by Nikita Black
Finally, when dinner was cleared and Baked Alaska with Turkish coffee had been placed in front of everyone, Jacque rose and walked to a podium set on a low dais. A few hundred replete and cheerful guests came to attention, looking forward with apparent relish to the show they obviously expected.
Jacque didn't disappoint. He joked with the crowd, amused them with humorous anecdotes of how the kebab sauce recipe had come about, impressed them with statistics of how well Cajun Hot was doing as a company.
All the while, curious eyes wandered to Sahara. She knew exactly what everyone was waiting for. She was nervous as hell. What would he say?
"So, did everyone enjoy supper?" he asked the crowd, which answered with appropriately appreciative noises and cheers. Cameras flashed from a group of photographers jammed in front of him. "And now I'd like to present y'all with the newest member of the Cajun Hot family, Sahara Spice—named after my hot, new beautiful wife, Sahara Jensen Cherchat." His smile was only for her, and the crowd disappeared.
At his signal, a dozen harem-dressed women passed out silk bags containing a small bottle of Cajun Hot Sahara Spice kebab sauce, along with a fresh orchid for each guest. The bottles were adorned with pretty labels featuring her name in large letters over a stylized version of one of her orchid photos. But all Sahara saw was Jacque.
He was magnificent. Her vision blurred, thinking of how she'd wronged him. It was a miracle he'd forgiven her. One she'd be grateful for, for the rest of her life.
"A few weeks ago I met Sahara Jensen, and I knew immediately I had to have her forever. Two days later, we were married. But I made a big mistake. I wasn't completely honest with her."
The crowd murmured, fascinated by the drama unfolding.
"I want to make that up to her now. By asking her all over again. This time, the right way." He looked at her, all the hope and desire she could ever want shining from within his dark eyes. "Will you marry me, 'tite chatte?"
Oh, Jacque. If she hadn't been sitting down, she would have dissolved into a puddle of mush right on the spot.
There was nothing on earth she'd rather do than marry him, for real, so no one could ever part them or say their marriage wasn't legal and binding. She smiled through joyful tears.
Of course, she'd be a fool to let this golden opportunity go by...
"I'll marry you, Jacque Cherchat," she called up to him, wiping her eyes amidst the flash of cameras, "on one condition."
For a split second his brow raised. Then he smoothed his expression and blithely said," Merde, I'm in trouble."
The room erupted in delighted laughter.
"Honey, she don't want you, I'll take you," shouted a woman from the back of the room.
Laughing, he motioned to Sahara in amused resignation. "Come on up here, chère, and tell me your condition."
Almost giddily, she rose and mounted the narrow dais to stand next to him, her expression a study in innocence. After he'd given her a peck on the cheek, she turned and spoke shyly into the microphone. "Strip."
Shock bolted through his eyes, as well as the audience. "Escuse moi?"
"I want you to strip for me."
He blinked. Slowly, a devilish grin spread over his lips. "C'est tout, ça? Hell, dat all?"
In a sinuous motion, he grabbed his turban and flung it away, then started to move his hips in a sensual dance. Cameras whirred in a blinding flash.
The Middle Eastern band joined the spirit and launched into an impromptu rendition of a bump and grind on their exotic instruments. She couldn't believe her eyes. He was actually going to do it.
The crowd went wild as he tore off his gold vest, whipped it around and tossed it over his shoulder to the sinuous beat.
He flirted openly with her, moving like a pro, rubbing up against her, catching her hands and spreading them over his body.
A hot blush flamed across her cheeks. "Jacque!"
"Hey, you called it, baby," he murmured in her ear, grinding suggestively against her bottom.
"You don't have to enjoy it so much," she blurted, making him laugh out loud.
"Why not?" He dropped his pants and kicked them away. Clad only in black briefs—very brief—he turned his back on the crowd and put his arms over her shoulders, pulling her close. She could feel his excitement rise lustily. "You gonna marry me, Sahara?"
"Not 'til you're as naked as I was," she challenged, determined that he experience the same complete vulnerability as she had during their wedding.
