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.
His assistant, Henri Bouvier, went through the rundown of the new clients and pairing suggestions. Julian asked, “And the woman with Olivia? Who is she?” He was staring at the woman in question as she stood on the dock and seemed to be admiring his personal yacht The Connemara, anchored at the end of the quay. Clearly distracted, she didn’t notice her camera bags slipping down her arms. He saw the moment she knew they were going to fall and watched with interest and an amusement he rarely felt as she fumbled to gather her belongings. She reminded him of an ingénue in the middle of Times Square gawking at the bright lights. There was a sweetness about her that he never saw here at Mistral Cay. All of his clients were self-possessed and often selfish. Dr. Carstairs’s assistant seemed to be a guppy swimming among sharks.
Henri 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 raised his brow in query.
“For Dr. Carstairs’s book on the subject.” Henri 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’s 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’s 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 identified the new clients and made adjustments to their pairings.
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 and 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 what 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 her pixie face. Her small yet athletic frame held shapely curves beneath her short-sleeve pullover and tapered slacks. Her slender arms held his attention and caused a slight stirring he had not experienced in his groin in quite some time. While clearly out of her element, she surprised him with her 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.”
* * * * *
Kiley 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 Kiley.
Upon entering the sleeping area, her 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, she stood stock still, marveling at the most remarkable bed she’d ever seen.
Soaring over a king-sized 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 lifelike. 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.
Kiley 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, Kiley 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 Kiley could manage to say.
“Dinner will be in a half hour in the Sea Crest Room. If you prefer, room service is available twenty-four hours a day. I highly recommend the lobster Florentine.”
“Thank you,” Kiley 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.
“The second panel from the left is the bathing suite,” the bellman said with a smile.
“Wow,” Kiley said again as he pushed against the panel behind which the bathing suite was located.
“Would you like me to unpack for you?”
“Oh, no,” Kiley was quick to say. “I’ll do it.” She had always hated other people handling 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.”
Kiley 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.”
Kiley whistled. “That I gotta see.”
Steve bowed slightly and let himself out, gently closing the thick, carved oak door behind him.
Looking about her, Kiley 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 Kiley 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.
She 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 mattress then gave a loud sigh of contentment as she sank into the marshmallow feel of it. 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 laid there, the magic mattress relaxing her more than she could ever remember feeling in her life. It took 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 with a hunger headache if she didn’t eat.
The food descriptions looked wonderful, which made her choices exceedingly difficult. By the time she picked up the receiver and dialed room service, her mouth was beginning to water.
With her order made, Kiley reclined once more on the soft, encompassing bed and closed her eyes. The sweet scent of gardenia wafted under her nostrils and she sighed deeply.
When the discreet knock came at her door, she hated to get up. Struggling to push her way from the seductive mattress, she padded barefoot to the parlor door and opened it with a slight smile that froze in place as she stared at the room-service attendant.
He was tall—well over six feet—with a naked chest full of curling black hair that accentuated six-pack abs and chiseled pecs. His bulging biceps flexed as he stood there with her tray in his strong-looking hands. The black silk britches covering his long legs and narrow hips molded to him like a second skin. Barefoot, he was standing with those long legs spread in a posture that was sensuous and threatening at the same time.
“Ah, would you put the tray on the table?” Kiley asked, stepping back. Her gaze was locked on the silk mask tied around the top part of his face, hiding his hair and nose yet calling attention to piercing eyes that seemed to look straight into her soul.
His derriere was curved nicely high and looked rock-hard as he walked past her. Broad shoulders enveloped in a golden tan tapered down to a slim waist, hugged lovingly by the elastic band holding up the britches. The pull of the silk britches against his taut thighs and hips made her want to run her hands down his legs. As he bent over to place the tray on the table by the windows, she drew in a slow breath as the fabric molded itself to his lean posterior. When he turned to face her, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, the thick bulge at the juncture of his legs drew her immediate attention. It was all she could do to drag her eyes from that enticing sight. The only visible mark on that superb body had been a long, upwardly slanting scar on his back just under his left rib cage. Having seen a similar scar on a client, she wondered if this gorgeous specimen had been the giver or recipient of a donated kidney.
“Thank you,” she said, wishing she had a name for this delectable hunk.
A slight bow of his head was his acknowledgement of her gratitude. He seemed to be waiting for any instructions she might have and when she remained silent, he started toward her, his dark eyes glistening behind the slits of the mask.
Kiley had the urge to place her hands against that hairy chest and waylay this mysterious man. Her palms actually itched from the mental push to do just that and she had to rub them down her slacks to wipe away the moisture gathering there. Unconsciously, she licked her upper lip as he passed. At the door, he turned, his head cocked to one side as though in question.
“Ah, no,” she whispered then had to clear her throat and speak louder. “No, that will be all.”
He seemed to sigh, his wide chest rising and falling in a brief movement that set Kiley’s breasts to tingling. With one final bow of his head, he left the room, leaving behind an aura that brought a flush to her face and set her juices to flowing between her legs.
“Damn,” she whispered. She had a feeling she was going to be sorry she’d chosen not to participate in the pleasures of Mistral Cay.