Harte's Desire Part 4

Yes, Libby Reed was like no other woman ever met, he admitted silently. Maybe it was a mistake hiring her. She would be around the building constantly for several weeks, but that was the whole point, wasn't it, to have her immersed in the mansion before he laid waste to it? And if she didn't eventually admit to her ident.i.ty, he would find a way to let her know he'd already discovered her secret. That, and tearing the house down, was the perfect retaliation for her masquerade. He'd waited this long to seek revenge. What were another few weeks?

And the attraction he felt? That was easily enough dismissed, he decided. His ability to focus on one goal to the exclusion of all else had earned him a fortune and a reputation. She meant nothing to him.

Chris was about to pick up the check and head for the cas.h.i.+er, when a noisy group of people sat down a few tables away from him. He looked over at the boisterous a.s.semblage of young men and women, only to find himself staring at Libby. She was happily discussing something with a good looking man seated next to her. Chris dryly observed how cheerful she was, laughing now and then, a beautiful smile lighting up her flushed face. Suddenly he felt an unwanted pang of jealousy that her attention was concentrated so completely on her companion. He clamped the feeling down, hard, remembering who she really was and what he had to do.

Libby chuckled at Ted's slightly off-color joke, glad she agreed to join Connie and her friends for the evening. She was feeling better than she had in weeks, and tonight's light-hearted fun was just the cure for her blues.

She turned to say something to Patty, Ted's girlfriend sitting across from them, when she found herself locked in Chris's heated gaze. Her heart raced under the intensity of his stare and all memory of what she was going to say to Patty was forgotten in a fl.u.s.ter of distraction.

Chris raised an eyebrow and nodded coolly at her with affected disinterest.

Libby felt the room melt away, leaving just the two of them in awkward, unspoken communication. She nodded back with equal indifference even as she tried to deny the strong current of emotion pa.s.sing between them. d.a.m.nation, she thought, this night out was an attempt to get away from him and the devastating effect he had on her. What was he doing here, of all places?

She forced herself to look away and rejoin the conversation continuing around her. She would ignore him, that's what she would do, and she half-heartedly contributed to the banter, trying not to glance in his direction. It was hard not to notice, however, the statuesque brunette who stopped at Chris's table several minutes later.

The woman was tall and gorgeous, wearing a dress that left none of her generous curves to the imagination. Libby watched in fascination as the brunette exchanged a few words with Chris then sat down at his table, crossing her legs suggestively and leaning slightly forward at the waist to give him a better view of her amply endowed bosom. Libby tried to read Chris's reaction to this obvious display of sensuality, but could fathom nothing in his s.h.i.+elded gaze.

Who was she? Libby wondered with growing irritation at the brunette's blatant attempt at seduction. And why should it matter? Libby snapped inwardly. Abruptly, she turned away to focus on the party at hand. The man was maddening and she wasn't going to let him, or his lady-friend, ruin her night out.

"Are you alright, Lib?" Connie asked, noticing her friend had dropped out of the conversation to rudely stare at another table. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I'm fine, Connie. Just thinking about work, I guess," Libby replied hastily, picking up the menu in front of her. With great concentration, she studied the entree selections before choosing the stuffed flounder. When she looked up, Chris and the brunette were gone.

She quickly looked behind her, only to find Chris headed toward the door. He had an arm wrapped protectively around the brunette's waist and he flashed her a big smile at something she said. Before he opened the door, he glanced over his shoulder and gazed past the crowded room until he found Libby. Giving Libby a polite nod, he turned back to the brunette and ushered her through the door.

Libby blushed hotly at his mute recognition, embarra.s.sed to be discovered watching his departure. Thoroughly fl.u.s.tered, she rejoined the lively conversation at her table, determined to have a good time tonight. A flirtatious encounter on his part was not going to affect her fun.

Chapter Eight.

The health club was almost empty Sunday afternoon when Libby headed downstairs to the free weight room. She had just spent twenty minutes on the treadmill followed by a ten minute stint on the rowing machine in the cardio room upstairs to warm up. Her V-neck T-s.h.i.+rt was soaked with perspiration and her hair, again gathered into a bun on top of her head, sported damp tendrils hanging in limp rebellion.

Libby caught her reflection in one of the many mirrors hanging on the walls and groaned out loud at her soggy appearance, then chided herself. She was here to work out, not to win a beauty pageant, and a little sweat here and there was proof of her determination to keep those twenty pounds off permanently.