"You do it," he dared, pressing his formidable arousal against her belly. "Strip me bare in front of everyone. Show them who owns me, body and soul."
She swallowed deeply at his intensely potent words. It was a thrill beyond anything imaginable to be given such incredible trust by another human being. Especially someone as powerful and commanding as Jacque Cherchat.
He put his mouth to hers and whispered, "Do it, Sahara. Claim me as yours. You do want me, don' you, baby?"
"Take a wild guess, Chat." She slid her fingers under the silk of his briefs and pushed them over his hips.
The crowd's startled gasps filled the air, along with the sound of cameras whirring and clicking. Jacque braced his feet apart and pulled her into an unreserved embrace. His lips crushed hers, his hand holding her head immovable for his kiss. He was the one who was nude, but she felt overwhelmingly naked and exposed, taking this kind of vow in front of a room full of strangers.
There would be no taking it back in the morning, no changing her mind. Photos of their primitive mating dance would be in all the papers by dawn, and she would never, ever be allowed to forget this defining moment as long as she lived. Not by society, not by Jacque. She'd always be his, and he'd always be hers, inexorably tied in the minds of themselves and the whole world.
All she could do was cover her eyes and laugh along with the man she loved when he moved to the podium and turned to the audience.
Grinning broadly, he announced, "She said yes."
Epilogue
One Year Later
Sahara pulled in a deep breath of fresh sea air, gazed out over the crystal blue water surrounding Jacque's twenty-five foot sailboat, and tipped a bottle of delicious French champagne into her mouth. She and Jacque were in their third week of sailing around the Caribbean and there wasn't a soul in sight.
She was in seventh heaven. She'd never seen so much wet, beautiful, wonderful water in all her life!
She took another sip of champagne and smiled broadly. Of course, other sights around the boat were just as appealing as the sparkling open sea, if not more so.
For instance, her devoted husband's bare behind as he stood at the ship's wheel securing the instruments for their afternoon siesta ranked right up there. The man just didn't believe in unnecessary clothing.
Thank goodness.
A wave of pure adoration gushed through her heart. She was so amazingly, unbelievably lucky. Over the past year, Jacque had proven to be everything she could possibly want in a husband, and she was the happiest woman in the world to be married to him. He was going to make a wonderful father when the time came to start that huge family Mama Breaux kept predicting. Sahara just couldn't imagine life without Jacque's love and unflagging support. He was sweet, considerate, handsome, smart, generous, sexy as hell, inexhaustible, inventive—
Hmm. Which reminded her...
She tugged playfully at the bandanna tied around her forehead. Jacque wasn't the only one who could be inventive.
Smothering a giggle, she leaned down and adjusted the thigh-high felt pirate boots she'd bought at the gift shop of a swanky resort they'd eaten dinner at last night, flipped down the matching black patch over her left eye, and regarded Jacque's backside. At the last minute, she slipped off her bikini, leaving her as naked as Jacque, except for the boots and a length of rope tied around her waist.
Siesta time promised to be memorable today. Hell, if she was going to indulge in fantasies, she might as well make them unforgettable, right?
S
he hefted the champagne bottle, grabbed her plastic sword and strode across the deck in gleeful anticipation. "At last, Captain Cherchat," she declared loudly, poking him in the butt with the sword, "I have you where I want you!"
Surprised, Jacque whipped around, took one look at her and broke out in a huge grin.
Staying in character, she stuck the sword's blunt tip up under his chin. "You are my prisoner, Monsieur. You find that amusing?"
Instantly, the grin was wiped from his face. Jacque loved these games as much as she did. But he wasn't quite able to squelch the amused twinkle in his eyes.
"My lady pirate," he said in an exaggerated accent, "you caught me wit' my pants down. Have mercy on a poor French capitaine."
Getting into her role, she snorted derisively. "After you chased me over the high seas for a full year, stealing my hard-earned treasure, making my life a living hell?" She leaned forward, doing her best to stare down at her nose at him, even though he topped her by a good six inches. "Mercy? I think not!"
