Catey's Capture

by Ainsley Abbott

  Jess watched her carefully. He knew she was lying. There was something not right. “Do you want to tell me now why Sally had my knife? And while you’re at it, why not tell me how she got it in the first place?”

  This was the moment Catey had dreaded. She didn’t have a plausible explanation for the knife without telling Jess about Emery. What could she say? With the feel of his seed still wet between her legs, the taste of his lips still on her own…how could she lie to him? He’d made love to her as though he’d meant it—she believed he cared for her. And she cared for him too—wanted him, longed to be with him, longed to have him inside her…to drown herself in his stormy eyes. She blushed realizing the ache between her legs was not just from their recent lovemaking but was her body reacting to thoughts of him—his bronzed skin against hers, his muscles rippling beneath her fingers.

  She gave herself a mental shake. This wouldn’t do! She needed to keep her head. Realistically she felt she didn’t have the right to put Emery’s life in further jeopardy. But by telling Jess, would she be bringing danger to her brother, or help? What it amounted to was whether she trusted Jess implicitly.

  Jess was watching her, seeing the shadows of emotions, doubt and concern passing across her face like a moving storm. In a way, he pitied her. He knew she had to make a decision about him, one way or the other. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. He completely expected her to lie to him again. Was she simply trying to concoct a story to put him off?

  Catey hung her head. “I took your knife.”

  Jess was silent. He’d figured as much. What he didn’t know was why.

  She ran her hand through her tangled wet hair then looked up at him, her eyes wary. “I did it for my brother.”

  “Your?”

  “My brother, Emery,” she continued. If she didn’t say it all now, she’d lose her nerve. “He’s been shot. He’s in the stables—with Big John. Sally had to get the bullet out. We‑we needed your knife…” Her voice trailed off, tears had sprung to her eyes. She looked down at her feet.

  Jess was stunned into silence. Her brother? He knew she must’ve had siblings after their initial search of the house. There were other bedrooms—armoires with clothing for men and women. And the sister she slipped up about. He’d been too caught up in the dramas of his own world for this information to have much meaning. Why hadn’t he asked her more about her family? He felt a sudden guilt combined with anger. Why hadn’t she told him? Why didn’t she trust him? Surely by now she knew he… Love? Did he love her?

  “I see,” was all he could manage. His head still spun with the ramifications of her confession.

  She clutched the sides of her skirts, white-knuckled, her lips pressed tightly together. She’d made a mistake. He was angry. He’d undoubtedly turn Emery into his superiors.

  “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.” The words burst from her mouth before she’d had time to think. She saw him blanch, then redden.

  “Will you, now?”

  She didn’t reply but despite tears brimming, her eyes flashed.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he reached down and pulled the knife from its sheath. With exaggerated calm he presented it to her on his open palm.

  “Do it now, then.”

  She stared at him, confused.

  “Go ahead,” he said, thrusting the hilt toward her. “If you think you can kill me—if you want to kill me—then do it now. Or would you prefer I turn around so you can stab me in the back?”

  She grimaced, ashamed. Why was he doing this? Could he actually be hurt by her words? She looked at the knife and turned her head away. “I‑I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I‑It’s just…” But she couldn’t put into words her fears, her worries. Instead she put her hands over her face and began to sob.

  Jess hesitated, then silently sheathed the knife and pulled her to him. She cried desperately. He stroked her russet hair, kissing her gently on the top of her head. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can trust me. We’ll figure this thing out somehow.”

  Catey was confused. Her emotions for Jess frightened her. How could she feel the way she did for a Yankee? For a man who could easily have shot her brother? She’d never understood the war. All she’d ever wanted was to live life as she’d known it—basking in the adulation of neighboring beaus, learning the harpsichord and spending time giggling with her sister and friends and working with her needlework. Who was she now? She didn’t even know herself anymore. She’d lain with a man—and shamefully, wantonly wanted to do so again and again. What would her mother think? What would Emery think—or Sarah?

