The Raging Hearts: The Coltrane Saga, Book 2 (56 page)

He was pressed tightly against her, and the familiar longing began to burn in her. She cursed herself.

“Oh, honey, it was good,” he murmured. And then his lips were closing over hers, warm, possessive, his big hand cupping her face, holding her still as his mouth worked hungrily. His tongue darted between her lips, touching hers, and she could not suppress the satisfied sigh that rippled through her body. His hand moved to cup her breast gently, squeezing possessively.

Kitty told herself this was wrong, but her body was crying out for the familiar passion that it knew only Travis could satisfy. Nimble fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt, and then her breasts were tumbling forth into his eager hands. As he lowered his face, she caressed his soft, dark hair, moaning out loud as his teeth bit gently into one taut nipple. He began to suck hungrily, at the same time she felt her trousers being worked down over her writhing hips.

She could only succumb to the hot fever that was consuming her body. Powerless, helpless, she could do nothing but moan as he worked on her body, igniting fires that had never entirely burned out, but had been smoldering all this time.

“It was always good, wasn’t it, Kitty?” He lifted his eyes to stare into her face. “God, you’re beautiful. If only you hadn’t been such a conniving little—” And then he trembled, clamping teeth upon her breast once again, this time so fiercely she cried out in pain. At the same time, he was moving on top of her, spreading her thighs with his knee, then mounting her.

She wanted to fight back but could not. Her body was betraying her now just as it had so many times in the past. Travis possessed this strange hold over her, and she was powerless to control the gnawing hunger that stripped her of her will.

He filled her with himself. “You can stay here,” he whispered against her breast, lying very still, all of him inside her now. “You can stay here and tend to John like Malah does, only you’ll be my woman. I’ll satisfy you every night of your life, Kitty.”

“No,” she whimpered, twisting beneath him, struggling for the self-control she knew would not come. “Never that way, Travis. Never.”

Almost viciously, he began to move his hips to and fro, plunging in and out, slamming her against the bed. “Then we’ll just have it this one last time to remember for always,” he ground out as he raised up to press a thumb into each side of her pelvis, fingers gripping her backside to hold her firmly beneath his assaulting thrusts. Again and again he pummeled into her.

Kitty felt the rising cry of her body as her nails dug instinctively into the strong, firm muscles of his back. It was coming, that strange, wonderful feeling that only Travis could make happen. It was coming, and she could not stop it, and suddenly it was there, and she was clinging to him, sobbing aloud with the wonder and joy of it all. The cry of ecstasy could not be suppressed as the wild sweetness engulfed her. She felt him reach his own height, the moans of pleasure escaping his lips.

And then he was gathering her close, rolling on his side once again, holding her tightly against his body. “It could never be this good with anyone else,” he said quietly. “There were women before and after, but never one like you, Kitty.”

She lay motionless, the passion subsiding and being replaced once again by cold anger. Even now, she thought indignantly, he could speak of others.

“I hate you, Travis,” she said, quietly and simply. “And if you are through with me, I would like to take my baby and go.”

He raised his head, that crooked smile on his lips once again. “You aren’t taking the boy, Kitty. Now, you can just get that through that pretty head of yours once and for all. You can stay and be my woman, and tend to my son. I’d like having you in my bed every night.”

“You go to hell.” She tried to slap his smugly smiling face, but he caught her wrist, gripping it so painfully she winced.

“I told you once, Kitty, you’ll never slap me again. Now don’t make me be rough with you. If you won’t accept my terms, then the thing for you to do is just get the hell out of here.”

She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. There had to be a way. She had come too far to fail now, and there would never be another chance. “All right,” she said finally, deciding to go along and play his little game until she could work out a plan. “May I have that cup of coffee first?”

“Of course.” He moved from the bed, straightening his clothes. “I always like to oblige my ladies, especially you, Kitty. You’re the best.”

She bit her tongue. Now was not the time to quarrel. And his lovemaking had been good, even though she still cursed her body for its betrayal. She would always remember this time, and all the other times when he had made her glory in her womanhood.

