The Red-Hot Cajun

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Authors: Sandra Hill
Tags: Romance, Contemporary Romance, Humour, Love Story, modern romance
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or so years. Southern Louisiana is eventually going to disappear into the sea, that’s a fact, unless something drastic happens to change things.”
    She cocked her head at him. “I just can’t imagine you in a college classroom.”
    “I’m insulted.”
    “No, you’re not. You could care less what I think. Where did you get your master’s?”
    “Tulane.”
    “In what?”
    “Biology.”
    She nodded. “What would you do with a doctorate?”
    “I don’t know. Teach at the college level. Maybe.”
    A college professor? Lordy, Lordy! Indiana Jones had nothing on him.
    “Hell, Val, I was bored for a couple of years so I decided to go to school. Big deal!”
    She wasn’t buying that self-deprecating crap a bit. This man liked to portray himself as a simple fisherman and an accordion player in a low-down bar band. She had no trouble accepting his role as an environmental lobbyist, figuring his love of the bayou and a glib tongue had gotten him the job. It had never occurred to her that he had a college education—an advanced college education.
    “Who are you?” she asked suddenly, kicking into jury analyst mode.
    “Me, I am just a simple Cajun man.” He gave her another head-to-toe onceover. “A simple Cajun man who is enjoying the view immensely.”
    As frustrating as he was, there was a small part of Valerie that delighted in her being able to turn on the bayou bad boy. I can’t believe I’m letting him get to me like this. Holding the notebook up to her chest, she spun on her heels to walk into the house and get some kind of covering. “Stay right there till I come back,” she ordered. “I have more questions to ask you.”
    “Like I can go anywhere.”
    Within minutes she was back outside, wearing one of Rene’s dress shirts she’d found hanging in a closet. The shirt was open in front, but she was reasonably covered... though hotter than Hades.
    Rene half-sat on the porch rail , with a longneck bottle of Dixie beer dangling from his fingertips, watching the rain begin to come down. The drops were light at first, like a fine mist, but the precipitation soon came down in blinding sheets, turning the parched earth into muddy pools. The stream would no doubt overflow if this kept up much longer, and the flooding might even reach the cabin. No reason for alarm, though, since the cabin was on stilts.
    It was a moment out of time. The pelting rain, which had a unique, pure scent, created a cocoon around them—as if they were separate from the rest of the world. Just the two of them. Not even Tante Lulu, still inside, could intrude on this sense of intimacy.
    She coughed to break the spell.
    He turned and took a long swig from the bottle while staring at her. She watched his throat move as he drank and was amazed. Who knew a man’s neck could be so sexy?
    His gaze was hot and raw.
    She felt naked, even with the shirt.
    Those two years must be catching up with me. Sinking down into the Adirondack chair, she tapped the notebook in her lap and said, “Tell me about this.”
    Her voice betrayed her and came out in a choked whisper.
    He smiled at her as if he understood. “Why? Are you suddenly converted to our cause? Sort of a Stockholm syndrome kind of thing?”
    “You mean, where the prisoner falls in love with her captor?”
    “Yeah.” He smiled even wider. The jerk.
    “Get real. The day I fall in love with you will be a cold day in the bayou. And, no, I am not converted to your cause. I don’t even know what your cause is. But at least you’re finally admitting that I’m a captive here.”
    “I had nothing to do—”
    She waved a hand dismissively. “Enough with the excuses. Tell me about your research,” she said, patting the notebook.
    “In a way, I’ve been studying the bayou since I was a three-year-old toddling after Luc. He protected me and my younger brother Remy from our father most of the time, taking the majority of the lickings. The way he protected us was to take us down to the

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