  At the thought of her sister, she burst into tears anew. Where could her sister be? She knew the neighboring plantations had already been deserted and probably ransacked. She thought of Clemens’ gray face as his body sank into the dark waters of the bayou and pictured Sarah in his place.

  Jess struggled to comfort the girl while trying to grasp the meaning of her admission. Her brother, undoubtedly a Confederate soldier, lay in the stables wounded. And who was Big John?

  After what seemed like a very long time, Catey’s tears began to subside to wrenching hiccups. She’d accepted his kerchief again and blew her nose noisily. Finally she dared to look up at him, uncertainty in her eyes.

  He smiled wryly. “We’re going to have to talk about these things, sweet lips. I know this has been hard for you but together we can figure something out.” She nodded mutely, drained, accepting. “But first,” he continued, “we have to get back. The others will be suspicious if we stay out any longer.”

  He tipped her face up. “I want you to let me handle any questions. No one can suspect what’s happened today. Do you understand?” She sniffled but nodded again. “That’s my girl,” he said gently, pushing a strand of her dark hair back from her pale, tear-blotched face. “Now wipe your eyes. Once you’re dry, we can talk about this further. Do you trust me?”

  She looked at him, her eyes weighing his question. Then she nodded. “Yes, I think I do,” she said softly.

  He smiled and kissed her lips gently, feeling that familiar tightening in his groin at the touch of her. But there wasn’t time for that now. Later, he thought.

  * * * * *

  “I’ve told the men I saw Clemens going toward the bayou with Sally,” Jess said as he pulled his still-damp shirt over his head and began to unbutton his pants.

  Catey watched from her perch on the bed, unable to get her fill of watching his lithe, muscular body. She’d changed her clothes and left her heavy hair loose until it was finally dry. The drenching rain left her feeling squeaky clean for the first time in days.

  “Phillips said he came right back here as he was told. I think he’s relieved the captain hasn’t returned yet,” Jess said. “But I’ll have to write a report. As soon as it’s apparent he’s…disappeared for good.”

  “What will you say?” Catey stretched out and propped herself on one elbow. The shift she wore was all but transparent but she didn’t care. It was Sarah’s, a soft, loose muslin that felt wonderful against her skin. Her own small stock of clothing was nearly depleted.

  Jess kicked off his boots before lowering his trousers, unaware of Catey’s small smile as she eyed his firm buttocks. “I’ll just say Captain Clemens went foraging and never returned. We can only assume he was either captured by a rogue band of Rebs, or experienced some fatal mishap.” Naked, he turned and caught Catey’s admiring look. He smiled, making the strong sun-browned planes of his face soften, the dimple in his cheek adding that endearing, little-boy touch Catey found irresistible.

  Without warning, he fell on the bed, grabbing Catey and pinning her neatly beneath him. His face was very close to hers. His breath, tinged slightly with the scent of some raw alcohol she assumed he’d been sharing with the men downstairs, was warm on her mouth. His eyes looked deeply into her own, making her want to turn her head, yet too mesmerized to do so. His body was warm, stretched full length atop her own, skin to skin
with only the thin layer of fabric between.

  “What are you smiling about, sweet lips?” he asked softly, his mouth gently teasing her lips with butterfly kisses.

  She could feel the familiar surge of need rising in her innermost recesses. She knew if he continued, she’d be lost.

  Instead, he kissed her long and lingeringly, then rolled off and propped himself on one hand, looking down at her. “It’s time we talked about this brother of yours,” he said.

  Catey winced inwardly. She knew this was inevitable. But she believed she’d done the right thing. Maybe now Emery would get the help he needed. Whatever the case, she might at least be able to see her brother.

  “The night I climbed out the window,” she said. “Emery was down there—with Big John, one of our slaves. He was shot. In the shoulder. Feverish.” She bit her lip and looked away. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know… Well, he’s my brother. I couldn’t just turn him over to a Yankee.” Her voice was defensive. Jess remained silent until she continued. She sighed. “Anyway, I told John to take him to the hidden room in the stables and I’d try to find a way for Sally to help get the bullet out.”

