Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  "You can't talk about my friends like that." She kissed him playfully on the lips as she brushed back the damp hair off his forehead.

  "And if I do?" He lifted a dark eyebrow comically. He acted as if his earlier confession had lightened him by ten years and twenty pounds. "How will you punish me?"

  She laughed sensually as she took his hand in hers. "Let me take you upstairs and show you."

  Enjoying being the seductress without having to fake it, Celeste led Fox up the stairs and into her room. Inside the doorway she faced him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him closer and was rewarded by the hard, hot sensation of his hungry mouth against hers.

  In the last few weeks since they had begun having intimate relations, she had been careful to remain passive for fear that he would think she was playing the same part she had once played with customers. This morning, however, she wanted to make love to him the way she did in her dreams. She didn't just want to accept his attentions, but return them, initiate them.

  Fox sighed as she ran her hand over his clean denim shirt, then lower to the button of his denim jeans. She could feel his muscles relaxing beneath her touch. His hair was still damp; he smelled of shaving soap and sunshine-dried clothing. She breathed deeply, delighting in the masculine scent that was his alone.

  Sighing, she parted her lips as Fox thrust his tongue into her mouth. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of his hands pressed into her back sent shudders of warmth throughout her body. For the first time in her life she felt truly cared for . . . almost loved.

  Of course she didn't know exactly what it would feel like to be loved, because no one had ever loved her. John had come close; he had worshipped her, coveted her, liked her, but never truly loved her.

  Celeste's and Fox's tongues tangled in a sweet, wet dance as he found the pearl buttons of her blue and green polonaise gown. With nimble fingers, he unbuttoned the row to reveal her lacy nainsook camisole. Feeling secure in his arms, she found the courage to open the button of his pants.

  Fox moaned with encouragement. "Yes," he whispered as she tentatively slipped her hand beneath the waistband. "Touch me, Celeste. It's all I think about. Touch me . . ."

  Fox pushed Celeste's gown down over her shoulders and tugged the camisole over her head. She broke from a deep kiss to step out of the dress, her red petticoat, and crinoline. She stood in the bright sunshine of the morning in nothing but shoes, embroidered stockings, pantaloons, and her corset. Strong summer light poured through the open panes, and dust motes fluttered in the warm rays.

  Celeste had never entirely undressed for her customers. She preferred the lamp out as well. But with Fox, she wanted to share herself, all of herself. She instinctively knew that she would never care for another man as she cared for him. This was her one chance at happiness, no matter how brief it might be.

  Celeste kicked off her shoes as she unhooked the horn buttons of his shirt. She caressed the hard, muscular flesh of his chest, teasing the crisp mat of dark hair. Playfully, she tugged at one of his nipples with her teeth and laved it with her tongue. She found his moan of pleasure—and the idea that she could bring him the same physical responses that he brought her—delightful.

  "Celeste," he murmured in her ear.

  "Fox." She stroked his cheek with her palm as she studied his suntanned face. His eyes were half-closed, his voice thick with desire for her.

  She kissed an invisible path down the center of his chest, lowering herself to her knees on the cotton rag rug she'd sewn from old clothing. He pulled the tortoise hairpins from her hair, and it fell in a thick wave of red over her shoulders and down her back. It felt so good to feel his fingers entwined in her hair.

  "You have the most beautiful hair, Celeste." He pushed the heavy locks over her shoulders so that he could see her face. "Like an angel's."

  "I thought angels have blond hair," she whispered, basking in his poetic compliment.

  "Not the angels in my head. They're all redheads with green eyes."

  They kissed again, a long passionate kiss that whispered of sorrow and forgiveness.

  Celeste could have sat all morning in the sunlight and kissed and been kissed, but there was a heat inside her that was building, fanning out. She wanted more than to be cuddled. She needed Fox in a way she was just beginning to understand that women needed men.

  Boldly, Celeste tugged his denims down over his hips, and he sprang magically from the worn fabric, thick and pulsing. Hesitantly she took his shaft in her hand, surprised by how warm and soft the skin was. He moaned aloud.

