Touching Heaven

by Marie Higgins

  He traced his finger across her parted lips. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about the air coming out of her mouth in gushes.

  “Tell me, Miss Ashby, why would I want to leave when every day I can look upon such beauty it takes my breath away?”

  Desire sparked his gaze, darkening his eyes. He leaned his head closer, and her eyelids drooped. If he kissed her right now, she’d be helpless to stop him. Her hands would refuse to ward him off, and her lips would refuse to stiffen.

  “Mr. Grayson,” she said with a squeak in her voice. “You shouldn’t talk this way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not that kind of woman. I told you that.”

  He cupped the side of her face, and as hard as she could, she tried not to snuggle against his palm.

  “Miss Ashby, I think you know how much I want you.”

  A moan of despair caught in her throat. “No,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you do.” Both hands held her face now, and his body moved closer, imprisoning her against the window.

  “Please...”

  The corner of his tempting mouth lifted higher. “Please what, darlin’?”

  Kiss me.

  No! She squeezed her eyes closed and willed herself to stay strong. Her chest heaved quick breaths. He stood too close. She couldn’t think straight.

  “Look at me,” he said in a husky voice.

  She did, and regretted opening her eyes. With his face this close, her mind turned blank.

  “Cecilia, how can I forget those nights your lips caressed with mine? Those times I touched you, it was like...touching Heaven. And how can you think I could just turn away from all of that?”

  “But...you must.”

  He shook his head. “It would be easier to tell the sun not to rise, the stars not to twinkle.” His thumb stroked her bottom lip. “There’s no way to keep me away, Cecilia. When I saw you looking at me tonight with such heat in your eyes, I knew you felt the same about me.” He bent and kissed her nose. “Tell me you do. Tell me.”

  His mouth moved to hers, and his lips brushed hers in a soft caress. She couldn’t let him win. Yet, she wanted him to kiss her—wanted him to take her in his arms and bring back the passion they’d shared before.

  In surrender, she sighed and pressed her mouth against his. He kissed her with wild abandon, and she clutched his shoulders, holding him. He wrapped his arms around her body, and she melted against him. This was Heaven, and she never wanted to leave. This is what she’d craved for years, but never thought she’d obtain.

  Voices carrying from kitchen interrupted the desire flowing through her and snapped her to reality. The other servants had come to dinner.

  She pushed the heels of her hands against his chest and stepped away. His passionate eyes beckoned her to return to his arms, but she resisted. She sucked her swollen bottom lip into her mouth and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress.

  He spun around and walked to the chair that held his jacket. “I’m going outside for a moment. I’ll be back before you sit down to eat,” he grumbled and grabbed his jacket.

  Long strides took him to the front door, and she couldn’t take her gaze off him. Even now she resisted calling him back.

  PETER MARCHED DOWN the porch steps and hurried to the yard. He stopped in the middle of the lawn and took deep breaths, hoping the cooler air would subdue his rising temperature. The memory of her lips on his drove him mad with desire every time. And yet she always remained stubborn, which made him want to shake some sense into her.

  Would she ever give in? If they hadn’t been interrupted just now, would she have admitted she had feelings for him, too?

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. He was a goner. All the woman had to do was gaze upon him with those enchanting blue eyes, and he wanted her in his arms. Yet when she turned her heated scowl on him, it crushed him nearly to death.

  The sound of glass shattering in the night broke him away from his thoughts. It hadn’t come from the main house, but down the lane a bit toward...

  The bunkhouse!

  He slipped on his jacket and hightailed it down the hill. When he approached his house, he slowed his steps, listening closer for any unfamiliar sounds. As he reached the doorknob, he pressed his ear against the wood. Prickles of awareness ran up his spine, telling him someone crept around inside. It took a few minutes, but soon the footsteps grew louder.

  Automatically, his hand went to his gun belt—or where his gun would have been if he’d put on his belt this evening. He moved away from the door and searched the ground for a large stick. Since darkness blanketed the land, he used his feet to help him look. When he bumped the point of his boot against something long and hard, he breathed a sigh of relief and bent to pick it up.

  Tiptoeing back to his front door, he clenched his fists around the thick stick, hoping he’d catch the thief inside. He placed one hand on the doorknob and raised his weapon, praying for strength.

  Peter screamed in rage and swung open the door, holding the stick above his head as he ran inside. The scrambling of feet echoed by the far window. He rushed toward the noise, but tripped over a large object and fell to the ground. A fair amount of light from the moon shone through the window. He recognized his personal items scattered all over the floor. His chairs had been upturned, and the blankets from his bed strewn everywhere.

  I’m being robbed!

  A dark figure passed in front of the opened window and jumped out. Peter stood and rushed toward the cloaked person, but tripped over another object lying in his path.

  Cussing, he stood and tried again, but by the time he made it to the window, the person had run into the thicket of trees. He pounded his fist into the wall and released more curse words.

  With the moon’s help, he stepped around the objects littering his floor until he found his lantern. After striking a match and starting a flame, he held it high and received his first glimpse of the mess. What could the person have been looking for? More than likely his money.

