Passion's Mistral (16 page)

the lady, I’m sure he’d do most anything to keep her safe, don’t you?” He cocked his head to one side.

“How do you suppose Celeste found out about Miss Trevor, Christy?”

Christian tipped his head back and drained his drink. He put his feet down on the floor and shook his

head. “I can’t begin to guess,” he said, getting up. He walked to the bar to fix another Manhattan.

“It seems our mole has been at work again, doesn’t it?” Henri asked, watching as Christian’s hands

shook as he poured liquor into his glass.

“Yes, it would seem so.”

Henri looked out the window. “Well, I guess I’ll have to step up my efforts at finding out who that rat is.”

He glanced down at his notebook. The word mole stared back at him.

“If I can be of any help, just ask,” Christian told him, taking his seat once again.

Taking up his notebook, Henri pushed back from desk. He slid his pen into his pocket. “I believe I left

that new Arkenstone CD down at our little hideaway. Would you be a dear and get it for me?”

“Now?” Christian asked. He glanced at the window. “It’s pitch dark out there.”

Henri smiled. “I really want to play it when we retire tonight. It really sets the mood for great lovemaking,

don’t you think?”

Christian sighed. “All right,” he agreed. Once more he drained his glass and got to his feet. “But you’ll

have to make it up to me for that long trek down the bloody beach, Henri!”

“I’ll pay you back for everything you’ve done, my dear. Have no fear of that,” Henri said. “Now, I really

need to talk to Julian. Since he isn’t answering his phone, I’ll have to interrupt his little tête-à-tête.”

“He won’t like it,” Christian warned as Henri opened the door.

“No,” Henri agreed. “He isn’t going to like what I have to tell him at all.”

Walking down the corridor, Henri’s face was hard, his eyes steely as he stopped before Julian’s office

and punched in the security key code. Once inside, he picked up the house phone.

“There is a matter I need you to take care of for me,” he told the man who answered. “Be careful you

aren’t seen and I don’t want any evidence of tonight’s work to come bobbing up at the beach.”

“Who am I to cancel?” the man inquired.

“He’s on his way to my cottage down the beach. Take care of the matter as he’s returning to the resort.”

“Any other instructions, sir?”

“Yes. Make sure the CD he will be carrying isn’t damaged and bring it to me.”

The light knocks on the door to the Forest Room suite were repeated three times, a signal to Julian who

it was that was intruding on his private time. They were also an indication to the resort’s owner that it was

a matter of some importance.

Padding softly to the door so as not to awaken Silkie, Julian opened the portal quietly, standing aside so

Henri could slip inside.

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked quietly.

“Our mole,” Henri whispered, “was Christian.”

Julian lowered his head and stood there arms akimbo. “You’re sure?”

“Without a single doubt,” Henri answered.

Lifting his head, Julian stared at his old friend. “I’m sorry, Henri. I know you two are—”

“Were,” Henri interrupted. He shrugged. “Perhaps I meant something to him, perhaps not. It might all

have simply been a guise to learn all he could from someone close to you.” He squeezed his eyes closed.

“Forgive me, Julian.”

“For what?” Julian asked. Before Henri could protest, he reached out to grip the man’s shoulders. “You

saved my life not once but twice, old friend. You helped Celeste get documents for me with the name

Julian St. John on them. As far as the American government believed, that was who I was.”

“They know your real name now, Julian,” Henri reminded him. He ground his teeth. “Thanks to Clive

Bellington.”

“That doesn’t matter. I won’t ever leave Mistral Cay.”

“Celeste had that pretty boy of hers call us this evening. She is on her way down to Kingston and wants

you to send the yacht for her.” He held up his hand before Julian could ask why. “She is bringing

Bellington to Kingston with her.”

“She told you that?” Julian asked, his face tight with alarm.

“I have a man at Bellington Hall,” Henri admitted. “He phoned to tell me Clive is on the way here.

Celeste doesn’t know I know.”

