Passion's Mistral (3 page)

records from your doctor?” At Silkie’s nod, the urologist explained how she had reviewed the records

then ordered certain tests to which Silkie had to submit. “Once I knew there was a clean bill of health, I

forwarded the test results to the resort’s physician. The young men there must pass all the physical exams

as well. Since most of the clients do not like the use of condoms anymore than the young men do, making

sure each partner is protected is of prime importance.” She smiled. “Even of more importance than

making sure the client goes home well sated.”

“So there is little or no chance of a client contracting a sexually transmitted disease?”

“Very little chance if any at all,” Dr. Carstairs replied. “As I mentioned earlier, each of the helpers has

had a vasectomy so the problem of an unwanted pregnancy is not something the clients have to worry

about.”

Silkie yawned. The liquor had gone to her head and she was relaxed and mellower than she had been in

weeks.

“Why don’t you take a little snoozer?” Dr. Carstairs suggested. “I could use with a few winks myself.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Silkie confessed.

“Then close those pretty little eyes and slip into dreamland.” The urologist put a finger to the side of her

nose in the Italian fashion. “Dream of young hunky men with extra-long tallywhackers to slide into your

sugar and give you a rip-roaring orgasm!”

Despite the scarlet stain that overtook her cheeks, Silkie laughed. She had liked the English doctor from

the moment she had met her over two years earlier but the woman had a tendency to embarrass Silkie

with her salty mannerisms.

“I may just do that,” Silkie replied.

Sleep didn’t take long to find Silkie with the drone of the plane’s engine, the comfort of the extra-wide

leather seat and the soft pillow Helen provided. Aided by the potency of the tequila, the young woman

slipped easily into the waiting arms of Morpheus. As she sank lower beneath the cottony blanket of

slumber, memories surfaced to guide her into an unsettling dream that brought a frown to her lovely face.

Greg threw another log into the wide fireplace and took up the poker to position the wood. He poked at

the log until he was satisfied it would burn correctly then replaced the poker on its iron hook and dusted

his hands together.

“That should get us through the night,” he said, hunkering to the floor to sit Indian fashion on the thick

wool blanket.

“I wish we had a radio,” Silkie commented, glancing at the candle, which was their only source of lighting

besides the fire’s glow. “I’d like to know what the storm is doing.”

“It’s raging,” Greg said. “I’ve never heard the wind howl like that before.”

“I’ve never seen a whiteout before,” Silkie said. “We’re lucky we made it back to the cabin before we

became lost in the snow.”

“Well, as long as we’ve got firewood and water, we’ll be okay. At least there are a few staples in the

cupboard to sustain us.”

“I don’t consider a tube of crackers, a bag of semi-stale potato chips and a box of chocolate-covered

cherries much of a supper,” she complained.

“Ah, come on, babe!” Greg chuckled. “Where’s your sense of humor?”

“It froze along with my extremities,” she mumbled.

“Then come here and let me warm you,” he suggested, reaching for her.

Outside, a blizzard was lashing the cabin—snow was piling up against the door, a rime of frost had

already made the windows opaque. Inside it was freezing everywhere but right in front of the blazing fire.

Her teeth chattering from the intense cold, she scooted on her rump toward him.

Silkie settled against Greg’s chest, content in his strong arms. He gently stroked her shoulder-length hair,

his lips pressing light kisses now and again on the top of her head.

Though she had worked for him for three years, they had never had occasion to be alone together. This

trip to Colorado had been an eye-opener, both realizing they found the other far too attractive to ignore.

On assignment to find a bank’s embezzler, confronting the thief who took potshots at them before being

apprehended, experiencing danger neither had been expecting, had not only made their adrenaline flow,

the threat had heated their blood. That hot blood had made them look at one another in an entirely

different light.

“Why have I never realized how beautiful you are?” Greg asked.