  “So that’s why you stole my knife,” Jess said. “And you faked the swoon?”

  Catey nodded, self-conscious. She knew she was taking a huge risk. She wanted desperately to believe Jess would protect her brother, just as he’d protected her. But she couldn’t be sure.

  Jess rolled onto his back, staring at the white, embellished ceiling. Catey lay on her side, watching his face. She could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he ran his fingers through his brown, sun-tipped hair.

  “You know I’ll have to turn him in,” Jess finally said matter-of-factly.

  Chapter Eleven

  Catey felt all the blood drain from her face. “What?” she gasped. “No!”

  Jess turned his head on the pillow, his eyes harder and more distant than she’d ever seen them. “I have no choice,” he said. “As you’ve said already, I’m in charge now. If I help him, I’m fraternizing with the enemy. That’s considered treason and I’ll hang for it.”

  “But he’s my brother!” The blood was coming back to Catey’s face along with a surge of anger like she’d never known. She’d trusted this man—this Yankee! What kind of an idiot did that make her?

  Without warning, she was on him, scratching, punching, biting. She hated him! How could he use her, lead her on, pretend to care, help her—then calmly tell her he was going to turn her brother in to be put away in some prison, or worse?

  Jess wasn’t taken completely off guard, though he hadn’t expected quite such a violent reaction. Before she could do too much damage, he’d neatly grabbed her and flipped her onto her back, securing her wrists and putting his full weight on top of her so she couldn’t lash out. Her eyes flashed with raw rage and she struggled furiously. He was almost ashamed her angry struggles excited him…almost. He smiled inwardly. God but she was a beauty!

  Catey panted with her exertions. Shame, fear and hurt filled her with red, raw rage. And adding fuel was his quiet, effortless control of her. His hands gripped her wrists and his body kept her from kicking or rolling to one side. She tossed her head, then turned and spat in his face. “Bastard!” She’d never said the word before but it felt good.

  He frowned and sudden pain filled his eyes. Slowly he shifted her wrists to one hand and grabbed the edge of the sheet to wipe the spittle from his face. His voice was low and controlled. “Don’t try that again or I’ll have to gag you. As I recall, you didn’t like it the last time.”

  Realizing he was right, she barely managed to stop herself repeating the action. But this left her with no further outlet for her sense of betrayal.

  To make matters worse, she could feel her writhing had aroused him, his shaft thick and rock-hard against her thigh.

  Jess felt the bite of his own anger. She didn’t know what effect the word she casually flung at him had. She wasn’t to know he was adopted—deserted by his mother at birth, left in a tatty basket on the doorstep of a Boston shelter, emaciated and barely alive. A note was pinned to the basket. Two words that had labeled him all his life—”Granger’s bastard”.

  One of the society women who volunteered at the shelter discreetly informed Colonel John T. Granger’s wife, Alice, and the rest was history. After all, what else could they do but take him in? The colonel didn’t deny the possibility and Alice couldn’t appear to her social circle to be overtly concerned with the situation.

  So, Jess Granger became part of the Granger household—though his adoptive parents and their legitimate children, a son, John Jr., and daughter, Felicity, never let him forget he wasn’t really one of them.

  As children do, his circumstances made him try harder to be accepted. He was always the strongest, smartest and most able in his schooling and work. And when he joined the army, he did so with a subconscious hope that this time his father would be truly proud of him.

  But it was useless. Colonel Granger, emotionally barren himself, found it difficult to look at Jess without being reminded of a shame his wife would never allow him to forget.

  Now, when Catey, in her vehemence, had hissed the word “bastard”—the taunt he’d heard so often as a child—Jess felt his throat constrict and his gut clench. Almost blinded with long-tapped emotions, he tightened his grip on her wrists and would have got up and left the room.

