Free Cajun Hot by Nikita Black Page A

but hot sauce labels? Oh, brother. The perfect final touch to the proceedings. The spectators actually clapped.
    "You may kiss the bride."
    Without losing his grip on her, Sahara's new husband turned her in his arms and before she could protest brushed his lips over hers.
    "This is ridiculous,” she said between gritted teeth as the crowd booed and called for a more substantial show of affection from the groom. “This marriage can't possibly be legal."
    He pulled her closer, tipping up her chin with his fingers. “We'll talk about it later.” He lowered his mouth to hers and nibbled her bottom lip. “For now, jus’ pretend you love me."
    His sensual, talented mouth covered hers and, for a moment, she couldn't think. Could only feel what this incredible man did to her, inside and out.
    Pretend she loved him?
    Would it be such a stretch?
    Annoyed? Without a doubt. But she had to smile at his sheer audacity.
    "Dat's better,” he murmured into her mouth. “I like it much better when you're smilin'."
    He held her tight and kissed her until there was no doubt in anyone's mind, least of all hers, that he was master of her flesh, owner of her desire, lord of her body's response.
    She blamed it on her own brazen seduction of his flawless masculinity earlier, on her flagrantly unsatisfied lust, on the way the curves of her body fit so very perfectly with his. For, suddenly, she wanted to go along with his command. To pretend, just for a while, that she loved him to distraction and wanted nothing more than to stay and be his wife and lover.
    The kiss ended and he looked into her eyes, sensing the change in her, his own need written exquisitely in the droop of his eyelids, the glittering black of his gaze, the tense slash of his kiss-reddened lips. The possessiveness haunting his eyes was intoxicating. Shivers of goose bumps cascaded down her whole body, knowing she was the one who did this to him.
    "Just for tonight,” she warned, and his answering smile was rife with promise.
    He didn't let go of her all evening. Always, he had a proprietary arm about her, or hand on her, or his body pressed against hers as they talked, danced, drank and ate with his friends and family. She didn't say much, preferring simply to watch and feel, smell and taste whatever he presented for her enjoyment. Indeed, he took great pains to please her.
    Their wedding feast was a banquet of pleasures.
    Flowers appeared from nowhere and exotic greens were gathered from the surrounding swamps and cypress wood. Orchids the likes of which she'd never seen suddenly perfumed the air, stuck in canning jars on the scarred tables. Big pots and platters of delectable-smelling foods were lined on the bar in a savory smorgasbord of Southern specialties, with a few Mexican and Chinese dishes thrown in for good measure. The bartender kept drinks flowing freely. Musical instruments were produced, and an impromptu band took the rickety stage, filling the seedy roadhouse with the sweet sounds of a traditional Cajun waltz.
    Jacque took her hand and led her to the uneven wooden dance floor, gathered her in his arms and twirled her out to the strains of the romantic tune.
    "Are we havin’ fun yet, chère ?” he asked with a wink. His hand moved seductively over her bottom.
    "Beast,” she muttered, but reluctantly allowed, “I hate to admit it, but yes, once I got over the shock of being dangled naked in front of two hundred people, I've been having a wonderful time."
    He laughed softly. “You looked so delectable danglin’ there naked I almost came in my jeans."
    She harumphed, hiding a smile, unwilling to confess how aroused she'd also been with everyone's eyes on her—especially his.
    "I'm glad you're havin’ a good time. It'd be such a shame not to enjoy your own weddin'.” He pulled her against him, sharing just how close he still was to coming in his jeans. “Not to mention your wedding night."
    "Now, that I'm counting on,” she said, trailing a lingering kiss