After dinner last night, she and Connie's friends went dancing at the newly-opened club. Libby was now wis.h.i.+ng they hadn't stayed out until four in the morning, because the evening's festivities and the resulting lack of sleep were taking their toll on her stamina today.

Libby eyed the fitness circuit speculatively. Lined against a wall were twelve different machines designed to work every muscle group from neck to calves. Deciding to save her sit-ups on the slant board for last, she hopped onto the first machine. It was a steel and padded roller contraption guaranteed to strengthen her lower back which ached from all the gardening she had done yesterday. As she completed the last repet.i.tion and was about to get out, she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard an all too familiar voice address her.

"You're doing that all wrong, Elizabeth," Chris scolded from behind before coming around to face her. "Cross your hands over your chest like this and don't let your chin drop too far down when you push back."

Christopher Darnell, in all his masculine glory, stood in front of Libby, watching as she struggled to a.s.sume the correct position. She couldn't help but stare at the physical perfection he projected. He wore a skin-tight work-out s.h.i.+rt which exposed a physique that appeared to be hardened by years of physical labor. He was not thick and muscle-bound like the heavy weightlifters that frequented the gym. Rather, he was perfectly sculpted with large biceps, broad, corded shoulders, and a well-developed chest. Knit gym shorts revealed an enviably flat stomach, powerful thighs, and well-muscled calves. His body was faultless and incredibly s.e.xy, Libby thought, feeling her own body grow warm and tingly in response to his closeness.

"Our paths cross again," Libby said, finally finding her voice as she repeated the exercise properly this time. "I was surprised to see you last night at the historic Chesterfield Inn," Libby grunted out with emphasis between repet.i.tions.

"Well, Edwina recommended the place, so I thought I'd try it. The food was better than I expected, although the atmosphere was a little too quaint to suit me." He shot her a playful, somewhat sheepish, look, then chuckled. "You know how I feel about old buildings."

His laugh was deep and masculine, causing her to smile at his light-hearted honesty.

"Do two more, then you can rest while I take a turn here," he said.

"It's one of my favorite places, as you can imagine. Full of history and charm and antiques," she countered, watching with admiration as he did the exercise slowly and with great control, like it was supposed to be done. Dear heaven, but he is in fabulous shape she thought.

He got out of the machine and stretched sinuously, every taut muscle rippling in response to his movements.

"What did your boyfriend think of the place? Or was that your husband?" Chris asked with feigned innocence.

"That wasn't my husband, or my boyfriend."

"You're not married? Now why did I think that you were? Are you divorced?" he probed, wondering how much of her marital history she would reveal.

"I'm divorced. And very happy to be single, thank you," she added tartly.

"Sorry. Didn't realize I was. .h.i.tting a touchy subject. Forgive me?" Chris stared at her intently with his penetrating blue-green eyes.

Libby would forgive him anything when he looked at her that way.

"What about you? Single, married, divorced, widowed?" She laughed as her mood brightened, deciding to throw all caution to the wind and find out more about him.

Beads of sweat were gathered like raindrops across her forehead and chest, even though she had just mopped those areas with the towel clutched in her left hand. She looked entirely too charming, he thought, even though she was drenched in perspiration and panting to catch her breath.

Instantly, he wondered if that was how she would look after a long bout of delicious lovemaking. He imagined her in his bed, hot and sweaty in his arms, and quickly put a lid on those thoughts as his body responded. d.a.m.n, but it was hard to ignore her even though he knew he should, given their adversarial history.

"Single," he finally replied through tightened lips, "and that's the way I like it, too."

"Agreed!" she said almost too quickly. "Did your girlfriend like the food there?"

"She's just the friend of a friend. Asked me to give her a ride home."

Libby eyed him suspiciously. It must have been some ride home she thought, noting the mischievous grin on his face.

"It's not what you're thinking," he warned.

"I'll bet," Libby countered.

"Enough chit chat. Why don't we work out together?" Chris offered, glancing appreciably at her firm, trim figure from head to toe.

"What, are you insane? I couldn't begin to keep up with you!" Libby replied. She'd seen twosomes go through the exercise routine together, each pus.h.i.+ng the other to go beyond the limit one usually did alone. It looked difficult, painful, and exhausting.

