Harte's Desire Part 14

Paralyzed by the currents of desire pulsing through her, Libby stood motionless, unable to voice any protest at his actions. When Chris gently unb.u.t.toned her blouse to expose her shoulders, she still didn't object, nor did she complain when he kissed her there, too. But when his tongue began moving in slow, deliberate circles from her shoulder to her barely concealed b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a low moan of desire escaped from somewhere deep in her throat.

Reflexively she laced her fingers behind his head, tangling them in the black riot of thick, short waves there.

"Chris, we really shouldn't...," she mumbled unconvincingly.

"Hush my dear Libby," he replied huskily, his tongue sliding closer to the fully erect peaks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Hush."

Libby's knees trembled when he pushed her blouse down, exposing the lacy bra covering her throbbing heart. As his lips and tongue continued their slow, maddening descent, he reached behind her and unhooked the bra which fell silently to the floor. With the gentlest of touches, he brought his hands from her back to the front, never losing contact with her trembling body. Bending even lower, now, he tenderly cupped a breast in each hand as his tongue circled first one stiffened nipple, then the other.

Libby felt she would die from the exquisite sensations he was arousing in her. Never had anyone lingered so lovingly, so thoroughly there and she was amazed by the sudden, heated response of her body. Without thinking, she pressed his head closer, wantonly arching toward him. His hands caressed and traced each hardened nipple, sending waves of pure pleasure to the core of her femininity.

"Chris, this is insanity," she breathed, her words coming out in quick gasps.

"Perhaps. But tonight it no longer matters." His voice was low, insistent.

She was helpless to prevent him from winding a trail of kisses back up her chest, over her soft neck and across her cheeks. When their lips finally met with fiery urgency, she ceased thinking and surrendered to the pa.s.sion he had so skillfully nurtured.

With her tongue, she traced the strong, firm line of the lips she admired just an hour ago, delighting in the subtle, but enticing taste of coffee and chocolate lingering there. His tongue then outlined her full, swollen lips before slipping inside her mouth with unrestrained desire. Chris deepened the kiss and Libby responded with equal fervor, releasing her hands to caress his strong, muscular back. When she circled his trim waist, Chris groaned and suddenly Libby was cradled in his arms, their lips still pa.s.sionately joined.

Libby barely noticed being carried out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor.

Chris paused in the hallway, drawing back and looking at her questioningly. She pointed to a room at the far end, then hugged him tightly as he magically transported her to the antique carved oak bed dominating her room.

Laying Libby gently down on the thick mattress, he eased himself on top of her before resuming the deep and pa.s.sionate kiss that had been interrupted.

In a dance as old as time, she surrendered, matching him in perfect harmony until she reached the pinnacle in a shattering explosion of sensation. Libby felt Chris shudder in release, too, and the sound of him calling out her name filled her with tenderness beyond reason.

Afterward, no words pa.s.sed between them, just the uneven cadence of their ragged breathing mingled with the occasional chirping of early summer crickets outdoors. A gentle breeze from the open window tugged at the curtain before wafting over their bodies as they lay intimately entwined on the bed.

Chris rolled off Libby and reclined his full length against her, pulling Libby into his arms and resting her head on his solid shoulder. She snuggled close to his warmth, cheris.h.i.+ng the pungent scent of their lovemaking combined with the spicy smell of aftershave radiating from his heated body. Libby idly stroked the dense thatch of springy hair on his sculpted chest as his breathing turned slow and deep.

She relaxed against him, utterly satisfied and wholly complete.

As the afterglow of their lovemaking subsided, feelings of remorse and guilt flooded her. With a heart pounding in regret, she starkly faced the reality she'd tried so long to deny.

She loved him--deeply, totally, absolutely--as she never loved before. Although she should hate him for razing Harte's Desire, he was now more dear to her than any building could ever be. She'd tried to fight the attraction she felt for him. In the end, however, her heart won over her head and she knew she'd love him even as the wrecking ball made its first pa.s.s at the mansion's crumbling walls.

Heaven help her, but she'd fallen in love with the very man who opposed everything she believed in. Love knows no reason or logic, Libby conceded silently, still running her fingers lightly over his body.

She had to tell him.

The deception of her ident.i.ty had to end. He had to know who she really was if there was any chance, any hope, for true love between them.

Did he love her, too?

Libby pondered the possibility, and concluded that while Chris didn't seem the type to engage in one night stands, he didn't act like someone mindlessly in love, either. Moving back to Philadelphia was hardly the action of a man besotted with his next door neighbor. She decided he did feel something for her, though, which might grow into love. But she had to confess before the truth was destroyed by any deeper feelings he might acquire.