  She stroked him, taking her time to study the male part of him in the bright sunlight. All those other men in her past seemed meaningless now. Suddenly she was in a world all bright and new and fascinating. She tested the length of him for sensitivity, first with the pad of her thumb, then with the tip of her tongue.

  Celeste felt Fox sway and press his hands on her shoulders to steady himself. A sound came from his lips, half groan, half moan. He breathed heavily, panting indistinguishable words of encouragement.

  She looked up at him. "Is this all right?" she whispered, half-teasing, half-unsure of herself. "Do you like it?"

  "Oh, Celeste," he said thickly, his eyes closed. "More. Don't stop now."

  She lowered her head, roused by his words. With a mixture of surprising inexperience and age-old instinct, she stroked him with her hands and with her tongue, taking her time to discover what he found most pleasurable.

  Finally her attention brought him to his knees, so that he knelt facing her, his pants tangled around his ankles. "You want me to stop?" she whispered against his lips.

  He opened his dark-pooled eyes to look into hers. "I want to make love to you, Celeste." He pulled her close to him and released the laces of her corset. "Now," he insisted urgently. "Right now."

  As she unbuckled and slipped out of her corset, his hands found her swollen breasts, and it was her turn to sigh with pleasure. Ripples of white hot desire coursed through her. Touching him the way she had, had not only excited him, but her as well. She was damp and throbbing with longing for him.

  Fox kissed her deeply and Celeste thought to suggest they move onto the bed, but the idea was gone in an instant as his lips found the puckered tips of her nipples and sent intense pulses through her torso.

  Fox pressed Celeste back onto the soft, twisted rag rug, and she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her pantaloons and shoes and stockings. She laid back on the rug unashamed of her nakedness and watched as he shed his own clothes. She reached out to him and spread her legs, wanting him, needing to feel him deep inside before she burst.

  Fox lowered his body over hers and slipped inside her. She rose in sweet anguish to meet his first thrust and closed her eyes that filled with tears of joy. Fox caught her hands with his and pushed them back onto the rug beside her head, their fingers laced. He thrust urgently and she rose to match his rhythm, almost frenzied in her need for fulfillment.

  "Celeste, Celeste," he whispered in her ear as he panted and pressed fervent kisses to her perspiration-dampened cheek.

  Celeste was so filled with the excitement of Fox's touch and the feeling of his caring, if not love, that she thought she would burst with happiness. And yet still she was not satisfied. The heat of desire was still inside her, building, scorching, demanding release until she thought she couldn't stand another sweet, tortured stroke. And then, her muscles contracted and shards of shiny white ecstasy fanned from the center of her being, outward. Shivering, shuddering, she clung to Fox and rode the waves of fulfillment. Fox gave a final thrust and groaned as he spilled his seed into her.

  Celeste held Fox in her arms and stroked his bare back. After a moment he rolled beside her. Both stared at the white punched-tin ceiling for a moment. Then she giggled.

  "What?" he said, his voice still warm and husky.

  Her giggle burst into laughter.

  "What?" he insisted. He rolled onto his side so that he could see int
o her eyes. He rested one broad palm on the flat of her belly. "What's so funny?"

  "Me," she giggled. "You. The two of us, rolling on the floor." She laughed until tears came to her eyes.

  Fox glanced at the doorway where Silver sat, his head cocked. "Makes you wonder what the dog is thinking, doesn't it?"

  She laughed again as she rolled onto her side to face him.

  Fox rested his head on his arm and stared into her eyes. "Celeste?" he said when their laughter subsided. "Can . . . can I ask you a question? And you have to promise you won't get angry."

  She had an idea what the question would be. She tucked a lock of his damp, dark hair behind his ear. "Only if I can ask you one."

  "All right." He stroked her bare arm. "You go first."

  She shook her head. "Oh, no. You started it. You go first."

  He took a deep breath, but didn't break eye contact. "This . . . here . . . now . . . when we make love . . ."

  "Yes?"

