Cajun Hot (3 page)

"'Bout half an hour,” Quint said. “Drink up."

She lifted the glass to her lips, and was suddenly struck by a terrible thought. The towel around her hair slid to her shoulders.

"Somethin’ wrong,
chère
?” Quint looked at her inquiringly.

"No...” With a shaky hand, she set the glass back on the table and fumbled with the towel.

Jacque put down his ladle, licked his finger and sauntered over. He picked up the wine. “Smell off?"

"No, it—"

"Or maybe you're afraid we put somethin’ in it?” He winked, and picked up her glass.

"Of course not, I...” She watched, mesmerized, as he took a big swallow, her own throat following the movement of his Adam's apple. “I was just—"

"See? Nothin’ to worry ‘bout."

His tongue slid out to capture a drop of burgundy liquid on the rim. He handed the glass back to her and she had to use two hands to take the damned thing, they shook so badly.

"What would I have to be worried about?” she stammered inanely. Her robe gaped open, and she almost dropped the glass grabbing for the lapels. The towel slid even further down her back.

Jacque eyed her breasts. “You mean besides bein’ alone wit’ two strange men, both big enough and strong enough to make you do most anything they want? Or you being naked under dat dressin’ gown, wit’ no way to escape us and no idea where you are even if you could?"

Sahara's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut with a click. “Yes, besides that,” she managed to choke out.

Jacque chuckled. It said a lot for the woman that she was able to joke at a time like this. Which only reinforced his resolve to have her.

Her sweet, guileless reactions were turning him on but good. He hadn't been this hard in decades. “Look at it this way,” he reasoned implacably. “Wit’ all that goin’ for us, we'd hardly have to slip you a roofie."

He didn't need to. He had the patience of a saint, even if his desires tended to come from less holy sources.

After a second, she gave him a feeble smile. “I see your point."

She grabbed her glass and took a large gulp, licking the rim afterwards. Her eyes went wide and she slammed the glass down, sloshing burgundy liquid onto the table.
Dieu
, she must have tasted him, or remembered he'd also licked it. He stifled a smile.

"Quint, fill the lady's glass, will you?” He fetched a sponge and wiped up the spill. “Relax,
chère
. We're not goin’ to hurt you."

Quite the opposite.

He went back to cooking while his brother obliged, chiding her as one would a baby into taking several more sips of wine. Finally, her shoulders notched down a little.

"
Mais, non
, we'd never harm you, Sahara..” Quint said as he topped up her drink. “It's not like you're a Treasury agent or anythin'. Then you might be justified in bein’ afraid."

"How so?” She looked up, doe-eyed, that stupid towel sprawled over her shoulders like a spent lover.

Scratch that about having patience.

Quint got up and stood behind her. “Oh, you know, gov'ment types have been known to disappear now and den out in da swamp—” He eased the towel from her shoulders and went on as if he weren't doing anything unusual. “—shone while they regaled her with stories of how, over the past seventy years, more than one unhappy Fed had been forced to marry a Cajun girl on account of being caught by Mama Breaux with his hand in the mason jar, so to speak.

"Deflowering a virgin's a hangin’ offense here. Least if you're
étranger
—an outsider,” he explained.

Jacque grinned. “Didn’ matter if she's slept wit’ half the boys in the parish. They're always virgins. Luckily, the sheriff usually intervenes, and orders them to get married instead."

Quint shook his head, “You wouldn’ believe the wedding ceremony. Mama Breaux, she makes the man strip naked in front of everyone and says spells over him, so he'll be reborn, like, as bayou folk, and leave his old life behind."

Sahara looked around, incredulous. “Are you telling me they just went along with these ridiculous weddings? Didn't any of them try to escape?"

"A few tried. Didn’ get far."

"You can't fight Mama Breaux,” said Quint, pausing in his ministrations. “She's got da voodoo. Everybody does what she say."

Jacque nodded. “I sure would. Dat's one scary woman."

"Come on. I don't believe you. Stuff like that doesn't happen any more."

"Not in a good long while, true enough.” He lifted a shoulder. “But who knows. Things are different out here in the swamp. We respect our elders, listen to them. Besides, all those old couples are still together, so Mama Breaux, she must know somethin'."

