by Nikita Black
She crawled to the edge of the bed and looked for her clothes. Then remembered her shorts and T-shirt had been forcibly replaced by a white tank top and miniskirt.
"They're out on the line. I washed them," Jacque casually informed her.
She jetted out a breath. "Figures," she muttered. Leaving her nude until they were dry. The Cherchat boys' favorite ploy to keep a person from running away, it seemed.
She turned in annoyance and he was standing there, right in front of her. So close, she could kiss his belly if she leaned forward a fraction of an inch.
"Now, see what all dis talk of you leavin's done," he said with a mock frown at his much-deflated equipment. He looked down at her from beneath sultry black lashes. "Maybe you'd like to cheer me up a bit, hmm?"
By the look of things, he was feeling more cheerful by the second. She tried to ignore his rising erection, but it was hard to disregard when her chin was in danger of being impaled.
She lifted it a fraction. "And what promises will you give me if I do?"
His lip curled. "I show you a good time." He dragged the tip of his nearly upright arousal along the edge of her jaw. "A real good time."
His cock felt like satin that had been left in the sun. Unable to resist, she tipped her head to rub her cheek against it. She could smell him. Musky and virile. Earth and salt, with a hint of her own scent perfuming his mix. She put her hands on his thighs, toned and muscular, a sprinkling of curly hair covering them, and sighed at how much his body pleased her. And could excite her with no effort at all, even against her will.
At the sudden sound of the front screen door opening, they both looked up.
"Am I too early, Chat?" inquired a grinning Samuel as he poked his head through.
Oh, hell. Not again.
With a grumble, Sahara grabbed a pillow from the bed and covered herself as best she could.
Jacque turned to Samuel with a perfectly straight face. "Mais, non, I've been up for hours."
She pinched his butt.
"Watch it, wife." He shot her an exaggerated scowl.
"I see d' newlyweds are gettin' along." Samuel walked in and made himself at home in the kitchen.
"In every way dat counts," Jacque countered with a chuckle, his blatant hard-on lending credence to the observation.
Sahara rolled her eyes. He wasn't remotely uncomfortable displaying his body in all its erect splendor. In fact, she rather thought it might be turning him on, since its size showed no signs of diminishing.
Samuel shifted a large package he was carrying under his arm, and stuck a finger in a pot on the stove. "What y' makin' dis time? Still workin' on your kebab sauce?"
Jacque strolled over to him. "Yep, sure am. Sam, you got somethin' for me?"
"Wha—? Oh, yeah. Dis come special messenger." He lifted the flattish, rectangular box into Jacque's hands. It looked remarkably like a dress box, Sahara thought.
"And the other thing I asked you to do dis morning?"
"All done. Jus' like you say."
"Bien." Fascinated, she watched Jacque slice through the tape on the brown paper and slide it off the box, wondering how on earth they managed a simple thing like mail delivery out here in the swamp.
"What is it?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
"It's for you." He walked over and held it out with a wink. "Go on, take it."
Which of course meant dropping the pillow.
Oh, what the hell.
She grabbed the box and ripped it open, determined to be as blasé about her nudity as everyone else seemed to be.
It was a dress box. And inside was a gorgeous, colorful, diaphanous silk dress. Ankle length with cap sleeves and a bateau neckline.
"Oh, Jacque! It's beautiful!" She jumped off the bed and twirled around, holding it to her. "I love it!"
"Put it on, darlin'."
"I should shower first."
"You go ahead," he prompted with a smile of encouragement.
She ran to the bathroom and turned on the faucets happily. Under the tepid spray, reality hit.
How could she accept his lovely gift—obviously expensive—and then just run away? That would be rude and selfish.
But how could she possibly escape naked? Waiting for the other clothes to dry could take hours. And Samuel was here now. She had to steal Jacque's boat and carefully follow Sam back to Gerroux when he left. It was the only way she wouldn't become hopelessly lost.