"Come on," he teased. "We'll both get a great work out if we help each other." The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she rejoined. "It'll be so great I won't be able to move tomorrow. Have you forgotten I've got a lot of work to do--for you--less than twenty-four hours from now? You wouldn't want me calling in sick the first day, would you?"

"Trust me, Elizabeth. You'll feel terrific after this."

Libby questioned the logic of working out with him. Could she possibly keep up with someone as fit as him? She doubted it, especially after a late night out. But, could she try to push him past his limits of physical endurance? Definitely. Suddenly, she was up to the challenge.

"You're on." She planned on matching him push for push, even if she couldn't walk the next day because of it.

Working in tandem, they proceeded down the line of machines.

Libby took her cues from Chris. When she reached the point of exhaustion with an exercise, she did three or four more, out of spite. When it was his turn and he started to fail, she forced him to do five or six more. Whenever Libby called him a wimp or an old man, he got mad--mad enough to do even more. Then he invented some great names to call her. The friendly badgering seemed to work every time and after a while they found themselves laughing at the different ways each egged the other on.

"Are you always this hard on your clients?" Chris panted out between clenched teeth, pus.h.i.+ng a weighted bar over his head for the twelfth time.

He was sweating profusely and his muscles bulged from exertion. Libby was giving him one heck of a workout he thought with a grimace, getting out of the machine. He started this friendly rivalry thinking she would give up after the first few exercises. Instead, Libby seemed to be thriving on the compet.i.tion and she was giving out as good--no, better--than she was receiving. He thought he was in great shape and could handle anything, but he hadn't counted on her pus.h.i.+ng him to the max.

As they approached the final machine, Chris quickly decided this one would be no holds barred. He would have her begging for mercy if it took his last ounce of strength. He did owe her revenge, after all.

"You're familiar, Miss Reed, with the leg curl machine?" he teased, reverting to the use of her formal name.

Libby nodded, wondering what he was planning as she eyed the flat, padded table with a roller bar at one end. She remembered only too well how difficult it was to lay face down on the table, hook her ankles under the bar, then curl them back to her derriere. But, she would gladly endure the torture for shapely legs and some friendly compet.i.tion, she reminded herself, before staring at Chris questioningly.

"Well, climb on Elizabeth, and let's see what you can do here!"

Libby selected a weight level, positioned herself on the table, then curled her legs back.

"That's much too light," Chris observed as she easily flexed her legs. "Let's make it heavier."

He increased the weight by ten pounds, causing her to groan with the next repet.i.tion. Then he lightened the load and made her do each repet.i.tion as slowly as possible.

She grunted with each contraction, but managed to her surprise to complete ten more. When Libby finally got off the machine, her legs buckled in sheer exhaustion.

Chris caught her as she started to fall, wrapping an arm around her slender waist in support.

"Guess I pushed you too hard," he declared, sounding only somewhat sympathetic. And when Libby looked at him she saw a triumphant smile lighting his face.

"Do you always treat your employees like this?" she replied sternly, deciding he was about to discover the true meaning of the phrase "paybacks are h.e.l.l." If only the feel of his arms around her wasn't so divine. When he released her, she almost cried at the loss.

As Chris positioned himself, Libby remembered two other ways the trainer had shown her to use the leg curl machine. In an instant, she knew they would suit her purposes perfectly.

She let him start heavier than usual, as he had done to her. He didn't complain about the additional weight and seemed to complete the repet.i.tions effortlessly. When she cut the weight in half, he eyed her suspiciously.

"Don't get up," she ordered, imitating the authoritative tone of voice he had used on her. "Now I want you to do these one leg at a time," she directed, almost gloating over the look of disbelief he shot her.

Chris didn't protest out loud, but started the exercise. This time, though, he grunted audibly with each contraction. Libby smiled as she remembered how much more difficult it was to do this way. She forced him to do an additional five repet.i.tions before putting the weight back to its heavier setting.

This time he looked at her incredulously. "You sure you want it that heavy?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

"Stay there," Libby said, imitating him again, "and don't question your trainer's decisions." The revenge was sweeter than she antic.i.p.ated.

"Now, I want you to do these with both legs but do only half the range of motion. Pull the bar back to your b.u.t.t, but only lower it half the way down."

Done this way, the exercise was a killer, she knew, and she watched him struggle to complete it ten times. He was drenched in sweat now. When she had him do it ten more times, she was certain he would start cursing her. He put up with it, however, and when finished just lay there taking in deep gulps of air.

