Landlocked, page 8
“No.” She pulled her robe tighter around her and took a seat next to him. “What’s keeping you up?”
He shook his head and took a drink of whiskey. “Ghosts of the past.”
Kathryn poured herself a shot. Sipping at it, she asked, “This godforsaken war?”
“That…and other things.”
She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “It’s odd the way the war just becomes normal. Routine. All the violence. The pain. The loss.”
“Is that what happened to your husband?” Logan’s voice was soft, as if he were apologizing for the question.
Her mouth running dry, she dragged her tongue across her lips, but found it did little to help. Instead of wetting them, it only made them stick together more. Finally, she pushed out one hissed word. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” he offered, but the words more panicked her than comforted her.
She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to admit the inevitable. And she didn’t want to break down and go all blubbery and weepy. Long ago, she’d packed away the hurt because it did no good for Marcus to see her cry. She’d just as soon keep it that way.
“It’s been hard on Marcus, growing up without a father.” She waved away the concern in Logan’s eyes.
“I think it’s been hard on you too.”
His statement once again took her closer to raw, untended wounds she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Yeah, so we both know why I can’t sleep. What keeps you up at night?” Her voice sounded harsher than she’d meant it to, but if he’d caught her attempt at deflection, he didn’t comment on it.
After a couple minutes of unbearable silence, he said, “It’s not something I talk about.”
Her hand brushed past his. Her throat constricted, the memory of the night he’d held her to his chest running through her mind. She could use comforting like that right about now. “I know what you mean.”
Under the sleeve of tattoos on his right forearm, she could see the outlines of old scars. Given the shape and size, they were probably from cigarette burns. Reading his haunted expression, the emotion weighing down his brow, she said, “Someone used to hurt you.”
Logan swallowed hard and she expected him to go quiet again, but he didn’t. The story of his youth came pouring out of him, a waterfall of words and anger. His father ran the household like he ran the ships he commanded. If Logan forgot to take out the garbage, he’d get a beating. If his grades dropped below a B average, he’d get a beating. If his bathroom floor wasn’t clean enough to eat off, he’d be forced to eat off it and then get a beating. Better him than his mother or younger brother. Michael was too delicate to endure the admiral’s wrath, so Logan took the brunt of the old man’s rage.
At seventeen, Logan joined the U.S. Merchant Marines—no way in hell he was signing up for his father’s Navy—and sent his mother most of his paycheck. It wasn’t much, but it helped her and his brother move from shelter to shelter. Brett Senior always hunted her down, but it was the best Logan could do at the time. If only he could convince himself of that now. A voice inside Logan’s head—in the quiet of the night—would hiss at him that he should’ve killed the admiral.
Once the son of a bitch died of liver cirrhosis, Logan sold the old family house and turned all the money over to his mother. But he kept his father’s boat—The Yellow Rose. Sailing The Rose, he felt free. He always felt free of the old man’s ghost on the open water.
“That’s why you hate the name Brett. It was his name too,” she murmured.
Nodding and tossing back the last of his drink, he gave her a humorless smile. “My father gave me only one valuable piece of advice—they don’t respect what you don’t inspect. Well, that and never bet to an inside straight. Fifteen years he’s been gone and his memory still scares me to death.”
She covered his trembling hand with hers. “He terrorized you. You have a right to be afraid of him.”
“Not afraid of him.” He shook his head. “Afraid of becoming him.”
Kathryn’s mouth fell open, she sought out his gaze. “No. No, that’s not something you need to worry about.”
“I’ve done terrible, terrible things in my lifetime, Kate. Your friend Roy is right. I’ve got blood on my hands.”
Placing a hand on his chest, she felt his strong pulse against her palm. “You have a good heart, Brett. I’ll admit I didn’t see it at first, but underneath that tough guy exterior… You’re so good with Marcus. You risk your life to help the Resistance. You’re a good man.”
