The Red-Hot Cajun Read Online Free

head, calling herself back to the present.
    Rene pointed her toward a closed door. Once she’d relieved herself, she washed her hands. Glancing at her image in the mirror over the sink, she couldn’t help a little squeal of distress over her appearance.
    Rummaging in the drawer of the sink vanity, she found dozens of foil packets—disgusting man!—under which she discovered a brush and rubber band. She made quick work of pulling her hair back tightly off her face into a high ponytail. She had no makeup to cover the red marks around her mouth caused by the duct tape. Brushing the wrinkles out of her gray silk Donna Karan suit, she sighed. It was the best she could do.
    There was a saying in the South that animals sweated, men perspired, and women glistened. Well, in this 115-degree heat, with about 90-percent humidity, it felt like a hothouse, and Valerie was glistening like a greased pig. Not a nice picture!
    When she emerged, Rene stood at the kitchen counter pouring two glasses of iced sweet tea. He handed one to her, taking in her appearance with a disconcerting, way-too-wicked, head-to-toe scrutiny.
    That’s the way he’d always been. Wicked. Crude. Disconcerting.
    He’d probably looked at her the same way when they were teenagers. Why else would she have let him talk her into having sex with him? Hah! Who am I kidding? I was probably the one who propositioned him, fortified with all that booze.
    He leaned back against the wall, still watching her closely. As if he could read her mind. Good Lord, I hope not.
    She sat down in one of the folding chairs, making sure her skirt didn’t ride up too high in case he noticed.
    Yep, he did. His eyes fixed on her legs.
    “I liked your hair better loose,” he said lazily.
    “Well, golly gee, that will certainly make me let loose,” she replied. “Should I run back in and change it for you?”
    He ignored her sarcasm and switched subjects. “So, what’s new, babe?”
    “Not much, babe . . . other than being kidnapped.”
    “Still working for Trial TV?”
    “Nope.” She took a sip of the cool beverage. “You still working as a lobbyist?”
    “Nope.”
    “This is some conversation.” She set her glass down on the counter. “Why aren’t you still working in DC for the Shrimpers Association?”
    He shrugged. “I quit.”
    Now, that surprised her. She’d never expected Rene to amount to much. Over the years, when she came home on occasion, she heard of his being a shrimp fisherman, an accordion player in a low-down bar band, lots of dead-end jobs. Then, a few years ago, she’d been shocked to hear about his working as an environmental lobbyist. She had to admit, she’d been impressed. She didn’t ask him for details of his resignation now, though, because she didn’t want him to think that she cared.
    Not that he volunteered any further information. After a long silence, he said, “Why aren’t you still with Trial TV? I would think that’s a primo spot for a girl like you.”
    She bristled. “One, I am not a girl anymore.”
    He grinned in the most sinful way as if to say that he knew very well she wasn’t a girl anymore... and that he liked the woman she’d become.
    “Two, it was a primo spot. Three, screw that ‘girl like you’ crap. And four, I got fired.”
    “Oh, hell! I’m sorry, Val.” She must have glared because he immediately said, “I mean, Val-er-ie.” She would have been better off with his calling her Val, because the way he said Val-er-ie sounded silky and sensual on his tongue—the way a man might murmur her name in the midst of hot sex. Not that she’d had hot sex in a long, long time. If ever.
    “What happened?”
    A younger legal eagle was waiting in the wings to take my place. I refused to compromise on anethical issue. I have an attitude problem. The ratings are down. Pick one. That’s what she thought, but what she said was, “It’s all part of the game.”
    He wasn’t buying it, she could tell.
    “Well, this has