Passion's Mistral (10 page)

the tub was tepid, scum-shot with grayish suds. Bending over, she turned off the jets of water, pulled the

plug on the tub and entered the shower. She allowed the cooling bursts of water to calm her but long

after she had dried off and crawled naked between the satin sheets, she wondered what had made her

lover leave.

Chapter Seven

“Gregory Strickland,” Henri reported to Julian the next morning. “He is the owner of the Heartland

Agency where Ms. Trevor is employed.”

“How long have they been involved?”

Henri’s left eyebrow quirked upward. “You never fail to amaze me, Julian. You have an uncanny ability

to intuit things like this. I can’t begin to understand how you do it,” Henri said on a long sigh.

“Then don’t try,” Julian snapped. “How long?”

“Actually, they are not involved.”

“But they were.”

“For a very short while,” Henri replied. He glanced down at his notebook. “The affair started when they

were working together on an assignment. The affair seems to be going nowhere. By all accounts, he’s a

prick and has it in everything that slows down long enough for him to poke. As far as can be determined,

things are at an impasse between them.”

“An impasse I intend to put an end to,” Julian stated.

Henri closed his notebook. “Do I detect interest here, Julian?” he asked, a worried frown etched

between his brows. “Have you allowed yourself to become attracted to this young woman?”

“What if I have?”

Clicking the point of his ever-present pen, Henri put the instrument in his inside coat pocket. “Is that

wise, my friend?” he inquired. “All things considered?”

“I’m no longer a child, Henri,” Julian said but his words were soft, spoken with affection. “I know what

I’m doing.”

“I hope so, Julian,” Henri replied. “For all our sakes, I sincerely hope so.”

* * * * *

The helper with the flaming red pubic hair was the twelfth penis to be inspected since she’d started. The

young man’s nether head had been as red and angry as the stormy expression in his dark green eyes. His

stance made it clear to Silkie that he resented having his genitalia inspected by the constant flexing of his

thigh muscles, the annoyed snorts and clucking of his tongue.

Silkie had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing. When she took the last photo—not having found

the telltale anchor-shaped birthmark on this young man—she looked up, drawing his eyes to hers.

“You are a very well-equipped young man,” she said and watched as a ripple of pride sparked through

his stare. “I can certainly understand why the ladies all ask for Big Red.”

Those green eyes turned a few shades darker and the stiff posture that had held the young man at a

distance relaxed. He ducked his head and—would wonders never cease—actually dug a childish toe into

the sand, wobbling his muscular leg from side to side. Had he been able to speak, Silkie was sure he’d

have said, “Aw, shucks, ma’am, it ain’t that big.”

“Thank you,” Silkie said softly. “Your contribution to Dr. Carstairs’ book will certainly draw many a

jealous eye.”

Once more that toe dug into the sand then the young man lifted his head. Silkie could feel the smile

behind the silken mask. He seemed almost reluctant to leave and she had the impression he wanted to

hear more compliments on his well-endowed manhood.

Number thirteen was lurking at the edge of the water and as soon as his predecessor left came ambling

over. As naked as the day he was born, as powerfully built as any Mr. Universe, his bulging muscles

rippled in the sun, the well-oiled flesh gleaming as he came to plant himself before her. Hands on hips, he

bent his masked head and locked eyes with her.

Silkie said hello and smiled pleasantly. She looked down at his small offering and almost groaned. As big

as the man was, his miniscule penis was surely a disappointment to him. The fact that he was

uncircumcised—the first she had encountered—made her curious. Without thinking, she reached out and

took the little member in her hand and before she could draw a breath, it expanded. She snatched her

hand back but she heard his low chuckle and looked up.

Her face burning brightly, she was made even more uncomfortable by the knowing look in his pale gray

eyes.

“A woman gains more pleasure from an uncut penis than one that has had the foreskin removed,” Dr.

Carstairs had said. “You should try Derek while you’re at the Cay and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Derek?” Silkie muttered.

