Passion's Mistral (11 page)

coming in ragged gasps.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I’ve obviously come at the wrong time.”

“No,” he said and reached for her, dragging her into his office and slamming the door behind her.

Unnerved by the animosity coming off this man in waves she could feel, Silkie started around him. “I’ll

come back later.”

He blocked her exit. “You wanted to ask me to send Sean to you,” he said and his eyes flared.

Silkie opened her mouth to deny it but her body wouldn’t allow her to. She merely nodded.

“What fantasy?” he snapped.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He threw out his hand with a negligent gesture. “To have a helper assigned to you, you need a fantasy.”

At a loss for words, completely stymied by the statement, she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t—”

“Pirate? Medieval knight? Indian warrior? Construction worker?” he rattled off. “You name it, lady, and

Sean will be it!”

The choices made her flinch. She shook her head, unable to think of Sean in those terms. Yes, he was

dangerous like a pirate. Yes, he was courtly as a knight. Yes, he was as powerful as an Indian warrior

would be and he was muscular as a construction worker but…

“A cowboy,” Julian grated, his teeth clenched. “You like cowboys?”

“Ah, yes, but—”

“Then go back to your room and I’ll send him to you later this evening.”

“Well, I don’t know, I—”

He didn’t allow her to finish. He took her arm and showed her to the door, opening it for her and

practically shoving her into the corridor. “He’ll be there,” he snarled. “He needs you as much as you need

him!”

With that, he shut the door in her face.

He was dressed like a cowboy who had just ridden into town looking for trouble. The black cotton

shirt—slightly soiled with what looked like trail dust—was open halfway down his tanned chest. The

black leather gun belt slung low over his lean hips and tied to one muscular thigh held a lethal-looking

Colt Peacemaker with a pearl handle. Around his neck was a black bandana tied in a careless knot at the

side of his throat. Black leather gloves, dusty black boots with slightly tarnished spurs, a black Stetson

with a silver concho headband, completed the picture of a gunslinger on the prowl. Over his shoulder

was draped a pair of worn leather saddlebags.

“Evening, ma’am,” he said in a thick Irish brogue as he touched the tip of his left index finger to his hat in

greeting.

Silkie swallowed and clutched the silken robe she wore closer to her throat. His deep voice sent shivers

down her spine. The tone was just above a seductive whisper and had surprised her before she

remembered Julian St. John telling her the only way a helper could talk to a guest was during a fantasy.

Hearing Sean speak sent flutters through her lower belly. Her eyes drank him in like a woman dying of

thirst before whom a tall, cold glass of water had been placed.

Gone was the full-face mask. It had been replaced by the kind of mask like the one worn by the Lone

Ranger. Beneath the Stetson was silky black that curled low on his neck. Behind the eyeholes, those

amber orbs were smoldering.

She watched, unable to move, as he shrugged away the saddlebags, letting them drop to the chair beside

the door. Her heart began to pound as he took off his hat and laid it atop the saddlebags.

“I’ve come a long way to find you, Sara,” he said in a low voice and his hands went to the buckle of the

gun belt.

Silkie took a step backward, dragging in shallow breaths as she watched him remove the gun belt.

“If he wants to fight for you, I’m willing.”

She thrilled to his words, beginning to shiver as he lay the gun belt aside and began pulling the tail of his

shirt from his gabardine britches.

She took another step back, then another as he began unbuttoning the cuffs of his long-sleeve black shirt.

His eyes were locked on hers.

“I’ll kill any man who thinks he can take you away from me.”

Her knees were weak as those words sank into her feverish mind. His hands were on the front of his

shirt, working the buttons until the dark fabric hung open. Then the belt circling his britches was

unhooked and drawn slowly from the loops.

“Oh, lord,” Silkie muttered, taking another step away from the purposeful glint in those golden eyes. She

glanced down at her bare feet and instinctively put one atop the other like a little girl.

“Come here,” he said, unfastening the button at the top of his britches, “and I’ll make you forget he ever

existed.”

She shook her head, backing away from him, suddenly very leery of this tall, dangerous man with the

low, commanding voice. When her back met the wall behind her, her eyes flared and she would have

darted away but he was on her quicker than she could move, his body pressed to hers. Before she could

push him away, he had her wrists in his hands and was lifting her arms, anchoring her hands to either side

of her head, leaning into her.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” he asked.

Silkie could feel his hot breath against her cheek as he pushed his lower body against hers. The hard

bulge of his erection made her groan.

“Do you want me to fight him?”

“Who?” she managed to whisper, lost in the headiness of his nearness.

“If he touches you again, I’ll slit his worthless throat,” Sean said in a menacing tone.

She felt his lips on the side of her neck and gave herself up to the glorious feel of his tongue dragging

across the span of her throat, delving into the hollow where an erratic heartbeat pulsed, flicking at the

underside of her chin.

His right hand slid slowly down her upraised arm until his palm was flattened over her silk-clad breast.

His fingers gently cupped her, his thumb grazing the bud that leapt to life at the touch.

“I have searched for you all my life,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t ever let you go.

Don’t even try to leave me, Sara.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he slanted his lips across hers and his tongue thrust possessively

inside. The very force of the kiss threatened to sweep her legs out from under her. She sagged against the

wall, sucking in a harsh breath through her nose when he shoved his leg between hers and braced her

body on his hard thigh. The heat of his flesh through the rough gabardine, the rigidity of his limb pushed

against her throbbing core, the press of his chest against her united to mold her to him as though they

were one entity.

“Love me,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips dragging from her mouth to her cheek. “I need you to love

me.”

