A Rebel Captive (15 page)

.     .     .

It was the early morning, still very much night, and Cole sat at his desk, reading emails.  He was away all day and by the time he got back to his room Olivia was snuggled up in bed.  He couldn’t sleep, probably wouldn’t.  The response from Olivia’s brother haunted him.  One week.  One week and he’d be in this fort, bargaining for the return of his sister. 

“Fuck,” he muttered much louder than he intended.

Cole turned to look into the bedroom and sighed in relief, his little fox was still asleep.  He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get a grip.  There was a knock at the door and Carlson entered without waiting for Cole to grant him entrance.

“Yes, I thought you’d be up,” the old man said, walking over to Cole’s desk.

“What is it, Carlson?  I thought we’d discussed everything we needed to.” 

Cole responded, not interested in talking about Olivia anymore.  “I just thought I’d take another look at the little slave that’s causing so much controversy.” 

Carlson moved past the desk and into the bedroom, Cole pushed out of his chair to follow.  There was enough light coming in from the living room to illuminate the softly slumbering woman.  She was naked and sleeping on her side.  The blankets were just high enough to cover her breasts, but still revealed a delicate collarbone and shoulders.

“My, my, she
is
beautiful,” Carlson said, standing over her. “Much better now that she’s dried off.”

Cole bubbled with anger, but managed to keep his cool, to keep from throwing the old man out.  He didn’t like the way the man was looking at his Livie.  His knuckles turned white as he tightly clenched his fists and bit his tongue.

“You know, beautiful women tend to be central to most major conflicts.  In ancient times battles were fought over them, in more recent times they were fought for them.”  Carlson reached out his hand as if to touch her, but let it drop before actually making contact.  “Whether made public knowledge or not.”

Olivia stirred, her face losing its peacefulness and turning restless.  She rolled over onto her stomach.  The blankets dipped, exposing a large swath of her back, now only marred by the faintest of marks.  Carlson stood and watched her a few moments more, Cole standing at his side.  The old man turned and walked back to the front door. 

“I trust you’ll make the right decision, son.” 

With that Carlson left.  Cole stood there, watching her.  No he wouldn’t sleep at all tonight.

By the next morning, Olivia developed a bad cold.  She burrowed under the blankets, sniffling and miserable.  Cole sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers.  She groaned as he placed his cool hand on her burning forehead. 

“It seems my little wild thing has come down with something, yeah?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

She nodded, rubbing her sore throat and tried to pull up the covers, but he wouldn’t let her. 

“Do I need to get the doctor?” The concern poured from his voice.

“No,” she sniffled and coughed.  “Maybe some tea?” she asked with a soft, almost childlike, voice.

“Hot tea it is,” he smiled and kissed her forehead as she nodded her thank you.

He surprised her by leaving only long enough to take care of a few important matters, returning with a teapot and a light breakfast.  He placed some soft flannel pajamas on the bed and went to make her a cup of tea.  When she emerged from the bedroom he directed her to the couch and brought her a blanket and breakfast tray with tea, toast, and freshly made jam.  She nibbled on a slice of toast and sipped her tea while the rain continued to come down in a deluge.  She watched droplets splatter against the window. 

She kept expecting Cole to leave, to go off to work, but he didn’t.  When she finished her breakfast he took the tray away and sprawled out on the couch with her.  He placed a box of tissues and a fresh cup of tea on the coffee table.  She didn’t resist as he pulled her to him, she snuggled up against him and he wrapped her up in the blanket.  She alternated between slumbering softly, absently watching TV, and subtly watching Cole.  He reviewed reports, laughed along to a comedy, and told her stories of his childhood and adolescence in the fort.  She liked the stories and listened attentively, her chin resting on his chest as he played with her hair.  But something else seemed to be on Cole’s mind and he stopped telling his story.

“Tell me about your father,” he asked her. 

She blew her nose and she thought about her father.  “Why?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Because I’m curious about your family and where you came from.” 

“Well.” She hesitated. “He’s thoughtful, a thinker.  I’ve never known him to speak without fully considering his words… something I guess I didn’t inherit.” Cole laughed out loud at her words.  “He always puts his political duties first, always choosing to do what’s in the best interests of his people.”

“Then it must be hard being his daughter at times.”  She nodded, but didn’t say anything. “And your brother?”

“He always chooses to do what’s in his own best interest,” she said bitterly 

Cole’s eyes darkened and her statement seemed to make his thoughts drift.  He took her hand, playing with her fingers while mulling something over. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked so intrigued by his expression. 