"I'm almost afraid to get up," Chris finally panted out, looking at Libby with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. "I think you did me in on that one!"

Then he started laughing. The little minx had proven to be a worthy adversary in the weight room. What stamina! And where did she learn those leg curls? Was he ever going to be sore tomorrow! Chris got off the machine unsteadily.

Thoroughly exhausted, hot, and drenched in sweat, too, Libby took a long drink from the bottled water she always brought to the health club. The workout nearly killed her, but she felt oddly invigorated and the look on Chris's face at the end of the last exercise was worth all the pain, stiffness, and soreness she knew she'd feel in the morning. Although she'd managed to keep up with him, it was going to cost her dearly the next day and probably the day after, too.

"That's it for me," Libby declared, putting the cap back on the water. "You can stay until midnight if you want, but I've had it!"

Chris laughed again. "I'm ready to go, too."

He paused, thinking how nice a relaxing soak in a hot tub would feel. Even better would be a ma.s.sage, slow and gentle, melting the stress and strain away. He'd do the same for Libby. Maybe after they eased away each other's aches and pains, they could...he stopped the thought abruptly.

He'd never expected to see her here, and he surprised himself by asking her to work out with him. The afternoon had sped by in her enjoyable companions.h.i.+p, and he was almost sorry to see their time together coming to an end. He considered suggesting they grab a bite to eat, but immediately ruled against it. What the h.e.l.l was he thinking? They might have enjoyed a friendly rivalry in the gym, but it had been a true rivalry in Philadelphia. No, he couldn't allow himself to socialize with her, no matter how tempting it was to spend more time with her.

For a moment Libby thought Chris was about to ask her out. Not on a real date or anything, but maybe to get some ice cream or a cold, refres.h.i.+ng drink. He had been so relaxed during their workout, so unlike the ambition-driven man he usually appeared to be. They had laughed together and teased each other, both seeming to forget the world outside. Then she noticed a change come over him and knew they would both leave, going their separate ways.

"Thanks for a great workout, Chris. See you tomorrow."

"Okay, Elizabeth," Chris responded before heading towards the men's locker room.

Libby stood there, watching wistfully as he walked away from her without so much as a goodbye. From the very start, this was a relations.h.i.+p destined never to be anything more than it was, she reflected with regret. Built on lies and half-truths, it was hardly the way to begin a romantic entanglement, let alone a business agreement.

Libby took a quick shower before changing back into her jeans. She shoved the soggy shorts and wet towel into the gym bag and left the locker room.

As she approached her car, she saw Chris bent down, examining the right front tire of her old, but serviceable, Honda.

"Something wrong?" she called out with a trace of annoyance. She was tired, thirsty, and stiff. But more than that, she wanted to be away from him and the hypnotic effect he had on her.

"Your tire's low. You might have a nail in it, or maybe a slow leak around the valve. Why don't you have it checked before you come over tomorrow? I'll understand if you're late." Chris looked up at her with concern as she stood next to him.

"And give you a reason to fire me?" she retorted, "No way. I can handle this." Why did men always seem to think women were damsels in distress when it came to car problems?

"You're right, of course you can," he confirmed, rising up to face her.

She started to express regret for her testy behavior when he interrupted.

"No apologies needed. I'll see you in the morning." He turned on his heel to leave, but stopped midway, turning to look back at her. "If you can still walk, that is." With a wink and a broad smile, he walked to his car, got in, and sped off.

Chris berated himself the whole way home. Why was being with her as natural as breathing? This was revenge? Hardly, he scolded inwardly. How could he possibly have enjoyed their work-out as much as he did when she was the enemy? Shaking his head in disgust, he renewed his pledge to avenge the many times she'd triumphed over him. As long as he kept that goal front and center, he'd do fine he rea.s.sured himself. Smiling with satisfaction, he reviewed the many ways he already had the upper hand and decided his momentary weakness at the gym was easily dismissed.

Chapter Nine.

Chris uttered a silent curse as he s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. He'd tried putting his legs in several different positions under the mahogany dining table that served as his desk, but hadn't yet discovered one that was comfortable. Each painful movement, whether by arms or legs, reminded him of yesterday's excruciating workout with Libby. It hurt to get dressed. It was misery to walk downstairs. And it was sheer torture to do something as simple as sit down.