in her that he instinctively knew that only an abundance of love could ever lessen it.
The telephone on the nightstand rang. Jeannie reached out to answer it; Sam grabbed the phone.
She glared at him. 'I don't like not being able to answer the phone in my own home.'
He thrust the phone at her. 'Here, answer it!'
Snatching the telephone out of his hands, she scooted to the center of the bed and turned her back on him. 'Hello. Oh, hi, Julian.' She cut her eyes in Sam's direction. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. 'No, no, you musn't come home for dinner on my account. Ollie's prepared us a nice light chicken salad. You go ahead and take Marta out for dinner.'
Sam hated it when Jeannie confronted him with her displeasure over his specific orders. One of his rules was to always let Ollie, Julian or him answer the phone if she chose not to let the answering machine get it. He'd also strongly advised her to allow him to take care of her mail, without her ever having to see it. But she was so damned stubborn. She didn't like having her routine disrupted and seemed to resent his suggested changes, changes meant to protect her.
Jeannie replaced the telephone on the nightstand. 'Who did you think it was, Maynard Reeves? I doubt he has our new number, since it's unlisted.'
'There are ways to get unlisted numbers.' Sam stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, lifting the edges of his jacket, revealing the hip holster that held his Ruger.
Jeannie shivered at the sight of the gun. She hated guns, hated weapons of any sort. But she understood the necessity of Sam carrying a gun. There were bound to be times when a man in his line of work would have to rely on more than brute strength.
How difficult it must be for him, Jeannie thought, to protect others, to carry the burden of their security on his wide shoulders. She could not imagine a man more suited for the job, a man more capable. Despite his cool and aloof attitude, his hard, ironclad exterior, Sam Dundee possessed a golden center of gentle strength and loving compassion. He would deny its existence, perhaps didn't even know of its existence, but Jeannie knew. She knew because she had once tapped into that golden core, had touched the secret heart and soul of this man.
She knew she shouldn't be fighting him at every turn, repeatedly refusing to follow his orders. No, not orders, exactly. Perhaps directions was a better term. He didn't make suggestions to irritate her, even though they did; no, he made suggestions he thought would protect her.
'You're right about these letters. There's really no need for me to go through them.' She mixed together the three piles of correspondence, scooped them up in her hands and placed them in the curve of her left arm. Bracing herself with her cane, she walked into the sitting room and tossed the letters into the brass wastepaper basket near the mahogany writing desk. 'From now on, you can handle all the mail. And I won't answer the phone again.'
'Such easy compliance, Ms. Alverson.' Sam's lips twitched in an almost smile. 'What brought about this sudden change of heart?'
'It wasn't sudden,' she admitted. 'I've been thinking about all the suggestions you've made, and I realize that if I continue being stubborn, I'll make your job more difficult. I don't want to do that.'
'I appreciate your cooperation.' Dear God, how he wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss those full, sweet lips and hear her sigh.
Jeannie avoided eye contact with Sam, sensing a growing hunger within him. She had never before been confronted with a man's needs—needs that she wanted to fulfill. She knew very little about male-female relationships, had distanced herself from the sensual side of her nature, but Sam Dundee made her want to explore that unknown.
A soft knock on the door came as a welcome relief. Sam opened the door to Ollie, who came bustling in, carrying a cloth-covered silver tray.
'I've brought your supper up here, just as you requested,' she said to Jeannie, who willed herself not to blush. 'Just leave everything on the tray when you're finished, and I'll take care of it in the morning.'
'Thank you.' Jeannie smiled at Ollie, then turned her attention to the silver tray that the housekeeper had placed on the Battenburg-lace-covered round table.
Ollie excused herself, leaving Jeannie and Sam alone. Lifting the cloth covering the tray, Sam surveyed the contents of their meal. Chicken salad, croissants, fresh fruit and cheese.
'Sit down, please.' Jeannie lifted her eyes and glanced directly at Sam.
'Ladies first.' He pulled out her chair and seated her, his hand brushing her shoulder. He sat across from her, watching while she poured hot tea into the delicate Lenox cups. Her hands quivered ever so slightly. Sam glanced down at the china plate containing a mound of freshly prepared chicken salad lying on a bed of crisp lettuce.
He made her nervous. Sam found that realization strangely reassuring. Obviously he wasn't the only one experiencing an unnerving, unwanted attraction. Since arriving in Biloxi yesterday, Sam had felt unbalanced, as if his equilibrium were a bit off center. Jeannie Alverson had that effect on him.
With emotions he usually had no trouble keeping under control gone haywire, Sam had no point of reference in how to deal with what he felt. He was torn between his desire to protect Jeannie at all costs and to repay the debt he owed her for saving his life, and another, equally strong desire. The desire to claim her, body and soul … his primeval masculine need to possess. Heaven help him if he ever acted on his desires—heaven help them both.
'You aren't eating.' Jeannie's smile trembled, her brown eyes questioning his silent absorption in his dinner plate.
Picking up his fork, he lifted a small portion of salad to his mouth and ate. He nodded, then glanced at Jeannie. 'It's delicious.'
But not as delicious as her mouth last night, when he'd taken one tender kiss. Being with her, wanting her so desperately and knowing he was totally wrong for her, only added to Sam's confusion. He had never known a woman like Jeannie, and he'd have bet his last dime that she'd never known a man like him. They were poles apart, opposite ends of a spectrum—a physical man and a spiritual woman.
He had once run away from his past, from the painful memories and the woman who had saved his life. Now he was trapped by a promise he'd made, captured by his own deepest, most primitive needs. Needs that could destroy him if he didn't keep them under control.
They ate in silence, each sneaking occasional glances at the other. The room was utterly, devastatingly quiet, the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the clink of silver against china the only sounds.
If the silence continued much longer, Jeannie thought she might scream. How had this happened, this long stretch of tense stillness? They were aware of each other to such a heightened degree that Jeannie began to sense Sam's thoughts. The moment she realized he was fighting the desire to kiss her, she immediately withdrew, ending the connection.
Jeannie's telepathic abilities had always been extremely limited. She and Manton could converse, and in the last days of Miriam's life, they had been able to connect. But Sam was the only other person with whom she had shared this rare joining, and he would not admit it, even to himself.
Scooting back his chair, Sam stood, then tossed his linen napkin down on the table and glared at Jeannie. 'You were doing it again, weren't you? Trying to get inside my head.'
Tilting her chin defiantly, she looked up at him. 'I couldn't have made the connection without your cooperation. You were connecting with me, too. That's why I was able to sense what you were feeling.'
He rounded the table so quickly that when he hauled Jeannie to her feet, she cried out in alarm. She clung to his arms, feeling the bulging muscles beneath his jacket and shirt.
'Don't do it again! I don't want any connection, any 'spiritual joining.' Got it?'
'You want to kiss me,' she said. 'That's why you're so angry. You don't like my knowing how much you'd like to kiss me.'
'What?'
'I'd like to kiss you, too.'
'Lady, are you out of your mind?'
'Maybe I am, but I've never been truly kissed by a man, and the thought of your kissing me intrigues me.'
'You're paying me to be your bodyguard,' Sam said. 'Not your lover.'
She covered his lips with her fingertips. 'Shhh. I'm not asking you to make love to me, just to kiss me. What's
