Passion's Mistral (2 page)

warm from the contact.

“I really hate that Ross put you in this predicament, baby,” Greg said, rubbing his chin along the sensitive

column of her neck. “I wish there was someone else we could send. The thought of you even touching

another man makes my blood boil.”

Locked in his arms, the press of his hard chest causing her nipples to harden, Silkie could hear the strong,

rushed beat of his heart against her ear. She was shocked to feel the thrust of his aroused penis stirring

against her. It had been months since they had been physical and his nearness was a poignant reminder of

cold evenings spent making love before a crackling hearth. When he moved a hand to her breast, she

sucked in a harsh, needy breath.

“Greg, not here,” she whispered as his lips found the pulse point of her throat.

“I want you,” he growled and before she could react, he was pulling her to the carpet with him.

Cushioning their descent to the floor as gently as he could, Greg stretched out atop her, nudging her legs

apart with his knees. The front of his khaki slacks was wet and she could feel it against her mound. His

right hand was molding her breast, his thumb stroking the turgid nipple through the silk fabric of her

blouse.

“Greg—”

“I’m on fire for you, baby,” he muttered, dragging his tongue into the hollow at the base of her neck. He

lapped at the flesh then latched his mouth on hers. The force of his kiss, the surge of his tongue thrusting

deep between her lips, made Silkie moan. The sound seemed to spur Greg to more possessive heights

and he pumped against her lower body, his hand leaving her breast to fumble with the side closure of her

slacks.

Silkie broke off the kiss and turned her head away, flinching as his lips slid wetly across her cheek.

“Greg, no,” she said, pushing against his shoulders.

“I need you,” he growled and tried to continue the kiss.

Using all the strength she could muster, she managed to move the weight of his upper body from hers so

he was forced to look down at her. “Not here. Not like this.”

Greg’s mouth tightened. “I thought we had something together,” he said.

“We did,” she replied.

“We did?” he echoed, moving off her as though he was a marionette and someone had pulled his strings,

jerking him to his feet. He stood there straddling her prone body, glaring down at her. “What does that

mean?”

Silkie lifted her hand, thinking he would take it and help her up, but Greg folded his arms over his chest

and continued to stare at her.

Embarrassed by her subservient position on the floor, Silkie drew her legs up and twisted sideways,

coming to her feet clumsily and dusting off the seat of her black twill slacks. She faced Greg, her chin up.

“What happened in Colorado was magical,” she said. “But since then, you haven’t so much as called to

ask me out.”

“I’ve been busy,” Greg responded. “You know that.”

“Too busy to pick up the phone and ask how I’m doing?” she asked. “Colorado was six weeks ago and

in all that time, all I’ve gotten from you was an email from Paris on my birthday and a bouquet of roses

delivered by the florist.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to do? Take you with me to France?”

“That would have been nice.”

“I was on business and business and pleasure don’t mix,” he snapped.

“It did in Colorado,” she reminded him.

“Things were different in Colorado,” he said stiffly.

“Have you been seeing someone else?” she asked, knowing he had but hoping he would admit it.

Greg did not respond to her words. Instead, he spun on his heel and headed for the door. “Dr. Carstairs

will meet you at the airport tomorrow. Wrap this up as quickly as possible and get back here. I want to

be done with this sordid business.”

Silkie winced as the door slammed shut behind Greg’s departure.

“Actually,” Dr. Olivia Carstairs said as she unbuckled her seat belt, “the male organ is a beautiful piece of

work.” She winked at Silkie. “Some are prettier than others. Let’s hope the one you’re looking for hasn’t

been circumcised. A woman gains more pleasure from an uncut penis than one that has had the foreskin

removed. You should try Derek while you’re at the Cay and you’ll see what I mean. When I see an

uncircumcised cock, I positively melt! Men who are unclipped make love better than men who’ve been

snipped.”

Silkie coughed, her face bright red, but her detective instinct curious. “Why is that?” she asked.

