Cajun Hot

by Nikita Black

  "Non, chérie, I'm not married. No girlfriend, either."

  Not for lack of trying, mind. But he preferred a woman to like Jacque Cherchat better than she liked Jacque Cherchat's money. Unfortunately, that kind of woman was a rarity in his world.

  She caught him musing and jumped off, leaving his cock waving in the wind, cold and missing her instantly.

  "Sahara, baby," he implored, reaching for her.

  She backed away. "Don't even think about it."

  "What was I s'posed to do? Quint's my brother. His morals are his own business. 'Sides, I knew Lisette would come for him. She always does."

  "Always?" Sahara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you make this a habit? Picking up lost women in the swamp and—"

  "Now, chérie. You're the first woman's ever been lost—"

  "And what was that about taking captives for your depraved use?"

  "I swear dat was a misunderstandin'—"

  "Great, so you admit it!" She turned on a toe and headed for the front door. "Where are my clothes? I'm getting out of here."

  "Sahara!" he said sharply, jumping to block her path. He drew himself up to his full, menacing height. He had at least six inches on her and outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. It worked. She shrank back nervously.

  "Even if you knew where you were goin', take a good look at me. Do I look like a man who's going to let you leave right now?"

  Her gaze dropped to his straining erection and shot back up. "I, uh..."

  He took a step forward. "Right the first time." He took another step. And another, backing her up to the side of the bed. When her legs hit the frame, he swept her onto her back and pinned her beneath him on the mattress. "Now, me, I'm a man who likes to finish what he starts."

  She didn't struggle, but looked up at him, eyes wide. "You'd rape me?"

  He smiled and ran his hand up her delectable body, insinuating his knee between her thighs. "Mais non, chérie. It's not rape if the woman wants it. Give me five minutes and I'll have you beggin'."

  Her jaw dropped in outrage, and he took merciless advantage of the opening, swooping in for a long, hot kiss. She did her best not to give in. But she didn't stand a chance. When it came to loving, he took no prisoners. About three minutes later by his reckoning, she greedily wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out his name as he thrust deep into her.

  ***

  Sahara awoke slowly, coming to consciousness in soft waves of awareness. The sounds of water gently lapping against wood and the buzzing of insects drifted to her. A bullfrog croaked in the distance. Birds twittered. A cool breeze teased her bare bottom and swirled the scent of honeysuckle and sex-drenched sheets into her nostrils. She smiled into her pillow and yawned.

  The sharp tang of espresso coaxed her eyes open. A naked man stood across the room in the kitchen, sipping from a demitasse, watching her fondly.

  "Mornin' sleepy-head. Sleep well?"

  Jacque.

  She smiled, and delicious memories of untold pleasures at the hands of this man swept through her mind. She rolled over for a better look, ignoring her aching muscles. He was just as perfect as she remembered. Tall and lean, with a mass of wild black hair, a sexy mustache and shoulders wide enough to block the sun on a bright day.

  "Perfect," she said on a sigh.

  His brow rose. Putting down the cup, he sauntered toward her. His cock began to rise slowly. "Breakfast?"

  She swiped her tongue over her lips. "Yes, please."

  "You ask so pretty, how can I refuse?" By the time he reached the bed and pulled back the mosquito netting, his arousal was tall and thick.

  "I should be looking for orchids."

  "Later."

  "I'm amazed you have anything left after last night." She studied him admiringly as he sheathed himself and lowered his frame over her. Steel hard and big enough to give any woman goosebumps, his equipment was formidable. But it was what he did with it that slayed her.

  "Darlin', I was just gettin' warmed up."

  And for the rest of the morning he proved it.

  ***

  Sahara rolled off Jacque and collapsed onto the bed beside him. Slick with sweat and ripe with the smell of him on her skin, she moaned in triumph. Victory was sweet in so many ways.

  "Ah, woman, you got da voodoo for sure. You've bewitched my cock, no doubt about it."

  "What's the matter, Chat? City girl too much for you?"