The young man nodded and that knowing look turned hot. He was standing there, arms akimbo,

straight-as-an-arrow cock pointed right at Silkie. What she had thought was a little penis was now a shaft

of considerable length and breadth.

“Stand to the side, please,” Silkie managed to ask as she hastily snatched up her camera. She took shots

of his left profile and shots of his right, straight on, and then asked him to lift his penis upward.

He obliged but as he did, he moved his hand back and forth slowly, manipulating it with a seductive ease

that turned Silkie’s blush fiery red.

“Ah, t-that’s all I need,” she mumbled. No anchor birthmark on that small scrotum but what a prow he

had!

“Are you sure?” he whispered from behind the mask.

Shocked that he would speak to her, she had to swallow past the lump in her throat. She bobbed her

head eagerly. “Yes, thank you.”

He shrugged and turned to go, his stiff erection like a battering ram thrust straight out in front of him.

“Oh my,” Silkie said, fanning her blazing face. She set down the camera and reached for a bottle of iced

water in the cooler beside her. As she did, she saw Sean standing about ten feet behind her.

He was clad in a pair of very skimpy swim briefs, his perfectly tanned body looking far more delicious

than any man’s had a right to look. Standing with his legs apart, arms crossed over his chest, he was an

invitation she wished she could openly accept.

“I haven’t photographed you,” she heard herself saying.

Sean made no move toward her. Instead he looked to his left and when Silkie followed his stare was

disappointed that another helper was trudging his way toward her through the hot sand.

“You are next, okay?” she asked.

A careless shrug was his answer.

The fourteenth penis, she thought as the young black man presented himself to her. She smiled and asked

her subject to remove his skin-tight white shorts.

This one took great delight in peeling off his shorts and did so as though he was listening to music to strip

by. Slow and deliberate, teasing, he dipped the shorts first in the back, then the front, then wiggled them

down his hips, shaking his hips from side to side as the shorts moved farther south.

And those slim hips weren’t the only things moving side to side.

Silkie gulped as his huge member—heavily veined and as dark as rich chocolate—swung between his

taut thighs. She was shocked that he had no pubic hair at all and that his lower belly looked as smooth as

a baby’s bottom. There didn’t appear to be any hair on his slick body. When that large penis became a

rotary tool, making a full 360-degree arc as his hips undulated and he swung it without the aid of his

hands, her mouth dropped open.

She could hear Sean laughing as she sat there hypnotized by the performance of Mr. Fourteen and she

wasn’t altogether sure that wasn’t an appropriate measurement of the weapon he was wielding with such

merry abandonment. She could not keep her head from following the rotation of that happy cock.

“Ah, I need to take pictures of that,” Silkie said a bit too loudly and heard Sean’s snort of derision. Not

daring to look at her tormentor, she pleaded silently with the young man showing off in front of her to

behave.

When she was finished with the pictures, she turned around to motion Sean over but he was gone.

“Oh, shit!” she exploded, stomping her foot in the sand. Once more, he had pulled his disappearing act

and she was more annoyed than ever.

There were no more helpers headed toward her although the beach was full of them. Off to her right was

a naked volleyball game that held a dozen or so women in complete thrall.

Having enough for one day, Silkie gathered her camera and the beach tote she had brought along and

headed for the cabana where liquor was being served. She needed something cold and very potent to

help assuage both the irritation and disappointment she was feeling.

* * * * *

Julian watched her from his office as she straddled one of the bamboo stools and ordered a drink. He

could sense the frustration building in her and made a mental wager that it wouldn’t be too long before

she came to seek him out.

“You’ve changed your mind about participating, haven’t you, sweetness?” he asked. “And you’re going

to ask for Sean, aren’t you? I wonder what your fantasy will be.”

He gave her half an hour to build up her courage, so while that was happening, he went to shower.