He moved to the stove, and she watched as he got a fire going, then set a kettle to boiling. Her eyes darted around the room. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw it—the rifle propped beside the door. No, she wouldn’t shoot him in the back. She could never do that. But she could bring the rifle butt crashing down over his head, to knock him unconscious while she took John and made her getaway. And once she was back in New Orleans, she would hire her bodyguards. He would no longer be a threat.

Quietly, she moved from the bed. His back was turned, and he was talking about the coffee, saying something about how he hoped it would not be too strong for her, but she should remember the strange concoctions they’d been forced to drink during the war.

Without making a sound, Kitty picked up the rifle by the barrel, butt end up. Travis never suspected a thing, for he was intent on making coffee. She was able to sneak right up behind him, then, with every ounce of strength she had in her, she brought the rifle down in a slanted arch, striking him across the back of his head. His knees buckled forward, and he crumpled silently to the floor.

She did not pause to see how badly he was hurt. It did not matter. She would not let it matter. What was done was done. She could not stop now.

Turning, she ran to the makeshift crib and reached down to scoop John into her arms. His eyes flashed open, startled, and he began to cry with fright. “Shhhhh, darling.” She held him tightly. “It’s all over now. Mommy has you, and we’ll never be apart again.”

She was almost out the door when she remembered the rifle she had dropped after striking Travis. The swamp was dangerous, and she was alone now. She might need a weapon. Quickly, she hurried to retrieve it. Juggling John with one arm, she maneuvered the rifle and made her way out and down the ladder.

Her feet touched the ground. The bayou was no longer blue. It lay before her, gray and ominous, and she knew the path ahead would be dangerous. She would have to watch herself every step of the way. John was still crying, and she crooned to him as she began to walk quickly.

Something caught her eye, and she turned to see a bright bandanna—then the startled expression on the face of the woman who wore it. Malah. She cried out to Kitty, but Kitty turned and fled.

Threading her way gingerly along the riverbank, she found the first bend. How much farther to where she would enter the swamp? Dear God, she did not know. She had to watch carefully for the sign of the path. If she missed it, she could wind up wandering along the river until Travis awoke and came after her.

Something bellowed to her right, and she suppressed a scream as she realized she had passed within a few feet of a slant-eyed alligator lying on the riverbank. He opened his mouth, displaying dozens of long, razor-sharp teeth. Bile rose in her throat, and she stumbled over a piece of driftwood, almost falling. Righting herself, she began to run, leaping over debris in her path. Move…run…fast…faster…her heart was pounding, its thundering beats echoing above John’s frantic shrieks.

The path! Thank God, the path was there. She cut from the riverbank to enter the vine-covered world of the swamp, knowing instinctively that from this point on she could not move fast. She had to be on guard against quicksand, snakes, the slapping branches and ripping thorns. And it was almost dark. No sunlight penetrated the thick growth above.

How long had she been gone from the cabin? She had no way of knowing. An hour? John had fallen into an exhausted half-sleep, and he snuggled against her weary, aching shoulder, his thumb in his mouth. Picking her way along, she continued to croon to him, telling him that soon they would be safe. Soon he would have warm, dry clothing and food.

Then she heard it, and her blood turned to ice.

“Kitty?
Kitty, where are you?
”

Travis. She could hear him crashing somewhere behind her, and not too far behind, either. Oh, God, how could he be so close? He knew this place, of course. Now she had to move even faster.

“Kitty, you’re crazy! You’ll never make it out of here. You’re putting John’s life in danger as well as your own. Answer me, damn it.”

Something slapped against her face, something sticky and grabbing, and she fought the scream bubbling in her throat as she realized she had stumbled into a giant spider web. And there it was, the ugly gray thing, as big as her hand, and she slapped out with the rifle, knocking it away as she twisted and turned, stumbling, falling, dropping John to the ground with a soft thud.

