Author: Cat Porter
Date of Publication: November 20th 2014
My resurrection, they call it.
They have no bloody idea.
Shipwrecked and lost, left for dead,
Abandoned by my own family.
Drugged and addicted.
My wife saved me, brought me home.
I didn’t even know I had a wife—can I trust her?
I know I want her.
We are two of a kind—the manipulated, the tossed off, the rejected.
Bitter disappointments, painful secrets, age-old jealousies are my new shipwreck,
and my wife my new opium.
Is satisfaction to be found in revenge or revenge in satisfaction?
One thing I do know, without each other we’re both doomed.
A sensual 18th century tale of deception and revenge, and the healing of two souls hungering for love and absolution.
Buy the Book
He let go of her suddenly, pulled her arm, and marched her across the green. “Brandon, what are you doing? Where are we going?”
He ignored her and kept charging down the hill then through the grove of trees at the edge of the park towards the great oak tree. They entered under the thick green umbrella of the enormous ancient oak, its leaves and branches flapping against Justine’s face and shoulders. Here they once used to play house and attend imagined fancy dinner parties with William, Annie, Amanda and Andrew years ago. Now, under its vast, shady canopy Brandon lifted her up in his arms, hooked her legs around his waist and pushed her up against the massive trunk.
His eyes fell to her parted lips taking in air. “You’re my wife now.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m your…” Her breath left her as he unfastened his breeches. The harsh, irregular bark of the tree jabbed against her back, but she didn’t care about the discomfort. It reminded her she was alive. Her heart pounded, her every muscle tightened. His frenzied, wordless need for her thrilled her. He lifted her higher.
Oh, for the love of…
His cock pinned her to the tree, and she groaned out loud, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Say it. Say it, dammit,” he demanded, his breathing heavy.
“I am your wife.”
“Yes.” He thrust inside her again, then again.
“Yours Brandon, only yours.” Her head jostled against the craggy bark as he plunged inside her over and over. Her lungs squeezed for air, her head whirled with a rush of emotion as his grey-green eyes pierced hers.
“They’ve tried to take everything else from me,” he breathed.
Not me. Never.
Quicker and more frenzied he drove into her, grinding his hips against hers. She adjusted herself in his arms, and the steady sting of pressure inside her thankfully shifted and transformed into waves of mounting pleasure. Yes, she needed this too. She needed to let go.
Simply let go.
The cold breeze dried her lips as she cried out with every punishing thrust of Brandon’s hips. Her fingers locked in his thick, damp hair at the base of his neck. His breathing grew more ragged and sharp, and his one hand gripped her bare bottom so tightly it throbbed, but she welcomed the pain.
She deserved it for years of hurt stamped on Andrew’s face.
She deserved it for the eerie shadows haunting Brandon’s eyes.
Every thrust burned, inflaming her further, casting her over the edge along with him. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, her heart jamming in her chest as her release ripped through her, her head scraping against the trunk of the tree. Brandon’s eyes squeezed shut as he convulsed into her.
They remained suspended together, speechless, unable to move, only clinging to each other through a haze of perspiration and raw satisfaction. Brandon released her from his tight grip and helped her find her footing. He stumbled back. Justine’s shaky hands smoothed down her skirts and adjusted her bodice.
“Are you angry with me still?” she asked as she ran her fingers through her hair. He stood rooted to the spot watching her thick mass of coppery tresses tumble past her shoulders. “Brandon?”
“I am having a hard time believing what you say about Andrew for he is behaving as if you spurned him last week and not years ago. If his feelings are still so intense for you, how is it yours are not so for him?” He inhaled deeply and slid his hand up and down his chest. “What is it Justine? A few turns between my legs and you’ve forgotten all about him? Damn, I must be good.”
She drew nearer to him. “You and I are good together, Brandon, that’s what I know. I could have said no to you the first time, when you asked me if I wanted you, but I have chosen to live. Your return home is a whole new world for me and for you, especially for you. And even though this union was forced upon us, I have chosen to take this second chance at life, and I am content.”
He tilted his head at her, his eyes murky pools of seawater, revealing nothing.
“I enjoy being with you, Brandon,” she breathed, her face burning. “Is that wrong?”
A Few Questions with the Author
When and why did you begin writing?
I’ve been writing short stories and poems since I was ten. I was an obsessive reader as a child, and being an only child I had an intense imagination. Journal writing has been essential to my sanity throughout my life as well. It was and is the only way I could make sense of things and feel centered. About three years ago I started writing full time again. We live in Greece now and when the political and economic situation began to crumble here I had an extremely emotional, gut wrenching reaction, and I realized I had to keep centered for my children and myself. Focusing on writing again, and writing love redemption stories and continuing my children’s stories kept me sane and engaged in the positive and also helps keep me full of hope for a better day. I do it every day without fail. Like working out and taking my vitamins. No question. Ever.
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
It was about twenty years ago when I first got a few freelance articles published in New York City. One was in an international politics magazine (strange, but true!) and the other was in a small local newspaper. It was a fantastic feeling.
List three books you have recently read and would recommend.
I finally started reading the Outlander books this past July. I’m almost finished with book 2. Jamie…sigh. Jamie and Claire…big sigh. I really like Shay Savage’s “Transcendence” blew me away, it was so emotional and bittersweet. And the Evan Arden series, which funnily enough I never in a million years thought I’d want to read about a murdering sniper, but I tried it, fell for Evan, and was hooked in a big way. I enjoy Lorelei James’s brash cowboys very, very much. C.D. Reiss’s Spin and Ruin just now left me breathless.
Tell us something that people would be surprised you know how to do.
I’m a trained actress. After I graduated from college and worked for a few years in a couple of art galleries, I decided to make my actress dream come true and got into a theatre school in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of NYC and studied for several years. I auditioned and did the whole struggling actress thing, working odd jobs of all kinds both day and night from hostessing at restaurants to the night shift at law firms to special event planning and catering companies to make a buck. There was never a dull moment!
Will you write more about these characters?
Yes. I have plans on writing about another pair who appear in this story.
How can readers discover more about you and your work?
My webpage, via Facebook and Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest. I love Pinterest!
About Cat Porter
CAT PORTER was born and raised in New York City, but also spent a few years in Europe and Texas along the way. As an introverted, only child, she had very big, but very secret dreams for herself. She graduated from Vassar College, was a struggling actress, an art gallery girl, special events planner, freelance writer and had all sorts of other crazy jobs all hours of the day and night to help make her dreams come true. She has two children’s books traditionally published under her maiden name. She now lives in Athens, Greece with her husband and three children, and freaks out regularly and still daydreams way too much. She is addicted to the History Channel, her iPad, her husband’s homemade red wine, really dark chocolate, and her Nespresso coffee machine. Writing keeps her somewhat sane, extremely happy, and a productive member of society.