Cowboy Mates, Psychic Connections - Book 1
John knew the moment he saw Jamie that she was his mate. His vision had given him a glimpse of the woman who would fill his life with the love and acceptance that he craved. She had appeared to him completely naked, beautiful, and pregnant, but the sadness in her eyes had always haunted him.
Jamie’s life had been one of isolation. She had always taken care of everyone else and had learned the hard way that love would not be a part of her life. That horrible night so many years ago had shattered her hopes for the future. A future with her would hold only emptiness.
John knew better. Jamie was perfect for him. She would bring fun and caring into his life. She would accept him, his mixed heritage, and his need to dominate without reservation. She would be the mother of his children and the keeper of his heart.
As she walked toward John, she saw that he had stepped down off the porch of his beautifully built log home and was striding toward her purposefully. Goodness, but he was tall! His long legs ate up the distance between them in no time. She reached out to him without hesitation, seeing the concern in his steel gray eyes.
She was grateful when his hands reached out for her, and she latched onto his forearms to steady herself. Holy hell! His forearms bulged with muscles! Reining herself in immediately, she forced herself to push aside her wayward thoughts. This was not the time to allow her fantasies to take over. She had to put a lid on the intense desire that was rushing through her body.
Instead, she concentrated on the feel of his skin beneath her hands. His warmth and power soothed her immediately, and she knew that his strength would support her. He wouldn’t let her fall. How right it felt to touch him. How she wished she could surrender to his strength and, for once in her life, not be the one who had to take care of everything.
John’s surprise turned to complete joy as her hands gripped his forearms. Forcing himself to clamp down on his immediate feelings of want and need, he looked down at her with concern. She didn’t look well at all.
“Are you all right, Jamie?”
She shook her head, regretting the movement immediately. “John, would you mind if I used your bathroom?” she asked him softly, afraid to raise her voice and possibly push herself over the edge of the control that she was barely holding on to.
John took her left hand in his right one and placed his left arm around her back to cradle her body against his. He gripped her waist with a steady hand and led her slowly toward his home, realizing that she was leaning onto him for support. Although he wanted nothing more than to support her in every way, this was not good at all. His protective instincts kicked in immediately.
What the hell is wrong with her?
Entering his home, he took the bag from her shoulder and tossed it onto the couch in the spacious, open living room. He gently led her through his home, walking her into the master bathroom that was connected to his bedroom. They barely made it through the doorway when Jamie rushed forward, dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, and was sick to her stomach. John knelt down behind her, drew her hair away from her face, and held the softness of her dark tresses in a tight grip as he supported her head with his other hand at her forehead. She heaved two more times before leaning back weakly. She found his arms gently surrounding her waist as he slowly pulled her body to rest against him, and settled her back against his chest. Her body was covered in sweat, and her face was wet with tears.
Still cradling her against his chest, John reached over, flushed the toilet, and grabbed the hand towel from the double sink to wipe her face gently. She had her eyes closed and allowed his ministrations, obviously weak from the exertion.
She sat between his thighs, leaning into his body. Despite her nausea, she couldn’t help but appreciate the strength of his body. She looked down at her hands as they were splayed across his spectacularly muscled thighs as he sat back on the heels of his boots. She closed her eyes and swallowed with difficulty.
“Do you think you can get me up to Deuce’s house?” she finally whispered, looking up slowly as she leaned back against his chest.
John’s arms tightened around her briefly before loosening his hold and stroking the side of her face gently with the back of his fingers. “If you want me to, I will,” he answered honestly.
Jamie nodded and leaned forward as if to get up, but gave up almost at once. She leaned back into his chest, grabbing at her temples immediately, a moan of pain escaping her.
“Never mind,” she whispered, groaning. “Just leave me here to die.”
John chuckled and reached under the soft curtain of her hair to massage the back of her neck gently. He closed his eyes and gave in to a full-fledged smile when she groaned against his chest and held onto his free arm.
“Are you pregnant?” he asked her quietly, holding his breath as he waited for her answer. Maybe that was what his vision had meant. Maybe she was pregnant by another man and needed his help. Maybe she wasn’t his mate after all.
Jamie’s snort and subsequent groan at the pain it caused her made him look down at her face to see her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth set in a grim line. She took a few deep breaths to ease the nausea that was building once again.
“Yeah, right,” she barely whispered, reaching up to cover her eyes with shaking hands.
John’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Did she not know how desirable she was? He fought his own desires as she lay against him, her womanly curves fitting within his embrace so perfectly. Leaning back, he allowed her head to roll back against him so that her face was tipped up toward his, and saw that her eyes were still closed. He carefully reached up, turned on the cold water in the sink beside them, and wet the towel he had used on her face. He slowly passed it across her forehead, down across her eyes, and then across her lips. Each touch of the cool towel soothed her more and more, but the tight lines of pain still remained across her brow.
“Then what’s wrong?” he asked her finally.
“Migraine,” she whispered, unable to say more.
John was silent for a moment, digesting the information. He had to be honest with himself. He was happy that it was a migraine and not a pregnancy—selfish shit that he was.
“I’ll get you up to Deuce’s,” he told her, steadying himself with his left hand on the bathtub. He pushed himself up, bringing her body up with him and turned her gently so that she could rest her face against his chest.
She groaned as her body swayed against his. Unable to do anything but hold on, she clutched the material of his red T-shirt at his chest with one hand and steadied herself with her other hand pressed against his lower back.
John closed his eyes to center himself. Her touch was pulling emotions from him he had long since hidden away. He wanted to carry her to his bed, not take her back to Deuce’s house. He wanted to take care of her, cherish her, and make love to her.
“Let’s go,” he said finally, his voice gruff.
Copyright © 2012 Lynnette Bernard
All Rights Reserved.