He almost looked startled by her question.  He looked down at her thoughtfully, it made her uncomfortable and she had to look away. 

“It doesn’t sound like you think too kindly of him.”

“My brother?  He’s arrogant, selfish, and controlling.  He’s the one that tried to keep me from moving districts.  He thought it was desertion that it would make the family look weak.”

Cole nodded, but he didn’t ask her any more questions.  He continued to toy with her fingers.  He was such a mystery to her.  He could be harsh and smug, but then so gentle and attentive.  She wasn’t sure when she stopped fearing being given to the soldiers.  She knew she belonged to Cole.  That was comforting and terrifying.  She wondered when she stopped being so afraid of him and that made her nervous.  She thought of the other women they kidnapped and couldn’t help, but wonder.

“Why me?” she blurted out, he looked down at her confused.  “Why did you pick me?”

He smiled at her again.  “That first night I went to observe you, I sat in a corner table at your restaurant.  I saw you talking to an old man; he stopped you as he was leaving.  You were obviously busy, the restaurant was full, but you talked to him and smiled, as if he was the only person you cared about.  The band came back from their break and started playing that old, old, song Moon River.  He grabbed your hand and started twirling you around the patio.  You laughed and spun around with him and when you stopped you let him kiss you on the cheek and hug you goodbye.  Later, a drunken customer tried to corner you, he put his hand on you and you pushed him away.  He did it again and you slapped his hand off you.  A waiter tried to come up and help you, but you shooed him away, telling him you could handle it.  You were an angry little spitfire, but you managed not to cause a scene as you told the guy to get out.”

She blushed remembering that night and thinking of him there, watching her.

“You were so beautiful and strong.  I knew…”  He paused and laughed softly. “Well, I couldn’t exactly ask you on a date.  Neither of us is in a position to do that... You know, my mother was my father’s slave… at first.”

Olivia was shocked by his confession.  She wanted to be angry, to be offended, but she stayed silent, thinking about her situation and him.  She rested her chin on his chest and they stared at each other for a second more before she turned and pressed her head against his him again, each caught up in their own thoughts.

“Mrs. Wellings wants a chicken coop.  Do you think you can build her one?” Cole asked, breaking the tension.

She paused before responding.  “Do I get a nail gun?”  Cole laughed out loud and kissed the top of her head.

.     .     .

She scoffed at him, offended.

“Of course, I can cook!”

“I didn’t ask if you can.  I asked if you actually did, but now that you brought it up.” Cole eyed her suspiciously.

“What?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

“Nothing, it’s just, well you know what they say ‘never trust a skinny chef.’” 

Her jaw dropped and if there’d been anything in reaching distance it would’ve been lobbed at his head.

“No, you’re absolutely right.  My restaurant’s gotten by on my good looks and charming demeanor.”  Her voice dripped with sarcasm and distain.

He was getting her riled up on purpose, he loved that angry look in her eyes and the sharp tone of her voice.  He loved that she didn’t back down and that her tongue was as sharp as a knife.  She was definitely feeling better, having spent a few days back outside, in the garden.  She was nearly done with the coop. 

“Prove it,” he said, a challenge clear in his voice. 

“What?” she faltered and her eyebrows knit together.

Before she could say another word he took her by the arm and they were quickly moving down the hallway.  After a few minutes, they arrived at a pair of swinging doors and he lightly pushed her through them into the fort’s kitchen.  It was abandoned, the staff done for the day.  She gasped.  It was beautiful, not cold and industrial like a cafeteria or restaurant.  It felt like a large country kitchen, with huge wooden tables, white cabinets with glass panes so you could see the ornate china or array of spices each shelf held.  She walked up to a table fully stocked with baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables; she picked up a wild mushroom and smiled.  Turning to look at Cole, her eyebrows came together again.

“What are we doing in here?” she asked, eyeing the very expensive looking set of knives hanging on the wall.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You’re going to cook us dinner.”

“But I… we couldn’t… Mrs. Wellings wouldn’t approve.  It’s her kitchen.”

Now it was his turn to scoff.  “And this is my fort.”

“That wouldn’t stop her from killing you,” Olivia said running a finger over a perfectly ripened tomato.

Cole had to laugh.  “I suppose you’re right.  We just won’t tell her.” He smiled moving to stand next to her and take her hand, pressing it to his lips.  “Make us something, Livie. “

She blushed, but nodded.  Cole sat down on a stool and watched her familiarize herself with the kitchen.  He saw her eyes grow wide as she opened the meat locker.  She turned to him, almost stupefied.  He nodded his encouragement.

