Passion's Mistral (5 page)

She closed her eyes and settled closer still to her rock, her anchor, the love of her life. When sleep finally

overcame her, she dreamt she was standing at the kitchen sink of the shabby little trailer to which she had

brought her son all those years before. She was bathing the little boy, laughing with him, being splattered

by his flailing arms as he tried to grab the rubber ducky floating in the sink beside his chubby leg. As she

gently washed his tiny genitals, she smiled at the odd little birthmark on the puckered flesh of his

scrotum.

“That’s gonna intrigue a lady one day, Paddy,” she said, picking him up and wrapping the towel around

his squirming little body.

She carried her son to the bed and dressed him in his nightie then sat down in the old rocking chair to

croon him to sleep.

Deep in her slumber, Fay O’Reilly Lynden heard the song she was singing to her child and tears slid from

the corners of her eyes.

Julian St. John stood at the sweeping bank of windows that looked out over the docks and waited for the

arrival of his clients. The yacht bearing Dr. Olivia Carstairs, her assistant and two women who were new

to the resort was dropping anchor as the sun sank below the horizon. He blinked as the lights on the

dock came on, illuminating the crewmen who began scurrying about to secure the craft.

“The new clients are Judy Bowman, an administrative assistant from Chicago and Meredith Fitzgerald, a

columnist for Vogue. Bowman isn’t married but Fitzgerald is. Her husband is a high-priced lawyer in

Manhattan with the firm of Taylor, Fitzgerald, Raglan and Thorn. Bowman clears about $40K a year.

Her visit here has been paid for by her boss who thought she needed what we have to offer. Fitzgerald

paid her own way here. Husband thinks she’s at a spa in Arizona but couldn’t care less where she is. The

woman has a trust fund from her mother not to mention a large inheritance from her paternal aunt actress

Gloria Starnes,” Julian’s administrative assistant reported.

“Forever My Love,” Julian said softly.

“The role won her an Oscar, I believe.”

“A well-deserved award,” Julian acknowledged. “I had a helluva crush on her when I was growing up.

Tell me about our little secretary.”

“Bowman was recommended by Jill Everett, the CEO of Mainstay Inc. and Bowman’s boss. I think

Bowman’s fantasy is in direct line with her job. She wants a helper whom she can bully. I would suggest

Brian.”

“Everett is a bitch so I believe your assessment is correct. Bowman would like to be in charge for a

change. Who recommended Fitzgerald?”

“Alice Bohstedt. According to Bohstedt, Fitzgerald is a driving force behind the Women for Israel

organization. Fitzgerald would like to be a helper’s love slave. She prefers blond-haired, blue-eyed

young men in uniform.”

“The Aryan Scenario,” Julian said, his lips twisted.

“I believe that will satisfy her, yes. Lars will fit the bill, I think.”

“And the woman with Olivia? Who is she?” He was staring at the woman in question as she stood on the

docks and seemed to be admiring his personal yacht The Connemara docked at the end of the quay.

Henri Bouvier consulted his notes. “Her name is Sara Trevor. She has been with Dr. Carstairs for six

months and has the doctor’s complete trust. She is here to take photographs of our helpers’ genitalia.”

Julian looked around, one thick brown brow raised in query.

“For Dr. Carstairs’ book on the subject.” He turned a page in the binder he was carrying. “The publisher

will be Villiers and Dunst who specialize in medical school textbooks.”

“What do you know of her?”

“Trevor?” At Julian’s nod, Henri ran his finger down the report until he found the information. “Unmarried

and unattached. A workaholic by Dr. Carstairs’ estimate. Lives alone. Has a cat named Xander. She is a

graduate of Northwestern with a degree in sociology. Has won several photographic awards, mostly for

her abstracts. She is here strictly as Dr. Carstairs’ assistant and doesn’t wish to take part in any

programs offered by the resort.”

