Passion's Mistral (9 page)

the women. She wanted to hear this man’s voice for she knew it would be as sultry and seductive as the

hot gleam in his amber eyes.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said as the waiter brought her salad.

“His name is Sean,” the waiter said quietly as he placed the salad before her.

Silkie blushed for the waiter gave her a look that was knowing and amused. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Sean is the most sought-after man at the Cay,” the waiter continued. “He—”

There was a low growl from the man seated beside her and the waiter coughed, bowing curtly as he

turned to leave. Silkie saw him glance back over his shoulder as though he expected her dining partner to

come after him.

“Shame on you,” she said. “Scaring away that perfectly good informer.”

Sean chuckled behind the mask and when she looked into his eyes, she saw sheer deviltry staring back at

her. This was a man who would bear watching and remembering the way he had looked half-clothed on

the beach that afternoon, she couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of him looked like.

It was almost as though that thought had winged its way to the man in black for he reached out to take

her hand in a light grip. As she watched—eyes wide and lips parted—he rubbed his thumb across the

sensitive pulse point at her wrist and one golden eye closed slowly in an audacious wink.

Silkie jerked her hand out of his grasp, feeling the sensation of his fingertips to the very depths of her

womb. She looked down in her lap, took up her napkin and wiped at her mouth though not one morsel

of food or drink had passed her lips. She tucked the napkin back in her lap and hastily reached for her

wine glass. She took a large gulp that seemed to amuse him for his tawny eyes sparkled.

“I’m not sure,” she said, returning the wine glass to the table, “that I like you sitting there staring at me.”

She took up her fork and attacked her salad, chewing almost angrily as she glanced at him.

He cocked his head to one side then leaned back, folding his arms over his wide chest. The action made

her mouth water more than the sweet-sour taste of the blue cheese dressing. His muscles strained against

the shoulders of that luscious black shirt and those tapered fingers brought unbidden thoughts that made

swallowing difficult.

“Does Mr. St. John know you are trying to seduce me?” she asked. When he nodded slowly, she

paused with another forkful of salad halfway to her lips. She lowered the fork. “Even though I told him I

didn’t wish to participate in what the Cay offers?”

Once more he nodded very slowly, the candlelight on the table reflecting across the black silk of his mask

in a chevron pattern over his mesmerizing eyes.

“Well,” Silkie said, “I think I need to speak with Mr. St. John. Obviously he doesn’t listen very well but

then he is a very rude man.”

She hadn’t meant her words to be insulting but obviously Sean took them as such for he unfolded his

arms and stood in one graceful movement that made her reach out to him in apology.

“It’s nothing to do with you,” she said, taking that firm, strong wrist in her hand. She could feel the power

of him, the heat of his flesh, and wanted to throw herself in his arms. “It’s just that…I…well…” She

trailed off, wanting yet not wanting the pleasures this man was offering. When he gently but firmly

removed his hand from her grip, she groaned inwardly, her shoulders slumping.

He walked away, ignoring the women whose heads swiveled toward him as he passed.

“Idiot,” Silkie named herself, appetite gone. She pushed the barely tasted salad away and shook her

head.

It was going to be a long night, she thought as the waiter came toward her with the entrée.

He was watching her as she pleasured herself in the big tub she couldn’t seem to get enough of. “That

could have been me inside you, sweetness,” he whispered as he traced her arm on the monitor screen as

she plied the loofah between her legs.

Silkie’s eyes were closed and her neck arched gracefully against the tub’s vinyl pillow. One leg was

braced on the tub’s rim, her prettily painted little toes arched as the friction from the loofah brought her

close to satisfaction.

Standing it longer than he thought humanly possible, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he left his hiding

place, tying the mask at the back of his head as he walked. In less than a minute he was unlocking her

door and slipping inside the Forest Room, making his way with steely-eyed determination to the bathing

suite.

The sound of the door opening startled Silkie and she yelped, swinging around in the tub, covering her

nakedness with the ineffectual span of her hands.

“What are doing in here?” she squealed in a voice a full octave higher than her normal tone.

He didn’t answer but came to the tub and bent over, scooping her up as though she weighed no more

than a doll. Mindless of the water he sloshed onto his silk britches, of her wet body pressed against him,

he carried her to the bed and laid her down, joining her in a lithe movement that would have done a

panther proud.

Silkie made an attempt to elude him but he was up and over her, straddling her quivering body so she

was trapped between his spread legs as he knelt on the bed, her hips touching his inner thighs. She tried

to scoot up on the mattress but he fell forward, his elbows bracing him from crushing her with his weight.

“No,” she said but heard the word as he did—with no conviction and more a question than a statement.

He stretched out atop her, wedging one leg between hers, pushing her thighs apart. Her wet flesh was

sticking to the silk of his britches and the drag of it over her lower belly made her suck in her breath.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, putting her hands up to that broad, naked chest and reveling in the feel of

the crisp wiriness beneath her fingers. Though she held him at bay, denying him what he so obviously

wanted, she knew he would go no further than what she allowed. She shook her head. “Not like this.”

His arms flexed on the mattress to either side of her shoulders as though he was asking why, letting her

know his frustration.

“Let me talk to Mr. St. John,” she said and watched him straighten, his arms now hanging loosely at his

sides. Her hands had slid down his chest when he moved and were now on his taut belly. She reluctantly

removed them. “I didn’t come here for what you are offering but—”

He shook his head and was off the bed before she could finish. The removal of his hot body from hers

made Silkie whimper with regret. It was that small sound that put the heat of his palm to the juncture of

her thighs.