  He brushed his knuckles against her chin in a gentle caress. "Is it . . . different? Different than with my father, with all the others that came before me?"

  Chapter Sixteen

  Celeste rested her head on the rug and stared at the ceiling.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Never mind. It . . . it was childish."

  She turned to gaze into his eyes. "No. It's never been like this for me before. Not with anyone," she said firmly. "And certainly not with your father." Her hand itched to touch him, but she kept it at her side, feeling very fragile. She understood now how truly difficult it had been for Fox to tell her about the loss of his fortune, because suddenly she felt the same way. Her stomach tightened in a knot. "All those men, they never meant anything. "She brushed her left breast with her fingertips. She knew she was taking a chance by saying this, by revealing what she felt, what she was afraid of feeling. "Because I never cared for them here," she whispered. "I never cared about them at all. It was money. A job. Survival. Nothing more."

  He was silent for what seemed to her like an eternity.

  "Do you believe me?" she asked.

  He lowered his chin in a half nod. "Yes."

  She smiled and slipped her hand into his. "No one has ever cared how I felt before. What pleased me. Not even your father. You have to believe that. He was a customer and then a friend, but never really a lover."

  Fox brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you for telling me what I needed to hear."

  "I'm glad it's what you wanted to hear, but that's not why I said it."

  "I know." He kissed her hand again. "All right. Now your question."

  She studied the ceiling. "Did you love Amber?"

  "Yes," he answered without hesitation.

  She couldn't resist a twinge of jealousy. She wanted to know the truth and he'd told her. She had no right to be upset, but the idea that he had once loved a woman hurt deeply. She wished she could have been that woman.

  "I loved her in the same superficial way I think she loved me." He held her hand in his, but didn't look at her. They both studied the ceiling intently. "We enjoyed each other's company. I liked her beauty. She liked my money."

  "Apparently she liked it very well, if she was in on her brother's plans to steal from you and leave you with all those debts."

  He rubbed his face with his free hand. "I was an idiot, looking for the wrong kind of person to care about me."

  She felt a tightening in her chest. "The wrong kind of person? What do you mean?"

  He faced her, still on his back. "I met Amber in a saloon in San Francisco. She was a dancer and a whore." He grimaced. "Ah, I didn't say that right. I shouldn't have—"

  Celeste closed her eyes and groaned. "No wonder you're gun-shy. She took you for everything you had." She hesitated for a moment. "But we're not all alike you know. You can't take a dozen whores, throw us in a bag, and not know the difference between us. We're just like everyone else. Some good, some bad, some a little of each."

  He didn't say anything.

  Celeste knew she couldn't change his opinion overnight when the woman had used him so badly. A part of her hated that woman, hated what she had done to Fox, hated the way she had altered all their lives. "I would never cheat you out of any of the money that will come from the silver mine," she said softly, fiercely.

  He kissed her shoulder and gently disengaged himself from her. "Climb into bed and I'll bring you some tea and bread with jam. I'm starved. We'll have a picnic."

  So he didn't trust her. Not quite, though he was gentleman enough not to come out and say so.

  "Bed?" Suddenly Celeste felt shy, naked in front of him, but resisted the urge to cover herself. "It's mid-morning. We need to get to the mine. Titus can't run the entire operation on his own."

  "I sent word to Titus that we'd be there this afternoon. Now go ahead. Get into bed"—he winked—"and I promise I'll make it worth your while."

  Celeste watched him leave the room, his firm buttocks flexing as he walked. Then she climbed into her bed to wait for him and his promise.

  "Afternoon, ma'am."

  Celeste glanced up from under her bonnet tied beneath her chin with a tulle scarf. Her attention shifted from a piece of fabric she was considering in the mercantile store, to a dapper man tipping his bowler hat to her.

  "Good . . . good afternoon." She had become careful about speaking to strangers in Carrington. It seemed as if everyone knew she was the female partner in the MacPhearson Fortune strike, and everyone wanted something out of her. Miners approached her on the streets wanting jobs. Bankers offered to invest her money as they sat in the church pew behind her on Sundays. One enterprising young man, wanting her to see his new silver detecting device, had found his way into her backyard and approached her as she hung her pantaloons to dry.

