"Savannah," he said huskily. "Savannah, I—I—"
The words he needed were there. So close. So very close. He just couldn't find them. He only knew that whatever was happening to her was happening to him, too.
It was magic, and only a fool would try putting a name to magic.
Savannah had never lived with a man before.
Her years with Alain didn't count. She'd been a guest on his yacht and in his chateau, always with a room and bath of her own and no greater connection to him than to the servants who attended him.
Now, she knew she hadn't been a guest at all. She'd been a servant, a different kind of servant, but that was what she'd been. His cook prepared meals, his maid cleaned, his chauffeur drove his big black limousine...
And she was a source of amusement.
All this time she'd let herself think she was valuable to him because she played cards so well. The truth, which she'd only just started admitting to herself, was that she was good but Alain was better. Aside from that, she'd been his clever pet. A puppy taken from the streets, cleaned up, taught manners and little tricks.
He'd liked teaching her which fork to use, which wine to drink because it made him feel superior. But most of all, he'd liked watching her sit at a table filled with important men and beat them at cards because the men all thought he was the reason she was so skilled.
Now, it would give him a bigger kick to sell her to them.
Horrid as the thought was, she knew it was the truth. That was what he'd intended all along. Alain had simply used what had happened with Sean as an excuse to move up the calendar.
Was he sick? Evil? She didn't care. Fate had given her the chance to escape and she was going to take it.
It was the same fate that had given her Sean O'Connell— and would, she was certain, eventually take him from her.
Winning streaks never lasted.
The longer they lived together in the house on the beach, the more terrible that truth became.
Savannah told herself not to think about it. To enjoy these days. These nights. To be happy.
Oh, and she was happy! It didn't matter what they did. Dance in one of the island's beautiful clubs, walk the beach barefoot, dine in an elegant restaurant, have conch burgers at a little shack Sean knew near the harbor, or grill lobsters when the sun sank into the sea, whatever they did was wonderful. Her lover was wonderful. And she—she—
Savannah's thoughts skittered in panic. She what? Feelings were dangerous things. Life had taught her that early on. What she felt for Sean was affection. Gratitude. Respect. There was no sense in trying to make more of it than it was.
She did love being with him. It was safe to use the word that way. He seemed to enjoy being with her, too. True to his promise, they spent their days learning about each other. He was a meat-and-potatoes guy. She preferred salads. He liked watching documentaries on TV. She liked watching old movies. He liked chess. She'd never played the game. He taught her and after a slow start, their games often ended in stalemates.
He also adored rough-and-tumble sports. She learned that the hard way, when he swore up and down one rainy night that there was nothing on their satellite TV but football, rugby and soccer.
"Liar," she said huffily, snatching the remote from him and clicking through the channels until she found a pair of women earnestly discussing how to get in touch with your inner self. She suffered through five minutes of it until Sean groaned and held his hands over his ears. Then she giggled, flung herself on him and said there were really better ways to get in touch with your inner self.
And he obliged. They loved and played and avoided anything serious...until one morning. They were having breakfast on the patio—mangoes from a roadside stand, croissants from a bakery in Bijou—when Sean suddenly asked her a question. "Tell me about yourself," he said.
The question took her by surprise. She looked up from her plate and flashed a quick smile.
"There's not much left to tell. I mean, you already know I can't cook worth a hill of beans. Remember those conch fritters?"
She grinned but he wasn't going to let her off. She knew it as soon as he took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it.
"Come on, Savannah. Think of all I've told you about me these past days."
It was true. He'd regaled her with stories about his family, about growing up in a big, glitzy hotel.
"Compared to yours, my life story's dull."
"Nothing about you could be dull." Sean kissed her fingers, one by one. "I want to know everything."
She looked at him. ' 'Do you think your family will ask you detailed questions about me?"
"My fam..." Of course. She thought he was asking because the answers would help him maintain the fiction that they were getting married. Truth was, he'd damned near forgotten that was the reason they were here. "You never know," he said, hoping he sounded sincere. "What am I gonna do when Keir asks if you got straight A's in school, or Cull wants to know if you were a Girl Scout?" He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. ' 'Some things are very important to the O'Connell clan."
For a second, she thought he was serious. Then he grinned, reached for her and hauled her into his lap.
"I'll bet you did get straight A's."
She had, for a while. When her mother was still alive, and even the two years in that first foster home, before the man she was supposed to call Daddy started noticing her budding breasts, and the woman she'd never been able to call Mom realized he was noticing.
"Savannah?" Sean kissed her mouth. "Hey," he said softly, "I'm only teasing. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me."
"No. You're right. You need to know more about me."
The look in her eyes made him sorry he'd raised the subject. "I don't," he said fiercely. "I'm going to be introducing you as the woman I love. Nobody's going to have the right to question either of us."
Savannah's heart skipped a beat. "As the woman you'll be pretending to love," she said carefully.
Their eyes met. "Yeah," he said, after a minute. "That's what I meant."
An honest answer from an honest man. She couldn't ask for anything more, could she? At the very least, he deserved honesty in return.
"Well," she said slowly, "I was never a Girl Scout..."
She told him everything. About her father, who'd left when she was so small she couldn't remember him. About her mother, a drug addict, and how she'd died.
She told him about her sister, cruelly disabled by an illness no one really understood, and how Missy had screamed and screamed when the authorities separated them and put
Savannah in the first of a series of foster homes and Missy in an institution.
She told him how she'd hated those homes, though she left out the uglier details, and how she'd run away from the last and worst one, how she'd found a way to snatch Missy, how they'd hitchhiked from Savannah—the city her mother had named her for—to New Orleans. How they'd survived with her earning money using skills she'd picked up and honed in one of the endless series of foster homes.
She told him all the things she'd never told anyone, and by the time she talked of Alain, how he'd rescued her and Missy, how she'd thought he was her savior, she was weeping, the sound so raw and heartbreaking, Sean cursed the fates that had kept him from finding her sooner.
"Hush," he said, as he lifted her tearstained face to his and kissed her and kissed her until the world was reduced to only the two of them. Only the two of them, because only the two of them mattered.
That was the minute when he knew that he loved her.
He told her that night.
It was their last on the island. The next afternoon, they would fly to Las Vegas. He'd thought he'd tell her there. Or maybe on the plane. He'd wait a little while, until the time was right.
But walking hand in hand along the beach, under the benevolent gaze of a fat, ivory moon, he suddenly knew it would never be more right than this. He'd neve
r felt more vulnerable in his life as he turned her toward him.
"Savannah," he said. "Savannah..."
She raised her face to his, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw something that told him everything would be all right.
"Savannah," he said softly, smiling with wonder, "you're in love with me."
She jerked under his hands. "My God, O'Connell, you have the most monumental ego—"
Sean lifted her to her toes and kissed her. "You'd better be in love with me," he whispered against her mouth, "because I love you. I adore you. You hear me, Just-Savannah? I love you with all my heart."
Time seemed to stop. Nothing moved, not the sea or the air or Savannah. Sean felt a chill in his blood. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she didn't feel what he did. Maybe—
And then she gave a little cry and threw her arms around him.
They made love there, on the still-warm sand, and then he carried her to the house and they made love in the shower. They went to bed and slept curled together, and when they awoke before dawn, they made love again.
"I love you," Savannah whispered, looking up at him, her eyes wide with wonder as he slipped deep, deep inside her. "I love you, love you, love—"
He kissed her and they flew, together, into the blinding white heat of the universe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Savannah didn't want to leave their house or their island.
That was how she'd come to think of this place where she and Sean had forged their love. They were safe here. They belonged here.