His hands on her had been gentle at first—tentative and cautious. Unsure of how far to go, he seemed to

be allowing her reactions to his touch to guide him. When her soft moans became pants of need, the

inevitable happened.

He slid his fingers down the waistband of her thermal snow pants, behind the elastic restriction of the long

johns, past the top of her cotton panties and into her wiry nether curls. The warmth of his palm cupped

her between the legs, that one long, inquisitive middle finger delving into her moistness.

“Your body may be cold, babe, but you’re hot as a firecracker down here,” Greg whispered as he

wiggled his finger inside her.

Silkie twisted toward him, allowing him to go deeper still. Clamping her legs together, she took his hand

captive as he claimed her mouth in a fiery kiss. With tongues dueling, her ungloved hand clamped over

the rigid erection pushing forward the fabric of his snow pants. She heard his groan low in his throat a

fraction of a second before he pulled his finger free of her and began tugging at her clothing.

He took her there in front of the roaring fire, their bodies becoming slick with sweat as he pumped his

cock into her damp pussy. She clawed at his back—leaving five shallow grooves in the flesh—and he

bruised her rump, his fingers digging into the soft tissue as he molded her against him. When they

climaxed, their shouts reverberated through the silent cabin, became lost in the shriek of the wind beyond

the cabin walls. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

For two days, they existed on stale potato chips, rationed the tube of crackers and chocolate-covered

cherries. They melted snow over the fire for drinking water and made love so often they were both sore

by the time their rescuers showed up at the door.

Silkie was jostled awake by a bit of air turbulence. She sat up straighter in her seat, the memory of the

dream slowly fading, making her feel partially numb. She looked at her companion but Dr. Carstairs was

snoring lightly, a thin stream of drool oozing from the corner of her slack mouth. Another jolt of

turbulence made Silkie grip the arms of her seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcement came over the address system. “We are experiencing some

mild turbulence at this time. Please fasten your seat belts and return your tray tables to the upright

position. We will be climbing to forty thousand to get above the bad weather and do not anticipate any

further inconvenience. We will keep you informed.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll be serving drinks anytime soon,” Dr. Carstairs complained as she wiped at the

spittle on her chin.

“I imagine not,” Silkie agreed.

“Did you get some shut-eye?”

“Yes.”

“Me,” Dr. Carstairs began, “I dreamt I was lying on the beach at Mistral Cay with Julian’s head in my

lap.” She stretched, listing her hands over her head. “We were naked as the day we were born.”

Silkie smiled. “You’ve got a thing for the resort owner, don’t you?”

“I’d give that man anything he wanted,” the urologist replied. She laid her head back against the seat as

the plane began its slow ascent to the higher elevation. “I once offered to take him to Hong Kong with

me but he declined. It seems he never leaves the Cay.”

“Never?” Silkie asked, one brow cocked in surprise.

“That’s what he said.”

“I wonder why.”

“I’ve asked him many times and he always comes up with the most entertaining reasons,” Dr. Carstairs

said with a grin.

“Such as?”

“Oh, once it was because he had an incurable disease and if he left the curative waters of the Cay, he’d

succumb to the illness and die a horrible, lingering death. A variation on that theme was if he left the Cay,

he’d age like the portrait of Dorian Gray, turn into dust and blow away. Another time he hinted that he

was an international fugitive hiding out from both the C.I.A. and K.G.B.” She laughed. “And then there

was the explanation that he was actually a vampire and couldn’t cross running water.”

“A very imaginative man,” Silkie said.

“Imaginative, alluring, seductive. You think of any adjective that describes a dream man and you’ve got

Julian St. John.”

“I can’t wait to meet this paragon of male superiority,” Silkie mumbled.

“Just be careful around him,” Dr. Carstairs warned. “He is a very intuitive individual. If he suspects you

are there for any other purpose than what we’ve rehearsed, he could send you packing.”

Silkie let out a long sigh. “Well, all I want to do is find the man I’m—”

“The cock,” Dr. Carstairs giggled, “you’re looking for.”