He watched her explore the produce on the table, picking up, smelling, inspecting, and either setting something back down or adding it to a growing pile.  Her face was serious and focused.  He wanted to ask what she was going to make, but didn’t want to break the spell she seemed to be under.  She picked out two beautiful cuts of meat and pulled out containers of this and that, placing them all on the large table Cole sat at.  He watched her role up her sleeves, take some vegetables over to the sink, and rinse them off.  She walked to the row of knives against the wall and looked at them.  She froze, looking over her shoulder at him.  He was watching her with interest, but not concern.  Picking a knife, she walked over to him, visibly unnerved.  She placed a few onions in front of him.

“Chop these for me, please.”  She handed him the knife and they both seemed to start breathing again. 

He did as she asked, clumsily cutting the first onion.  She laughed softly, returning to him, and placing her hand on his. 

“Like this,” she said, moving his hand to correctly gripe the knife and then showed him how to rock it back and forth, chopping with ease. 

The slight, but intimate touch made him want to nuzzle his lips against her neck. 

“Much better,” she said, but she was watching his face, not his chopping skills. 

He was so handsome, sitting there attempting to chop onions.  He was in jeans and a tee shirt and was so dangerously good looking; she sucked in a deep breath.  She found herself no longer angry at him, no longer scared, no longer worried about what her family would think.  She just wanted him.  Just the slight contact of guiding his hand was making her heart race.  Pulling her hand away, she went back to work.  Cole sliced onions like she showed him and watched her as she chopped, measured and poured.  She seasoned the meat then turned to start caramelizing the onions. 

He watched her mince basil then put it in a mortar and grind it with pine nuts and garlic.  She added this and that, mixing it all together.  Tearing off a hunk of bread, she dipped it in the sauce and handed it to him. 

“A snack while you wait.”

He took the bread from her, making sure to brush his fingers across hers.  He let out a satisfied ‘mmmmmm’ sound as he chewed.  Nodding his approval, Cole grabbed for more bread.

She smiled and returned to cooking.  She never worked in such a fine kitchen, with tools she could never dream of affording.  Cooking again brought peace to her face and fluidity to her movement.  Cole watched her and thought she looked like a dancer.  She was completely at ease and so beautiful.  He went to the wine chiller and picked out one of his favorite bottles of white wine.  The sound of the cork popping made her turn and look at him.  He brought the bottle over, pouring her a glass.  She beamed as she inhaled the citrus and floral scent.  He poured a glass for himself and sat back down to observer her.  There was silence in the room, but neither of them seemed to notice or mind.

Every now and then, she’d glance up from her work to find him watching her.  She gave him small tasks like plucking basil leaves from the stem and unpeeling garlic, but he was always watching her.  She realized his gaze made her nervous, but not from fear.  It made her self-conscious and blush, his was a carnal observation.  She felt his eyes touch every part of her and she liked it, the feeling of being utterly desired.

She shook her head and focused on cooking.  She waltzed over to Cole and grabbed the wine bottle, taking advantage of the once in a life time opportunity to cook with a high quality wine.  He chuckled at her unabashedly stealing the wine and smiled, watching her face light up as she poured some into the pan. 

She busied herself, finishing off her sauce and letting it simmer down, putting a dish of sliced vegetables in the oven to roast, and even whipped up a baking sheet of shortbread for dessert.  She handed him a bar of dark chocolate and he just looked at it.  She snorted a laugh and moved over to him.  She took a clean knife and showed him how to chop it.  Just being near him made her dizzy with desire, a heat emanated from him and every time she glanced at him he gave her a look like he wanted to eat her for dinner. 

“I need you to chop it like this,” she said, slicing through the chocolate.

“I didn’t realize I’d have to work for my meal,” he teased her.

“All the best things are those you work for.” She smiled, popping a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Don’t I know it.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine.  He chopped the chocolate bar as she instructed and she melted it down, mixing in a few other ingredients and delicately licked the end of her spoon, tasting the concoction.

“Hey, don’t I get to try?  I helped make it.”

She laughed, not sure if she smiled and laughed this much in months.  Obligingly, she took the wooden spoon over to him and held it out for him to lick.  Some of the chocolate sauce fell onto her knuckles and Cole quickly grabbed her wrist, pulling it to his mouth so he could lick the sauce from her skin.

Olivia almost cried out in shock and delight.  His touched seemed to burn her skin.  He let out a sound of approval, lifting his eyes to meet hers.  She felt a flush rush across her entire body.  He pulled her closer to him, making her move to between his legs, and crushed his lips against hers.  In her surprise, Olivia dropped the spoon and it fell to the floor with a splat.