“Well, circumcised men thrust deeper and harder into their partner. If they are longer models, it can be

downright painful for the woman. They create all this friction that I personally don’t find enjoyable. I’ve

had some men rub me raw, if you get my drift. These men bang their balls against you with little or no

regard to whether or not it’s doing anything for you.” She sniffed. “Most women don’t like being poked

at in that manner! The sound alone drives me up the wall when I’m not trying to keep from laughing!”

“But don’t the longer, deeper strokes make women hornier?”

“Not necessarily,” the urologist replied. “Uncircumcised men thrust more gently and their strokes are

shorter because the foreskin bunches up. Since the hotwires, if you will, that give men such intense

enjoyment during copulation are located in the coronal ridge—”

“The what?” Silkie queried.

“The coronal ridge. That’s where the head of the penis curves into the shaft. That little area has a high

degree of sensitivity. Flick your fingernail gently against it and see what comes up!”

Silkie laughed. “So what happens to the hotwires then, when the foreskin bunches up?”

“That foreskin is full of nerve endings so the more it is manipulated the more intense the sensation.

Unclipped males don’t want to hurt that precious little sheath so their strokes are thus shorter and much

gentler. As a result, the head of the penis is in better contact with our clitoris. Because there is a sheath

within a sheath effect going there, there is less friction on the vaginal wall and little loss of secretion,

making it unnecessary for lubrication like petroleum jelly. Lubrication cuts down on the feeling of the

penis within the vagina even though it does help with the abrasion problem caused by circumcised

cocks.”

“I’ve never been with an uncircumcised male but you make it seem more exciting.”

“It is,” Dr. Carstairs said with a nod. “Study those little hoods while you’re searching for the birthmark.”

“The birthmark is on the young man’s scrotum,” Silkie reminded her flying companion.

“Then you’ll have to lift up his cock to look for it. What better way to get a good look at that pecker!”

Silkie sighed heavily. “I was hoping you’d do the looking and I could do the photographing,” she said.

“Nope,” Dr. Carstairs replied with a shake of her elegant head. “I’ll be otherwise engaged while we’re

down there. The extent of my involvement in this is introducing you to Julian and giving you a bit of

medical knowledge so you’ll appear legitimate.”

Helen, their first-class flight attendant, came to take their drink orders, saving Silkie from responding to

Dr. Carstairs’ refusal to help find the man they were going to Mistral Cay to find.

“I’ll have a Bloody Maria,” Silkie said. “Tequila, not vodka. Lots of lime.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dr. Carstairs agreed. “Never had a Bloody Mary that way before. Bloody Maria,

you said?”

“That’s what they call it in Texas,” Silkie replied.

“Umm. Is that where you’re from?”

“Yes, ma’am. San Antonio.”

“I was born and raised in London,” Dr. Carstairs said. “About as western as I’ve ever been is riding

some of the young studs at the resort. Now that will make you sit up straight in the saddle and shout

tally-ho!” She nudged Silkie’s shoulder with her own. “What is it the Southern boys call their cocks?”

Silkie blushed to the roots of her honey-blonde hair. “You mean tallywhackers?” she asked.

“Yes!” Dr. Carstairs chirped. “And what do the women down there call their down theres?”

The blush staining Silkie’s cheeks deepened. “Ah, sugar,” she whispered.

“What delightful little sobriquets for body parts and you Yanks think we talk funny! Do you have a cute

little name for screwing?”

Silkie was saved again from answering when Helen brought their drinks.

Taking a sip of the potent cocktail, Silkie felt the liquor rush immediately to her head. The tequila was

stronger than she normally drank. She pulled the little skewer that held two large green olives from the

liquid and slid one into her mouth. The taste of the olive combined with the flavor of the tequila made her

sigh with contentment as she chewed.

“Now, this I like!” Dr. Carstairs pronounced and took a healthy swig of the beverage. Without asking,

she thrust her skewer of olives into Silkie’s glass but kept the rib of celery that also garnished the drink.

She sucked the liquid from it then brandished it as though it were a baton, conducting music only she

could hear.

Silkie finished off the other three olives before taking another sip of her drink.

