sam. "And as soon as Kane gets any information on the woman, I'll let you know."
"I don't want Reeves here, but there seems to be nothing we can do at the moment."
Turning around in her seat, Jeannie called out to Sam. "Is something wrong? Is there some problem I should know about?"
"Make sure he doesn't come anywhere near her," Sam told Hawk. "Stop him before I have to."
Hawk nodded, then made his way across the room, heading directly to the lounge area. Sam held out his hand to Jeannie. Staring up at him, she gave him a quizzical look.
"No problems," he lied, and wondered how long it would take her to realize the truth. "Hawk was just checking in with me." Sam wiggled his fingers. "Come on, Jeannie, dance with me."
He saw the warm, glowing light in her eyes die. Dammit! Had she already seen through his lie? Was she aware of Reeves's presence?
"I—I don't dance," she said.
"What?"
"I don't dance, because of my legs." She bowed her head deliberately, to avoid looking at Sam. "You know I can't walk without my cane. I can't dance. I'd only make a spectacle of myself if I tried."
"Have you ever tried?"
"Once, when I was a teenager. Miriam tried to teach me, but we soon realized it was hopeless. I'm not able to move without bracing myself with my cane."
Sam lifted her walking stick and handed it to her. "How about a stroll around the deck instead?"
Raising her head, she nodded agreement, a flicker of a smile forming on her lips. She stood, supporting herself with her cane, and took Sam's hand. He slipped his arm around her waist and led her away from the lounge area and out onto the open deck of the riverboat.
It was not quite eight-thirty, and the sun had just set. The summer twilight spread gold across the sky, gilding the clouds, as the aureate Gulf waters rhythmically bathed the tawny shore. The evening breeze, pleasant and soothing, caressed Jeannie's hair; several loose tendrils blew across her cheeks.
They walked the length of the deck, reaching a secluded corner. The music from the live band echoed on the wind and water. Sam slowed their walk, then halted. Jeannie glanced up at him.
"Are you going to tell me why you rushed me outside so quickly?" she asked, sensing the tension in Sam's big body, knowing from merely touching him that he was concerned about something.
Tightening his hold around her waist, he turned her to face him. He lifted her left hand, placing it on his shoulder. "Hold on tight," he said, then took her cane out of her hand. Gasping loudly, she grabbed his other shoulder with her right hand. He hung her cane on the deck rail.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to dance. I'll support you securely in my arms. Trust me. You can dance. You can dance with me."
"Sam, no, I—"
"No one can see us. We're all alone out here."
"I can't. I—"
"Kick off your shoes, then lift your left foot and put it on top o
f mine," he told her.
"What?"
"Don't ask questions. Just do as I say."
She obeyed his command, stepping out of her shoes and placing her left foot on top of his. "I don't see how my stepping on your feet is going to—"
"Haven't you ever seen little girls dancing with their fathers?"
"You can't mean…"
"Put your right foot on mine. We're going to dance."
"I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown woman. And I'm not light as a feather."
"I'm a big man, with big feet," he said. "And you're a small woman, with small feet. You'll feel as light as a feather to me."
Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her right foot and placed it atop his. The moment the deed was completed, Sam moved, cautiously, without any sense of rhythm at first, allowing Jeannie a few moments to adjust to the new and unusual sensation of someone else actually walking for her. And that was all Sam did for a while, simply walked her backward and forward. With her arms draped around his neck, her body pressed intimately against his, she gradually relinquished all control to Sam. Her trust in him was that great.
"See how easy it is when you do what I tell you to do?"
She jerked her head up, glaring at him, but when he smiled, she smiled, too, unable to resist the magnetism of his smile. No wonder he didn't do it often, or so completely. His smile was devastating.
"You like being right, don't you?" Laying her head on his chest, she cuddled closer, and was pleased when she heard his indrawn breath.
"Yeah, I like being right." With one hand still bracing her back, he eased his other hand downward, from her waist to the curve of her buttocks.
The romantic strains of "I Love How You Love Me" floated on the night air, strings and brass blending into a sweet harmony. Sam moved his big body to the soft, slow melody, encompassing Jeannie in his embrace as he carried her across the deck, her small feet welded atop his much larger ones. Their bodies swayed in perfect unison, in tune with each other and the flow of the music.
She closed her eyes, absorbing the beauty of the moment, allowing herself to enjoy the pleasure of dancing and the joy of being in Sam Dundee's strong arms. She had never known anything like this incredible sensation. Dancing. Dancing in Sam's arms. Gliding across the floor as if she had wings on her feet.
Opening her eyes, she glanced over Sam's shoulder and saw the pale form of the moon, the darkening sky and the first glimmer of a twinkling star. She tilted her head.
Sam looked down at her. She smiled at him. Lowering his head, he rubbed his cheek against hers.
"Thank you," she said, then closed her eyes again, sighing, wishing this moment could last forever. Sam had given her this gift. Dancing in the moonlight.
She could not imagine any woman not wanting to be in Sam Dundee's arms. He was so incredibly handsome, so big and powerful. So absolutely debonair in his black tux and unadorned white shirt. In the pale moonlight, his blond hair had turned to burnished flaxen silk, and his eyes had warned to a smoldering slate blue.
As he waltzed her around the deck, Jeannie sensed the hazy glow she often felt just before connecting with another person's emotions. Then she felt the tiny electrical currents of awareness that came when she began picking up signals from within the other person. She could block these feelings if she tried hard enough, if she ended the physical contact. But this was Sam, unguarded and receptive. How could she not take the opportunity to share what he was feeling?