“I’m really not.” He clasped her hand, moving it from his chest to the seat of the chair.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because here we are talking about the worst things that have happened to us and you’re trying to comfort me,” the lamplight flashed in his eyes, “and all I can think about is…”
Her pulse racing, she murmured, “Kissing me?”
His tone dusky, he replied, “More than that.”
Again, Kathryn ran her tongue over her lips. The heat in his words set her body on fire. Ever since that first kiss, she’d craved more of him. She’d done her best to ignore it, but it was always there, like the background hum of an engine building up steam. Tonight, the roar was deafening.
Without another word from her, he stood, pulling her to her feet. Was he going to send her back to bed? Panic flared in the pit of her stomach. They couldn’t leave it like this, she couldn’t stand it—the aching, the unresolved need, her body burning for him. Not for one more minute. She tightened her grip on his hand, pleading with him silently, the words refusing to form in her mouth.
One finger under her chin, he tilted her head up, grazing his nose along her cheek. Then he kissed her. Not like the first time, not in a heated rush, but slowly, gently, just tasting her lips. She melted against him. His arms around her and the heat of his torso pressed to hers felt like heaven. How long had she been left alone with her fantasies? Five years. Longer than that perhaps. Too long.
Running her hands over his back, she could feel the ropes of muscle beneath his skin. Though she’d seen every inch of him at some point since he’d been here, she longed to rediscover his body as a lover.
Mouths pressed together, they stumbled through the house to her room. He stopped to lock the door and scooped her up, depositing her on the bed. A predatory grin on his face, he covered her body with his, hips settling between her thighs. A flurry of kisses drew out into one long exploration of each other’s mouths. Like a woman on a hunger strike finally breaking her fast, Kathryn couldn’t get enough of him—the weight of his solid body, the sweet flavor of his tongue, the hint of whiskey on his breath, the rasp of his unshaven chin—she was lost, overwhelmed by him, and she liked it.
He shifted onto his back and pulled her on top of him, helping her out of her shirt. She straddled his hips and looked down at him. Fingers skimming over his torso, she took in the expanse of his broad shoulders and chest. She sneaked glances at his handsome face, too self-conscious to make direct eye contact. The sadness she’d seen in him earlier was gone, replaced by ardor, his gaze seeming to drink her in.
Flushing from her neck up to the roots of her hair, she folded her arms over her bare breasts but gently he caught her hands, shaking his head.
“Don’t cover up. You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Her reply caught in her throat, goose bumps rising on her flesh. Trading places with her again, he rolled her beneath him. Lips to her bare skin, he wedged a leg between hers and ran his tongue down her neck to her breasts. Pulling her panties down her legs, he slipped a hand between her thighs. Kathryn struggled to catch her breath, dizzy with arousal. With two fingers, he stroked her labia, parting the folds of skin. She quivered at his touch, panting for more. Pushing a finger inside her, he drew her into a soulful kiss. Her mouth against his, a sigh escaped her.
His breath grazed her chin, hot and fragrant, and Kathryn lost herself in him again. As he slid his tongue into her mouth, he used his fingers to open her body. Long-forgotten sensations washed over her. It felt like too much pressure, but in a good way. Brushing his thumb across her clitoris, he sent pleasure radiating through her. He fluttered his fingertips and a shock wave racked her. The technique felt at once too intense and so good she didn’t want him to stop. And he didn’t, not until she broke away from his mouth, panting for air. Withdrawing his fingers, he massaged her clit in earnest. Each stroke sent more pulses of ecstasy through her. Her heartbeat pounded as she writhed against the mattress.
Desperate for him, she yanked at the closure on his pants. It gave way and she pushed his pants and underwear down his knees. He squirmed out of them and kicked them off the bed, settling himself between her legs. She ran a hand over his hard cock and guided it to her opening. Nuzzling her cheek with the tip of his nose, he pushed forward into her. She drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his lips against her cheek.
“No, but…it’s just been a long time.”
