Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  Celeste's eyes widened. "Is it?" she asked softly, as though if she spoke too loudly, it wouldn't be so. "Is it silver?"

  "I'll be damned," Fox whispered, a light passing over his face that she'd not seen since he arrived in Carrington. "I'll be damned, old man. You were right." He gave a laugh of amazement as he picked up another chunk of rock, and another. "Riches beyond your dreams, just not in gold." He thrust a handful of dirty silver ore at her. "Silver, Celeste. Silver."

  Celeste squealed in delight and, without thinking, threw her arms around Fox. "Silver? Silver?" She kissed him on the lips, laughing with excitement. "It can't be!"

  Fox let the silver nuggets fall from his hands to take her in his arms. "Silver!" He threw his head back and his laughter came from deep in his belly, his soul. "It's silver, all right. My father really did leave me something." He picked her up in his arms and swung her around. "Silver, silver," he whispered against her lips. "Enough for us both. The answer to our hopes, our dreams, Celeste!"

  As he set her back on the grassy ground, he lowered his lips to hers. This time their kiss was not one of congratulations or excitement, but of passion.

  Fox's kiss deepened and Celeste put up no protest. She parted her lips as he thrust his tongue inside, savoring the delicious taste of him.

  Thoughts of the precious metal flew. All she could think of was the taste of Fox's mouth on hers, and the touch of his hand as he caressed her breast through the rough cotton of her shirt. Her nipples puckered in response to his caress, the brush of the cotton sheeting against her flesh increasing the pleasure.

  "Celeste, Celeste . . . " He whispered her name in her ear as he nibbled her lobe.

  Suddenly Celeste couldn't get enough of him, the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of his hard, muscular frame in her arms. She swept her hands over his broad back and thrust her tongue into his mouth. It was as if a dam had been broken and her flood of feelings for him were all rushing by. She was in a frenzy to touch and be touched, and that frenzy swept through him as well.

  Fox fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, and she helped him to unfasten them. The warm evening breeze caressed her skin as she pulled open the shirt, covering her breasts with prickly goose flesh.

  "Fox," she whispered. "I swore I'd never become involved with a man I could care for."

  "Swore I'd never love another whore," he muttered as he sank to his knees.

  Celeste leaned forward, and he took her nipple in his mouth. She moaned with pleasure as she closed her eyes and welcomed the waves of sensation. "Swore I'd send you packing," she breathed heavily.

  "Swore I wouldn't touch you," he answered. "No matter how badly I wanted to."

  Celeste laughed and sank to her knees in the grass beside the mine shaft. The sun was just setting over the horizon beyond the hills and the forest of aspens. Golden light filtered through Fox's dark hair as she ran her finger through the silky, dark strands. He smelled of shaving soap, pine trees, and desire.

  For her.

  "Swore . . . swore I wouldn't," she protested weakly as she melted into his arms.

  "Promised myself . . . promised the dog," he echoed.

  She laughed as she unbuttoned his shirtfront, wanting to feel flesh against flesh. All these years she'd been doing this, and never once had she felt anything.

  Until Fox.

  "No good can come of it," Fox said, his voice husky. His eyes were half-closed as he stroked the slope of her breasts and buried his face in the valley between them.

  "No good," she agreed.

  His gaze met hers. "But what the hell."

  She broke into a mischievous, sultry smile. "What the hell," she whispered.

  Then he kissed her, the most delicious kiss a woman could ever hope for.

  Celeste rolled in the grass with Fox; her shirt fell open, and her nipples hardened in response to his touch and the cool night air that blew out of the mountains. First she lay on top of him, then he on top of her. When he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her breeches and pantaloons, her breath caught in her throat. "Oh," she murmured.

  "Mmmmmm," he hummed in her ear. "So sweet. So perfect."

  Celeste laid back on the sweet grass and closed her eyes. She flung her hands back in total surrender. Just once, she told herself. Just once, let me enjoy this.

