Touching Heaven

by Marie Higgins

  Chapter Thirteen

  Peter’s hold tightened around her as he marched toward the house. On impulse, Cecilia wrapped her arms around his neck, and the movement brought her closer to his face. He’d set his jaw hard, his gaze narrowing as he focused on the path in front of him.

  Although he was upset, his strong arms consoled her. Up this close, comfort flooded through her, warming her, creating tingles in her belly that spread like wildfire. She wanted to let out a contented sigh and rest her face in the curve of his neck, but that would be giving in. She couldn’t allow herself to do that.

  He didn’t let her go, even when he opened the front door and walked in. Anna-Mae was singing in the kitchen and stopped when they passed. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

  “Missah Grayson? What’s wrong with Miz Celia?” She hurried after them, wiping her hands on the dingy, food-stained apron tied around her waist.

  “Anna-Mae, I’m just fine—” Cecilia began.

  “She’s very tired, Anna-Mae,” Peter cut her off. “She almost collapsed on the walk up here.”

  Anna-Mae gasped, but Cecilia’s gasp overrode it. She glared at Peter. “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “When?”

  “The second before I picked you up.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I stumbled on the road, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh, and why did you stumble? Because you were tired.” He looked at Anna-Mae. “I’m going to take her up to her room. Would you bring dinner to her there?”

  A grin sneaked across the older woman’s face, and she quickly covered it with her hand. “Yessir, Missah Grayson.”

  He turned and headed up the stairs. The jarring movements made Cecilia cling tighter to him. When he finally glanced at her, she scowled. “How dare you?”

  He arched a brow. “How dare I what?”

  “Give my servant instructions.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Darlin’, I don’t think Anna-Mae would have listened to you, anyway. She can see how tired you are.”

  She wiggled and pushed her hands against his shoulders. “Let me down this instant.”

  “As soon as I get you to your room.”

  She gritted her teeth and seethed. Take me to my room. I dare you.

  She held back a snicker. He didn’t even know where her bedroom was...yet, the obstinate man didn’t ask for directions. He headed right for her room. He didn’t know...did he?

  When he stopped in front of her door and opened it, she couldn’t find the words to speak. How did he know?

  Instead of throwing her on the bed like she figured he would, he set her down on the edge of the mattress and sat beside her. Before she could protest, he’d grabbed one of her legs and lifted it on his knee. His fingers pulled the ties to her boot, loosening them.

  He’s undressing me!

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “I’m rubbing your sore muscles. This will allow you to relax and sleep better tonight.” He grinned. “Trust me.”

  Her heart took on a different rhythm, but it didn’t make her afraid. Just the opposite. The warmth of his hands on her ankles sent tremors of delight up her legs and made her insides quake. Her throat turned dry, and her stubborn streak evaporated. She nodded.

  Weariness took over her body, and she relaxed on her elbows. As he removed one shoe and then the other, his large hands covered her feet. His fingers rubbed and soothed every inch, from the tip of her toes to the beginning of her calves. She wanted to release a pleased sigh from the stirring emotions running amuck through her, so she bit her bottom lip as not to embarrass herself.

  He lifted his gaze to hers—his eyes darker now since the only lamp in the room had been turned low. “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice deep.

  Could he see it on her face? Did she look as relaxed as she felt? “It’s wonderful.”

  Keeping his eyes on her, he moved his hands up farther. Heat followed his touch, igniting her body. When he reached just below her knees, she sat up and stopped him.

  “Don’t.” She clasped his hands.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone that far. Forgive me?”

  She licked her parched lips and nodded.

  “Turn around,” he commanded in a gentle tone.

  “What?”

  “Turn around, and I’ll rub your shoulders. I’m quite certain they ache worse than your feet.”

  She should argue with him and point out how improper it was for him to be sitting on her bed in the first place, but she didn’t. Instead, she obeyed his request and scooted, turning her back to him.

  The tender whisper of his hot breath touched her before his hands clamped over her shoulders. A shiver ran down her spine. His placid fingers rubbed and made her muscles relax, yet inside, her body came alive. Every nerve ending awakened.

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head forward. His fingers moved up to her neck, bringing the same stimulation to that part of her body. A sigh sprang to her throat, but she didn’t hold back this time and let it out, slow and meaningful.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice deep, invigorating.

  “Yes.” Her reply came out raspy.

  He pressed his thumbs deeper into her skin. His ministrations were definitely taking out the ache and stiffness she’d had all day. “Peter...you really shouldn’t be...ahhh...”

  A small chuckle came from his chest. “I shouldn’t be making you feel better?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” Actually she did. This was so improper, but she’d never felt such elation before.

  His fingers moved up her neck to her scalp, and the glorious feeling was just as wonderful. He plucked apart the pins holding her piece of netted hair together. She shot her hand up to stop him, but it was too late. He’d already removed the section of hair and tossed it on her lap.

  Panic settled in her chest, cutting off her breathing. He’d only seen her one other time with her hair short. Thankfully, the lighting was almost as dim now as it had been back in the doctor’s office.

  “Peter, I—I’m not used to people seeing me with short hair.”