  His heart clenched, and he ran to his bedroom. Finding the secret compartment, he opened his hiding spot. The money was still there. He wiped the moisture off his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve then replaced the board.

  Shouts came from outside, people calling his name. He stood and walked to the window. Running down the hill were Cecilia’s servants. A different fear clutched his heart as pain surged through his chest.

  Something must be wrong with Cecilia.

  Just as he made it to the front door, Samuel and Jeremiah approached the porch.

  “What’s the matter? Where is Cecilia?” Peter asked, panic tightening his throat.

  Samuel shook his head, his breathing fast and irregular. “Nothin’s the matter with Miz Celia. We heard ya yell and wondered what’s wrong with ya.”

  Peter placed his hand on his chest, the tension slowly releasing. He glanced past the two servants and to the hill. Cecilia had her skirt clutched in her hands, hiked to her shapely calves as she rushed toward them. He stepped around Samuel and Jeremiah and met Cecilia at the corner of the wooden porch.

  “Peter, what’s wrong?” she asked, out of breath.

  She sure looked beautiful right now, even through her worry. Her cheeks were flushed, and her full lips pulled into a frown. “No need to fear, darlin’.”

  “But why did you scream?”

  He chuckled and shook his head, motioning his hand toward his house. “Appears I was robbed...again.”

  Cecilia gasped and pushed him aside to walk past. She entered his bunkhouse and came to a dead stop. “Oh, no. D—d—do you know who did this?”

  “No. Almost caught the thief, though.” He entered the house and stood behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Then you saw him?”

  “I saw a cloaked figure is all. The person escaped out the window before I could do anything. It was too dark to see anything more.”

  She turned and fully faced him. “Wh
at did they take?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He rubbed his chin. “I haven’t had time to do a thorough search.”

  A sigh escaped her, and she patted the necklace around her slim neck. “Let’s go up to dinner, and then we’ll all come and straighten up later.” She touched his arm. “I’m certain you’re as hungry as the rest of us.”

  He balled his hands at his side, resisting the urge to hold her, to run his hands up her arms and cup her face for his seeking kiss. Instead, he nodded and winked. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m very hungry.”

  A blush sneaked across her face, and she lowered her gaze. “Then shall we return to the house? Anna-Mae is probably worried right now.”

  He held out his elbow for her to take, and when she did, he escorted her back.

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE treacherous. During the day, the sun beat down upon Cecilia and her servants as they slaved away grinding the sugarcane, and during the evening, a cool wind came through to make the process a little easier. Her muscles screamed, and the ache in her back increased as the days blended into each other.

  Peter and the others labored alongside her. When she realized their dedication, emotion tugged at her heart. She didn’t know what she’d do without them, and she never wanted to find out.

  Several times during the process, Peter showed them a simpler way to grind the cane and fill the barrels. Once he’d stepped over and stood behind her to physically demonstrate how to turn the wheel. Although it didn’t take a genius to catch on, she still allowed his hands upon hers as they spun the wheel. His chest nearly touched her back, but the heat coming from his body melted into hers, making her heart skip a beat. His breath blew against her neck and nearly had her swooning. After he’d withdrawn, her body temperature cooled, and emptiness replaced the ache in her chest.

  She enjoyed watching him. His hazel eyes twinkled, and his smile made her heart pitter-patter. When she watched him for too long, desire stirred inside her and made her want things that were impossible. By the end of the day, she grew too weary to worry about anything but sleep. The sun came up early the next day, and she repeated the process.

  Peter’s cheerfulness made her pause at times. He’d been just as exhausted as the rest of them, but he joked, chuckled, and poked fun at everything, which in turn made everyone laugh. Finding humor in the grinding process eased her burdens, but only slightly.

  Could the man surprise her more? It seemed she found different things to admire him for. He went out of his way to help her servants and especially her. He’d gone far and beyond his duties as overseer. Homer had never been this outgoing and interested in others.

  She bunched her hands into fists. She must also keep in mind the way Peter had tricked her into becoming her partner—the partner she didn’t want. Before too long she needed to find a way to get rid of him. When Hank returned, Peter must not be there. Hank would come back...if he wasn’t back already.

  Her heart wrenched. Had it been Hank who broke into Peter’s bunkhouse the other night? Since her brother didn’t go to Aunt Beatrice’s, he must still be in town. She shook her head. Leave it to her brainless sibling to stick around when he knew the sheriff searched for him. May the Lord watch over and protect Hank, because right now if she saw him, she’d wring his scrawny neck!

  After sealing another barrel lid, she stood and placed her hand on her lower back. Her muscles cried out for rest, but there would be no break until they completed the grinding. She glanced at the several barrels of cane still waiting to be ground into sugar. Would they ever finish?

  “Miss Cecilia?”

  Peter’s deep voice touched her soul as much as his warm breath caressed her neck, giving her the same limb weakening effect. She spun and faced him. He’d removed his hat, and his sandy hair was slicked away from his face, wet with perspiration. Sweat stained his cream colored shirt around his neck and underneath his arms. It didn’t take away from his rugged good looks at all. It enhanced them.