She had to do it now or she might never get up the courage again.
Her mind made up, she toweled her hair dry, slipped into the dress, went out and launched herself into Jacque's arms.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She hugged him tight and covered his dear face with kisses. "You are so sweet, and the dress is so lovely."
"My pleasure. But if dis is your reaction, I think I'll buy your wardrobe a dress at a time, one a day for the next year."
She guiltily buried her face in his neck. "Don't be silly. You couldn't possibly afford that."
"Couldn' I?"
"Of course not." She glanced up and suddenly realized he and Samuel were standing close together, watching her patiently, as if they'd been discussing something private or secret and were anxious to resume talking. "Sorry. I'm interrupting, aren't I?"
This was her chance. She let him go and backed a few steps, retreating toward her camera bag. "I'll, uh, I'll just go outside and take some pictures while you two... um..."
Jacque followed her movements as she grabbed her bag and slunk out the door. She was sure he'd say something to stop her, but he just nodded as she went through the door, waving lamely to the two men who looked suspiciously like they knew something she didn't.
She let out the breath she'd been holding and dug in her camera bag for her Nikon. Snapping pictures as her cover, she investigated the boat situation. Samuel's aluminum fishing boat was tied to the end of the wooden dock. Jacque's sleek motor boat was moored on the far side. Her rental boat had long since disappeared—returned to Gerroux under Jacque’s orders, no doubt. It would be tricky to get away without Jacque spotting her—but then again, what would it matter, since she'd be in possession of his only mode of transportation? She only hoped he was as casual with the security of his boat as he was with the house and had left the key in the ignition.
Yes, there it was.
She let out a sigh of relief, and settled into some serious picture taking while she waited for Samuel to finish his business with Jacque. It really was a gorgeous spot Jacque had picked for his home, and the shack itself had wonderful character. She'd love to have some photos to remember the place where she'd spent the best moments of her life. But she wasn't going to think about that part—the good moments. She had to get away, and remembering the wonderful times she'd already shared with Jacque wasn't going to make it any easier to leave.
Finally, Samuel emerged from the house. As he climbed into his boat, Jacque called to her, "You coming in, baby?"
Her pulse doubled. This was it.
"I think I'll take some more shots," she answered, forcing her voice to remain composed. "The light is really nice the way it filters through those trees over there."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded and disappeared back into the house, but not before she'd snapped one precious photo of him standing in the doorway.
She wanted to stop him, to tell him how much she'd enjoyed the past few days. To beg him to forgive her for leaving without a word. To say she'd never forget him as long as she lived, and if there were any way for them to have a chance together, she'd gladly give her right arm to find it.
But how? He was determined to stay in the swamp. She had her life in the city, her condo, a photography career on the verge of taking off. Her National Geographic assignment was due in a couple of days, and she had to get the photos to New York if she was to have a prayer of clinching the freelance job she'd been working towards for more years than she could count. It wasn't fair to force her to choose bet
ween them.
Well, she'd learned long ago that life wasn't fair, not by a long shot.
She watched Jacque retreat into the shack, blinked back tears that suddenly stung her eyes, and took a fortifying breath to steady her badly shaking hands. Then she dropped her camera bag into the motor boat, jumped in and took off without once looking back.
Chapter Nine
Jacque stared through the screen of the kitchen window at Sahara as she sped away in his boat, and sighed.
He'd known it would happen. He'd prepared himself and warned Samuel. But despite everything, he'd really hoped she wouldn't.
Fuck.
He shook his head and went back to his kebab sauce, tasted it and decided to add a bit more garlic. It would be a while before Samuel returned. Jacque had told him to let Sahara get good and lost before hauling her ass back to him.
Dieu, he must be out of his mind keeping her like this. It was crazy on so many levels.
Sure, his clan had gotten away with shotgun marriages innumerable times in the past. But this was a new millennium. Despite what he'd told her, they couldn't get away with stuff like this any more.