"Dieu! What will you do wit' me, mademoiselle le pirate?"
His lip twitched and she almost lost it. "Do?" Checking her bubbling laughter, she drew her blade down the front of his chest, stopping just above his rapidly rising cock and gave him a rakish smile. "Why, punish you, of course."
Using the flat of the blade, she stroked it erotically over his shaft. Sizzling suspense crackled between them as they sized each other up.
"What makes you think I'll submit?" he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.
She continued to play with him, effectively spoiling his bravado. "Because you're defenseless. I have the sword."
"That is so," he admitted, eying the weapon as it toyed with his manhood. "À présent. "His eyelids sank to half-mast. "So, what will be my punishment, my lady, for so boldly pursuing you from one end of the earth to the other?"
Already her body ached for his touch. He only had to look at her in that special, sultry way to make her temperature skyrocket and her limbs turn liquid.
She took a slow, deliberate swig of champagne as she held him at sword-point, considering.
He liked being in charge. But, occasionally, he let her have her way with him, giving her anything she wanted, following her every command. He loved it when she shocked him with her inventiveness. And she loved it, too, because in the end he'd inevitably turn the table and sweep her into an entirely new level of searing sensuality.
Audaciously, he trailed his fingers over her breast and down to the rope at her waist. "So, what's is goin' to be, Mademoiselle Pirate?"
Barely resisting the urge to lean into his hard, lean body, she stepped back and started to untie the rope. "Twenty lashes will do nicely, I think. Turn around."
His disreputable grin peeked through his rogue's lips. "Make me."
"Jacque!" she said exasperatedly.
"Will that be twenty lashes with your tongue?"
Attempting to regain control, she mocked a stern scowl and brandished her sword meaningfully at him. "You will do as I say, Capitaine, or pay the consequences!"
"I see." He eyed the rope, then the champagne. "Won' you offer a man a drink to dull the pain?"
This wasn't going exactly as she'd envisioned. Leave it to Jacque to get mulish and change the script. She chuffed out a breath and handed him the bottle. "Oh, all right, here. Now turn around."
Grinning, he leaned against the ship's wheel, casually crossed one ankle over the other, and put the bottle to his mouth for a long pull.
Involuntarily, her lips parted. She watched, mesmerized, as he drank. His Adam's apple bobbed in his corded throat. Tiny rivulets of golden bubbles spilled down his chin and over the defined muscles of his chest, sizzling and popping on his dusky skin. A few drops of liquid splattered onto his blatantly displayed, full, straining arousal. She had to make a conscious effort not to lick her lips.
He waggled his eyebrows naughtily. "Now, where did you say I'd get that tongue lashin'?"
She snapped her jaw shut. The man was a menace. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. This called for war. Plastering an innocent smile onto her face, she twirled the end of the rope in her fingers said sweetly, "Turn around and you'll find out."
"Ah, bon." With a look that told her he was only doing it because it amused him, he turned and draped his arms over the chest-high wheel. "In dat case, lash away."
She leaned into the broad expanse of his back, rubbing her body against his, loving the way his sun-warmed skin felt against her breasts. His tight buttocks pressed into her, fitting perfectly into the cradle of her femininity. She hummed a deep sound of pleasure, momentarily forgetting her objective.
Jacque's hand came around, grasping her hip and pulling her tighter into him. "Why don' I give you a tongue lashin' instead?" he suggested in a low, erotic whisper.
"That would hardly be appropriate," she rejoined, recalling her task. Dropping the sword, she quickly tied his wrists to the wheel with the rope.
"Hey!" He peered around at her uncertainly.
It wasn't unknown for her to tie him up, so he didn't appear truly alarmed. But there was the merest hint of wariness in his questioning gaze.
She just smiled. And slipped the bottle from his grip. She fed him another slurp, making sure she spilled a good amount onto his neck and shoulder in the process. "Is it cold?"
"Yes," he answered testily.
