Passion's Mistral (12 page)

them.”

“I grew up envying wealth,” she told him. “I despised using toilet paper instead of napkins during our

meals. I detested wearing dresses that had been handed down from my cousins and trying to cram my

feet into shoes I’d outgrown the year before.”

“I have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend.”

“I may have to declare bankruptcy when I get back to Iowa,” she sighed.

“I killed a man.”

“I—” Silkie stopped, her lips parting in shock. “What did you say?”

“I can’t ever leave Mistral Cay.”

Because he had been speaking so softly, almost whispering his confessions to her, she had not noticed

the lilting Irish brogue had fled his voice. It wasn’t until he told her he could not leave the resort that she

fully realized who it was that was lying beside her.

He seemed to be waiting for her to respond to his words. She could hear his quick, expectant breath and

pictured the mysterious, commanding Julian St. John in her mind’s eye. It might be hard for her to accept

that a man as sensuous as Sean could kill someone but she had no such uncertainties where Julian was

concerned. His was a domineering personality for which she did not care.

“Whom did you kill?” she finally asked. It was Sean she was worried about, not Julian.

“That doesn’t matter.”

She searched the shadows overhead, tracing the branches of the headboard arched above them. There

were secrets in her life she certainly didn’t want people to know but at least she’d committed no crimes

that were punishable by death in most countries.

“Where was this?” she questioned.

“In the States,” he said.

“In a state with a death penalty?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Pain drove through Silkie’s heart. No, she thought, as her arms tightened around him, he could never

leave the Cay. To do so would be unthinkable.

“Was it premeditated?”

“It was self-defense but I couldn’t prove it.”

She thought about it for a long time, allowing the silence to spin around them, enveloping them in a

cocoon of shared knowledge.

“Does the law know where you are?” she asked.

“My worst enemy does and in the past he’s hired men to try to take me off the Cay. He’d like nothing

better than to see me in prison awaiting execution. So far, I’ve managed to stay a few steps ahead of him.

There hasn’t been a new helper at the resort in five years and I don’t allow any ships except my own

yacht to dock here.”

She felt him removing the mask and could not resist running her fingers over his face. The hair at his

temples was damp and she smoothed it back from his forehead.

“Aren’t you afraid I might turn you in?” she queried.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Not your style, sweetness,” he said with a snort.

“And just what is my style, Sean?” she countered. “Or should I call you Julian?”

“Call me whatever you like,” he answered. “Do you want me to go on calling you Sara?”

Silkie tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Your real name is Silkie Trevor and you work for the Heartland Detective Agency,” he replied. “A few

months ago you had an affair with your boss Greg Strickland but realized the man’s nothing more than a

walking cumstick.”

Stunned that he knew her true identity, Silkie was taken aback. She remained silent as he recited the

particulars of her life from where she was born to where she bought cat food for her beloved Xander.

“You know why I’m here,” she said, staring into his handsome face.

“You’re looking for Patrick O’Reilly, Fay Lynden’s son,” he stated.

She groaned. “And I bet you know which one of the helpers he is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And have been keeping him away from me while I…” She could feel the heat turning on in her cheeks.

“You bastard,” she griped, punching his shoulder.

He laughed and slid his arm over her, his fingers tucked beneath her rib cage. “Weren’t you having fun?”

he asked.

“Oh, loads of it,” she mumbled. “Nothing like comparing cucumbers to zucchinis.”

“With a bean sprout every now and then to break the monotony?” he joked.

“You were enjoying my discomfort,” she accused.

“Tremendously,” he admitted. “That’s why I went down to the beach to watch. You

seemed—ah—totally preoccupied with your task.”

She giggled and cuddled closer to him. “You are a true cad, Julian St. John.”

“I only provided what you asked for, lady,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well, it was a hot, hands-on job but someone had to do it,” she stated. “I notice you never volunteered

to show me your dangly.”

“Wanna see it now?” he asked with an arched brow.

“I’m sure I’ll have the opportunity to get up close and personal with it at some time,” she said with a

titter. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were Julian?”

“Would you have called me to you if you had known who I really was?” he countered.

Silkie blushed. “No,” she replied honestly. “Julian St. John is a very intimidating man.”

“But Sean isn’t,” he stated.

“Sean is sexy as hell and every woman’s dream,” she replied. “I think a waiter once told me that.”

“A waiter whose mouth I should have washed out,” her lover said with a grunt.

“You set about to seduce me,” she said. “From that first day?”

“From the moment I saw you,” he said, reluctant to admit how he had spied on her in the bath.

“I still have a job to do here,” she said. “I—”

“Stay with me,” he asked. All the humor had fled his tone.

“I can’t,” she said. “I was paid to do a job and I intend to see it through.”

He thought about that for a moment. “All right but when it’s over, you will stay here with me.”

“I’ll need to go back and get my things. I—”

“I can send Henri and Christian to do that,” he cut her off.

“No,” she said. “There are things I have to do and—”

“He could grab you,” he said. “My enemy has spies here I haven’t been able to ferret out and by now

I’m sure he knows how I feel about you.”

“How would he know?” she asked. “Hell, I don’t even know!”

“I don’t use the persona of Sean very often. When I do, it’s never with one of our clients. The mole

would have reported it to my enemy by now.”

“All right,” she said. “But why would you need to pretend to be Sean if—”

“There is an old friend,” he interrupted, “an acquaintance who comes a few times each year. I use that

persona with her.”

Jealousy rippled through Silkie’s breast. “Who is she?”

“Celeste Dubois,” he answered.

Silkie’s eyebrows shot up. “The ex-nun turned madam?”