"Still..."

Quint combed her hair with his fingers, massaging her scalp as he went, and her words trailed off into a sigh. Jacque shook his head. His brother had a bit of voodoo himself when it concerned women.

Jacque figured he'd better hurry and deliver the
coup de gras
, in the form of his fillé gumbo. His own voodoo rested firmly in his cooking skills.

He'd proven that at age twenty-three when he'd made his first cool million selling
Wild Jack Kershaw's Cajun Hot
, the only Louisiana hot sauce gah-ron-teed to curl your hair—and he was living proof—concocted right there on Mama Breaux’ ancient wood stove.

Mais yeah
.. He'd always done what she said. Ever since she'd tasted that first batch of sauce and told him to go out and make his fortune in da
ville
—New Orleans. He'd followed her advice, and for ten years hadn't looked back.

Not until this month, anyway.

"God, that was better than sex, Jacque."

At Sahara's comment, he paused in his dinner clean-up and grinned broadly.

Quint nearly choked. “Now, I agree, Jacque here makes the bes’ gumbo east or west of the Atchafalaya River. But
chère
, I mean to say, if you think dis is better'n sex, you been wit’ the wrong men."

She giggled and took another sip of wine. “What's your secret, Jacque?” She looked right at him, her eyes all innocent and curious. He was tempted to sweep the rest of the dishes off the table and show her right there.

Later, Chat.

"My tongue,” he said, coming to a halt beside her. “The tongue is the secret—"

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But her little surprised intake of breath clinched it. He leaned down, inches from her face and paused until knowledge of what he was about to do flashed through her pretty blue eyes. Slowly, he extended his tongue, and flicked it over her bottom lip.

Inwardly he moaned.
Dieu
, she tasted good. “—da tongue is the secret to both cookin’ and makin’ love."

Her succulent lips parted, sudden apprehension battling with hot desire in her expression. He wanted more, but it was too soon.

He straightened and picked up her empty plate. He almost lost his own battle when he realized her robe had gaped open, giving him a fine view of her plump breast, her nipple pert and taut. He made himself walk to the sink instead of taking her in his mouth and suckling till she begged for what they both really wanted.

She swallowed and looked at her glass, making an admirable attempt at pretending what had just happened hadn't happened at all. But she knew. They all did. The electricity arcing between the three of them could power the cabin for a year. He glanced at Quint. The man was actually sweating, and he'd bet half his stock options it wasn't because the gumbo was too spicy.

"
Cajun Hot
?"

Shocked, Jacque narrowed his eyes at Sahara.
How had she found out?

"Is that what you used for the gumbo? I thought I recognized the flavor...” Her words faded as he continued to stare at her. “Guess not."

He pulled himself together.
Non
, she couldn't know about him. She was just asking about spices.

"Yeah, it's
Cajun Hot
. It's all I ever use. Got a cupboard full of the stuff. Every spice and sauce they make."

Hell
.. Now her other breast was visible.

He dumped the dishes in the sink and grabbed the espresso pot from the stove. Not that he needed the caffeine. He just needed something to occupy his hands.

"Me, too.
Cajun Hot
is great. Yep, the man who came up with those sauces,
he's
really got a tongue on him."

The robe gaped wider.

Quint grinned. “
Mais non
, dat Cajun, he probably burned off his taste buds years ago."

Jacque dead-panned his smirking brother. “
Bien amusant
.” He poured espressos all around, lingering over Sahara's cup and the incredible view above it.
Tortueux
—pure torture.

His eyes met Quint's over her head and he nodded imperceptibly. He couldn't take it a minute longer. He'd been hard for so long he ached.

Understanding immediately, Quint smiled. “So, Chat,” he said casually, “you got any dessert for us?"

Jacque put down the coffee pot and slowly shook his head. His cock danced in anticipation. “
Non. Rien
—not a thing."

"Nothin'? No pie?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Or maybe a li'l bitty piece of peach cobbler?"

He glanced at Sahara, her breasts tantalizingly framed by the gap in the robe. Did she have any idea what she was doing to them? His mouth watered. “Sorry."

"Now dat's a damn shame. Me, I could really go for somethin'. Somethin’ hot an’ real sweet."

