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

familiar. Since their arrival she
    had not seen Dr. Carstairs at all.
    The waiter—his name was Trent—brought her wine and placed it before her, he spoke to her in a low
    voice.
    “One of the helpers would like to join you for supper, Miss Trevor.”
    Silkie stared up at him. “One of the helpers?”
    “He won’t be eating with you but he has asked if he could sit with you while you ate.”
    “I don’t know,” Silkie said, surprised by the request. “I—”
    She felt firm, gentle hands on her shoulders. The weight was heavy enough to be friendly but not
    possessive. The quick tensing of strong fingers, a gentle little pat, gave her the impression the man was
    greeting her in a lighthearted way.
    Even before he came from behind her, softly dragging his fingertips across her upper back from shoulder
    to shoulder, she knew it would be him. She looked up and melted at the sight of him.
    The silk mask was in place, hiding the color of his hair, but from the flesh tones of his hands and neck,
    she knew his hair would be very dark, though perhaps not as dark as the black silk pirate shirt that fitted
    snuggly into the waistband of his black leather britches. The wiry hair revealed in the opening of the shirt
    and along the backs of his very capable-looking hands was dark brown.
    “Do you always sit with the Cay’s guests?” she asked as he took a seat beside her.
    A careless shrug was his answer and she sighed, remembering the helpers were not allowed to speak to
    the women. She wanted to hear this man’s voice for she knew it would be as sultry and seductive as the
    hot gleam in his amber eyes.
    “I don’t even know your name,” she said as the waiter brought her salad.
    “His name is Sean,” the waiter said quietly as he placed the salad before her.
    Silkie blushed for the waiter gave her a look that was knowing and amused. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
    “Sean is the most sought-after man at the Cay,” the waiter continued. “He—”
    There was a low growl from the man seated beside her and the waiter coughed, bowing curtly as he
    turned to leave. Silkie saw him glance back over his shoulder as though he expected her dining partner to
    come after him.
    “Shame on you,” she said. “Scaring away that perfectly good informer.”
    Sean chuckled behind the mask and when she looked into his eyes, she saw sheer deviltry staring back at
    her. This was a man who would bear watching and remembering the way he had looked half-clothed on
    the beach that afternoon, she couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of him looked like.
    It was almost as though that thought had winged its way to the man in black for he reached out to take
    her hand in a light grip. As she watched—eyes wide and lips parted—he rubbed his thumb across the
    sensitive pulse point at her wrist and one golden eye closed slowly in an audacious wink.
    Silkie jerked her hand out of his grasp, feeling the sensation of his fingertips to the very depths of her
    womb. She looked down in her lap, took up her napkin and wiped at her mouth though not one morsel
    of food or drink had passed her lips. She tucked the napkin back in her lap and hastily reached for her
    wine glass. She took a large gulp that seemed to amuse him for his tawny eyes sparkled.
    “I’m not sure,” she said, returning the wine glass to the table, “that I like you sitting there staring at me.”
    She took up her fork and attacked her salad, chewing almost angrily as she glanced at him.
    He cocked his head to one side then leaned back, folding his arms over his wide chest. The action made
    her mouth water more than the sweet-sour taste of the blue cheese dressing. His muscles strained against
    the shoulders of that luscious black shirt and those tapered fingers brought unbidden thoughts that made
    swallowing difficult.
    “Does Mr. St. John know you are trying to seduce me?” she asked. When he nodded slowly, she
    paused with another forkful of salad halfway to her lips. She