“Really?” Julian muttered. His attention was glued to the women disembarking the yacht. With a

practiced eye, he could identify Bowman as she crossed the gangplank. The diminutive woman was

stoop shouldered, thin to the point of anorexia and nervous as she glanced about her. The constant

tugging at a short, limp curl hanging above her shoulder gave mute evidence of her shyness.

“I would rather Carlton engaged Ms. Bowman,” Julian recommended. “Tell him to come see me before

he starts her program.”

“If that’s who you think best for her,” Henri agreed.

Julian narrowed his eyes as he followed Fitzgerald’s arrogant stride across the gangplank. Even from the

distance at which he was viewing her, he took an instant dislike to the tall, slightly overweight woman.

“Lars will do nicely for the lovely Miss Starnes’ niece. I suggest he use the concentration camp scenario

he has been itching to utilize.”

“Perhaps by the time Mrs. Fitzgerald leaves the Cay, she’ll be a bit slimmer,” Henri said.

“And very humble if I remember Lars’ template,” Julian stated.

Olivia Carstairs was the next to pass over the gangplank. She looked up at the bank of windows and

waved, knowing Julian would be on hand to view the newcomers.

“Dr. Carstairs has asked for you again,” Henri sighed. “She doesn’t give up, does she?”

“One of these days she just might get what she’s wishing for,” Julian said softly. “Who did you assign to

her?”

“Frederick. She likes him well enough. He’s put in for a three-week leave after her departure. I okayed it

since he always seems to need R&R after one of her visits.”

Julian narrowed his eyes as the fourth woman stepped onto the gangplank. He stared at her for a moment

then stepped over to the computer monitor showing the closed-circuit camera view of the arrivals and

reached for the mouse, clicking on the magnification icon to zoom in on Sara Trevor’s face.

And it was a lovely face, Julian thought as his gaze moved over the young woman’s features. A pert,

slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, sultry lips and a determined chin gave sensuality to the face. Her

athletic body, shapely curves beneath the short-sleeve pullover and tapered slacks, and slender arms held

his attention and caused a slight stirring he had not experienced in his groin in quite some time. There was

self-assurance in the way she moved, unconscious class in her stride and command in her body language

as she spoke to Dr. Carstairs. He watched her until she was out of the camera’s range.

“I will interview Miss Trevor,” Julian said quietly.

“She doesn’t wish to participate in—”

“Bring her to me tomorrow morning.”

Henri inclined his head, knowing better than to argue with his boss. What Julian wanted, Julian always

received. “As you wish.”

“And give her the Forest Suite,” Julian ordered.

Henri looked up from his writing. “You will be handling this personally?”

“Yes,” Julian replied in a low voice. “This one is mine.”

She had never seen anything to match the suite to which she was shown. The parlor had exquisite dark

oak furnishings complimented by a delicate floral print on the twin loveseats, occasional chairs and the

fabulous chaise lounge that beckoned a try. Glass-top tables with carved bases made to look like

woodland creatures made up the desk and chair side tables. A vast armoire held the entertainment center

where several hundred CDs and DVDs were housed.

“The sleeping area is through here,” the bellman said, holding the door open for Silkie.

Upon entering the sleeping area, Silkie’s mouth dropped open, her eyes flared wide and she could not

seem to find her voice. As the bellman rattled on about room service and the other amenities available at

the resort, Silkie stood where she was, marveling at the most remarkable bed she’d ever seen.

Soaring over a king-size mattress set higher than normal from the floor was a headboard that resembled

an ancient gnarled tree. The two-foot-thick trunk rose up from the carpet in one twisted column,

resembling an ages-old oak sliced in twain. With sweeping branches fanned out along the wall and

arched over the mattress, the intricately carved wood was dotted with silk leaves in myriad shades of

green with a few yellow, orange and red leaves to make them appear life-like. The leaves moved gently

in the light breeze coming from a pair of opened French doors and made a soft rustling sound. The

coverlet spread over the bed gave the illusion there was a bed of flowers growing beneath the knotted

oak.