He grabbed a knife and tamped down his aggravation. He shouldn't blame her for trying to escape.
And he didn't. Not really. In her shoes, he'd be doing the same and worse. Still, it pricked his pride that she could give him up so easily. No tears, no regrets. No thoughts about his feelings.
All she could think of was getting out of his one-room shack and back to her quest for wealth and fame. His eyes narrowed in disappointment as he hacked the garlic and threw it into the pot.
He had no intention of staying married to a woman like Sahara, who'd only see dollar signs whenever she looked at him after she'd learned the truth. There were other things in life more important than money and possessions. If she couldn't understand that and be willing to sacrifice everything—everything—to love him, he wasn't interested in her.
And he didn't have a lot of optimism that it would ever happen. She had her heart set on that mansion on the water.
He gripped the knife in his hand, his knuckles going white. So, why was he so goddamned determined to keep her—even if only for a week or two?
Making himself relax, he stirred the garlic into the sauce with his knife. Because Sahara did things to him, his mind and his body, that no other woman had ever come close to doing, that's why. Just the fact that he wanted her back when it was obvious she had no interest in him beyond sex scared the hell out of him.
Yes, but what incredible sex! God knows, she wanted him, too. She was wild for him, insatiable in her lust for his body. Dieu , it made him dizzy just thinking about how quickly she responded. And he was sure it was him she responded to, not the act. Otherwise, why would she be so inexperienced and innocent at her age?
She adored him. Was probably in love with him, at least a little. It wasn't such a reach to imagine her falling for him completely and—
Damn. Listen to him!
He hurled the knife across the room so it stuck fast in the opposite wall, vibrating like the anger that suddenly overwhelmed him.
Merde! He really had a masochistic streak for allowing such a ridiculous thought to cross his mind.
She didn't love him. And she'd never consent to stay with him out here. He was deluding himself if he thought there was even a small chance.
He plowed a hand through a lock of hair that had escaped his ponytail, yanked out the band and bound it up again. He'd had his fill of women who only wanted to get their hands on his fortune. He couldn't take another bitter disappointment dished out by a calculating woman. He didn't have it in him to recover one more time.
Mais non, he only wanted to keep Sahara captive for a few days, as a plaything for his cock.
Yeah, yeah, he was bein' selfish and greedy. So what? Every woman he'd ever met was selfish and greedy. And this morning hadn't he sent fifteen rolls of her orchid photos to his own company's lab to be developed and printed? He'd have her best shots mounted and delivered in a fancy portfolio to his friend Miles Landau at National Geographic by Friday, so her precious career wouldn't suffer because of his own sadly misguided lust. Was that being selfish and greedy?
He wasn't in love with Sahara Jensen.
Screw love.
He just liked the way her sensual body felt in his arms, her heat around his erection, hot and wet, quivering with desire. That's what he loved about her. That's all he wanted.
Not the way she made him laugh at the most inappropriate times, or listened entranced to his dumb stories, or her naive curiosity and interminable awe over everything new she encountered. Or the gentle way she traced her finger over his face, gazing at him with that worshipful expression that threatened to melt his spineless heart.
Non. None of that mattered. Pas de rien.
He'd made himself a promise, and he intended to keep it.
If a woman couldn't commit to him totally and completely, he wanted nothing more to do with her than a few nights of pleasure. He'd keep her long enough to take the edge off his appetite for her body, then let her go.
No matter how much he might miss the needy little sounds she made as he thrust into her.
He strode across the room and ripped his paring knife from the wall, thumbing the long slit it had made in the plaster.
Someday, he'd find what he was looking for. Somewhere, there waited a loving woman who wanted Jacque Cherchat just for himself. Who'd be eager to stay with him while believing he was just another Cajun po'boy living in a shack on the bayou.
Then he'd know she truly loved him.
He stabbed the knife into the top of his butcher block table, turned down the sauce, and walked calmly to the bathroom for a shower and shave. To ready himself for Sahara's return to the captivity of his bed.