He seemed to understand what she meant and set a slow pace, sliding the length of his shaft inside her then slipping it out to the tip. Bursts of heat swept through her along with the sensation that she’d lost possession of her body, that it now belonged to Brett. With each long stroke, she felt a little bolder until she worked up the courage to open her eyes. He gazed down at her and pressed his forehead to hers. Her hands strayed to his backside and she gripped his round ass. Spreading her legs wider, Kathryn pulled him deeper into her pussy and held him still as she thrust her pelvis upward. More excitement and fiery heat coursed through her. She arched her back and wrapped a leg around him. Snaking an arm beneath her hips, he pulled her flush against him and rocked her back and forth.
Her thighs wet with her own juices, she slid against him, rubbing her clit against his pelvis. She trembled and whimpered, clutching his shoulders. Too much fire, too much tension, she could hardly stand it but at the same time she couldn’t bear to let it slip away.
As he made love to her, he whispered to her. Sweet nothings really, but his deep voice in her ear narrating their passion kept her cemented in the moment. He played her body with the skill of a virtuoso. Working the head of his cock against the spot inside her that turned her to jelly, he ground his hips against hers. She bit her lip to keep from calling out.
Tears gathered in her eyes and her whole body grew rigid. She held her breath, focused on her throbbing pussy. Tension and heat reached the breaking point and an orgasm shook her. Ecstasy rippled out from somewhere deep inside, shaking her entire body. A sharp intake of breath and he groaned too, hot spurts filling her.
Arms and legs tangled with his, she jerked and clutched at him, sure she’d lost all control of herself. Straining for air, she drew in a shaky breath. Finally, the intense pleasure receded. At first in pulses and bursts, just as it had begun, and then in warm waves of relaxation. She let out a sob and nestled her face against his chest. Logan buried himself inside her and held her until her quaking subsided.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. The gentle expression on his face brought on a fresh bout of tears. He didn’t shush her or ask why she was crying. Instead, he sheltered her as she gave in to a long overdue release.
Jonas was gone and this—being with another man, letting Logan make love to her—was the final step in admitting that to herself. And the first step to moving on.
Though he didn’t fully understand her tears, Logan knew better than to try to quiet her. This was her moment and he let her have it.
Once her cries quieted to a few faltering breaths, he brushed the teardrops from her cheeks and gave her a soft kiss. Withdrawing from her, he rolled onto his back. She curled up around him, her breasts pressed against his ribs, and draped her body over his. With one finger, he traced random patterns on her back and stroked the length of her torso.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, for the first time in a very long time, I think I’m just fine… I’m sorry I broke down.”
“Don’t apologize. I just wanted to make sure, you know, that you don’t regret this already.”
“I don’t,” she chuckled quietly. “Not yet anyway.”
Smiling up at the ceiling, Logan smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head. He should’ve known she was made of tougher stuff but still, she looked so small nestled in his arms. And she’d been here for years on her own. Far be it for Logan to suggest that a woman couldn’t survive without a man, but in this place, she had to be one tough lady. Or lucky as hell. Maybe a little of both. Wondering how much longer her little oasis of safety would last, he longed to protect her. He couldn’t just leave her and Marcus behind.
“Kate,” he murmured. “We have to find a way out of here.”
He waited for a reply that didn’t come, worrying that he’d somehow upset her again. A soft snore eased his mind—she’d fallen asleep. Logan pulled the sheet over her, smoothing her hair across the pillow.
Though he didn’t sleep, he held her until the light of dawn peeked around the edge of the blinds. He climbed out of bed, careful not to wake her, and slipped on his trousers, heading to the kitchen to start an early breakfast. Marcus would be up soon.
Chapter Nine
“Are you sure he’ll let me use it?” Logan asked as he pumped the day’s water supply from the well.
“Well, I’m not sure, but it can’t hurt to try.” Kathryn chewed at her thumbnail.
If Sampson let them use his hand-crank two-way radio, Logan might be able to contact his crew if they were close enough. It was a long shot, but like Kathryn said, it couldn’t hurt to try.