  “Why did you cut it? Because of your illness?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d just given her the excuse she’d searched for. “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.”

  His fingers threaded through her hair, massaging her head. She sighed again, loving the relaxation the warmth from his body evoked. She closed her eyes again and took pleasure in the soothing movements against her scalp. A smile pulled her mouth. Thankfully he couldn’t see her face right now.

  Her body relaxed totally. His hands moved down her neck and to her shoulders again, continuing to make her feel something she’d never experienced before.

  Soon she felt something different. It was his breathing blowing against her neck. “Peter? What...are you doing?”

  “I can’t help myself, Cecilia.” He brushed his lips across the skin at her neck.

  “Really, Peter. This...this is very improper.”

  “I know.” He placed his lips there again, but longer this time.

  “You must leave.” It wasn’t what she wanted, rather what propriety dictated. Could she obey her mind, or would she do what her heart desired?

  When he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, she sucked in her breath. But the more he left soft kisses on the back of her neck, the more she relaxed in his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Peter, I mean it. You cannot be here.” Her words held little meaning when her voice came out deep and sedated.

  “You’re correct, darlin’. I shouldn’t be here. But you’re too tempting.” He kissed her earlobe, and she shivered. “But I can’t leave. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. And don’t tell me you don’t want it too, because I know you do.”
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  She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind fought a losing battle, her heart eventually winning. “Oh, Peter—” She turned her face, her mouth seeking his. When his lips claimed hers, she allowed another deep sigh to come from within.

  “Cecilia,” he murmured against her mouth. “You’re irresistible.”

  She moved her hand to cup his face as she answered his passionate kiss. His fingers spread through her hair as he held her there. Her heart thudded loudly like heavy footsteps marching in her head. But when Anna-Mae’s humming echoed down the hall, Cecilia’s mind returned.

  “Peter,” she gasped, pushing at his chest and breaking the kiss.

  He must have heard because he jumped from the bed and hurried to the window. He straightened his clothes as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress. That had been too close. Why had she allowed him such privileges knowing her reputation would be ruined if their passion was discovered?

  She shook her head. They couldn’t do this again. She’d do whatever it took to see he didn’t touch her.

  Ever.

  SITTING NEXT TO PETER on the seat of the wagon, Cecilia held herself straight, prim and proper like a good well-bred lady should. Peter bit his bottom lip to hold back a grin. She certainly hadn’t acted that way a couple of nights ago. Like hot butter, she’d melted into his embrace and answered his kisses with passion greater than he’d ever experienced.

  He’d hoped her attitude would have changed for the better. It hadn’t. The following day, she was as stubborn as an old mule. The day after she’d kissed him until his toes curled, she’d shunned him. She didn’t say anything to him unless he spoke first, and if she answered, her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

  Her actions had twisted his gut. Why did she treat him this way when she knew that she belonged in his arms? He’d just have to try a little harder next time to make certain she accepted him—and didn’t feel guilty about it. She was raised a lady, just has he’d been raised a gentleman. But times like this, they needed to ignore society’s rules.

  They rode into town, and the townspeople greeted them with waves and smiles.

  “It’s good to see you, Miss Cecilia.”

  Cecilia waved at the older woman whose whole body jiggled when she walked. “Thank you, Mrs. Greenwall. It’s very nice to see you also.”

  They rode a little farther before an elderly man raised his cane toward them. “Miss Cecilia. You’re out and about. This is a rare occasion, indeed.”

  She laughed. “Yes, it is, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Are you feelin’ better now?” the man asked.

  “Fit as a fiddle.”

  She certainly fit perfect in my arms the other night. Peter grinned.

  He glanced at her and wrinkled his brow. What kind of illness would put her down in bed for several months at a time, yet enable her to be strong as an ox now? He’d have to ask Doc Copeland about her condition when the good physician returned.

  Peter led the team of horses in front of the mercantile and pulled the wagon to a stop. He jumped down then turned and lifted Cecilia from the seat. Purposely, he held her as close as he dared under watchful eyes of the town. She didn’t look at him but diverted her gaze somewhere behind him. However, her cheeks brightened a pretty pink.

  When her feet touched the ground, she stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her. “Mr. Grayson, I’ll only be a moment inside the mercantile.”

  He nodded. “Would you like my assistance?”

  She glanced at him then quickly looked away. “No. I’ve done business with Mr. Whiting for several years now. I should be just fine by myself.” She looked at Samuel and Kane climbing out of the back of the wagon. “Boys, take the sugar to the rear of the store.”

  They nodded and each lifted a barrel.

  Peter leaned against the side of the wagon and crossed his arms over his chest. The cute little bustle on Cecilia’s dress bounced in rhythm to her quick steps as she hurried into the building.

  Tarnation, she looked pretty today. The yellow dress with puffy sleeves made her waist slimmer—if that was possible—and the color flattered her complexion. She’d gone back to wearing the attached wig, but when he closed his eyes, he saw her as she’d been the other night. Her short hair messed, looking extremely relaxed and...dare he say, happy?

  He shifted his stance against the wagon, and raked his fingers through his hair. How could he get her to change her mind about him and trust him once again?

