Passion's Mistral (6 page)

with a hunger headache if she didn’t eat.

The food sounded wonderful and made her choices exceedingly hard and by the time she picked up the

receiver and dialed room service, her mouth was beginning to water.

“Yes, this is Miss Trevor in the Forest Suite. Could I have you send up a proscuitto with provolone and

watercress on rye with dill mustard, a bowl of tomato bisque soup and a small Greek salad with lots of

feta, black olives and pepperoncinis? I’d also like a carafe of white zinfandel—peach-flavored if you

have it—and a small bowl of tropical fruit slices for dessert.”

With her order made, Silkie reclined once more on the soft, encompassing bed and closed her eyes. The

sweet scent of gardenia wafted under her nostrils and she sighed deeply.

When the discreet knock came at her door, she hated to get up. Struggling to push her way from the

seductive mattress, she padded barefoot to the parlor door and opened it with a slight smile that froze in

place as she stared at the room-service attendant.

He was tall—well over six-foot—with a naked chest full of curling black hair that accentuated six-pack

abs and chiseled pecs. His bulging biceps flexed as he stood there with her tray in his strong-looking

hands. The black silk britches covering his long legs and narrow hips molded to him like a second skin.

Barefoot, he was standing with those long legs spread in a posture that was sensuous and threatening at

the same time.

“Ah, would you put the tray on the table?” Silkie asked, stepping back. Her gaze was locked on the silk

mask tied around the top part of his face, hiding his hair and nose yet calling attention to piercing eyes

that seemed to look straight into her soul.

His derriere was curved nicely high and looked rock-hard as he walked past her. Broad shoulders

enveloped in a golden tan tapered down to a slim waist, hugged lovingly by the elastic band holding up

the britches. The pull of the silk britches against his taut thighs and hips made her want to run her hands

down his legs. As he bent over to place the tray on the table by the windows, she drew in a slow breath

as the fabric molded itself to his lean posterior. When he turned to face her, his hands hanging loosely at

his sides, the thick bulge at the juncture of his legs drew her immediate attention. It was all she could do

to drag her eyes from that enticing sight. The only visible mark on that superb body had been a long,

upwardly slanting scar on his back just under his left rib cage. Having seen a similar scar on a client, she

wondered if this gorgeous specimen had been the giver or recipient of a donated kidney.

“Thank you,” she said, wishing she had a name for this delectable hunk.

A slight bow of his head was his acknowledgement of her gratitude. He seemed to be waiting for any

instructions she might have and when she remained silent, he started toward her, his dark eyes glistening

behind the slits of the mask.

Silkie had the urge to place her hands against that hairy chest and waylay this mysterious man. Her palms

actually itched from the mental push to do just that and she had to rub them down her slacks to wipe

away the moisture gathering there. Unconsciously, she licked her upper lip as he passed. At the door, he

turned, his head cocked to one side as though in question.

“Ah, no,” she whispered then had to clear her throat and speak louder. “No, that will be all.”

He seemed to sigh, his wide chest rising and falling in a brief movement that set Silkie’s breasts to tingling.

With one final bow of his head, he left the room, leaving behind an aura that brought a flush to the young

woman’s face and set her juices to flowing between her legs.

“Damn,” she whispered. She had a feeling she was going to be sorry she’d chosen not to participate in

the pleasures of Mistral Cay.

Julian peeled the mask from his face as he positioned himself behind the middle panel of the two-way

mirror that looked into the bedroom of the Forest Suite. He took up a state-of-the-art headphone and

positioned it over his head, adjusting the sound on a dial just over his left ear. The space in which he

stood was little more than three feet in width, the walls covered with soundproof panels, the ceiling and

floor padded, and situated between the suite’s bathing area and walk-in closet. The only light in the space

came from a nineteen-inch flat screen monitor showing a view from the parlor. Below the monitor was a

built-in shelf that held a keyboard and mouse. With a click, he zoomed in on the occupant of the suite as

she took a seat at the table and began eating the supper he had brought her.

He studied her every movement as she brought spoon or fork to her lips, wiped delicately at her mouth

with the linen napkin from the tray or nibbled at her sandwich. His amber gaze narrowed as she sipped

the peach wine, his groin tightening when she put out her tongue to lick her upper lip.

She was beautiful with shoulder-length blond tresses drawn back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Though she

wore no makeup, her face required none for the color of her green eyes framed in long dark lashes, ripe

coral lips and sun-kissed cheeks drew the eye better than any artificial enhancement ever could. Her

beauty was natural, unpolished like an uncut gem waiting for the right hand to touch it.

“Julian?”

The sound from the tiny microphone startled the owner of Mistral Cay and he frowned, annoyed with the

intrusion. “Yes,” he snapped softly into the foam-covered mouthpiece arched in front of his lips.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I knew you would be interested in the news from Des Moines,” Henri

Bouvier told him.

“Tell me.”

“As you suspected, the lady in question is not the good doctor’s assistant nor is she a graduate of

Northwestern. She is, in fact, a private investigator hired to locate a client’s son here on the Cay.”

Julian caught his breath but before he could ask, Henri set his mind at ease.

“It’s not your mother, Julian. The client is a woman named Fay Lynden.”

Letting out a long breath, Julian closed his eyes. “Who is the man she’s looking for?”

“That name is not yet known, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Mrs. Lynden was sent to prison when the boy was a toddler. He was adopted and she does not know

by whom. We are tracing that now.”

“And this Sara Trevor was hired to find the woman’s son,” Julian stated.

“Actually, Ms. Trevor’s real name is Silkie,” Henri said, amusement rife in his New Orleans accent.

Watching the woman get up from the table and come into the bedroom, Julian thought the name

appropriate for a female who moved so sensually.