Julian removed his hands from Henri’s shoulders. “Do you think she was responsible for Clive finding me

the first time?” he asked.

Henri cocked one shoulder. “I don’t think so but who knows?” He thought about it for a moment. “No,

I’m fairly sure she didn’t because she didn’t want to lose you. She doesn’t want to lose you now and

that’s why she’s sent for Clive.”

“But why?” Julian asked, raising his voice then remembering Silkie was in the next room, lowering his

words to a near whisper. “She knows Clive wants me dead. She knows he’d like nothing better than to

see me in prison, awaiting my execution.”

“Yes, but if you sign away your inheritance, promise Clive you won’t make any moves to get back at

him, my guess is he’ll leave you alone and stop trying to send his people here to kidnap you.”

“Why would I sign over my inheritance to that bastard?” Julian snarled. “I may not be able to touch the

money but—”

“To keep Miss Trevor safe?” Henri suggested.

Julian stared at him.

“Clive could hire a woman professional to take Miss Trevor out. She’d be just one more client suggested

and vouched for by one of our clients Clive can find a way to get to,” Henri explained. “It wouldn’t be

hard to do, Julian.”

“Then why hasn’t he done that before now to get rid of me?” Julian demanded.

“Because if something happened to you, Celeste knows who Clive is and I’d wager she’d make him

suffer like he could never imagine.”

“Yes, but—”

“As far as Celeste is concerned, you still belong to her, Julian. She isn’t about to let any woman change

that.”

Julian’s gaze shifted slowly to the bedroom door. His heart was lying in that room.

“I warned you long ago we should cancel Clive Bellington. Now is as good a time as any,” Henri said.

When Julian looked at him, Henri lifted a brow. “Do you want to keep looking over your shoulder,

wondering if that next client is the one who’ll harm your lady?”

“What will keep Celeste from doing the same thing?” Julian asked.

Henri drew in a long breath and released it slowly. “Nothing, really. That we will have to discuss and

make plans to avert.”

“I don’t want her here,” Julian said. “Phone Umsted. Tell him now isn’t a good time for Celeste to come

calling. Make sure our yacht doesn’t leave the harbor and have the chopper out patrolling. If she tries to

barge her way in here, tell Jonesy to blow the damned boat out of the water!”

“She’d have to be inside the three-mile limit first,” Henri warned.

“Fine,” Julian snapped.

“I’ll tell Umsted what will happen if she should try to sail here.”

“Just keep her from the Cay!” Julian ordered.

Julian slipped back into the bed, his mind roiling with turmoil. He was cold, his heart pounding and his

hands clammy as he lay down, trying not to awaken Silkie who lay with her back to him.

“Who was at the door?” Silkie asked sleepily. She turned over and nestled against him, lifting her head so

he could slide his arm beneath her neck.

“Just Henri,” he answered. He wanted no secrets or lies between them as they began their journey

through life together but neither did he want to alarm her. There were things she did not need to know. “It

was Cay business.”

“Um,” Silkie mumbled as she slid her hand down his chest to pluck at the thick, wiry curls on his

abdomen. “You tired?”

Julian smiled. “Not anymore,” he replied, putting his hand over hers and lowering her fingers to his cock.

“You have a knack for taking my mind off my troubles.”

She arched her head back and looked up at him, though with the twinkling lights dotting the overhead

branches turned off, she could make out little more than his profile. “Is something bothering you?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he responded, easing his arm out from beneath her. He turned over and

slithered down the mattress, shoving the coverlet aside as he moved.

His hands were on her hips, his face pressing against her belly as he placed light kisses around her navel.

She sucked in her breath as his tongue delved into the concavity. She wiggled against the invasion and

buried her fingers in his dark curls. Her breathing increased as he circled her navel with the tip of his

tongue then began a downward trail of wet heat onto her pubic mound.

