Seasonal Winds: Summer Wind Read online

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2006 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  First published in 2006, 2006

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Seasonal Winds

  Book Two

  SUMMER WIND

  By

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  © copyright July 2006, Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright July 2006

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Barbara Lynn Allan stood at the polished teakwood rail of the luxury yacht and stared at the beautiful island with its pristine turquoise waters. She had never been to Mistral Cay before but the allure of the tropical paradise and what went on there had filled her fevered dreams for months. As she watched the setting sun flame bright gold in the waters of the harbor, she shivered, anticipating what was to come.

  Three months earlier, she would not have believed she'd be standing on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean and anticipating a week of decadence and spoiling. Life had never offered anything but heartache and disappointment to her.

  "What is it you want, Barbara?” her friend Stacy had asked when Barbara had cried out her frustration one evening after they'd gone to supper together.

  "I want everything,” Barbara said wistfully. Her shoulders had slumped. “I've got nothing and I want everything."

  "Well, like what?” Stacy asked.

  "I don't know,” Barbara said. “Adventure, excitement, something—anything—to take me out of my ordinary existence and give me some fun. All I do is get up, go to work, come home, eat, and sit before the TV or read a book until I get sleepy. I don't have a boyfriend—although that would certainly be nice. I'd love to have someone to spend time with, to go on a thrilling escapade with, or just to sit in front of the fire and toast our footsies.” Barbara perked up. “Or better yet, someone I could sail off with into the sunset or ride off with on a big white charger. You know: fantasy!"

  "You can have just about anything you want at the Cay."

  Barbara had been skeptical when Stacy had first mentioned the resort. “I don't know, Stace...."

  "Whatever you want,” Stacy had purred. “You can choose your fantasy, your partner—well, any man save the owner, Julian St. John. He's off limits. He doesn't do clients, but everyone else is fair game. What have you got to lose? All I need to do is recommend you and you're in like Flint, Babs."

  It had taken some juggling but Barbara had scraped together the cost of the extravagant vacation. Stacy had written her letter of recommendation, Barbara had been investigated by the Cay's security division, and the invitation had arrived just when Stacy said it would—on Barbara's birthday.

  "Go get ‘em, tigress!” Stacy had congratulated her.

  Lights blazed into life on the dock. The gangplank was lowered and crewmen in their striped blue-and-white pullovers began taking the guests’ luggage ashore.

  As the sun sank beneath the horizon, Barbara turned away from the rail. Her heart was beating a mile a minute—so fiercely it made her head ache. Her palms were moist. She was nervous but excited about her stay at the Cay.

  "Your tour director will be waiting for you in the mauve room, Ms. Allan,” the captain said as she passed him.

  "I hope you have a very fulfilling stay at Mistral Cay."

  She smiled timorously and thanked him, clutching her purse to her as she began her walk down the steel gangplank.

  "What about the pretty Afro-American lady with the off-the-rack dress from Wal-Mart?” the owner of the Cay inquired from his office window. “What's her story?"

  "Barbara Allan, age 26, from a place called Climax, Georgia,” Julian St. John's administrative assistant stated. When his boss turned to give him a quizzical look, he grinned. “You heard right—Climax. She is a computer tech for Entellimedia, a cable company out of Albany, Georgia. Unmarried. Never engaged. No boyfriend at present.” The assistant folded the top sheet of Barbara's file over. “Last boyfriend was in college four years ago. Doesn't seem to have much of a social life. All work and no play and she's bored with her life. She pulls down a whopping 35K a year, rents her apartment, owes roughly $16K on her 2000 Toyota, and has next to no savings now that she purchased her vacation from us."

  Julian St. John frowned. “Doesn't sound like she can afford us,” he commented. He was watching the slightly overweight black woman coming toward the main spa building. “Who recommended her?"

  "Her college roommate, Stacy Mendelssohn,” the assistant replied. “Remember her?"

  Julian drew in a long breath then exhaled slowly. “Only too well. She groped me on the stairs one night. I thought Silkie would pulverize her but apparently the two of them came to some kind of understanding."

  The assistant grinned at the thought of Julian's wife stomping Mendelssohn. “In her letter, Ms. Mendelssohn said she believed Ms. Allan would benefit greatly from a stay here at the Cay. Says she's far too inhibited."

  The owner of Mistral Cay stood there quietly for a moment, and then turned away from the window. “Refund Ms. Allan's money but don't let her know we've done so. Let her have her fantasy and make sure it satisfies her completely."

  Henri Bouvier, Julian's admin assistant, cocked a dark brow. “And just what explanation do we give her when she gets home to Georgia and finds her money has been refunded?"

  "Tell her that she won a contest we were holding and the trip was on us,” Julian said. He sat down in the form-fitting chair behind his desk. “No woman should ever have to deplete her savings to find pleasure in this world or any other."

