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would have warned any one of her
relatives she was about to lose her control.
    The tiger had no sense of self-preservation because his
smirk became a full-blown grin that would’ve made her weak at the knees if she
hadn’t been on the verge of a volcanic explosion. “About that… You’re not quite
what I expected from what I’ve heard about the Robicheauxs.”
    It was as though he wanted to die a very slow death. Another
quirk of hers, one not many people ever tweaked, was her defensiveness about
her family. Oh, she knew exactly what everyone in the parish thought of the
residents of Bayou Ange. Most of the time she could ignore the comments, the
mockery and condensation when they spoke to or of the Robicheaux, Brule,
Boudlache and Gautreaux families who inhabited their small community. They were
called backwards. Kayaks, a derogatory term for people who lived so far down
the bayou they may as well be another species of Cajun. She and her cousins and
brothers had heard it all applied to them, but especially to their fathers.
    If the people in Pointe-Aux-Chat Parish only knew over fifty
percent of the “backwoods coonasses” from Bayou Ange had college degrees, maybe
they’d realize the err of their assumptions. But her parents always told
Colette not to worry what other people thought. It wasn’t their fault their
mamas didn’t raise them right. For the most part, she was able to ignore the
snide remarks. Not right now though, not with him.
    She flipped the safety on her rifle. “Why is that? Because I’m
wearing shoes?” she sneered at him, finally well over her lust. Thank God she
hadn’t made more of a fool of herself. He was so not worth the screaming
orgasms she gave herself. Colette vowed to fantasize about someone else from
now on.
    One of his thick, black eyebrows rose and his smile faltered.
“I’m sorry?”
    “You didn’t expect to see a Robicheaux wearing shoes? You
didn’t expect one of us Kayaks to have the ability to formulate a complete sentence?
Or know words with more than two syllables? What?” She let each question snap
like a whip until his smile was completely gone and a frown furrowed the smooth
skin between his eyebrows. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Just get your
ass off my property before I put a hole in it. And trust me, I don’t miss.”

Chapter Three
     
    This was not going as planned. Zach stared at the suddenly
pissed-off Cajun woman in front of him and tried to figure out a way to soothe
her and work his way into her bed. Because this Robicheaux woman in high temper
was hotter than the ghost chili peppers he’d been trying to incorporate in one
of his recipes. Her eyes nearly glowed with her anger and her cheeks had
darkened. He was almost a hundred percent positive she’d started out flushed
from arousal and embarrassment, but that quickly changed to anger over some
imagined slight.
    Which brought him back to why she would be angry with him.
He hadn’t asked her what her favorite position was. Hell, with the way all the
blood had left his head to pool in his dick, he wasn’t capable of much thinking
at the moment anyway. The instant her little nipples stood out in sharp relief
against the smooth cotton of her t-shirt, his mind went blank. He hadn’t even
known what he said to her to piss her off. How could he when all he could
imagine was finding out how much of a handful her small tits would be for him.
Would she fill his palms? Or would he be able to cover her completely?
    Those had been the images dancing in his mind. At least
until she lifted that damn rifle again, hiding her perky, friendly nipples from
his line of sight. And yeah, he had a one-track mind at the moment. It’d been
at least a month since the last time he had time for anything but a fast jerk-off
session. And this woman, this human woman with a fiery, fierce personality
wouldn’t expect him to mark her and live happily ever after or some crazy shit
like that. A marking was a solemn