"Mm-hmm. Somethin’ that would go down nice an’ easy,” he agreed. His imagination spun at the image.

They looked at each other, letting the silence lengthen. Sahara glanced nervously between them. The pink tip of her tongue poked out and swiped over her lips. He wanted that tongue on him. All over him.

"Well, then,” he said quietly, anticipation all but making him burst. “I guess there's only one thing to do..."

They both set their sights on Sahara, hotly, expectantly. Excitement flooded his body, headed straight for his cock.

"Looks like dessert's gonna be you,
chère
."

Sahara jumped from her chair. Her first thought at Jacque's explosive suggestion was to run like hell. But the hem of her robe had other ideas. It caught on her chair and she landed right in his arms.

"Where you goin’ so fast?” Jacque held her loosely by the shoulders. She tried to back away and ran into the solid form of his brother.

"The bus,” she squeaked. “I need to go now or I'll miss the bus."

"Already come and gone,
chère
. Won’ be another bus for a whole week."

Panic crept through her veins. “That's not true! The schedule says Monday at eight p.m."

"Been wrong for years. Typo. Should say eight
a.m.
"

"That's not possible!” She shouldn't believe him. But, behind the hunger in Jacque's eyes, she saw he was telling the truth. Her heart thundered in her throat. “What will I do?” she croaked.

"Stay."

The single word hung between them like a live, sparking electrical wire.

Stay.

Jacque looked down at her, his eyes hooded with sexual intent. The feral invitation was unmistakable. Stay, and he'd give her the most incredible night of her life.

She swayed unsteadily. The tips of her breasts scraped against the cotton of his T-shirt and tightened. A wicked spiral of desire spun through her body. She wanted to rub herself against him, to prolong the unfamiliar, heady feeling.

"Stay."

She backed up. “I can't."

Quint's arms went around her waist from behind. “What are you afraid of,
'tite chatte
? You know we won’ hurt you.” His hands smoothed over her bare skin.

A vague awareness of her nakedness penetrated her confusion. When had her robe fallen open? She tried to reach for the belt to close it.

Jacque slid his hands to her wrists and held them. “I don’ know, Quint. Maybe she's afraid I'll kiss her."

Oh, Lord
. Her pulse went into orbit as his face lowered to hers and he brushed a kiss over her mouth. He hovered there, barely touching, letting her grow used to the feel of his lips until it was nearly unbearable. Then his tongue slipped out and glided over them, licking at the corners, the bow, gently seeking entry. Someone moaned. It couldn't have been her...

"Don’ think so, little brother. Maybe she's scared
I'll
kiss her."

Quint nibbled her ear from behind, and grasped her chin between his fingers, turning her face towards him. His mouth came over hers, moving softly at first, then harder. She opened at his urging, completely scandalized when his tongue swept into her in a scorching kiss. It was wonderful.

While Quint kissed her mouth, Jacque sucked lightly at her throat, her shoulder, her ear. Suddenly, her chin was tugged further down and both their tongues were in her mouth. Shocked to the core, she couldn't move, powerless to do anything except let them invade her totally, together.

It was outrageous!

And more exciting than anything she'd ever experienced.

Jacque turned her toward him and claimed her mouth savagely. His fingers drilled through her hair, holding her immobile to his plunder. She leaned against Quint's chest and opened to Jacque, eager to taste him. She felt sinful, wanton, wicked. He was even more skilled at kissing than his brother. The last of her resistance dissolved in the wet, hot honey of Jacque's kiss. She moaned, falling helplessly, lost down a black velvet tunnel of exquisite arousal.

From behind, Quint murmured, “Hell, Jacque. She doesn’ seem to be afraid of kissin’ at all.” He painted her nape with his tongue, pulling the robe further and further off her shoulders.

Jacque paused with his mouth against hers and whispered into it, “Maybe she's afraid I might touch her."

His warm hands enveloped her breasts. A shock of pleasure stung through her. She arched, pinned between the hard bodies of the two men.

"Oh, God—” she moaned.

"
Non
, I think she's afraid we'll both touch her."

Quint's hands joined Jacque's and she cried out, unable to halt the torrent of sensation pouring through her. Knowing she should put a stop to what was happening, but hopelessly unable to summon the strength.