  The man replaced his hat on his head. He appeared to be in his late thirties, well groomed, with clean hands. He spoke like an educated man. "Brent Trevor, ma'am."

  She smiled, nodded, and glanced back at the pinstripe fabric. She had a little cash still in the bank from her inheritance, and she was considering having a suit made for Fox as a surprise.

  "I . . . I was wondering if you might help me, ma'am," the stranger continued. "Which gloves would you suggest?" He held two pairs of ladies' Limeric gloves, one black, one ivory, both with fine stitching and flower ornamentation at the wrists.

  She lifted an eyebrow. "For yourself?"

  He laughed. "No. For my mother, actually. I've just arrived in Carrington. I've bought several old land claims near the MacPhearson strike. I intend to be here a while, so I thought I might send my mother a gift."

  Celeste glanced at the gloves. His question seemed innocent enough. He apparently didn't realize who she was. "Would they be for travel, or dress?"

  "Travel, I should think. I'm hoping that once I'm settled in the house I've just purchased on Plum Street, she'll come and stay with me."

  Plum Street. He had to have bought one of the vacant houses near hers. They would be neighbors. "I would definitely go with the black then, shows less dust, and you know how dusty the trains and stagecoaches can be."

  He smiled handsomely and tipped his hat. "Many thanks Miss . . ."

  She hesitated to give her name, but the man was so pleasant, and he was buying gloves for his mother. "Kennedy, Celeste Kennedy."

  "Very nice to meet you, Miss Kennedy, and thank you for your assistance." He started to turn away and then turned back. "Heavens, don't tell me you're the Miss Kennedy, half owner of the MacPhearson Fortune?"

  She gave a quick smile, looking up to see if anyone had heard him. She was hoping to get in and out of the store without having to turn down any miners. Was this man going to ask something of her as well? "I am."

  "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you. Good day." He smiled, tipped his hat, and walked away.

  Celeste watched as he carried the gloves to the front of the store to make his purchase. Her fame was making her suspicious of everyon
e. He was a nice gentleman simply looking for a woman's opinion on gloves, nothing more.

  Celeste bought the pinstriped fabric for Fox, and a nice brocade for herself. Fall would be coming and winter right on its tail. Despite the heat, she knew that, all too soon, she'd be grateful for a warm gown and woolen stockings. She also purchased a sturdy pair of boots she could wear beneath her dresses out on the claim. After making a few more small purchases, she left the store, balancing several boxes and brown paper parcels tied with string in her arms.

  "Heavens, how can you see where you're going? A clerk should have carried these home for you." A man took a box and a large package from her hands so that she could once again see the sidewalk ahead of her. It was Brent Trevor, the man she'd met in the store.

  "Mr. Trevor, thank you."

  "Let me walk you home."

  She hesitated. He didn't act like the others who offered to do her favors. He just seemed like a gentleman. Still, she was cautious. "That's really not necessary."

  "It's no trouble. I'm going in the same direction."

  "You are?" She thought for a moment. Truthfully, he was right. She would have a difficult time getting all these parcels home without dropping any into the muddy street.

  "I'm headed for Plum Street."

  She must have given him a strange look, because he went on quickly. "The gentleman at the bank, from whom I purchased the house, said Plum Street was very quiet and that I'd be well pleased with my neighbors. He mentioned your name in passing."

  "Oh." She nodded as she walked beside him. "No harm in that, I guess."

  Mr. Trevor glanced sideways at her. "It's all right, I understand your uneasiness with me."

  "You do?"

  "I suppose with the silver strike you've been pestered by all sorts of people."

  "Sometimes."

  "Everyone wants a job. A piece of your interest in the mine."

  She sighed. "Exactly. I've been hiring, but I just don't have enough work yet. I can't hire everyone who comes to the site."

  "Well, I'll be hiring shortly as well, so feel free to send some of the miners to me. I've opened a small office on Apple Street. We should be set up by week's end."