Read Online The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey by Roland DeForrest - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roland DeForrest
Ads: Link
Kolina’s vacation touring and having a grand time together. During the school term, Kolina
wrote to her often, and occasionally, when Jamilia felt especially flush, she would call overseas for a friendly little chat
with hersister. She had spoken to Kolina in this manner only two days before the telegram arrived.
The fateful cable from the Swiss school’s headmistress had awoken Jamilia one morning over a month ago. Kolina had disappeared
overnight from the school’s grounds and could not be found. Desperately, Jamilia had flown to Switzerland and spent two frustrating,
ennervating, and painful weeks hounding the school, the local police, even Interpol, but no trace of Kolina could be found,
not even a single clue as to what might have happened to her. Heartbroken, Jamilia had returned to her high-paying job in
Cartagena, waiting in dread each day for some word. Until Dirk had shown up with the photo taken only a short time before,
Jamilia had not known for certain that her precious little sister was even still alive.
Protectively, Dirk walked the distraught exotic dancer back to her place within the oldest part of the city. She lived on
the top floor of a white stone house surrounded by wrought-iron balconies. Reaching her door, at the top of the narrow stone
stairs off a small interior courtyard, Dirk was longing to comfort the beautiful creature on even more intimate terms. But
he was too much of a gentlemen to press his own raging needs upon the obviously upset young woman.
Much to his delight, Jamilia invited him inside. Her small apartment was decorated charmingly with handicrafts of local artisans.
colorful wall hangings of patchwork appliques, thickly woven wool rugs, stuffed lizards of various sizes; a huge stuffed tortoise,
balancing a sheet of glass on its shell, served as a coffee table before a comfortable-looking couch. In an alcove, a large
bed was covered with hand-embroidered pillows. Jamilia switched on a pounded-brass lamp and threw open the glass doors to
the small balcony, revealing the twinkling lights ringing the harbor. She indicated an array of liquor bottleson a shelf near the kitchenette and told him to help himself while she took a bath. She entered the adjoining bathroom and
closed the door.
Listening to the soft sounds of her bathing, he nursed a straight Scotch and stood on the small balcony, seeking a cool breeze
and trying to deal with his rising expectations. He felt inextricably drawn to her, as if he were the only one in the whole
world who could help her find Kolina. He pledged to himself that he would do everything within his power and resources to
reunite the two sisters.
He was thinking of trying to reach Honey with news of the recent developments when Jamilia emerged from the bathroom, her
voluptuous figure wrapped only in a large, damp bath towel. Wordlessly she poured herself a small cognac in a large snifter.
He raised his own glass. “To finding Kolina.”
“You will help me, then?”
“Of course, Jamilia,” he said. “My sister and I have already begun.”
She moved closer to him, sipping from the snifter, eyeing him over the rim. “Jamilia is my dancing name. My real name is Barbro.”
“Barbro and Kolina,” he murmured. “Those are Swedish, aren’t they?” He could feel the heat rising within him like mercury
in a thermometer.
She nodded. “We were born outside of Goteborg on a small farm. Our father was a professor of economics at the university.”
Her lovely, light blue eyes welled with tears again. “And our mother was a folk dancer in a professional troop.”
“How did a Swedish girl end up belly dancing in Cartagena?”
She smiled wistfully, and for a brief second he saw again the identical image of Kolina in the park. “I was raised dancing,”
she began softly. “And one year, when Iwas eleven and Kolina was six, my father taught in Tunisia. I began studying Middle Eastern dancing there. After…
wrote to her often, and occasionally, when Jamilia felt especially flush, she would call overseas for a friendly little chat
with hersister. She had spoken to Kolina in this manner only two days before the telegram arrived.
The fateful cable from the Swiss school’s headmistress had awoken Jamilia one morning over a month ago. Kolina had disappeared
overnight from the school’s grounds and could not be found. Desperately, Jamilia had flown to Switzerland and spent two frustrating,
ennervating, and painful weeks hounding the school, the local police, even Interpol, but no trace of Kolina could be found,
not even a single clue as to what might have happened to her. Heartbroken, Jamilia had returned to her high-paying job in
Cartagena, waiting in dread each day for some word. Until Dirk had shown up with the photo taken only a short time before,
Jamilia had not known for certain that her precious little sister was even still alive.
Protectively, Dirk walked the distraught exotic dancer back to her place within the oldest part of the city. She lived on
the top floor of a white stone house surrounded by wrought-iron balconies. Reaching her door, at the top of the narrow stone
stairs off a small interior courtyard, Dirk was longing to comfort the beautiful creature on even more intimate terms. But
he was too much of a gentlemen to press his own raging needs upon the obviously upset young woman.
Much to his delight, Jamilia invited him inside. Her small apartment was decorated charmingly with handicrafts of local artisans.
colorful wall hangings of patchwork appliques, thickly woven wool rugs, stuffed lizards of various sizes; a huge stuffed tortoise,
balancing a sheet of glass on its shell, served as a coffee table before a comfortable-looking couch. In an alcove, a large
bed was covered with hand-embroidered pillows. Jamilia switched on a pounded-brass lamp and threw open the glass doors to
the small balcony, revealing the twinkling lights ringing the harbor. She indicated an array of liquor bottleson a shelf near the kitchenette and told him to help himself while she took a bath. She entered the adjoining bathroom and
closed the door.
Listening to the soft sounds of her bathing, he nursed a straight Scotch and stood on the small balcony, seeking a cool breeze
and trying to deal with his rising expectations. He felt inextricably drawn to her, as if he were the only one in the whole
world who could help her find Kolina. He pledged to himself that he would do everything within his power and resources to
reunite the two sisters.
He was thinking of trying to reach Honey with news of the recent developments when Jamilia emerged from the bathroom, her
voluptuous figure wrapped only in a large, damp bath towel. Wordlessly she poured herself a small cognac in a large snifter.
He raised his own glass. “To finding Kolina.”
“You will help me, then?”
“Of course, Jamilia,” he said. “My sister and I have already begun.”
She moved closer to him, sipping from the snifter, eyeing him over the rim. “Jamilia is my dancing name. My real name is Barbro.”
“Barbro and Kolina,” he murmured. “Those are Swedish, aren’t they?” He could feel the heat rising within him like mercury
in a thermometer.
She nodded. “We were born outside of Goteborg on a small farm. Our father was a professor of economics at the university.”
Her lovely, light blue eyes welled with tears again. “And our mother was a folk dancer in a professional troop.”
“How did a Swedish girl end up belly dancing in Cartagena?”
She smiled wistfully, and for a brief second he saw again the identical image of Kolina in the park. “I was raised dancing,”
she began softly. “And one year, when Iwas eleven and Kolina was six, my father taught in Tunisia. I began studying Middle Eastern dancing there. After…
Similar Books