The only fixture in the room, the bed was set at an angle to two walls done in a spectacular forest scene

with rolling hills and a silver-shot stream rambling between lush green banks. The room smelled of a

mixture of wisteria and gardenia and upon closer inspection, those heady plants had been painted along a

rustic fence in the mural. The third wall contained the French doors and the fourth was covered in

mirrored panels up and down its entire expanse, the reflection of the mural making the forest scene go on

as though forever.

Silkie walked over to the bed and ran her hand along the coverlet. The sensuous feel of the material

made her sigh.

“Does the room meet with your satisfaction, Miss Trevor?” the bellman inquired.

Dragging her gaze from the beautiful floral pattern, Silkie nodded. She started to open her shoulder bag

to tip the bellman but the handsome young man held up a hand.

“Everything is included in the price of the room, ma’am,” he said.

“Wow,” was all Silkie could manage to say.

“Dinner will be in a half hour in the Sea Crest Room. If you would prefer instead, room service is

available twenty-four hours a day. I highly recommend the lobster Florentine.”

“Thank you,” Silkie replied. She craned her head to read the bellman’s name badge. “Steve.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

She looked around but before she could ask, the bellman touched one of the mirrored panels on the wall.

A hidden door opened with a low click, revealing a huge walk-in closet with built-in dressers.

“Second panel from the right is the closet,” the bellman said with a smile. “The second panel from the left

is the bathing suite.”

“Wow,” Silkie said again as the bellman pushed against the panel behind which the bathing suite was

located.

“Would you like me to unpack for you?”

“Oh, no,” Silkie was quick to say. “I’ll do it.” She had always hated other people handing her personal

belongings.

“Well, if there is nothing else, I’ll be going. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please ask for

me.”

“What room is Dr. Carstairs in?”

“I believe she is in her usual room,” he replied. “The Regal Suite.”

Silkie smiled. “That sounds like her.”

“Each of the rooms has a theme,” the bellman said. “If you get a chance, take a stroll by the Lagoon

suite. It is truly breathtaking. There is an aquarium arced over the bed in that room.”

Silkie whistled. “That I gotta see!”

Steve bowed slightly and let himself out, gently closing the thick, carved oak door behind him.

Looking about her, Silkie walked to the bathing suite and poked her head in. The sight that greeted her

made her eyes go wide. If the headboard of the bed had surprised her, the bathing suite stunned her even

more.

Besides a long vanity holding dual marble sinks, there was a toilet and bidet, a vast walk-in glass shower

with a marble seating shelf and showerheads on three sides, and a well-appointed dressing table. But the

piece de resistance was the huge spa tub in pale green marble with delicate white veining that took center

stage in the plush chamber. Sunken into the tile floor and sitting at the base of floor-to-ceiling mullioned

windows that gave a magnificent view of the ocean beyond, the tub looked so inviting Silkie couldn’t wait

to climb inside and turn the brass jets on full force.

Biting her lip, she was trying to decide if she wanted to dress for supper or simply call room service for a

light snack. The tub was calling out to her and the thought of sinking beneath the swirling waters was too

tempting to pass up. She knew the next few days would be embarrassing at the least, humiliating at the

most, and having the rest of this evening to herself, to relax and drive all thoughts of her assignment from

her mind, seemed too important to ignore.

Making up her mind, she reluctantly turned away from the tub and headed for the parlor, but the bed

snared her attention and she made a detour. Kicking off her shoes, she heaved herself onto the higher

than normal mattress then gave a loud sigh of contentment as she sank into the marshmallow feel of the

viscose foam mattress. Without another thought, she stretched out, allowing her body to become

enveloped in the soft but firm surface.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, reveling in the sensation the mattress was causing. It was almost like floating

on air, no pressure points to feel along her back and legs. “I’m gonna sleep good tonight!”

For ten minutes she lay there as relaxed as she could ever remember being in her life. It demanded a

great deal of willpower to get up and go into the other room for the room-service menu. All she really

wanted to do was lie there until morning but her tummy was growling and she knew she’d come down