He caught her hand and kissed it, moving his mouth up her wrist to her elbow. A blush crept across her cheeks, stoking his desire to take her again. He folded her into his arms and brushed his lips over hers.
“Stop,” she said, but he could tell by the tone of her voice she didn’t really want him to stop. “Marcus might see us.”
Certain parts of him couldn’t care less if Marcus saw, but he knew she was right. With a growl, he nipped at her chin then released her. She laughed and took a swipe at him, shaking her head. Black waves of hair spilled around her shoulders, framing her reddened cheeks. He imagined brushing that fragrant hair from her neck as he planted kisses there. Then, he’d slide her skirt over her hips, turn her around and bend her forward and… It was all Logan could do to restrain himself. His hard cock pressed against his zipper. He’d been gentle with her the night before—their first time and all, but he knew there was more to Kate than sweet lovemaking. With another grunt, he adjusted himself, trying to think unsexy thoughts.
Fish guts, fish guts, fish guts, he chanted to himself and picked up the buckets, walking with her to the house. Once he’d dropped the water in the kitchen, they headed over to the neighboring farm. Sampson sat on his porch, smoking a homemade pipe.
“Miss Kate,” the old man called out, standing up.
“Hi, Sampson.” She mounted the steps and motioned to Logan. “This is Brett. He’s, um…”
Logan took Sampson’s outstretched hand. “I’m a privateer for the Republic of Texas. I need to get in touch with my crew. Kate tells me you have a radio we might be able to use.”
Sampson’s weathered face was a mask of indifference and Logan worried the man might say no. “You and your family are welcome to passage on my ship, as payment for your kindness.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I was born on this land and I’ll die on it.” Sampson stood and hobbled into the house, motioning for them to follow. Children ran through the living room, Sampson’s wife and three grown daughters bustled around the kitchen, already preparing lunch. The home teemed with life and joy. While Sampson walked to the back rooms, the women pushed glasses of lemonade and plates of cookies on Logan and Kathryn.
“Y’all coming?” Sampson called.
Logan hurried after the old man. Easily three times the size of Kathryn’s dwelling, the rambling ranch-style home seemed to go on forever. He found Sampson in a back bedroom.
“Here.” Sampson gave the radio to Logan. “You can come over and use it when you like, but you bring trouble to my house and I’ll end you, boy.”
“Yes sir.” Logan nodded. “Thank you.”
“It works best someplace up high. Bring it back to me when you’re done for the day. I use it to listen for trouble at night.” Sampson pushed past Logan and headed to the front of the house.
Back at Kathryn’s house, Logan climbed up to the roof, sending out carefully worded transmissions on the channels Jacques usually monitored. His efforts were met with only the crackle of radio silence.
* * * * *
Closing Marcus’ bedroom door, Kathryn heaved a sigh of relief. He’d finally fallen asleep.
It’d been a long day. She’d vacillated between hope and despair so many times her head was spinning. She’d rejoiced at Logan’s plan to contact his crew, but then reminded herself the odds were slim. When Sampson agreed to let them use his radio, another burst of hope had coursed through her, but Logan’s efforts today had proven futile, as he’d expected they would. Not to mention the fact that they’d made love last night, an act that came with its own set of worries.
Patience, she reminded herself. She’d waited this long for something—anything good to happen. She’d have to wait just a little longer for her current situation to sort itself out. Why then did time seem to grind to a halt? Hours felt like days and today like a year…except in Logan’s arms. Then time passed all too quickly. Sooner or later she’d have to reveal her relationship with Logan to Marcus. If indeed she did have a relationship with Logan. Perhaps it was too early to label it. The swirl of thoughts and uncertainty overwhelmed her. A hand to her temple, she sank onto the sofa next to Logan.
He rubbed her shoulders, “Headache?”
“No,” she replied, covering her face with her hands. “There’s just a lot going on.”