  Fox covered her breasts with hot, damp kisses, burning a trail of molten desire from the pulse of her throat to her navel. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his fingertips, sent her swirling higher and higher, making her dizzier by the moment.

  Celeste's entire body was alive with sensation, and yet in some way she felt shy. She had gone through the act of making love many times, but she had never really made love. She had just gone through the motions. Now she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl, as bashful as a bride on her wedding night. She had never guessed a man and a woman coming together could be so wonderful.

  He pulled off his shirt and flung it away. She pressed a kiss to his bare chest and then tentatively tasted the nub of his male nipple with the tip of her tongue. With her customers she had never taken any initiative, just laid there and waited for it to be over, reading recipes in her mind. Tonight there were no recipes, only waves of burning, building desire.

  She felt her heart swell as Fox moaned with pleasure. For the first time in her life she felt as if she were a participant rather than an observer.

  Fox kissed her above the metal button of her breeches and she lifted her hips in encouragement. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, kiss me there."

  He unhooked the button, rested his cheek on her belly, and slid his hand beneath the rough, dusty fabric.

  "Ohhhh," she moaned.

  "Here?" he whispered.

  His fingers found the warm folds of her womanhood, and she sighed and moaned again. "There," she encouraged. "Yes, there."

  Celeste wiggled her bottom to escape the confines of her tangled clothing as he pulled off her breeches and the pantaloons she wore beneath them. She never gave a thought to the idea that they were in the middle of an open meadow, or that anyone could come upon them. For once, she was beyond reasonable thought.

  The sounds of his heavy breathing filled her head. He kissed her again and again, moving his hand to the rhythm of her rising ardor. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the cleft of her chin.

  "Please," she whispered, so filled with a burning ache that she could barely speak. "Please, Fox . . ."

  "Yes?" he said softly, teasingly into her ear. "A request?"

  "Take them off." She tugged at his denims, too embarrassed by her own desire to open her eyes.

  "Now?"

  She giggled nervously and he kissed her mouth. "Yes, now," she whispered against his lips. "I won't let you get away this time."

  She felt him shift his weight off her and she stretched out in the soft grass, her eyes closed. As his weight descended on her again, he was completely naked. His stiff phallus brushed against her bare leg and, instinctively, she lifted her hips.

  "We don't have to do this," he whispered.

  "We do. I . . . I do." She couldn't get up the nerve to touch it, but she wanted it, needed it. She kneaded his bare buttocks with the palms of her hands. "Please don't tease me now, Fox."

  He kissed her tenderly. "I won't."

  He parted her thighs with his hand and stroked her again. A most delightful, gratifying touch . . . Then, when she was warm and wet and swimming with that urgent need again, he guided himself inside.

  Celeste arched her back and cried aloud with pleasure, shocked by her own reaction to him. Never before . . . never before had it been like this.

  Deep inside her, Fox held himself perfectly still over her. She could tell by his heavy breathing that he wanted to move, needed to move, but he was giving her time to adjust.

  She lifted her hips and pressed her hands to his bare buttocks. He lowered his hips to meet her first thrust.

  "Celeste, Celeste,
" he whispered in her ear. "I feel as if I've waited for this, for you, all my life . . ."

  Celeste didn't say anything because she'd spent years hearing men in the throes of passion say things they never remembered afterward. But a part of her was happy to hear those sweet words, even though he didn't really mean them. At a moment like this, men didn't know what they really meant and what they didn't.

  She rose again and again to meet him, wanting it to go on forever, yet desperately needing to find fulfillment.

  He kissed her face and throat. He laced his fingers through her tangled hair. Again and again they rose and fell, not as two separate people, but as one.

  Her world exploded with pleasure into a thousand stars of twinkling silver light. Fox groaned and thrust, and together, wrapped in each other's arms, they drifted back to reality and the setting sun.

  Fox rolled off her, onto his back, and drew her close. She snuggled against him, still drifting in the last pulses of ecstasy. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to prolong the moment of contentment.