“You need to lighten up, dearie,” Dr. Carstairs commented. “Bring us another one, would you, Helen?”

Silkie hadn’t been aware of the flight attendant passing her seat. She glanced up and nodded at Helen’s

raised eyebrow.

“And bring us some more celery!” Dr. Carstairs ordered.

Fifteen minutes later, with two Bloody Marias under her belt, Silkie’s nerves settled down. She’d never

like flying although the sensation of the plane taking off had always thrilled her. The tequila helped to

settle her world under a warm and fuzzy blanket and the potency of the cocktail loosened her tongue.

“The thought of staring at strange men’s penises makes me very uncomfortable.”

“You’ll get over it,” Dr. Carstairs laughed. “It’s not like you’re doing it to arouse them, Silkie.”

“Lord, I hope that doesn’t happen!” Silkie moaned.

“Well, the possibility is very good that it will, but if you should be required to interview with Julian, be

sure to tell him you don’t wish to participate in the sexual activities offered at the resort. Tell him you’re

there strictly as my assistant, doing research for me.”

“What’s he like?”

“Julian?” Dr. Carstairs asked. She took the last bite of her celery stalk before answering. She shifted in

her seat so she could look at Silkie. “You know those panthers you see pacing their cages in the zoo?”

“Panthers?” Silkie echoed. The word conjured the image in her mind.

“Their sleek black coats glisten in the sun. Their powerful muscles ripple beneath that taut skin,” Dr.

Carstairs described. “You know they are dangerous, that they could tear you apart with those ferocious

teeth and curved claws, but you are mesmerized by all that sheer male beauty. Those golden eyes hold

you spellbound and you feel very small and insignificant beside them.”

“I’m more fond of Maine Coon kitty cats myself,” Silkie confessed.

Dr. Carstairs waved her hand in dismissal. “Give me a man like Julian St. John any day. There is power

and authority, and such potent sexuality. He is scrumptious.”

“And I bet he charges more if he’s the one to service you,” Silkie sniffed.

“Oh, he never fraternizes with his clients,” Dr. Carstairs said. “There is one woman who comes to the

Cay twice a year or so and stays in his personal apartments but I don’t think she’s his woman, rather,

she’s a very good friend.” She thought for a moment. “He’s very private.”

“Perhaps he’s gay.”

The urologist laughed. “I wouldn’t consider that for even a minute!”

“You never know. He owns the resort?” Silkie wanted clarified.

“Owns and runs it with an iron hand.” Dr. Carstairs leaned closer and lowered her voice though no one

was within earshot of them. “An iron hand I’ve love to have caressing me!”

“In other words his word is law there.”

Dr. Carstairs nodded. “He owns the entire island so in essence he’s also the governing body of Mistral

Cay.”

“Must be a very rich man.”

“I would think so. I heard somewhere that he comes from old money, grew up in Europe and was

educated at the finest schools, but that he doesn’t use his real name. Too bad because I’d love to know

who the family is.” Dr. Carstairs sighed heavily. “He has all the prerequisites for a superb husband if he

was inclined to marry, which I’m told he is not.” She snorted. “Given my own experience with the bonds

of matrimony, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”

“I take it he’s the kind of man you find attractive.”

“Well it’s the mystery surrounding him, don’t you know,” the older woman replied. “He keeps to himself,

lives alone except for his male housekeeper Christian, and Henri Bouvier, his administrative assistant. I’ve

never seen him in anything but unrelieved black—silk shirts, leather britches, form-fitting pullovers, black

T-shirts and black jeans. That particular choice of clothing color may be intentional for it underscores and

accentuates the mysteriousness, you see.” She put up one finger. “The only hint of color is the gold hoop

in his left ear.”

“Like I said—he’s probably gay.”

Dr. Carstairs clucked her tongue. “Don’t believe it for a minute.”

“I meant to ask,” Silkie said, shifting in the seat. “What kind of precautions are taken at the resort in

regard to safe sex?”

“Well,” Dr. Carstairs drawled, “you remember I obtained your written permission to get your medical