Silkie could hear immense need in Sean’s words. His voice was filled with a longing she responded to

deep in her soul. She had felt his hunger in the passionate press of his lips upon hers. She had tasted it on

his tongue, upon the fullness of his full lips.

“This isn’t a fantasy, Sara,” he said. “For me, this is real. I have wanted you from the first day I saw you

step off the ship.”

“You were watching me?” she asked.

“I was devouring you, sweet Sara,” he whispered, his lips at her ear. He flicked his tongue along the silky

spiral and Silkie shivered. His warm breath was invading her body, sending clenches of lust through her

belly. “I became lost in your beauty and I knew I had to have you.” His palm gently squeezed and he

molded her beneath the silk of her robe, pushing upward lightly. “I vowed I’d make you mine and there

would never be another man to lay hands to you.”

His words were sending chills of pleasure rippling up and down her spine. He might have been

playacting, carrying on a scenario he had performed countless times with other women, but she didn’t

think that was the case. She heard sadness beneath his words. She heard loneliness being dredged up

from the man’s very soul.

“We were made to be together, Sara,” he said, his kisses trailing from her ear down the side of her neck

and onto her shoulder. His thumb was sweeping across her erect nipple and sending shudders of delight

down her side. “We were destined to be together.”

Her hands were splayed across his powerful chest and she could feel his heart thundering. If what he was

doing was nothing more than an act—a routine he had perfected over the years—his blood would not be

rushing so quickly through his veins, she reasoned. He would be blasé about the whole thing, calm,

methodical and not quivering beneath her hands when she leaned into him.

“I need you, Sara,” he whispered and claimed her mouth once more. His kiss was long, hard, draining

and when his lips slid from hers, he gathered her to him, his arms going around her to crush her tightly to

him.

“I need you, too, Sean,” she replied. “I have needed you all my life.”

He ran his hands beneath her hips, lifted her up. Silkie threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her

legs around his lean hips. As he turned and started for the bedroom with her, she could feel the leap of

his cock probing at her rump with each step he took.

The bedroom suite was dark but he knew where to find the bed. Once he was there, he bent forward,

allowing Silkie to fall away from his taut body. She reluctantly let go of her hold on his neck, unwrapped

her legs from his waist as she felt the depression of the mattress against her back. Without a word, she

dug her heels into the coverlet and scooted backwards, giving him room to join her there on the edge, but

Sean was undoing his britches, flicking the buttons aside with haste. When the last button was opened, he

sat down beside her and began pulling off his boots.

“You want me to take you like that, sweet Sara?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifted in challenge.

“Or are you gonna take off that robe?” Before she could answer, he tossed aside his boot and looked

around at her. “Or would you like me to rip it off you?”

“No!” she said, liking the garment too much to see it destroyed. She came to her knees on the bed and

stripped out of the robe.

She heard him draw in a breath as his gaze fell to her breasts. He gave a slight little smile. “I’ll damned

sure have you screaming for sure this time,” he said enigmatically.

“Screaming?” she said, blinking.

“In a good way, sweet Sara,” he promised. “Screaming with pleasure, my lady.”

His back was to her as he peeled off his socks. She reached out to draw her hands along his naked

shoulders, down the strong column of his spine as he leaned back to peel off his britches. She put her

arms around him as he kicked free of the gabardine, running the palms of her hands over his shoulders

and onto the flexing muscles of his pecs.

Sean laid his head back, feeling her lips on the side of his neck. He smiled, his breath coming in quicker,

much shallower cadence. While her hands roamed freely over his chest, her fingers stroking his nipples to

stiff little pebbles, he reached behind him, resting his hands on her hips.

“Tell me,” she said, her lips against his ear, her warm breath sending shivers through his body, “what you

want, cowboy.”

“You,” he said with a grunt.

She rubbed against him. “For how long? An hour? The night?”

His arms entrapped her, jerking her to him as he plastered his hands on her rump, digging his fingers into

the soft flesh.

“For the rest of my life,” he growled.

“You mean for as long as the fantasy lasts,” she said and heard the bitterness in her voice.

He moved so quickly, she could not stop the yelp of surprise that squeaked from her throat. One

moment she was behind him, the next she was sprawled on her back, her legs splayed wide and his

heavy body lying atop her.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, looming over her, taking her wrists in his strong hands and holding

them to the mattress. “I always swore that when I found the right woman, when I staked claim to her, I

would never let her go.”

His words sent a chill down her spine but excited her at the same time. This man was issuing a challenge

and though his face was in shadow, she could feel the hot glare in his golden eyes.

“Do you think Julian St. John will allow you to do that?” she asked, holding her breath for the answer.

“Do you want me?” he countered and she knew the words had been spoken from between clenched

teeth.

She let go of the restraint she’d always held on her wayward heart. “Yes, I do,” she answered honestly.

For the space of a few heartbeats he said nothing but let go of her wrists then stretched out so that his

head was on her shoulder, his lean body now half atop hers, his heavy weight shifted so she would be

more comfortable.

She gathered him to her, threading her fingers through the silk of the thick hair below the mask. His free

hand was pressed palm down between her breasts, one long leg arced across hers.

“All my life,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear his words, “I have wanted what normal men take

for granted—a home, a wife, maybe children one day. I’ve always wanted the white picket fence and the

draping wisteria. I’d trade my Porsche in for a SUV in a heartbeat.”

Silkie smiled. “Okay, then, I’ll trade you,” she chuckled.

He traced a lazy figure eight on her chest and belly, circling her belly button and coming upward again.

“I grew up hating wealth,” he continued. “I despised dressing for supper. I detested prim and proper

school uniforms that required precision-tied knots in the tie and shoes so shiny you could see your face in