  He kissed her above her eyebrow. "I think we're being watched," he whispered in her ear, his breath still warm and husky.

  Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright.

  He laughed and pulled her down on top of him. "The dog."

  She spotted Silver under a distant pine and she laughed with Fox. "Think he's been watching long?" She flung herself back into the warm grass and stared up at the darkening sky.

  "At least he can't repeat any tales."

  She laughed again, feeling warm and tingly all over.

  Fox rolled onto his side, still stark naked, and propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. He traced a pattern on her stomach with his fingertip. "That was . . ."

  She sighed. "I know."

  He studied her face carefully. "You . . . really enjoyed it? You weren't just, you know . . ."

  She rolled onto her side to face him. "Faking my enjoyment?" She lifted her eyebrow with amusement.

  She could have sworn he blushed. "I just know that—"

  "That whores fake it all the time."

  His gaze met hers again, but he didn't say anything.

  She threaded her fingers through his. "This was different," she said softly.

  "Better," he offered. "Than the past. Different. For me at least."

  She kissed his stubbled cheek. She didn't care if he was lying. It was a lie she could live with, at least for the time being. "So now what?" she asked.

  He pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. "Guess we ought to get dressed."

  She pushed him back into the grass, playfully. "I mean a little more long-term than that. I mean the silver." She took a breath, feeling less confident. "I mean . . . you and I."

  Fox sat up. "All right. Here's the plan." He handed her shirt to her. "We dress. We get some of these chunks of rock assayed by someone who knows what he's doing. My guess is that the silver is galena. It looks black because it's mixed with lead. As for us . . . " He hesitated.

  "We make no commitment to each other. No promises that can be broken." Celeste slipped into her shirt and began to button up. "That way you're free to go. I'm free to go. No attachments." She spoke the words she knew he wanted to hear. A part of her felt as if this was truly best for her, but a part of her wanted to cry for what would never exist between them. "No expectations to be shattered."

  He looked as if he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. He stuck out his hand, a boyish grin on his handsome face. "It's a deal, partner."

  Celeste's heart sank just a little. For some foolish reason she had hoped he would say something else. Offer some kind of hope for something more between them. But who was she fooling? She was a whore; she'd been his father's whore. He was a rich Californian. They would enjoy each other's company while it lasted, and then he would move on. It was better this way. This way no one got hurt.

  She stood to pull on her denims. It all made perfect, logical sense. So why did she feel so hurt?

  "Kate says we ought to be givin' you a chunk of our earnings," Silky Sally chattered. "After all, if it wasn't for that silver strike of yours, Carrington wouldn't be boomin' the way it is. Miners are pourin' in by the day, all stakin' claims. I hear the train'll soon be running through here every day, since Garret struck silver farther upriver." She turned away from the mirror, dressed in nothing but silk stockings and heels, and held up a sheath gown made of gold lamé. "You like this on me, or do you think it makes me look like a hurdy-gurdy girl?"

  Celeste sat on the edge of Sally's lace-trimmed bed, her arms crossed over her chest. "Sally, you are a hurdy-gurdy girl," she teased.

  Sally rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror. "You know what I mean." She studied herself critically in the oval free-standing mirror, turning her head one way and then the other. "It's not too cheap-looking is it? I hear Sal's got two new girls, come from Denver 'cause of the silver boom. Them city girls could be serious competition."

  "There's no competition when it comes to your charms on the stage or on the bed ropes."

  Sally turned to Celeste. "Aw, that's sweet of you to say." She tossed the gown over a straight-backed chair and sat on the bed beside Celeste. "I'm so glad you came by. I've missed you somethin' fierce." She gave Celeste a hug.

  "I've missed you, too."

  "Oh, you have not." Sally slapped Celeste's knee and reached behind them to retrieve a half-eaten box of pink candy confections. "You been too busy getting rich with that man of yours."

  "He's not my man."

  "No?" Sally bit into a piece of candy and pink frosting fell onto her small breasts. "Not what he says."

