Passion's Mistral by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Read Free Book Online Page B

chosen not to participate in
    the pleasures of Mistral Cay.
    Julian peeled the mask from his face as he positioned himself behind the middle panel of the two-way
    mirror that looked into the bedroom of the Forest Suite. He took up a state-of-the-art headphone and
    positioned it over his head, adjusting the sound on a dial just over his left ear. The space in which he
    stood was little more than three feet in width, the walls covered with soundproof panels, the ceiling and
    floor padded, and situated between the suite’s bathing area and walk-in closet. The only light in the space
    came from a nineteen-inch flat screen monitor showing a view from the parlor. Below the monitor was a
    built-in shelf that held a keyboard and mouse. With a click, he zoomed in on the occupant of the suite as
    she took a seat at the table and began eating the supper he had brought her.
    He studied her every movement as she brought spoon or fork to her lips, wiped delicately at her mouth
    with the linen napkin from the tray or nibbled at her sandwich. His amber gaze narrowed as she sipped
    the peach wine, his groin tightening when she put out her tongue to lick her upper lip.
    She was beautiful with shoulder-length blond tresses drawn back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Though she
    wore no makeup, her face required none for the color of her green eyes framed in long dark lashes, ripe
    coral lips and sun-kissed cheeks drew the eye better than any artificial enhancement ever could. Her
    beauty was natural, unpolished like an uncut gem waiting for the right hand to touch it.
    “Julian?”
    The sound from the tiny microphone startled the owner of Mistral Cay and he frowned, annoyed with the
    intrusion. “Yes,” he snapped softly into the foam-covered mouthpiece arched in front of his lips.
    “I’m sorry to bother you but I knew you would be interested in the news from Des Moines,” Henri
    Bouvier told him.
    “Tell me.”
    “As you suspected, the lady in question is not the good doctor’s assistant nor is she a graduate of
    Northwestern. She is, in fact, a private investigator hired to locate a client’s son here on the Cay.”
    Julian caught his breath but before he could ask, Henri set his mind at ease.
    “It’s not your mother, Julian. The client is a woman named Fay Lynden.”
    Letting out a long breath, Julian closed his eyes. “Who is the man she’s looking for?”
    “That name is not yet known, I’m afraid.”
    “Why not?”
    “Mrs. Lynden was sent to prison when the boy was a toddler. He was adopted and she does not know
    by whom. We are tracing that now.”
    “And this Sara Trevor was hired to find the woman’s son,” Julian stated.
    “Actually, Ms. Trevor’s real name is Silkie,” Henri said, amusement rife in his New Orleans accent.
    Watching the woman get up from the table and come into the bedroom, Julian thought the name
    appropriate for a female who moved so sensually.
    “Is there a Xander?” he asked. His memory of the cat Sara Trevor supposedly owned eliciting a chuckle
    from Henri.
    “Yes, there is a Xander. He’s an orange and white Maine Coon. I believe her neighbor is quoted as
    saying the cat is the love of her life.”
    “A silky feline for a silky female,” Julian quipped. “Boyfriend? Husband?”
    “Neither.”
    “Seeing anyone on a regular basis?”
    “Not for several years.”
    “Why’s she wanting to look at strange men’s pricks, then?”
    “You’re going to like this—she’s looking for a birthmark.”
    There was a short pause then Julian whispered, “Say again.”
    “The man she’s looking for has a birthmark on his balls.” When Julian made no reply to his answer, Henri
    said, “If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know immediately.”
    “Not tonight,” Julian ordered. Before hearing the confirmation from his assistant that his order would be
    followed, Julian peeled the microphone from his head and hooked it on the wall beside the monitor.
    The object of his surveillance was