  But somehow, seeing her flashing eyes and delicate beauty, something softened within him. A need rose in him so great he could hardly control it. He needed her—needed her in so many ways even he was confused.

  He caught her mouth with his and kissed her hard.

  Suddenly, as she sensed his need, and saw the raw hurt in his eyes, her rage began to ebb in a flood of confusion. Who was this man? How had he been hurt? Who had caused him such pain?

  She stopped struggling and felt his passion as he pulled her shift up, lifting it over her arms, leaving her body exposed, her breasts crushed against his chest.

  She could feel the muscles in his legs and stomach, taut as ropes. She caught her breath as his tongue entered her mouth, probing softly but desperately.

  He brought his knee up and eased her legs apart.

  Then, as if in desperation, he prodded gently at her opening then thrust his engorged penis inside her. She gasped in instinctive delight, her ecstasy mounting as he rode her hard. His own breath became labored, beads of sweat rose between them.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, his rod pinned her neatly in place. His lunges became more frantic and she matched his passion with her own, thrusting her hips high to meet him.

  To the rhythm of his onslaught words filled Jess’ mind—words like a child’s playground taunt. “Granger’s bastard. Granger’s bastard. Not good enough. Not good enough.” In his blind lust, he could only think of his need for this woman beneath him to purge his pain. He wanted their coupling to drive out the haunting memories. He felt the quickening in his gut, felt the tightness in his balls, felt the need hot in his belly, firing his penis to an intensity he’d never known.

  But it wasn’t enough. He groaned and abruptly he stopped, pulling out of her, dropping his head in defeat. She opened her eyes, surprised, and looked at him with rising compassion. She could see he needed her. There was something deep within him that needed to be healed. She wanted desperately to help him.

  “Come here,” she said.

  He looked at her, uncertain. Like a small boy lost and alone.

  She sat up, putting her arms around his waist. He shivered.

  She shut her eyes, pulled him closer and placed her lips over his distended rod, taking her tongue and sliding it down the shaft. She heard the sudden intake of his breath. She felt herself becoming aroused. His member was hot in her mouth, slightly salty from sweat. Despite her recent anger and sense of betrayal, she wanted to slip her tongue round the tip and know the power it gave her.

 
; Jess was lost to sensation. Somewhere in the periphery of his mind he knew she deserved to know everything, yet she still wanted him even without knowing. He should have explained to her about his father. He should have told her he’d make sure her brother was taken care of. He should have made her understand her brother would be safer under his protection than roaming the Louisiana countryside.

  But for now, all he could do was try to forget those words. The words society had branded him with. And for now, with his penis surrounded by the heat of her mouth and the feel of her tongue sending shock waves through his very core, the words were fading to oblivion.

  Finally, somewhat reluctantly, he pulled himself from her mouth and lowered himself back down, slipping his shaft inside her hot, wet opening once more—this time ever-so gently. He could sense she was peaking. Her struggles had ceased and her eyes were shut. Sweat glistened between her breasts and he lowered his lips to taste it.

  He began to move inside her. Her lips parted, her breathing became quicker. He continued to move, going deeper, slowly, in and out. He could feel her juices running like a river, her stomach muscles tightening. Then he paused, his own breath labored and waited—not moving.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, dazed. He waited longer. Finally she said the words he wanted to hear. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t stop!”

  He smiled, lowered his head and kissed her lips gently. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  But she wasn’t listening, already pushing her hips up and writhing, demanding he fulfill her baser needs. Without further prompting, he released her wrists and moved his hand down to finger her. She gasped, grasping his shoulders in a grip that hurt. He began to move again, still caressing her clit, until he felt her arch and go very still. Then he plunged deeply to her very core and she cried out—a choked half sob of pleasure as she climaxed into pulsing orgasm. Only then did he allow himself to let go, gasping at the intensity, caught totally in the sensation. And he was assured, at least, in this one primal act, he was more than good enough.