Silkie’s body arched off the bed as he unerringly slid his middle finger deep between her nether lips. She

reached up and grabbed the two lowest branches of the tree headboard and squeezed her eyes closed as

that strong digit flexed upward and claimed that mysterious and glorious G-spot.

He smiled behind the mask as she clamped her legs tightly against his wrist. Her knees were bent, her

feet pressing into the viscous mattress as her sweet little bottom lifted from the bed to give him freer

access. She was gripping the branches above her with fingers tightening and loosening, arching in a back

and forth manner as though she was attempting to unscrew a lid from a jar. He stared hungrily at her lush

breasts—flattened against her chest—and the coral tips that invited his mouth to taste. He promised

himself before the night was through he would claim first one then the other hard nub and worry it until

she screamed for mercy.

“Sean,” he heard her sigh as he continued to work the inner nub of flesh that was just as hard as the

erection straining his britches.

Her breasts looked so forlorn splayed to either side of her and he reached down with his free hand to rub

his palms over one then the other in slow, mesmerizing circles that had her panting, her flanks lifting higher

off the bed. He palmed the nipples until they were like warm little pebbles then plucked at them with the

tips of his fingers.

“Sean!” she shouted as she squirmed on the bed, pulling against his hand as he rubbed at the depth of her

passion.

Silkie could feel the itch in the very core of her and she knew when that tickle was relieved it would be a

sensation unlike any she’d ever known. This man was playing her like an instrument of which he was a

master and she could not have stopped him even had she wanted to. Thrilling to his touch, aching with his

ministrations, she was rushing toward an orgasm she knew would be soul shattering. When it

came—reaching up to grasp her in hot fingers that drew her toward pure ecstasy—she screamed her

release as wave after wave pulsed against his conquering fingers.

He thrust his fingers as far as they would go inside her as the walls of her vagina tightened around him.

Her hips were clear of the bed, her back arched, the back of her head pressed deeply into her pillow. He

counted the pulsations—one, two, three in quick succession, two farther apart then a final third before

her body shuddered and she fell limp to the mattress, though her legs were still clamped tightly around his

wrist.

She lay there—quivering from head to toe—feeling the aftermath of a release that brought the stars down

from the heavens behind her tightly closed eyelids. She was panting, her heart racing. A dewy film of

perspiration had formed on her upper lip and under the creases of her heavy breasts. She trembled one

last time then opened her eyes to look up into the eyes of the man bent over her.

Those amber eyes were bright with possession. The man behind them knew he had pleasured her as she

had never experienced sexual release before. His fingers were still inside her and he gently slid them out a

little ways but at her moan, he slid them in again, moving them within her before withdrawing them

completely.

“Ummm,” Silkie groaned. She smiled hesitantly at him, both intimidated and embarrassed by what had

just happened.

For a moment he stood there looking down at her. He placed his fingertips to his mouth then laid them

gently on Silkie’s lips.

She could smell the muskiness of her own fluids on his fingers but it didn’t matter to her. Though she was

a very fastidious person who normally would have been appalled by such an action, she surprised herself

when she pressed a kiss to those strong fingers.

The strength of his erection flexing against the wet fabric of his britches drew her attention and she drew

in a slow breath. The bulge against the silk was huge and she knew the turgid flesh causing that bulge

could pleasure her more than his knowing fingers. She was about to reach for him, to draw him to her

when the phone rang.

Startled by the intrusion, her lover straightened, removing his fingers from her mouth. The sudden heat in

his amber gaze told her he was more than annoyed by the interruption.

More disappointed than aggravated, Silkie bent over and grabbed the receiver from the small bedside

table that looked like a gnarled stump.

“Hello?” she barked, watching as the man in black leaned against the bedroom wall, his arms folded over

his chest.

“Have you found him yet?” Greg Strickland asked.

“What?”

“Mr. Anchor Balls,” Greg laughed. “I didn’t hear from you yesterday. Did you land ho him today?”

Silkie’s disappointment became aggravation at the inane patter. Her mouth tightened. “No, Greg, I

haven’t.” She glanced up at the man in black and saw he was watching her intently. “I’m sure Dr.

Carstairs will inform you when we’re finished here.”

There was a moment of silence then Greg’s tone changed. “Is there someone there with you?”

“Yes.”

“One of the infamous helpers?” came the snarled query.

“Yes.”

Another moment of silence that lasted a beat or two longer. “You better tell me you’ve been

photographing his cock, Silkie, and not having it jammed into you!”

“Good night, Greg,” Silkie said from between clenched teeth. “I’ll tell Dr. Carstairs you called.” Before

Greg could say anything else, she hung up the phone.

The man in black had not moved. His amber eyes were locked on her face. There was something very

menacing about the way he was standing there. From his stance, she could almost feel the waves of anger

that crashed toward her.

“Ah, that was my boss,” she said. “The publisher of Dr. Carstairs’ book. He wanted to know how things

were going.”

Without a word, her lover turned and walked out of the room.

Silkie frowned. What had just happened, she wondered? It was almost as though he was jealous, but

how could that be? He didn’t know her and knew nothing of her relationship with Greg. Did he sense

something in her tone as she talked to Greg that had sent alarm signals through his male ego?

“No,” she said aloud, going back over the short conversation. There had been nothing in tone that would

suggest she had known the man on the other end of the phone intimately. If anything, her tone had been

rife with frustration and tinged with more than a little anger.

So what had caused Sean to pull another of his disappearance acts?

The clamminess of her body finally intruded on Silkie’s pondering and she realized she had never finished

her bath. There was a fine film of soapsuds on her arms and legs, the feel of which was not conducive to

a good night’s sleep. Grimacing, she scooted off the bed and padded into the bathing suite. The water in