  “Mr. Grayson?”

  He snapped his head toward the man approaching then smiled when recognition struck. “Howdy, Sheriff.”

  “You’re looking mighty fit. I assume working on a plantation is exactly what you needed.”

  Peter chuckled. “Certainly is.”

  “And Miss Ashby is looking better than ever. I’m relieved to see she’s feeling well. Hopefully, her illness won’t return.”

  “Tell me something, Sheriff.” Peter tilted his head. “How often does she get sick?”

  “Hmm...” The sheriff tapped one finger on his chin, his lips pursed and forehead crinkled. “Seems like she’s sick more times than she’s well.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “Her sickness just comes and goes.”

  Peter shook his head. “Wish I knew what it is that makes her sick, and then I could keep her away from it. She’s a hard-toiling woman who’s practically worked her fingers to the bone trying to get the sugarcane harvested.”

  “Sounds like Miss Ashby all right. She had hard working parents, too. That’s probably why she tries so hard to keep the plantation going.”

  Peter arched a brow. “Why exactly?”

  “Because the plantation was her father’s pride and joy. He’d wanted to make it successful for his heirs.”

  Peter’s stomach twisted in a current of guilt. Belle Grove was her place—not his.

  Mentally, he shook the thought from his head. Taking a deep breath, he shifted. He had to remain focused on his goal. That plantation had been in his family longer. It should be in his hands now.

  “So, Sheriff, have you found Hank Ashby yet?”

  Sheriff Hampton frowned. “No. It’s like that kid disappeared right off the face of the earth. He must know I’m looking for him.”

  “Which proves he’s guilty.” Peter clenched his jaw, his hands bunching into fists at his side.

  “No, sir. It just means he’s hiding something. When I find him, I’ll get the truth.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. If they find him.

  “Well, I demand justice, Sheriff. I don’t like thinking the person who stabbed and robbed me is free walking around these streets waiting to do it again.”

  Sheriff took a step closer and patted Peter’s shoulder. “I won’t let it happen again. I swear.”

  From across the street at Deborah’s Delights, the flash of red hair caught his attention. The whore who’d hit on him the other night stood outside near the boardwalk, leaning against the side of the building. Her gaze focused his way. Curiosity grew within him. She didn’t have the “come-hither” look, but instead, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted in his direction as if she tried to listen. Nosy little woman.

  Or was she?

  As soon as she saw him watching her, she spun and hurried through the two swinging doors into the saloon. Peter scratched his head. What a strange behavior.

  Another person caught his attention as he strolled up the walkway toward the saloon—Zed Slater. Peter remembered him from years ago. That man was mean and ruthless, and not one to be trifled with.

  He was also a man for hire.

  Peter arched an eyebrow. Perhaps it was time to talk to the old man to see how he could help find Hank.

  Behind Peter, the click of women’s shoes on the boardwalk brought his thoughts back, and he looked at the sheriff. Hampton’s gaze brightened as he stared over Peter’s shoulder.

  “Miss Ashby. You’re as pretty as a peach. There’s not another woman in
this town that can hold a candle to you. Your beauty surpasses them all.”

  Peter straightened and turned to see Cecilia give her hand to the other man. When the sheriff placed a kiss upon her knuckles, fiery anger boiled inside Peter’s gut.

  She smiled, her eyes twinkling like azure gems. “Why, thank you, Sheriff Hampton. You’re looking mighty fine yourself.”

  Peter’s irritation intensified, and he wanted to rip the sheriff’s head off.

  Jealous?

  He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Yet, he didn’t want Cecilia bestowing her knee-buckling, seductive grins on anyone but him.

  His punishment came when he had to stand and try to act normal as Sheriff Hampton made cow-eyes at Cecilia, and she giggled like a smitten schoolgirl.

  This wasn’t his idea of enjoyment. Slamming his fist through somebody’s nose—that was more like it.

  CECILIA PULLED AWAY from Sheriff Hampton and folded her hands against her stomach. She kept her genuine smile, but it had nothing to do with the older man trying to sweet-talk her. The sale of the sugar had gone just as she’d hoped. Within a week, she’d be paid, and after that, she’d be able to give Peter the money she owed him, and hopefully, send him on his way.

  Emotion tugged on her heart. Although it’d be hard to see Peter leave, it was best. She couldn’t have him around causing her heart to pitter-patter every time he looked at her. She especially couldn’t have him kissing her to distraction.

  Yet, out of all the beaus she’d had over the years—which weren’t many—Peter took the prize for making her react in such an improper manner. She literally lost her head around him. He made her forget what her real purpose was.

  “Miss Ashby, it’s good to see you in town. I’ve missed your cheerful smile since you’ve been at home sick.”

  She brought her attention back to the sheriff. “Well, I feel just fine, and I’m enjoying life once again.”

  “I see you are.” He motioned his hand toward the mercantile. “Did you just sell your sugar?”

  “Yes. Mr. Whiting has remarkable connections. I’m grateful for his help.”

  He nodded. “John’s a godsend, that’s for certain.” He held out his elbow. “Let me help you to your wagon.”