  “Yes, Mr. Grayson?”

  “Are you all right? You look mighty tuckered out.”

  She chuckled and rubbed her hand along the back of her neck, not only removing the moisture the afternoon heat had caused, but massaging the cramped muscles. “I’m all right. I’m tired but no more than the rest of you.”

  He touched her shoulder and sparks ignited inside her. She quickly pulled away.

  “I’m worried about you. I heard you’d just recovered from a very bad illness.”

  She arched an eyebrow. So he’d heard about the sickly mistress of Belle Grove. “My malady comes and goes. Since I’m used to this, I know how much or how little I can do.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Well, if this gets too much for you, Miss Cecilia, let me know, and I’ll take you back to the house.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, but I assure you, I’m fine. I’m no more exhausted than the rest of you.”

  Soon, Anna-Mae brought out refreshing glasses of lemonade for all. The cool drink moistened Cecilia’s parched lips, and as it slid down her throat, it rejuvenated her weary body. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as she held the cold glass to her face.

  The moment of pleasure passed much too quickly, and soon she fluttered her eyes open. Immediately, her attention moved to Peter. His gaze rested on her, his eyes dark—the way she liked them. Butterflies jumped in her stomach and made her body quiver. How long had he been watching?

  Her hand shook when she passed the empty glass to Anna-Mae. It took a great effort, but she turned away from Peter’s heated stare and continued her work.

  As the men returned to their labors, they started singing an old gospel song she’d learned as a child. The memory brought a smile to her face. Her parents used to take Cecilia and Hank to church faithfully before their demise. Although she still had faith in God, she didn’t find time to attend church on Sundays. Her life as a doctor wouldn’t allow it very often, and she prayed He’d understand.

  The arduous afternoon seemed to lift once the singing began, and she found herself humming along with them. It didn’t take long before she began to sing, not afraid to raise her voice in praise.

  When she glanced at Peter, he held a ridiculous crooked grin on his face, his eyes twinkling with a familiar cheerfulness. After the song finished, he gave her a wink before starting another song.

  Her heart thumped madly, and she silently scolded his charm once again. Why couldn’t she remember what a skunk he’d been? Then again, had he been a skunk? After all, his funds had paid all the taxes, both the money Hank stole and the money Peter had offered, and without it she would have lost the plantation altogether. Even though she feared a partnership might endanger her brother and her profession, what would she have done without Peter?

  The next few hours passed quicker this time, and before too long, the sun had dipped low in the sky. Shadows formed in the barn and cooled the temperature considerably. Cecilia informed the servants they could retire for the evening. In silence, they all trudged back toward the house. Samuel and the others broke off when their cabins came into view, leaving her and Peter to walk the little way remaining alone.

  Sounds around her became more apparent—the shuffling of his boots against the dirt, the crackle of his trousers when one leg rubbed against the other. Even the quick rhythm of his breathing stirred a flame inside her body. She couldn’t stop her own breathing from accelerating also.

  The awkwardness became too much. She must break the silence. She cleared her throat, and his head snapped to her. “I think we’re proceeding quite nicely with the grinding, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “It still surprises me how much we’ve accomplished with only the few servants helping. I’m certain this year’s sugar will bring in a big profit.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles, but the effort became too strenuous, and she dropped her hand by her side.

  He stopped and grasped her arm, keeping he
r from going any farther.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m just extremely tired. No more tired than the rest of you, though.”

  He shook his head. “I think differently. You’re a woman and aren’t used to laborious work like me and the others.”

  She pulled away from his hold. “Nonsense. I’m just as capable—”

  “Stop it, Cecilia.”

  He took two steps forward, closing the space between them. His big, strong hands cupped her face. Tilting her head back, she gazed into his shadowed eyes.

  “Quit trying to pretend you can handle this because I know differently.” His thumbs stroked her bottom lip. “Although your spirit is strong, you’re too delicate for this kind of work. I admire your stubbornness, but darlin’, you need to take it easy. I don’t want you collapsing due to exhaustion.”

  With him up this close, the desires inside her came to life. His hands brought a comfort to her head as he cradled her face, and she wanted to snuggle her whole body next to him so he could relax her even more. She placed her hands over his to remove them but found she didn’t have the strength.

  “Mr. Grayson, I do appreciate your concern, but—”

  “My name is Peter. I’d like you to use it,” he whispered his demand.

  “Peter, please.”

  He nodded and dropped his hands, but he didn’t step away. “Would you let me and the others finish the grinding for you? I think you should rest tomorrow.”

  “The more hands we have the better. Besides, I’ll feel rested tomorrow morning, I promise.” She turned to walk around him, but her weakened limbs buckled, and she stumbled. He caught her before she landed in the dirt by his feet. “I’m fine—” She held out her hand.

  “No, you’re not!” He scooped her in his arms and lifted her, bringing her closer to his chest.

  She gasped and clung to his shirt. “Peter, put me down.”

  “I will as soon as we get home.”

  What was he doing? Oh, why did she want more of his tender, loving care?