  "Watch it." He gathered her close and settled her cheek on his heaving chest. "I just wasn't expecting such...expertise...from practically a beginner."

  She gave his nipple a little lick. "I had a good teacher." She licked it again, enjoying the salty taste and the coarse texture of the black hair surrounding it. It beaded up, but she was too exhausted to do anything about it.

  He raked his fingers through her hair and forced her to look at him. "You sorry it was me?"

  She blinked in surprise. "Where did that come from?"

  He held her head fast so she had no possibility of hiding from him. "You sorry it wasn' me who was the married one, and Quint the one to stay and teach you things?"

  "No!" She looked into his eyes and said truthfully, "It was always you I wanted. Quint was just...an added bonus."

  "So you'd have been just as willin' if it had only been me last night?"

  She recalled the moment when she'd imagined herself in love with him, the glow of joy in her heart, and smiled. "It was only you, Jacque."

  His mouth tipped up and he relaxed back onto his pillow. "Bien. C'est bien."

  "You always this jealous of your brother after you seduce women together?"

  His gaze darted back to her and his lips parted, as though he meant to retort. After a moment, he rose from the bed and said, "I better get cookin' if we're gonna eat tonight."

  She sat up and sighed, gathering the sheet around her. "Jacque, as much as I've enjoyed, well, being with you, I have to take those photos and get back home."

  He opened the small refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. "What's the hurry? You're deadline isn' till Friday."

  "Yes, but I have to get the film developed, choose the best shots, print them up. Then I have to put together a presentation, and make sure I have something decent to wear for the interview. I've got a million things to do before Friday. Foremost being to find those orchids."

  "You're stayin' here with me."

  She felt the first prick of uneasiness. "Jacque, you promised."

  "Jus' for a few days."

  She shook her head. "I can't. I'd like to, but I can't."

  He peered at her implacably over the frying pan he held. "I don' see you have a whole lot of choice, chère. If I don' take you, you don' go."

  She frowned. "That's kidnapping!"

  He shrugged philosophically. "An old tradition out here on d'bayou. Don' worry though. If you're any good at what you do, there'll be other assignments."

  "No, there won't. Not if I blow this one."

  Spikes of frustration pricked at her. Another disaster. This couldn't be happening. Not after all her hard work. Not after surviving yesterday. The man couldn't just keep her here against her will.

  "What's the big deal? You already work for National Geographic, non?"

  She rose and gathered her clothes, determined to keep her composure. "This is my first assignment with them. The big deal is, if I succeed, I'll be in the big-time, among the elite of the photographic world."

  He leaned against the counter, leveling her a surprisingly scathing look. "And why is that so important to you?"

  Since when did she have to justify her goals and motives to this man?" Hell, why do you think? Honor, prestige, money. A better life for myself." What was wrong with him? Anyone could figure that one out. It was a no-brainer.

  He folded his arms across his chest. "Prestige an' money, eh? That what you're lookin' for outta life?"

  "Isn't everybody?" Except for her father, of course. He'd always been the big exception to that rul
e. And her mother, who'd follow her dad to Hades and back, regardless of personal sacrifice. Of course, Sahara herself was always the one who’d been sacrificed, not her parents.

  Belatedly, she glanced around and realized Jacque was probably also an exception to the rule. Why else would he be living in a one-room shack out in the middle of a remote swamp? He was obviously intelligent, his house was sparkling clean and filled with beautiful, if simple, things.

  She hedged, not wanting to offend him. "All right, maybe not everybody wants a better life. But for me, yes, it's what I want." And had been ever since she'd left her family's one-room shack out in the middle of a remote desert without looking back. She was done being laughed at.

  "So a man like me, he wouldn' interest you."

  Interest her?

  She didn't know what to say. That, no, there wasn't a chance in hell she'd go back to living like this regardless of how much she loved a man, or, yes, despite the fact that all she and Jacque had done together was have mind-blowing sex, she felt she could easily love him to distraction. He was smart, affectionate, warm, funny, a great cook, and oh, so sexy. Everything a woman could want from a man.