Libby gazed lovingly at the utterly masculine body stretched languidly beside her. His powerful limbs were entangled with hers and his sculpted chest rose and fell with slow regularity.

She had to tell him.

Perhaps now was the best time to do it. Now. Not an hour from now, not in the morning. Now.

"Chris," she whispered hesitantly, slowly putting her feelings into words. "There's something you need to know about me."

She paused. His face was hidden from view so she couldn't see his reaction.

"I should have told you this from the very beginning because I never meant to deceive you, only to help the historical society. But I cannot lie to you anymore."

Once she opened the floodgates of confession, Libby felt tremendous calm and knew she'd made the right decision.

Taking a deep breath, she finally uttered the words so long withheld.

"Before my divorce, my married name was Libby Chatham. Elizabeth Reed is my maiden name."

Chris made no response, physical or verbal, so Libby repeated her words more boldly this time, thinking he hadn't heard her. Again, no reply.

She pulled away from his embrace and propped up on one elbow to stare at him, only to discover he was asleep. Deeply, soundly asleep. For a minute she watched him slumber, admiring his handsome features muted in the darkness.

The deception had to end, but it would have to wait until they woke up, she decided, greatly disappointed he hadn't heard her confession.

Snuggling back next to him, she marveled at how perfectly their bodies fit together. Their intimate embrace was pure heaven for the senses; she clutched him tightly and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Several hours later, Chris awoke with a start. The dimly lit numerals on Libby's clock confirmed that if he didn't leave now, he'd miss the plane to London.

He looked at the sleeping form next to him and stopped from reaching out to smooth the tangled tresses framing her face in joyous abandon. How he would love to wake her with a tender caress and repeat the wild lovemaking they shared just hours ago. Only this time, he would go more slowly, wors.h.i.+pping every sweet curve and seductive valley, until they both could no longer stand it. His body swelled in response to his l.u.s.ty thoughts and he stifled a groan of regret.

Not wanting to rouse Libby, he cautiously eased off the bed and collected the clothes strewn on the floor. As quietly as possible, he got dressed and, with shoes in hand, tiptoed downstairs.

The roses Edwina sent over stood proudly in a heavily-cut crystal vase on the oak table where Libby placed them as a centerpiece for last night's dinner. Many of the buds were now fully open and their heavy, old-fas.h.i.+oned scent filled the room.

Chris plucked a single, red bloom from the vase and laid it on the table. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen sitting near the phone, he jotted a quick note and tucked it under the rose.

Chris re-read the brief words he'd written and pondered them as he put his shoes on.

He could say no more right now.

He'd grossly underestimated Libby and, where she was concerned, he'd made blunders right and left. There was so much they needed to discuss, but he wanted to do it in person. He'd tell her as much once he got settled in London. It was the least he could do.

Had she made love to him out of pity? Or was there more to it than that? He honestly didn't know. There was no time to wake her and demand an explanation for her actions, especially when he was struggling to find justification for his own.

Chris muttered a curse under his breath, wis.h.i.+ng the trip abroad wasn't so crucial to closing a deal he'd been working on for over a year. But the long flight and week away would give him much-needed time to think. He hoped Libby would understand. This was hardly the ending he would have chosen for tonight, of all nights.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Libby read the carefully penned words. Usually barely intelligible, Chris's handwriting was crisp, clear, decisive. She scanned the note again, then struggled not to cry.

I've made a terrible mistake.

We need to talk.

I'll call from London.

They were the oldest lines in the book. He hadn't even bothered to sign his name.

Libby didn't expect a declaration of love, because she knew he didn't love her. Yet after last night, she was sure there was more between them than the undeniable physical attraction they felt for each other. Obviously, now that he'd had his curiosity--and s.e.xual appet.i.te--satisfied, he was moving on.

One night of ecstasy in his arms and she was ready to declare her love to the heavens. One night of wild, pa.s.sionate s.e.x and he was out the door with a d.a.m.ning farewell.

Libby felt like screaming, crying, or throwing a temper tantrum. Anything to release the anguish tearing at her soul.

She made her way over to the coffeemaker. Definitely a day for the strong, straight caffeine stuff she concluded, adding water and measuring the black grounds into the filter basket. She flicked the switch and stood there silently as feelings of humiliation and anger washed over her in relentless waves. She'd been used. And she didn't like it. Not one bit.