“Is there a Xander?” he asked. His memory of the cat Sara Trevor supposedly owned eliciting a chuckle

from Henri.

“Yes, there is a Xander. He’s an orange and white Maine Coon. I believe her neighbor is quoted as

saying the cat is the love of her life.”

“A silky feline for a silky female,” Julian quipped. “Boyfriend? Husband?”

“Neither.”

“Seeing anyone on a regular basis?”

“Not for several years.”

“Why’s she wanting to look at strange men’s pricks, then?”

“You’re going to like this—she’s looking for a birthmark.”

There was a short pause then Julian whispered, “Say again.”

“The man she’s looking for has a birthmark on his balls.” When Julian made no reply to his answer, Henri

said, “If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“Not tonight,” Julian ordered. Before hearing the confirmation from his assistant that his order would be

followed, Julian peeled the microphone from his head and hooked it on the wall beside the monitor.

The object of his surveillance was unbuttoning her blouse when Julian turned his attention to the two-way

mirror again. Bracing his hands to either side of the two-foot-wide panel, he stood there watching as she

slid the blouse from her slender shoulders and tossed it on the bed. The light beige teddy that covered her

upper body was trimmed in pale green lace that matched the color of her eyes. As her fingers moved to

the waistband of her slacks, tugging down the side zipper, his breathing increased. When she pushed the

slacks down her shapely legs and stepped out of them, he could hear the rush of blood in his ears.

Losing sight of her as she walked into the bathing suite, he clenched his jaw and turned back to the

monitor. His hand went to the mouse, moving the cursor to the tub icon on the taskbar.

She was bending over the faucets, turning the water on in the spa tub as the hidden camera in the ceiling

tracked her movements. Dissatisfied with the angle, Julian moved the feed to other cameras until he was

looking at her beautiful face. He zoomed in on her face, held by the dreamy, expectant expression that

had softened her features. When she raised her hands to pull down first one strap of the teddy then the

other, he could feel the sweat forming on his upper lip. Though the space in which he stood was air

conditioned, he felt as though he had been thrust into the gaping maw of an oven.

Passion, he thought, as he became aware of his hand shaking, especially passion so long denied could

turn a man into a ravaging beast and that was the thought running through his mind as he watched Silkie

Trevor peel the teddy from her luscious body. What he saw brought a low growl of need roaring up from

the very core of him.

Her breasts were dewy perfect with large areolas tinted a succulent deep rose. As she lifted her arms to

pull the band from her ponytail, those breasts were firm and high with no telltale surgical lines. The globes

were like a siren call beckoning him to explore their creamy smoothness. He could almost taste the

duskiness of the small, hard nipples and ached to run his tongue over the puckered flesh.

Fire invaded his loins as she squatted down beside the tub. His finger automatically lowered the camera

view—zooming in on the shadow at the juncture of her legs. The view lasted only a second but it had

been long enough for him to get a glimpse of a neatly trimmed bush that stoked the fire of his lust even

higher. He fancied he could smell the heat of her and his nostrils quivered like that of a wild beast.

Watching her slide gracefully into the water that was now bubbling fiercely from the jets, he reached up

with his left hand to rub at the headache that was forming in his temple. The tightness in his head mirrored

the straining tightness beneath the black silk britches, the front of which was slick with the fluid of building

passion.

She moved so languidly, obviously enjoying the feel of the warm water caressing her body. The loofah

she dragged along her arms, across her chest, from side to side over her belly seemed to give her great

pleasure for her eyes were closed and a slight smile played over her sultry lips. As she brought first one

leg then the other up to run the fibrous sponge down them, she opened her eyes and appeared to sigh.

When she finished with her legs, she lay her head back along the cushioned pad behind her and closed

her eyes once more, apparently just lying there experiencing the tumble and heat of the water, relaxed

and serene.

“Enjoy the serenity while you can, sweetness,” Julian whispered, reaching down to rub at the swelling

between his legs. “I intend to make this assignment as difficult for you as I can.”

He was about to turn away, to leave her to the rest of her bath but when she lowered the loofah beneath

the water, he stilled, instinct telling him to leave would be to miss something exquisite.

There was no mistaking the motion below the tumbling waves. Nor could there have been any doubt as

to the intent of Silkie Trevor’s actions. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes still closed, a slight

puckering between her brows as she concentrated on pleasuring herself.

“God,” Julian breathed. Completely ensnared by what he was seeing, he slid his hand down the front of

his britches to grip his cock, his fingers spanned beneath it, his thumb flexed on the coronal ridge. He

began to move his hand back and forth on his engorged member as Silkie Trevor reached up to pluck at

the nipple of her right breast.

Not even realizing he did so, Julian shoved his hand down the front of his silk trousers and gripped

himself, his index and middle fingers splayed in a downward V shape at the base of his cock, his palm

lying tight against his pubic hair, his thumb pressing into the lower part of his belly. His breathing

increasing, he slid his other hand into his trousers and gripped the end of his cock, sliding his thumb and

index finger in a tight coil around the head of his throbbing shaft. Working alternately left then right, he

rotated the head of his cock, twisting slowly at first but as he watched Silkie pleasuring herself, his action

increased in speed and in the tightness with which he held the tip of his cock. He envisioned his tool

sliding into her creamy channel, tightening around him, bringing a wet, wild sensation of intense

satisfaction to his rock-hard shaft. Heat flared through his lower body and he could feel sweat popping

out on his upper lip and in the center of his chest. He could smell the ripe aroma of his pre-cum and he

imagined the musky scent of Silkie’s cunt drifting to him from the steaming water in which she now

reclined. His heart was racing, his breathing ragged as his hand moved faster and faster, pulling, twisting,

elongating his shaft while at the same time pressing his other hand hard against his belly and his pelvic