“That’s a stupid rumor started by a rival,” Julian said with a snort. “Celeste is Romanian, a gypsy. She

came to the U.S. when she was nineteen. By the time she was twenty-one, she was being heralded as the

most versatile lady of the night to be found in the French Quarter. If there is an act of love in which

Celeste is not a master, it does not merit learning.”

“I’m so impressed,” Silkie mumbled, drawing the second word out disdainfully.

Julian laughed. “You should be. You will reap the benefits of her expertise in the art of love. Celeste only

tutors those she feels are worthy of her attention and she has taught me everything she knows.”

“La-de-da,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “Ain’t I a lucky little girl?”

“Would you like to find out just how lucky?” he muttered, his lips pressed once more to her throat.

“Why does she come here?” Silkie demanded. “Doesn’t she have a stable of boy toys to play with in

New Orleans?”

“I was one of her boy toys,” Julian said quietly. “I owe her.”

Silkie’s gaze turned hard. “So you have to repay her by servicing her for the rest of your life?”

“No,” he said. “I’m sure when she finds out about you and me, that part of our relationship will cease.”

“You think so?” she asked and hated the nasty tone in her voice. Jealousy was something she hadn’t

experienced since high school. Not even Greg’s numerous peccadilloes had caused her a moment’s

concern but just thinking of Sean—she disliked the name Julian—in the arms of a high-priced courtesan

brought out the green-eyed monster in her.

“She brought me here, sweetness,” Julian said, obviously preferring that name to Silkie for the way he

said it sent shivers down her spine. “She set me up in business. Our arrangement has been mutually

beneficial.”

“Does she know about the man you killed?”

“She knows. Without her help, I would have been caught long ago.”

“And so she holds it over your head and you jump whenever she tells you, huh?”

She felt him wince. “That’s not the way it is.”

For a moment they were both quiet. He had threaded his fingers with hers. When Silkie finally broke the

silence, she heard his breathing cease and knew he was anticipating rejection.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The next time she comes here, I’ll have a little talk with her. The sooner

she knows I intend to fight for you, the—”

“Fight for me?” he asked. There was incredulity in his tone.

“I’ve never really had anything in life that I ever truly wanted,” she said. “I’ve lived in poverty—one step

ahead of the collection agencies—all my life. I lost count of the times we had our electricity turned off.

You’d think I would have learned from my parents’ mistakes but I didn’t. My credit is piss-poor, but I’m

trying to build it up before I wind up having to file bankruptcy. I’ve never had a real home and I’ve never

had a man who loved me for who I am.”

“I think that’s where we’re heading, don’t you?” he asked gently.

“Maybe,” she answered. “Being unable to keep our hands off one another is a step in the right direction,

I guess. I really don’t know. I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Neither have I,” he admitted.

“I’m a logical woman,” she said. “I’m a down-to-earth woman. I don’t make decisions

lightly—especially not ones that will affect the rest of my life. I’ve got to think about all this.”

“What is there to think about?” he asked, and Silkie could hear the fear of rejection rampant in his sexy

voice.

“I have to think about what I want and what I need,” she replied. “What is right for you and for me.”

“I want you,” he said. “I need you. I don’t know anything I can say to help you make the decision to stay

with me.”

“We really don’t know that much about one another, though,” she protested. “We—”

“I know I want to lay the world at your feet, sweetness. I want to give you everything you’ve ever

wanted. I don’t want you to ever lack for anything.”

“You don’t think that smacks of buying a woman’s love?” she countered.

“Could I buy your love?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Never. It’s not for sale.”

“Neither is mine,” he told her. “I used to think there was no such thing as love at first sight but then I’d

never seen you before. The moment I did, something twisted inside me and I knew I’d move heaven and

earth to make you mine.”

He was laying himself bare to her. He was revealing things that gave her an immense hold over him. His

admission of having killed a man wasn’t as horrifying to her as she suspected he thought it was. In her line

of work, she’d seen men killed—had shot a few herself though she’d never taken a life. If Sean had

killed a man in self-defense—as he had claimed it to be—she could understand why he had fled the

States, especially if his enemy was a powerful man intent on destroying him.

“What are you thinking, sweetness?” he asked, his eyes filled with the fear of losing her.

“I want you,” Silkie said and with that took her hand out of his. She slid her palm down his chest and

cupped his cock. “I want this.”

“Silkie—”

“Hush,” she said. “No more talking, cowboy.” She massaged his penis and smiled as it leapt in her hand.

“Let’s seal this deal now. We can go over the particulars later.”

He had no chance to protest for she moved away from him to kneel on the bed. As she flung one leg

over his hip and pushed him flat on his back, she leaned back to sit on his knees.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked, both hands on his penis now.

“No,” he said in a ragged whisper.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!”

“Wait a minute,” she said and was off the bed before he could stop her.

“Get your ass back here, woman!” he shouted. He propped himself up on his elbows as she disappeared

into the bathroom.

“Don’t get your long johns in a bunch, cowboy,” she called out.

She came back and hopped up on the tall mattress. Straddling him once more, she put her hand on his

chest to urge him down once more.

“Sweetness, I—”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna gag you,” Silkie said sternly.

He snorted in such a way she knew he found that threat amusing.

“Let’s see if I remember how to do this,” she said.

“Do what?” he asked, frowning for there was a squishing sound that made him lift his head from the

pillow. “Sweetness? What are you doing?”

She reached for him, taking his now flaccid cock in hands that were slick with hand cream. What was

limp one second leapt to life in the next and she heard her lover sigh.

Smoothing the cream over the entire expanse of his member, Silkie slid the lightly cupped fingers of her

right hand down the length of him, twisting gently, while she polished the head of his penis with the palm

of her left hand.

Julian reached up behind him to grab the lowest hanging branch of the headboard. His breath rate had

increased and his thighs beneath her were almost rigid.