"My, my," she purred. "You sure are a messy captive, wasting good champagne like that."
"I believe it was you who—"
"And disrespectful, too. I'll have to give you extra punishment for that." She ran her hand down his back and over his buttock, giving it a firm smack.
He jerked upright. "Ow! Sahara, don' even think ab—" His words cut off abruptly when she dribbled a long stream of champagne down his spine. He shivered and groaned, tugging at his bonds. "Chère— "
"What's the matter, Capitaine? Feeling a bit less cocky now?" She gave him a swat on his other buttock.
His muscles jumped and a string of Cajun epithets filled the gentle breeze as he tried to free his wrists from the rope. She grinned, recognizing several choice phrases. But she wasn't worried. She figured she had a good ten minutes. Jacque himself had taught her the various knots used in sailing, and she'd practiced.
Though, in the end, he'd no doubt get loose. She was counting on it.
"’Tis no use, you know." She dribbled the effervescent liquid back and forth across the wide geography of his shoulders and torso. "You're at my complete mercy, Capitaine."
She gave him two precise spanks, splatting champagne droplets everywhere. The sound cracked across the deck, and Jacque let fly a savage curse, yanking at the rope.
"You'll regret this, woman. Jus' wait 'til I get free."
She chuckled. "Not a chance of that. You're a very good teacher."
He mumbled another swearword and she kissed him on the shoulder, then lapped at the champagne glistening there.
"A little lower," he said petulantly, spreading his legs and leaning into the wheel, flexing his rippling shoulder muscles beneath her lips.
She smiled at his reluctant enjoyment of her tongue on his back, and knew she had him. He was so damned easy. She licked his shoulder blade, then spanked him again, just to remind him who was in charge.
"You're so goin' to regret dis," he gritted between clenched teeth.
She didn't think so.
Sinking to her knees, she continued her moist, sensual journey down his body. She trickled champagne over every inch of his back and lapped it off. Whenever he moaned and tried to direct her lower, she gave him a sound swat. In no time, his butt was a fetching shade of rose under his dark tan.
She took pity on him and kissed it. "Better?" she silkily asked, moving her lips and tongue gently over his tender flesh. He felt hot, like satin on fire. She saw his balls between his legs, hard and swollen, partially hidden by the nest of black curls. She caressed them as she lapped down his backside.
He
tipped his head back and groaned. Engrossed in her delicious task, she didn't even pause when he turned and grasped her head with both hands, guiding her to his engorged cock. Hungrily, she took him in her mouth. He tasted dark and sensual like the sea, sweet and smooth like the champagne she dribbled over him as she licked. She wanted more.
She made a noise of disappointment when the amber liquid trickled to a halt as she poured. "Damn," she muttered and shook out the bottle, oblivious to the wicked smile that creased Jacque's mouth.
Slowly, he tilted her face up with a finger under her chin. "Dere a problem, chère?"
She blinked, struggling to figure out what was wrong with the picture. Then she realized his hands were free and she was kneeling before him in a very vulnerable position. He dangled the rope in front of her nose.
Uh-oh.
A shiver of excitement zinged through her, knowing she was in big trouble. She swiped her tongue over her lips and groped behind her, searching blindly for the sword. "Do not attempt to escape, Capitaine. You'll never get away from me."
His brow arched darkly. He came down on his knees, seizing the plastic sword before she could grab it. There was a splash as it hit the water, tossed over the side.
"Mais, non. I think it is you who'll not get away from me, 'tite pirate."
She scrambled backwards. "But that's not—"
He captured her wrist. "My turn, wife."
His forceful arm encircled her and swept her to the deck. Sprawled under him, she gazed at the man she loved with all her heart and knew a moment of exquisite terror as he spread her legs and lowered himself onto her.
"What will you do to me?" Her throat was tight with desire for this powerful man, her husband, and her limbs trembled with anticipation for the sensual delights he'd bestow upon her.
His hand eased up her inner thigh and her next thought was obliterated. His fingers slicked over her, teasing and probing, driving her need for him higher and higher.