Stepping out of the black swim briefs, he stood under the water with his face turned into the spray, his

hands braced to either side of the wall in front of him. Lowering his head, he let the water beat down on

his shoulders, relaxing him. As he toweled dry, he ignored the building erection that came of its own

accord whenever he thought of Silkie Trevor.

“It won’t be long, old friend,” he whispered, drawing the rough towel over his sensitive flesh.

Six months ago, he thought as he dressed in black jeans and tank top. It had been six months since he’d

allowed a woman to touch him.

The phone on his desk was ringing as he left his dressing room. He snatched it up. “What?” he snapped.

“I have that call ready for you,” Henri said, seemingly unperturbed by the harsh greeting. “Is now a good

time?”

Julian felt his blood begin to pound in the column of his neck. “Yes,” he said, almost choking on the

word.

“Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the number.”

Grabbing a pen, Julian mumbled his readiness.

“It’s area code 563…” Henri began—finishing giving Julian the rest of the number, he said it was

unlisted.

“Ms. Trevor will be on her way up to see me in—” Julian glanced at the gold Rolex watch on his right

wrist “—about ten minutes. Would you waylay her for me until five o’clock then send her up?”

“Of course,” Henri agreed and ended the call.

For a moment or two Julian stood there with his hand on the phone’s cradle. His heart was racing and he

could feel perspiration dripping between his breastbones. He took a deep breath then began dialing.

He didn’t expect anyone to answer. When the sweet voice on the other end said hello, he froze for a

moment, unable to speak.

“Is there someone there?”

“Do you…” Julian asked, closing his eyes. He swallowed. “Do you remember the words to the

Connemara Cradle Song?”

He heard a quick intake of breath and felt the blood pounding in his temples. When the next word came,

he felt his knees buckle and reached out to grab the chair.

“Patrick?” It was said so softly, so hopefully. “Patrick, is that you?”

“Do you remember the words?” he repeated.

“I could never forget the songs I sang to you, Paddy.”

He could hear tears in the voice as the woman on the other end began singing, the melody the same as

the old folk tune Down in the Valley.

“‘On the wings of the wind, o’er the dark rolling deep…’”

The voice broke and he could hear sobs and a low male voice saying soothing words.

“‘Angels are coming to watch o’er thy sleep’,” Julian finished and felt tears sliding down his cheeks.

“How could you remember that?” she asked. “You were just a baby.”

“Even babies know when they are loved,” he replied and reached up to swipe at the tears scalding him.

“I remember being loved.”

“I didn’t give you up, Paddy,” she said forcefully. “I would never have given you up if I had had a

choice.”

“I know,” he said, biting his trembling lip.

“Were they…did they…?” she couldn’t seem to finish.

A man’s voice came over the line. “She’s just crying, son. She’s okay.”

“Is this Mr. Lynden?” Julian asked, stiffening at the sound of the voice.

“Call me Bradford,” the man replied. “I’m your mother’s husband.”

“I need to talk with her, Bradford. I—”

“Give her awhile to adjust to this, son. Call her back tomorrow,” he said then his voice was muffled as he

covered the phone. Though his words were unclear, his tone was stern before he came back on the line.

“I’m going to calm her down before we go any further with this. She has high blood pressure and I don’t

want her getting worked up any more than she already is. She’s spent all these years trying to find you. A

few hours won’t make any difference.”

“You sure she’s all right?”

“Yes and now that’s she’s found you again, she’ll be better yet.”

“She knows where I am. She knows what I am,” Julian said and shame shuddered through him. “The

detective she sent…”

“That doesn’t matter to her. She just wants to see her son,” Bradford said.

After Julian hung up, promising to call back in the next day, he paced the confines of his office, thrusting

his hand repeatedly through his hair. He had forgotten all about Silkie Trevor’s visit and when the knock

came at his door, he flung it open, his face showing signs of fury at the interruption.

Silkie stepped back from the murderous look on Julian St. John’s face. He was glaring at her, his breath