  Except four bedrooms and a Jacuzzi.

  She opted for side-stepping the issue. "It's not like we're contemplating marriage here, Jacque."

  "C'est vrai," he said. "So true."

  He put down the pan and strode to the bedroom, where his clothes were scattered. "I guess we better not waste any time findin' those orchids, then."

  He looked angry. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why the subject made him so mad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just—"

  "I'm not hurt. In fact, I'm pretty used to women feelin' as you do."

  The words sank in, a clue to his anger. "Is that why you don't have a girlfriend?" The minute the words were out, she regretted them.

  She regretted it even more when he brushed by and answered with a curt," Yeah. Dat’s why."

  ***

  Watching her take photographs helped cool Jacque's temper. She was so enthusiastic, so full of awe over the beautiful orchids—everything in the swamp, really—and showed such joy in every aspect of what she was doing, that he couldn't help but admire her. Not that he forgave her. But at least he was convinced she loved her work. That made it better. He was being unfair, he knew it. It wasn't her fault he'd somehow developed such an instantly wicked crush on the woman that he'd hoped she'd be different. Different from all the other women who'd valued his financial assets higher than his personal ones.

  Was it so unreasonable to want to be loved for himself and not for his bank account? Dieu, he was beginning to get a fuckin' complex.

  Which is why he was spending the month here at the old cabin, running his Cajun Hot empire from a laptop via email. The company pretty much ran itself these days anyway—he'd picked his top people well. And he could just as easily do recipe experimenting on the small cabin stove as on the stainless steel industrial kitchen at his headquarters in New Orleans.

  People down here didn't treat him any differently now than they had when he was sixteen and he and Quint were the holy terrors of the bayou. Except the unmarried women, of course. They all knew what he was worth down to the penny. But there weren't many single women his age left here, and they'd long ago realized he wasn't interested in any of them.

  But he kept hoping he'd meet someone in his guise of Cajun po'boy. Someone who'd fall in love with Jacque Cherchat and not give a damn about Wild Jack Kershaw, Louisiana's hottest bachelor.

  He watched Sahara's shapely derriere as she bent to get a better shot of the latest group of orchids they'd found. Shame she wasn't the one. She had a body that didn't quit. And despite her relative inexperience, she knew how to use it.

  But it went beyond that. There was a feeling between them as they lay naked in each other's arms, an underlying warmth and enchantment that had transformed merely having great sex into making beautiful love. It was like she truly cared about him.

  Obviously, he'd been mistaken.

  He sighed over his foolishness, and continued his survey of her body.

  Of course, that didn't mean he shouldn't take full advantage of the time they had left together.

  He reached for her and pulled her across his thighs.

  She let out a yelp, hanging onto her camera as the small boat rocked wildly in the water.

  "Take off your clothes," he ordered. He unbuttoned her shorts and went for the zipper. "I want to fuck."

  She gaped at him. "Here? Now?" She glanced at the belly of the boat, filled with gear and bisected by benches. "How?"

  "Where there's a will, there's a way."

  She stared at him uncertainly. He didn't blame her. He'd hardly spoken a word since they left his place. He hadn't let her take a shower before leaving and didn't bother to explain it was because the solar-heated water would only be lukewarm, and she was probably starving because he'd been too angry to think about food when he'd dragged her to the boat.

  "Look, I'm sorry I've been such a sonofabitch. I had no right to judge you. I jus' wanted you to... stay."

  Her face softened. "It's okay, I understand."

  He slid his hands under her T-shirt and started pulling it up. "Fait l'amour avec moi. Please, Sahara. I need to feel you."

  Something in his plea must have reached her, for she slipped off her shirt and put her arms around his neck. "Oh, Jacque, you know I wish I didn't have to go."

  "I know, baby."

  He slid off her shorts, then pulled up the two benches so he could lay her down in the bottom of the boat. It smelled of fish and the uneven metal jabbed into them, but neither noticed.