  * * * *

  Barbara timidly opened the gilt-edged door into the opulent mauve room. She stuck her head inside first to make sure it was all right to come in.

  "Ms. Allan?” the young woman behind an expensive cherry wood desk inquired. She rose and extended her hand. “Welcome to Mistral Cay."

  Barbara hurried over to take the woman's hand. “Thank you, I think."

  The woman laughed. “My name is Mary Carter and I'll be your tour director. Please have a seat.” She indicated the silk brocade chair in front of her desk.

  Cautiously Barbara sat down. She considered herself a large woman and the chair looked fragile. She had a death grip on her purse as she held it against her. “Did you get my money all right?” she inquired.

  "Everything has been taken care of,” Mary replied. She picked a catalogue from the desk top and handed it to Barbara. “Please choose which of these you would like to have as your fantasy. You may choose two."

  Embarrassed that her hand was trembling, Barbara took the catalogue and opened it. Her face turned red as she viewed the first choice. “Oh, my, God” she said, fluttering a hand at her breast.

  "I'll leave you alone to make your choices,” Mary said as she pushed back her chair. “Just check them off on the catalogue and then turn to the back pages to choose your helpers. You may choose any three."

  Barbara's eyes widened. “I ca
n have three men?” she whispered.

  "You certainly may,” Mary agreed. “Take as long as you need.” She stood, skirted the desk, and then quietly left the room.

  Chewing on her lower lip, Barbara was glad the woman left, for she didn't think she could sit there and calmly makes choices while the tour director was watching. She read the descriptions of the various fantasies offered at Mistral Cay and narrowed it down to two. Both seemed what she had been dreaming about but she was reluctant to mark them on the catalogue. Her cheeks were burning and she thought it was quite possible she would begin hyperventilating before it was all said and done.

  "Oh, my. Oh, my,” she said. Once more her hand fluttered at her breast in agitation. She could remember being this nervous since she'd taken her finals at Albany State. When the office door opened, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Expecting the tour director, Barbara was surprised to see the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He was tall and tan and his black shirt was open to reveal curly dark hair covering a muscled chest with chiseled pecs and washboard abs. The black trousers he wore fit him as though he'd been poured into them, his long legs ending in what had to be the sweetest ass she'd ever had the pleasure of observing.

  "Good evening, Ms. Allan,” he said in a soft, deep voice that sent chills down her sides. “I'm Julian St. John.” He came to stand in front of her, cocking one hip on the tour director's desk as he folded his arms over his chest. “I own the Cay."

  Barbara's face fell and she looked down at her hands clutching the cheap black purse in her lap. “Oh,” she said.

  Julian could almost read the thoughts rushing through her mind, and he unfolded his arms and hunkered down beside her, reaching for her hand. “Nothing's wrong, Sweeting,” he said. “I'm just here to make sure you are getting what you wished for. I greet each of my guests as soon as I can."

  She lifted her head. “You're not making me leave?” she asked.

  "Of course not,” he said and his smile could have rivaled the sun. “Why would you think that?"

  She shrugged. “It's just that things like this don't happen for women like me.” She was all too aware of his warm hand covering hers.

  "Women like you are why I am here, my lady,” he said and lifted her hand to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. He brought her hand to his chest and held it there. “Have you decided which fantasies you'd like to enjoy?"

  His heart beat slowly and steadily beneath her hand. The muscles of his chest were solid; the wiry hairs tickling the backs of her fingers. He was staring into her eyes and she felt lost in a dark topaz gaze that seemed to draw her into those tawny depths.

  "C and G,” she heard herself say and had to shake her head. Had she really said that?

  "And which of our handsome young helpers have you decided to accompany you on your fantasies?” he asked, still holding her hand.

  She hadn't had a chance to pick the three men. Her eyebrows furrowed and she gave him a frightened look.

  "Would you allow me to choose the men I believe would be best for you, dearling?” he asked and once more he lifted her hand to his lips to graze his teeth over her knuckles.

  Barbara quivered from head to toe and couldn't have answered if her life had depended on it. She merely nodded.

  "Fine,” Julian said. “I will set up the scenarios for you and they'll start right after supper."

  "Supper?” she echoed. Food was the last thing on her mind.

  His smile nearly melted her right where she sat. “One must keep up one's strength, my lady. Sometimes our fantasies can be a bit strenuous.” He let go of her hand and got gracefully to his feet. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to tell Mary."

  She nodded again and watched him walk to the door. Mentally she was laying odds that you could bounce a quarter off that firm butt of his. Beneath the black fabric of his trousers, he had to be mighty fine.

  Almost as though he had intercepted her wicked thought, Julian St. John winked at her before he opened the door and left.

  "Lordy mercy!” Barbara said, fanning her face with her hand. “That is one fine man!"

  When the door opened again, it was the tour director offering to show Barbara to her room.

  While the room was gorgeous and expensively furnished, Barbara was told she'd be spending little time there since her fantasies involved rooms in another part of the spa.