As the coffee maker hissed and sputtered, a plan for retaliation slowly germinated. It took root, grew, and blossomed as Libby examined and refined her next course of action.

She would tell Chris of her real ident.i.ty, but this time it would be done as an act of revenge, rather than the act of love it would have been last night. As Libby mulled the plan over, she realized the possibilities were endless for using the confession to hurt him.

How would he react to learn he'd given his nemesis permission to use Harte's Desire? Better yet, what would he say knowing he'd spent the night, seduced, in his enemy's arms?

She would have the last laugh.

But she didn't want to confront him over the phone. Meeting him face to face, one-on-one, was the only way. She needed to see Edwina, to find out when Chris was due back from London. Libby poured the freshly-brewed coffee into a mug, took a long swallow, and reviewed her agenda for the day. She'd told Connie to go home after turning the report over to Edwina, since they'd worked so hard getting it ready. Then Libby remembered she was scheduled to inspect a historic train station in north Jersey, close to the New York border, and that she wouldn't be back until late in the afternoon.

Her visit to Harte's Desire would have to wait until Monday she realized with anxious regret. Since Chris was to be gone all week, a day didn't matter one way or the other. Besides, she wasn't quite ready to step back inside Harte's Desire again.

Given a choice, never again.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Libby turned the embossed bra.s.s k.n.o.b on the front door and was surprised to find it didn't click open with its usual reluctance. Thinking it might be stuck or broken like so many things at Harte's Desire, Libby tried harder a second time but still couldn't get it to budge.

"Must be locked," she muttered, turning to walk around the house to the kitchen door. She'd seen Edwina's car in the driveway, so she knew someone was there.

Finding the back door off the kitchen open, Libby rushed in and hurried to Edwina's office in the butler's pantry. Edwina was busily typing at her computer, but looked up as Libby entered the room.

"Hi, honey," she called affectionately to Libby. "Was wondering if I was going to see you again."

Libby's heart lurched. Did Chris say something to Edwina? If so, what?

"Wh-why?" she stammered.

"To ask you if Mr. D. remembered to bring you the roses I cut the other night!"

Relief flooded through Libby in a cascade. She laughed at the reprieve.

"He sure did, Edwina. It was so sweet of you to do that. I thought I'd pick some more while I'm here today."

"You can pick anything you want to, honey. Why Mr. D. is so h.e.l.l-bent on destroying this place, I don't know," she snorted. "But until he does, you help yourself to whatever you fancy in that ragtag garden out there. Me? I'm going to miss this old mansion, but don't you tell him or I may never work another day for Darnell Development."

"I'll miss it, too, Edwina, so don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"Have you been away for the last couple of days?"

"I was in and out. You know, to the health club, shopping, that kind of thing. Why?"

"I talked with Mr. D. from London today and he said he'd been trying to reach you all weekend. Said all he got was your answering machine and that he left several messages for you to call him, but you never did." Edwina eyed Libby thoughtfully.

She'd gotten his messages alright, Libby thought angrily. Did he have a change of heart or did he want to confirm just how badly he'd broken hers?

Thank heaven she'd missed the first one, so she escaped talking with him. Instead she'd had to listen to his message on her answering machine. Just hearing his voice brought an unwanted rush of memories, all tender and sweet until she recalled the d.a.m.ning words of his note. After that, she screened her calls the rest of the weekend and would continue doing so until she could meet with him in person.

Edwina looked at Libby expectantly, awaiting a reply.

"Oh, yes," Libby finally answered. "By the time I got home I figured it was too late to call London, what with the time difference."

Libby hated lying to Edwina, who'd been so nice to her, but she feared if she took Edwina into her confidence, Edwina might say something to Chris. And Libby wanted to catch Chris totally off guard, just like his note had done to her.

"Which reminds me," she continued, "When is he due back? I need to talk with him personally about another, uh, matter of mutual concern."

If Edwina believed Libby's feeble explanation or not, she didn't show it. For a moment it looked as though she was going to ask what "the matter" was all about. Instead, she reached for her appointment calendar and flipped through the pages.

"He'll be back a week from tomorrow, Libby. Do you want me to see if he's got any free time to see you that Tuesday? I'll have to call the Philadelphia office since he's going to be working there now."

"Yes, please, Edwina." Libby's stomach fluttered at the painful reminder that Chris wouldn't be at Harte's Desire anymore.

Edwina placed the call. "How's two in the afternoon next Tuesday for you?" she asked, holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

"That's fine," Libby replied, knowing she'd gladly reschedule any conflicting appointments to see him as soon as possible.