She scrambled to her feet, holding the gun under her arm as she covered the baby’s mouth with her hand. He was awake once more, about to cry. “Forgive me, darling, but I can’t let you make a sound,” she whispered frantically.

Whipping about, she realized with panic that she had somehow gotten off the path. There were no weeds trampled down, no defined trail, nothing—just brush and vines and trees and swampy patches that might be quicksand. Oh, where was the trail? How could she have been so careless? Because she was frightened, that’s how, she cursed. There had to be a way out of this place…had to be…had to be…the silent chant thundered in rhythm to her heartbeat.

And then she heard the loud, agonizing cry. She froze where she stood.

“
Quicksand!
”

The tortured cry was Travis’s.

“Quicksand! I’m in quicksand! Kitty, help me!”

“It’s a trick!” she said out loud, angry that he would stoop so low. It had to be a trick. He knew these swamps, every inch. He would never be so foolish as to stumble into quicksand.

“Help me,
please
.”

She continued to move forward, and then something made her stop. She looked at John. His eyes were turning from a baby blue to a smoky gray, and he was staring at her intently, as though he knew, somehow, what was going on, and he was asking her how she could walk away from his daddy and leave him to die.

“This is ridiculous,” she hissed. “You can’t know what’s going on. You’re just a baby. And it doesn’t matter. He was going to take you from me, can’t you see that?” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. But John continued to watch her steadily.

Closing her eyes, she remembered the kisses and the fury, everything that had ever transpired between them. God, she had loved him once, and she loved him still, even though she hated admitting it. She could not turn back.

“Kitty, for God’s sake!”

The voice sounded weaker. He was not moving forward.

John continued to stare at her, and suddenly she screamed at him, “You’re just a baby! You can’t condemn me. You can’t really know.”

She turned back slowly, woodenly.

With a raging heart, she plunged back the way she had come, running when possible, thorns ripping at her body, fighting the brush. She reached the clearing, and froze. Travis was in quicksand up to his waist. She could see it sucking at him, pulling him under. He was only a few feet away, and her toes stood at the edge of what must have been the beginning of the treacherous mire.

“Help me, Kitty.” His eyes mirrored the terror he was feeling. “I’ve only got another few minutes if you don’t.”

She shook her head, choking back the sobs. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Put the baby down. Then unload the gun quickly. It might accidentally go off. Hand it to me butt end, and you hang on to the barrel with one hand, brace yourself with the other to that tree there. Just hang on and let me pull myself out.”

John did not make a sound as she laid him safely out of the way. Then she unloaded the gun and gripped one hand tightly against the tree, digging in to brace her feet. She extended the butt end toward Travis, leaning forward as far as she dared.

Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his arm up and out of the quicksand. Inches separated his fingers from the gun. “Not close enough,” he whispered in agony. “It won’t work.”

Kitty moved instinctively. Yanking off her shirt, she paid no mind to her bare breasts as she wrapped the garment around the tree trunk, then gripped a dangling sleeve with shaking fingers. It gave her the span she needed to lean out a bit more. This time, Travis was able to close his hand around the butt.

“Good girl. Now hang on,” he panted, “I’m going to have to work my way out slow. You’re going to have to brace yourself, honey, and use every muscle you’ve got!”

The first pull came harder than she had expected. Kitty’s foot slipped, and Travis sank another inch. “Kitty, you’ve got to hold on,” he cried, his face twisted in anguish. “For God’s sake, hold on!”

She was ready for the next tug. He moved up and forward, slowly, very slowly, working his fingers up on the butt of the gun. He was almost to the trigger, his chest free now, moving his grip ever so carefully. Kitty could feel the flesh tearing in her hands as Travis’s strength pulled against her, causing the material of the shirt to cut tautly into her hand. She did not move. Her teeth dug into her lower lip, and she tasted blood. Her head was swimming dizzily as she stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe. One slip and he could go sliding back down into the gray-green mire, out of reach, and she would have to stand there and watch him, helpless, as he sank to his death.