He didn't imagine she'd be glad to be brought back. But he was just rich and powerful enough to get away with this dangerous game of sexual shanghai, at least for a little while longer. He'd see to it she didn't leave empty-handed. That should satisfy her well enough.
That and a few new carnal adventures he had planned.
***
By the time Samuel returned with Sahara, Jacque was perfectly composed. The unfamiliar turbulence that had roiled his gut since her departure had been fiercely subdued, and only a slight jangle of discord remained.
If he'd expected her to be cowed at her recapture, he was mistaken. With head high, she stalked up the wooden jetty in bare feet, camera bag flung over her shoulder, the colorful silk of her long dress fluttering about her like a cloud of butterflies.
Dieu, she was beautiful.
His groin twitched in appreciation. He perversely looked forward to taming her stubborn resistance to his dominion—taming, but never breaking. She had to cross that final bridge of surrender of her own free will. Otherwise, it was meaningless.
Still, her taming was where his present pleasures lay.
'For his depraved use', Lisette had called it the day he'd found Sahara. At the time, he'd laughed at her phrasing. Today, he wasn't smiling.
He'd changed. And so had the stakes.
Waving a curt thanks to Samuel, he held the screen door open for Sahara, who swept through and pitched her camera bag onto the sofa. Her back was to him, her shoulders stiff as she crossed her arms and pushed out an indignant curse. "How long do you plan to keep this up?" she demanded.
"Until I get tired of you," he replied, wanting to provoke.
She gasped and spun to face him. "You don't believe in this ridiculous marriage any more than I do! You just want—"
Apparently she couldn't continue. She stopped in mid-sentence and stared at him, scandalized.
He smiled. "Take off your clothes, woman."
The points of her cheeks flooded with color. Whether from anger or unwilling excitement he couldn't say. Whatever. He was already hard, prepared to take her either way.
"The dress," he directed, "or I'll rip it off you."
; After a slight hesitation, she pulled the dress over her head and flung it away defiantly. Leaving her body resplendently naked. "Satisfied?"
His blood drummed through his veins. "Not nearly, ma femme. You left me in a bad way, remember?"
Her gaze dropped for a micro-second to the ridge of his arousal, long and stiff beneath his jeans, then her eyes snapped up again. She swallowed, but didn't answer.
He didn't need a reply.
Slowly, he approached her, letting her nervousness over what he intended escalate. Letting his own excitement swell along with his already bursting cock. He didn't stop walking until he stood right up against her. To her credit, she didn't back away.
Deliberately, he brushed her breasts with his bare chest. Her rosy nipples spiraled to tight points and he suppressed a gratified smile. Oh, yeah. Even in her outrage, she wanted him.
"You've been very naughty, Sahara."
"Have not," she sassed back, but her words lacked conviction.
He put his mouth to her ear, careful to maintain his distance, the two pebble-hard tips of her breasts the only physical contact he allowed between them. "I should spank you," he whispered.
Her sharp intake of breath dragged her nipples up his chest. "You wouldn’t."
His erection jerked. "I've never spanked a woman before. Maybe it's time to find out what I've been missing."
The possibilities flooded his blood with adrenaline, a primal response to a primitive situation. Sexual power at its most delectable.
"Yes, I believe I will."
Her tongue peeked out and swiped over her bottom lip. A lip as ripe and plump as the other bit of her anatomy under consideration.
"No," she murmured, her blue eyes turning the color of midnight. Betraying her. "Please, Jacque..."
He stroked his hand lightly down the smooth skin of her derriere and slipped it between her legs. She was hot as cayenne pepper. "Please what, darlin'?"
She swayed closer. "Don't spank me."
He saw the excitement swirl in the mussel-blue depths of her eyes. Reluctant. Horrified. But unmistakably sexual.
His own excitement skyrocketed. "Then how shall I punish you for your disobedience?"