Silver Miracles (18 page)

"But when I got home, you threw me a curve again." At the worried look that came into Trinity’s eyes, he said gently, "Not the fact that you were pregnant. That was the best news I had ever heard. I was thrilled when I found out.

"No, the curve you threw me was when you said that you wouldn’t marry me. To say I was astounded would be putting it mildly. Not at any time—once I found out you were having my baby— did it ever occur to me that you wouldn’t marry me. And I wasn’t capable of leaving you again. I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I moved in, hoping that with time, and a lot of love on my part, the memory of our last night together would fade and you would eventually listen to my explanation."

Chase moved his hands up to her neck, his thumbs caressing her jawline. "A miracle happened on the night I first met you, only I was too much of a fool to realize it at the time. You’re a miracle to me, Trinity. Your beauty, your grace, your passion—but most of all, your love. You filled the emptiness of my life, the loneliness of my soul."

He smiled gently at her. "Before I kiss you completely senseless, I have a very important question to ask you."

Tears of happiness filled her eyes, but Trinity blinked them back, laughing softly. "The answer is yes!"

Chase’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "You could get into a lot of trouble by saying yes to a question you haven’t heard yet."

"No, I couldn’t. I’ll never say no to you again, Chase."

Chuckling, Chase traced with his finger a tear that had fallen from her eye. "Oh, yes, you will, my love. You’ll drive me to distraction . . . and I’ll love it. The question I’m about to ask you, however, is one that I won’t let you say no to. Will you marry me, Trinity Ann Warrenton, wild child that you are? Will you live the rest of your life with me, loving me forever?"

Trinity threw her arms around Chase. "I thought you’d never ask! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The rest of her yeses were smothered beneath his lips. He lifted her carefully into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. There he undressed her, running his hands over the new shape of her body with a discernible wonderment. Taking the soft roundness of her breasts into his hands, he stroked her to a heretofore unreached level of desire. And when he finally joined his body to hers, bringing them both to a rapturous summit, it was with a sweetness and a gentleness that wrote a whole new chapter in their love story.

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It was the last night in the month of September, just after midnight, when Trinity Ann Colfax gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, with her husband at her side. The child had warm blue eyes and soft brown hair, and when Trinity saw the baby in Chase’s arms for the first time, she knew without a doubt that miracles can happen— especially silver ones.

Another hot story from Fayrene Preston . . .
An excerpt from

Morgan Saunders sank into the narrow seat and shut her eyes with a groan. The double Scotch she had just consumed in the airport lounge should have calmed her down. Sami had said it would. But then Samuelina Adkinson, her slightly bizarre next-door neighbor and long-time friend, said a lot of things.

It had been Sami who had said, "You’ve been working too hard and need a vacation. You’ve always wanted to go to the Caribbean, so why not go now?" She had also said, "Who knows? You may meet a tall, dark stranger who will sweep you off your feet."

Morgan ran her hand shakily through her shoulder length ash-blond hair. When was she going to stop listening to Sami?

Leaning her head back against the headrest, she squeezed her eyes shut and her forehead pleated in frustration. She really hated this fear she had of flying. She didn’t like to think of herself as a neurotic person, even though she had to admit that sometimes her actions were governed by vague anxieties, weird compulsions, or even magnificent obsessions. This trip was a prime example of that. Even so, she had always tried to maintain a balance between the seeming contradictions in her nature, and, emotionally, she tended to think of herself as a very stable person.

The supersize jet idled throbbingly with the energy of its internal environmental system. But though the marvel of the plane’s technology should have reassured her, it only frightened Morgan to think of just how many things there were on such a big, complex system that could go wrong.

This was a late night flight and the passengers were exuding a holiday gaiety as they settled into their seats around her. Wishing with all her heart that she could relax and join in their enthusiasm, Morgan realized that, tonight, it was no use. She was scared to death of flying and a double Scotch or ten double Scotches was not going to cure her of it.

Normally she avoided flying like the plague, either taking the train or the bus or sometimes even a ship. But this time, because of her business, it hadn’t been sensible. And Morgan was usually very sensible—‘usually’ being the catch word.

She had waited until the last minute to board the aircraft, and had quickly taken the window seat she’d asked to have assigned to her. She didn’t want to have to get up to let anyone enter her row. But she had no desire to look out that window either, knowing what she would see.

Deep in the heart of winter, snow had iced over St. Paul with a frosting of white. According to the weather report, more snow was expected tomorrow and it was this very harshness and the bone-chilling cold accompanying it that she wished to escape for a couple of weeks.

Morgan had reserved a seat in the back row which the man at the desk had told her was empty. She was hoping for privacy. If she was going to make a fool of herself, she wanted to be alone. But just as that thought occurred, a slight sound of movement, a gentle poof of warm air and aroma that whiffed toward her, all indicated that someone had taken the seat beside her.

Fear was supposed to heighten the senses, yet she hadn’t been able to tell that the aisle seat on her row had been filled. Obviously it had, however, because someone had evidently been forced to sit in the middle seat beside her.

Morgan attempted to ignore her new seatmate, trying to think some positive thoughts about the safety of flying. The airline industry was always throwing out statistics about their safety versus that of other forms of travel. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to recall any at the moment—maybe because, for some odd reason, the person sitting next to her kept intruding into her consciousness.