Julian slid his hand between her legs then upward as he cupped her buttocks, bringing her hips up as he

lifted. She brought her feet to his shoulders, bracing her instep on his collarbones to give him access to

that part of her he sought.

His mouth was searing with moist heat as he placed a gentle kiss along the entrance to her core. His

breath moving over the sensitive pubic hair sent shivers racing down her spine. She clutched his hair,

pressing him closer to her and when his lips touched her most responsive place, she moaned with

anticipated pleasure, closing her eyes against the flick of his tongue against her.

He circled the straining little nub, lashed it lovingly from side to side then licked at it with short, upward

strokes that brought pants of air from her. His fingers dug gently into her rump, anchoring her as he

nipped at that very receptive piece of flesh.

“Oh, God!” she cried and he could feel her legs trembling.

His short upward stroke lengthened until he was lapping her vaginal opening from the base of her lips to

the very top. A trickle of her essence oozed onto his chin as he lapped at the musky taste. The smell of

her was invading his senses, stiffening an erection already as hard as he could ever remember it being. His

tumescence was almost painful—certainly insistent—but her pleasure meant more to him at that moment

and he eased one hand out from under her so he could peel back the hood that covered her clitoris.

When his tongue touched the ultra-aware protrusion, Silkie arched her hips upward.

He knew what she needed and slid his fingers into her moist opening. She was hot, oozing with need and

as he moved his fingers inside her, the middle finger stroking her G-spot, he heard her moaning, felt the

movement as she tossed her head from side to side.

“Come, sweetness,” he whispered. “Give me your juice. Let me taste you.”

His words were like a prod, spurring her closer to fulfillment. She strained against him, reveling in the feel

of his lips on her clit, his fingers pressed deeply within her. But it was not until he turned his palm

downward, rotating his fingers inside her and slipped his thumb into her anus that waves of pure ecstasy

broke over her and she screamed with the intensity of her climax.

She came with quick little waves of tightening that captured his fingers. Three rapid little constrictions then

two slower ones and then finally one less strong convulsion that left her limp upon the bed, her hands

fallen away from his hair where only a moment before she had nearly pulled those shafts from their roots

with the power of her release. Her legs quivered as he gently lowered them from his shoulders.

“Take me,” she pleaded, her breaths no less slow than they had been before she climaxed.

He slid into her, going in to the very root of him, and held his hard erection against her. She thought she

could feel the pulse of his penal veins throbbing along the shaft and concentrated on experiencing the

semi-pain of his deep penetration. As he slowly began to move inside her, she lifted her hands and

clutched at his shoulders.

Once more he put his hands beneath her hips and lifted her to him, going as deep inside her vagina as he

could. With slow, sure strokes he pressed into her then sped up his invasion as his blood began to boil

with the urgent need to spill his seed.

There was no slap of his scrotum against her, she thought as he shortened his stroke to penetrate her. No

silly sound, as Dr. Carstairs had labeled it. Instead, she heard only his shallow intake of breath, the

pounding of her own pulse in her ears and then finally his roar of release as he pushed all the way into her

and held his cock there as he spurted, the jerking movement of his shaft thrilling her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, imprisoning him to her as he collapsed upon her, his sweaty chest

slick against her breasts. Her arms were around his shoulders. They both knew the other had been

seeking this completion all his or her life.

“Never leave me,” Julian whispered. His cheek was pressed to her chest.

“Never,” she vowed as she raised her head and kissed his hair. She lay down, completely satiated, totally

at peace.

They fell asleep in that position—his head on her breast, her arms holding him to her, the fingers of one

hand threaded through his dark hair.

When they woke, the sun was streaming through the window and the smell of coffee wafted to them from

the living area of the suite.

Julian rolled over to his back, one arm flung over his eyes to blot out the bright light. Silkie left the

comfort of the bed and padded to the bathroom. When she had relieved herself and washed her face,

she fetched the coffee that had been left on a silver tray along with a bud vase that held a single crimson

rose.

“Tell me he left croissants, too,” Julian mumbled.