Jeannie. Sweet Jeannie. She was the very embodiment of femininity, of a woman's loving, nurturing nature. Her generous heart exposed her to the pain of others, and her healing touch absorbed that pain. How unfair life was, that a woman this gentle and kind had the ability to suffer the most excruciating pain for others, even healing them on a temporary basis, and yet was unable to ease her own pain, either physical or emotional.
Sam ran his hand over her buttocks, savoring the feel of the light peach silk covering her body. Pressing her against him, into his arousal, he kissed the top of her head. She sighed.
He wanted to take her mouth, to lift her in his arms and carry her away, to bury himself deep within her body. And he wanted her to know exactly how he felt. Slowing his movements, he danced her back against the wooden surface of the outer wall. She made no protest, verbally or telepathically. Indeed, she welcomed him, clinging to him, sending him a silent message of acceptance.
Lifting her off his feet, anchoring her between his hard body and the wall, supporting her with his arms, Sam circled her lips with the tip of his tongue. Her moist lips opened, issuing him an invitation. On the verge of losing his reason, he kissed her. She returned the kiss, enticing him with her body and her mind. He read her clearly, and knew she understood precisely what he wanted from her.
Her kisses were pure sweet fire, burning him in their intensity. Throwing caution to the wind, he devoured her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, gripping her buttocks, straining against her. She clung to him, joining fully in the savagery of his kiss, returning full measure the heat of his passion.
He knew that she felt what he felt, wanted what he wanted. And in a sudden, blinding flash of realization, Sam sensed her physical yearning and her emotional desires. My God, it wasn't possible! He couldn't have actually tapped into her feelings.
The pleasure for both of them intensified, building higher and higher as they kissed and touched, their bodies undulating to the sensuous beat of primeval mating. He wanted to rip her clothes off her body and take her, here, now, with no thought of the consequences.
He had to stop, or there would be no turning back. He ended the kiss, his breathing ragged, his face and hands damp with sweat. Jeannie pressed her face against his shoulder.
"Oh, Sam … Sam…"
He eased her slowly to her feet, slipped his arm around her and held her close. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart. When she tried to comfort him by taking some of his throbbing need into her own body, he stopped her, knowing she ached with the same painful desire that racked him from head to toe.
"I can handle it," he said. "I may not be as strong as you are, angel, but I'll survive until—" he cupped the back of her head in his big hand "—until you take away this sweet ache when we make love."
"Tonight," she whispered, not knowing where his desire ended and hers began.
"Tonight," he agreed, kissing her again, but ending the kiss quickly. "Come on, Jeannie, dance with me again."
"Oh, yes, Sam, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
With her arms draped around his neck and her feet atop his, Jeannie surrendered herself to the sensual pleasure of dancing with Sam. He glided her across the deck, the soft evening breeze caressing their bodies as the twilight shadows surrounded them.
Glancing over Jeannie's shoulder, Sam saw Hawk standing in the doorway. Hawk nodded, then returned inside the restaurant. Quickly Sam checked his watch. They'd been on deck nearly an hour; it was time for Hawk to report in. Was Reeves still aboard the Royal Belle? Sam wondered, still trying to figure out why the reverend had made an appearance tonight. There was something not quite right about Reeves showing up at this charity function.
Feeling the sudden jolt of unease that hit him in the stomach, Jeannie looked at him, willing him to explain. He walked her to the deck's rail, removed her cane and placed it in her hand. Bending on one knee, he lifted her foot and slipped on her shoe, then repeated the process with her other foot.
He started walking them around the deck, but she halted, and he had little choice but to stop. Trying to block his emotions so that she couldn't pick up on them, Sam refused to look at her.
"What's the problem?" she asked. "What do you not want me to know?"
"There's no problem. I've got everything under control. Enjoy the evening, and don't worry." There was no need for her to know that Maynard Reeves was on board the Royal Belle. Hawk and Kane would follow orders and keep the man away from Jeannie.
She knew Sam wasn't going to tell her what
was bothering him. She appreciated his wanting to protect her from any unpleasantness, but at the same time, she resented his treating her as if she were made of spun glass, some fragile, easily broken doll. With an unexpected flash of clarity, she heard the words fragile angel, and knew she'd read Sam's thoughts, without his knowledge.
He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand, caressing her tenderly. "How long do you have to stay at this function in order to be socially correct?"
"I need to make an appearance in the gaming room." There was no point in pressing him about whatever was bothering him. Sooner or later, even if he chose not to share it with her, she would sense it. "We can play the slot machines or try the blackjack table. It doesn't matter, as long as I lose some money to set an example for the other guests."
"I suppose knowing their losses are going to a worthy cause will make losing a little easier."
Leading her inside to the restaurant level, Sam glanced toward the lounge. No sight of Maynard Reeves or Hawk, but Kane was headed in Sam's direction.
"I need to speak to Kane," Sam said. "Would you mind waiting back at the table for a few minutes?"
"All right." She patted him on the arm. "It's only a couple of yards away. I can walk over there without your help."
Acting as if he hadn't heard her, Sam escorted her to their table and seated her, then turned around and met his agent. Pulling Kane aside, making sure Jeannie couldn't overhear their conversation, Sam placed his hand on the other man's shoulder.
"Where's Reeves?"
"Hawk followed him and his lady friend downstairs into the gaming room," Kane said.
"Did you get any information on the woman?"
"She's an invited guest, a widow whose husband left her millions."
"Any idea what her connection is to Reeves?" Sam was aware of how charming Reeves might be to a lonely widow with plenty of money in the bank and the right social connections.
"She's a new convert to his Righteous Light Church." Kane hesitated, drew in a deep breath and looked Sam straight in the eye. "She has a daughter who's a student at the Howell School."
Guarding Jeannie tp-5 Page 11