“The birthmark,” Silkie corrected.

“Greg didn’t say why you’re looking for this bloke,” the urologist said. “Is he in trouble of some kind?”

“Why would you think so?”

“It just seems an odd way of trying to locate a man, getting a peeper at his pecker, I mean. Why can’t

you just ask if John Doe or Bill Smith or whatever his name is works at the resort?”

“I shouldn’t be discussing this with you but since Greg has involved you, I guess you have a right to a few

facts. For one thing, we don’t know the name the young man is using,” Silkie replied, “and we don’t

know what he looks like. It’s his mother who is looking for him and she hasn’t seen him since he was two

years old.”

“Why ever not?”

“He was taken away from her and given up for adoption.”

Dr. Carstairs nodded. “A bad mother, was she?”

“From all accounts, she was a wonderful mother, but she committed a crime and was sent to prison.”

“Ah,” the urologist drawled. “I begin to see the picture. What crime did she commit?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer that. Let’s just say it was a felony that required a rather lengthy stay in

federal prison.”

“And when she was released, she began searching for her son?”

“According to Ross Bennis, she’d been trying to find him from the very start, but the state wouldn’t give

her any information. When she got out, she contacted several private investigation firms and that’s how

Heartland became involved.”

“Not an inexpensive process,” Dr. Carstairs commented. “Where did she come up with the money to do

this?”

“I don’t know, ma’am, and couldn’t tell you if I did.”

The urologist clucked her tongue impatiently. “If she doesn’t know his adopted name, doesn’t know

what he looks like, how will she—”

“She can identify him by the birthmark on his scrotum,” Silkie reminded her.

“All right, I understand that but why does she believe he is at Julian’s resort?”

Silkie rubbed her forehead. “Dr. Carstairs, the lady moves in circles not unlike your own and she

overheard two women at a party talking about male escorts. She found the conversation distasteful and

was walking away when one happened to mention the strange birthmark she had seen on her sexual

partner’s scrotum.”

“That had to be a helluva shock,” Dr. Carstairs chuckled. “I can’t begin to imagine how I would feel

hearing my son had become a male escort!”

“I’m sure our client was both shocked and hopeful that she’d found her missing son. She questioned the

women and found out the man in question had once worked in New Orleans but was now thought to be

at the Cay, though neither woman had been invited to visit the resort so they weren’t sure if he was there

or not. She learned all she could about Mistral Cay then contacted the P.I. agencies with whom she was

working. The only one who would agree to send someone to the resort was Heartland.”

“Ross Bennis’ greed to the forefront,” Dr. Carstairs quipped.

“That’s how Greg sees it, yes.”

“So what happens when you find the young man? Do you tell him his mother is looking for him?”

“That was considered to be a risky way of handling it. He might not even know he was adopted or he

might think his mother is deceased. There was also the concern that he wouldn’t want to meet her. He

might be too ashamed or he just might be a cad who couldn’t care less. It was decided that I was to offer

him a considerable incentive to come to the U.S. in the form of an employment opportunity.”

“Cost being of no importance I take it.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, either she embezzled a large amount of money that has been drawing interest in a secret Swiss

bank account or she married Mr. Moneybags or has something on Mr. Moneybags if she can afford

sending the two of us to the resort,” Dr. Carstairs observed.

“Let’s just say she can afford it and leave it at that.”

Dr. Carstairs tapped the side of her finger against her lip. “Now I wonder which society maven I know is

the driving force behind this little scenario. I wager I know this woman.”

“She’s a mother searching for her child, Dr. Carstairs. She should have our sympathy rather than

conjecture, don’t you think?”

The urologist sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She tapped a well-manicured nail against her

perfectly straight white teeth. “I wonder if I’ve ever had him?”

As the journey drew out, Silkie stared out the window at the clouds they slowly passed. She speculated