  "You may come back here whenever you wish to recharge,” Mary explained. “Of course you may sleep here each night—alone or with your helper or helpers of choice—if you so desire."

  Considering the fantasies she'd chosen, Barbara doubted she'd be spending much time in the lavish bed suite, but it was nice to know it was there if she needed some time away from her trip into wonderland.

  "Please put on the caftan I have provided for you,” Mary said. “You will find it on your bed.” She lifted her index finger and moved in back and forth in warning. “And no underclothes. Those are not allowed on the Cay."

  "N ... no bra?” Barbara said, instinctively bringing her arms closer to her chest. “No panties?"

  "Neither,” Mary said. “That is a requirement. When you've changed, supper will be waiting for you. I believe it is lobster bisque this evening."

  After she was alone, Barbara went into the bedchamber and stood in awe of the huge Hollywood-size king bed that dominated the room. Across a silken coverlet was a plain white broomstick fabric caftan and on the floor by the bed, a pair of soft kid sandals. She stared at the caftan for a moment then shrugged as she started unbuttoning her dress.

  "In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered.

  "Remember now,” Stacy had told her. “The waiters as a general rule do not engage in the scenarios on the Cay but if you find one you particularly like, you can ask for him. He may or may not be available for the fantasies."

  Supper in the main dining room was unbelievably good and served by handsome young men with perfectly honed bodies and easy going manners. Though the helpers were not allowed to speak to the guests unless bidden, the waiters were since they had to take the meal orders and they each seemed to know Barbara's name. As she finished her dessert of crème Brule, one of the young men came over to ask when she wished to start her fantasy.

  "Can I start tonight?” she asked and felt the heat flushing her face.

  "Of course, my lady,” the young man said. “I can send your personal helper to you now if you'd like."

  She ducked her head and swallowed. “That would be great."

  "Do you wish to allow your helper to speak?” he asked.

  "Ah, yes,” she said. “I guess so."

  He bowed elegantly to her and turned away.

  Barbara realized her hands were shaking. She looked about the room at the other diners. They were all women and they were all sitting alone and many of them seemed as nervous as she was.

  "Mistral Cay is a haven for lonely women,” Stacy had said. “It is a Caribbean nudist colony catering to rich, privileged women whose every fantasy is granted by handsome young men."

  "Nudist colony?” Barbara had gasped. “Stacy, I can't—"

  "You don't have to go native, Babs,” Stacy had been quick to tell her with a roll of her pretty blue eyes. “Hell, you don't even have to go down to the beach if you don't want to."

  "But I don't have the kind of money for that kind of thing!” Barbara had protested.

  "It's not as much as you think and you only live once, Babs. You can't take that money with you and, believe me, you will never regret having gone down there. I promise you!"

  Months of waffling back and forth had finally culminated in Barbara sitting at a table beside the window and hearing her heart trip-hammering in her chest. She was about to jump up and run back to her room when a heavy, warm hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped.

  Swiveling her head around, Barbara's eyes went wide as saucers and her mouth dropped open. Standing beside her chair was a mountain of a man with ebony skin that glistened in the
warm glow from the candelabras overhead. He was shirtless with a broad chest that was completely devoid of hair. He wore a pair of white cotton trousers that hugged his narrow hips and long legs and that accentuated abs that looked chiseled from stone. His eyes were so black they looked like obsidian chips.

  "I am Neville,” he said and his voice was a deep, rumbling bass. “Come with me."

  He turned and started away, his shoulders back, his spine perfectly straight. The sight of the high rounded cleft of his ass made her mouth water. Barefoot, he moved so silently that she did not hear him and when he stopped and looked around at her with one dark brow lifted in challenge, she sprang from the chair.

  "I'm coming,” she said as she almost plowed into him. She had to jump back to keep from doing so.

  A faint flicker of a smile touched the tall man's thick lips. “Not yet, you aren't, little one, but soon,” he said, his midnight eyes boring into hers. “You will come as you never have before. This I promise you."

  Barbara faltered and would have run the other way had Neville not snaked out a hand and grabbed her wrist, bending her arm gently but firmly behind her to pull her against him.

  "Make no mistake, little one,” he said, lowering his bald head to her. “You belong to us and we are ready to play.” He straightened. “Now, come again and stop giving me grief."

  Feeling her legs wanting to give way beneath her, Barbara had no choice but to accompany him from the dining room. He led her out into the entrance area, and then out through a pair of wide French doors and into the sultry night. The humidity was high but a light breeze played over the cobblestone pathway as he led her away from the main building and into the night.

  "W ... where are you t ... taking me?” she asked. She was pressed to his side with her hand still held captive behind her.

  "You talk too much, woman,” he said. “Be silent or I will be forced to gag you.” Barbara clamped her mouth shut. As they moved further away from the sounds of the main building, she felt a bit uneasy but was afraid to say anything else lest Neville make good on his threat.