The scent permeating the air around her was unmistakably masculine—clean, cool, fresh and slightly woodsy. But man or no man, tantalizing aroma or no tantalizing aroma, Morgan did not intend to open her eyes. And she certainly did not intend to engage in idle chitchat when she was about to die! She could see the headlines now. "Owner of ‘Little Bit Of Paradise’ Killed in Plane Crash."

Feeling the brush of fine wool against her forearm, Morgan’s thoughts were once more drawn back to her seatmate. He must be wearing tweed, she arbitrarily decided, expensively soft. Wonder what the odds were that he was tall, dark and handsome? Astronomical, no doubt.

On the other hand, the tall part might be right; he could be a big man, because he seemed to be having some trouble getting comfortable in the narrow coach seat. Surmising that the man was taller than her own five foot seven because she felt his shoulder bump against her when he shifted in his seat, Morgan tried to picture what else he looked like.

The first jolt of movement from the plane startled her out of this speculation. Tightening her hold on the armrests, she tried to imagine her warm, sun-drenched destination, rather than the fact that the plane was moving out onto the runway. Sami had said that the beauty of Martinique would be well worth the terror of the airplane ride . . . but then what did Sami know?

That particular thought led, maddeningly, back to Sami’s prophecy and thus to the man next to her. Without opening her eyes, she seemed to be absorbing this unknown person through her senses. This was ridiculous! Nothing like it had ever happened to her before.

The momentary pressure of a hard, muscled thigh against hers made Morgan guess that he was obviously a man in good physical condition. But straining to hear his motions, she heard only the creaks and groans of the plane as it moved, and having read somewhere that the greatest danger of a crash came at takeoff and landing, Morgan cursed silently. She had to get her mind off the man next to her and back onto the effort of getting this paralyzing fear of hers under control.

Why, oh why, had she listened to Sami? Morgan didn’t want to die. She was only twenty-six and her business had just begun to pay off this past year.

The bright, flirtatious voice of a stewardess pierced her panic-stricken mind. "Mr. Falco? What are you doing sitting here? You’re supposed to be in First Class. Couldn’t you find your seat?"

A deep, firm voice answered, "I decided I would rather sit back here."

"But I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in First Class. Let me show you to your seat."

"Thank you all the same, but I’ll stay right here."

Well, Morgan reflected, at least he was polite—in a commanding sort of way—but definitely someone used to doing exactly as he pleased. The voice had been young, too. Oh, not too young, but not too old either. The age thirty-five stuck in her mind for no reason at all.

The big jet, like some prehistoric dinosaur out of its natural element, had begun to lumber down the runway, getting into position for takeoff.

The same stewardess who had spoken to the unseen Mr. Falco now came on the intercom. "Welcome to the charter, nonstop flight of World Airways to Fort-de-France, Matinique. We’re happy to have you with us this evening and hope your flight will be a pleasant one. At this time, I would like to introduce our crew. Our captain’s name is Robert "Slick" Williams, our co-pilot’s name is. . ."

Slick! Morgan’s mind reeled at the name. How could she trust a pilot who had a name like "Slick" ?

As the stewardess continued her little spiel, Morgan chose not to listen. Knowing that the pilot had a cutsey nickname did not inspire a lot of confidence and she felt as though she would need to use all her powers of concentration to help him get the plane off the ground and to keep it up in the air.

The plane came to a halt, then sat at the end of the runway while the jets roared in preparation for its final lunge down the long strip of concrete.

Morgan took the moment of reprieve to rub her sweaty palms over the skirt of her tailored dress, speculating silently on her chances of getting the powers-that-be to turn the plane around, take it back to the terminal and let her out. She wouldn’t even ask for a refund.

Too late! The big jet began to roll, gathering speed, and Morgan’s hands grabbed for something solid. Her left hand took a death grip on an armrest, but her right came down on top of a large hand. Flinching only momentarily at the unexpected contact, she fastened onto the warm security of it. "Any port in a storm" became her new motto suddenly, as she noticed the pleasing tactile sensation of the hairs on the back of the large, muscular hand.

The plane was hurling headlong down the runway at a terrifying speed and Morgan felt as if her body were being plastered against the seat. Hearing her heart hammering loudly, she realized her breathing rate had increased drastically. Sami, she thought to herself, I’ll never understand how I let you talk me into this.

All at once, she felt another large hand come down on top of hers and her seatmate’s calm voice saying, "We’ll be all right, you know. There’s nothing to be afraid of."

His palm felt smoothly uncalloused against the back of her hand and, as the big jet catapulted into the sky, a small measure of the man’s confidence began to seep through to her from the reassuring pressure of his hand.

The plane began its steep ascent and Morgan found herself in the irrational position of being torn between her fear of being airborne and her fascination with a man she had never seen. Extraordinary as it seemed, no matter how much she had tried to shut this person out, he had somehow succeeded in reaching out to her, assailing her senses and invading her mind—all before they had even looked at one another!

Nevertheless, she kept her eyes closed until the plane finished its climb and leveled off, not daring to open them until she heard the "no smoking" sign ping off.

Her vision focused slowly. The first sight she saw were the unfamiliar pair of hands sandwiching her own. They were indeed large, with dark hairs growing across the back and a skin tone of golden copper.