  Gazing deep into her eyes, he made love to her, never once looking away. The waves they created slapped musically against the aluminum boat as they drifted, birds sang prettily in the fluttering trees, the sweet scent of orchids wafted over them from the trees above. It all felt so right.

  Afterward, he rolled her on top of him and they lay for a long time, talking softly and watching the scenery and wildlife above as they floated aimlessly around, letting the current carry them where it would. He told her about his escapades as a youth, growing up in the swamp with a thousand relatives close by. She spoke of her lonely childhood in a tiny desert community on California's border with Arizona, with a dreamer for a dad and a hopeless romantic for a mom. She also talked about her dreams of buying a big house in the city.

  "It'll be brand new with three huge stories. Built to look like one of those old-fashioned southern mansions. It'll be on the water. Lots of water all around it, with lots of big windows so I can see blue water from every room."

  Jacque chuckled. "As far away from the desert as you can get, eh?" He thought about his own mansion on Lake Ponchetrain and imagined her in it. He liked the picture.

  "You got it." She gestured dreamily. "And it'll have a wood-paneled library filled with old books, and I'll invest in art, too. Impressionist, I think. Those ones with the water lilies."

  He smiled. Last year at Sotheby's, he'd managed to snag a small Monet. It had a water lily in one corner, as he recalled.

  He frowned and shook off his wandering thoughts. It wouldn't pay to fantasize about taking her to his home. She'd never pass his test, and he knew it. There wasn't a doubt in his mind she wouldn't pass.

  She'd never remain with him here in the swamp.

  And that was the test. The one he'd promised himself come hell or high water. The woman he chose to marry would have to say yes to po'boy Jacque Cherchat, without knowing he was one and the same as millionaire Jack Kershaw.

  "And clothes, don' you want pretty clothes, too?" he persisted.

  "Well, naturally! Linen suits for all my business meetings, and long silk gowns for charity functions..."

  He didn't know why he took such perverse pleasure in proving himself right. Sometimes he could be a real pain in the butt.

  "...and maybe I'll even design a waterproof photographer's vest a
nd make even more money on that." She laughed gleefully.

  "And what about love?" he asked, feeling surly. "Where does that fit in all your plans?"

  Merde! Why had he brought that up?

  "Love?" She looked at him in astonishment. "Well, I've always figured I'd have to do all this by myself. But I suppose I could fall in love with a millionaire and save myself the trouble." She looked thoughtful. "Know any?"

  He choked on his own tongue and had to sit up. "I'm afraid you'll have to find your own sucker, darlin'."

  "Thanks loads." She followed him up and swatted him on the arm.

  He managed to cover his annoyance and gave her a kiss. "Now, baby, it's not that you aren't worth a million bucks..."

  "I'd only marry him if I really loved him," she mumbled indignantly.

  Yeah, sure she would. He gave her a sad smile. "You're losin' the light. Better finish takin’ your pictures."

  She plucked up her T-shirt. "Good idea."

  "Share my bed tonight, Sahara. Tomorrow I'll get you home."

  She met his gaze, silent for a moment. "I could come back," she said softly. "After I turn in the job, I could—"

  Sighing, he caressed her neck with his fingers. "Dis place is like Shangri-La, chère. Once you leave you can never find your way back." He gave her a kiss. "Let's just enjoy the time we have left together."

  ***

  Supper was another five-star gourmet delight.

  "You should open a restaurant, Jacque. You'd make a fortune." Sahara leaned back and patted her tummy. "Delicious doesn't even come close."

  Jacque only smiled and dribbled another spoonful of crème caramel over his custard.

  "I don't know how you do it under these conditions." She waved a hand at the narrow strip of kitchen. "Propane stove and fridge, bottled water, no counter space. No electricity, for crying out loud!"

  "I've got electricity."

  She watched him belt back another shot of Quint's moonshine. She'd tried a sip earlier and it had nearly killed her.

  "Photo-voltaic batteries that last an hour. Hardly what I'd call wired."

  He shrugged. "It's all I need. An' it's not like dey run telephone poles out here."