  Celeste looked at Sally. "When did you talk to Fox?"

  "Yesterday in Smythe's Emporium. I was buying some of that new orange toilet water he just got in. Your Mr. MacPhearson was tryin' to get Getty to order some book for him. Something about grapes."

  Celeste threw up her hands. "And Fox just walked up to you out of the clear blue sky and declared I was his woman?"

  "Well, no." Sally licked her finger and picked up the pink crumbs from her breasts, then popped her finger into her mouth. "I just asked how he was doin'. Polite conversation. I invited him here to Kate's."

  "You propositioned him? Sally!"

  Sally poked Celeste in the side with her finger, laughing. "You said he wasn't your man! What do you care?"

  Celeste didn't answer because Sally was right. She and Fox were not a couple. They had both agreed that there were no strings attached. They were simply enjoying each other's company.

  "Anyway, he thanked me kindly, but said he didn't think you'd approve."

  "So he didn't actually say I was his woman."

  "Well, no, but he was practically sayin' it!"

  "Oh, Sally." Celeste rose off the bed and wandered to the mirror where a fur boa lay draped over it. She smoothed the white fur with a hand. "This is all so complicated with Fox and me." Though secretly pleased that Fox would say such a thing, she wasn't ready to admit it.

  "Y'all being business partners and ownin' all that silver lode, you mean."

  "It's not a lode yet. It's got to be excavated, hauled to the smelt, refined, and sold first. We're not rich yet."

  "But it's only been three weeks since you hit the vein. It'll come," Sally encouraged.

  Celeste sighed. "I suppose."

  "You certainly don't sound happy, being a woman who's not only struck it rich, but has caught herself a rich, handsome, manly man who's going to take her away from a life of whorin'."

  Celeste spun around. "Don't say that, because it's not true. He's not taking me anywhere. He's going to take his silver and go back to California."

  Sally scrunched up her pretty nose. "He's not takin' you with him?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he's a handsome, rich, manly man and I'm a whore!"

  "Not anymore you're not."

  Celeste groaned. "Sally, once a whore, always a whore. A woman
can't get away from that kind of reputation."

  "Sure she can."

  "No man like Fox MacPhearson is going to marry me or you, Sally. Men like that want decent women."

  Sally lowered her gaze as if she'd been reprimanded. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just don't want you to expect too much out of life. I don't want you to get hurt."

  "So you never even thought of him askin' you to go with him, or had the idea of you askin' him?"

  "No. I wouldn't go with him if he asked me," she added for good measure.

  Sally looked up. "You saying that for truth, or so it won't hurt so much?"

  Celeste didn't know how to answer. Silky Sally knew her well, too well.

  Sally rose off the springing bed to fetch her dressing gown. "That's all right. You don't want that man anyway. There's some sayin' he's got a past."

  Celeste dropped the fur boa over her neck to try it on before the mirror. "Everyone's got a past."

  "A bad one." Sally tied the ribbon of her dressing gown and picked through a bag of face paints. "I hear the sheriff's questioned him."

  "Oh?"

  "More than once."

  Celeste turned, an uneasiness coming over her. "About what?"

  "The murders, of course. Rosy said that Mad Mary over at Sal's said that Sal said that Sheriff Tate said that Mr. MacPhearson's been spotted on the streets of Carrington long after decent folk are abed. Something ain't right there."

  Celeste removed the boa and put it back over the mirror. Sheriff Tate was right. Fox did wander about at odd hours of the night, but it was because he had trouble sleeping. The cool mountain air and the walking tired him. "Did they say that, now? And that makes him a murderer?"

  "Talk is, Tate knows something about Mr. MacPhearson that the rest of us don't know. Something that happened in California."

  "Gossip." Could the sheriff really think Fox had something to do with those brutal murders? Celeste flipped her hand. "People are jealous over Fox's silver strike, so they're gossiping. It's much more exciting to think that a rich Californian has come to town to kill whores than some stinkin', fish-bellied miner."