Harte's Desire Part 6

"Not so fast, Cinderella. You look like you're about to make a mad dash for the pumpkin," he admonished with a laugh, enjoying her defenseless position.

"If that's what it takes to escape you and get back to work, I'll grow a whole patch," she retorted, noticing he hadn't taken his hands off her foot yet.

"Now, let me get this straight," Chris began as he gently traced the arch in her foot.

Libby couldn't tell if his actions were deliberate or unintentional, but it suddenly didn't matter. Her legs relaxed in heavenly response to his slow and gentle motions as he stroked the length of each toe through her sock.

He continued, "I didn't hurt you just now, but you are sore from our workout the other day, and you're only lying on my bed trying to decide which view is the most photogenic? Have I got this right, Miss Reed?"

He continued his ministrations, moving now from her foot up to her ankle. Chris gently ma.s.saged the strained tendons with strong fingers, appearing to be so absorbed in the conversation that he wasn't aware of what he was doing.

Docilely, she nodded in response. Holy heaven, but she couldn't move if she wanted to. It was even hard to talk, his hands working on her overwrought muscles felt so good.

"Well, I'm glad you're in as much pain as I am. Misery loves company and misery has surely been my middle name these past two days. Just ask Edwina," he remarked with a trace of humor.

"But really, Elizabeth. Falling asleep on your client's bed. I'm surprised." He winked at her devilishly, his hands now gently kneading her calves, sending delicious s.h.i.+vers through her.

"I, I didn't know this was your bed," she stammered with as much indignation as she could summon. "And if I had known, you never would have found me on it."

His ma.s.sage made her weak and tremulous despite her show of annoyance. When he started to rub the muscles behind the soft part of her knee, Libby thought she was going to melt. Being touched this way, even through her jeans, had never felt so wonderful. She relaxed even more, floating on the wave of soothing sensations he was creating.

She looked at him sharply when he began to ease the soreness from her thighs. If he continued and went further up her legs, she didn't think she'd be able to resist him. Slowly, mysteriously, his ma.s.sage was affecting her senses. Tendrils of desire coursed through her body. Hot, delicious, needy. She was smoldering, ready to burst into flames at any moment.

Chris stopped and looked at her as if reading her mind. "I promise to keep it clean, OK?" he pledged. "Roll over and I'll rub out your shoulders and back."

She hesitated, wondering if he would keep his word. She surely didn't trust herself right now and hoped she could trust him.

"Look," he a.s.serted with authority, "This is the best thing for sore muscles and yours have got to be sore because I tried my best to make them that way!" He laughed, flas.h.i.+ng her a brilliant, conspiratorial smile.

Libby grinned at his honest admission, then, deciding he meant to keep his pledge, rolled over. It did feel great. And if he was willing to give her a G-rated rubdown, she wasn't going to refuse it.

Chris started at the nape of her neck, slowly and deliberately seeking out each tightened muscle. With steady, circular motions, he eased them into relaxation. Tentatively, his hands moved to her shoulders, where she moaned softly at his touch. There, too, he gently rubbed the stiffness away. The length of her back was next to receive his undivided attention as he kneaded, probed, and stroked the pain away.

Surely, no woman has ever looked this inviting in bed, Chris mused, as he bent over the pet.i.te form sprawled in abandon before him. At times she looked terribly fragile, but as he ran his hands over her body, he realized she was much stronger than she appeared. And her body, so slim and sleek, felt undeniably wonderful to the touch.

He felt his body respond, then cursed silently at his promise. It was getting d.a.m.ned difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to do, as opposed to what he really wanted to do with her up here, in the forbidden privacy of his bedroom.

Of their own free will, his st.u.r.dy hands bore down around her narrow waist, reveling in her smallness, before resuming the familiar, rhythmic rubbing. Remembering his promise, he forced himself not to ma.s.sage the two exquisitely rounded muscles in her derriere, and moved instead to the backs of her thighs. When he first touched her there, she tensed, until relaxing again with the steady ministrations of his hands. It took all the willpower he could summon to keep from straying to the tempting valley between her legs at the top of her thighs. How he longed to touch her there, gently, with unhurried strokes, feeling the heat of her desire build, then explode.

Maybe just a kiss, he thought. A little kiss on the back of her neck. How could she object to that? It wouldn't be on her lips, he conceded. She might not even feel it. He would bestow it as softly as a whisper.

Libby thought the change in position would eliminate the stirring of desire curling through her body. But, if anything, those exciting sensations were now heightened to an alarming degree. No matter where Chris touched her, Libby was surrendering to the sensual magic wrought by his capable hands. As he moved down her back, the pa.s.sionate currents within her threatened to burst. And when he began to rub the back of her thighs, she had to stop herself from rolling over and pulling him down pa.s.sionately on top of her. She moaned, knowing she was helpless to stave off the mounting desire.

Libby was shocked to realize that, with a mere touch of his hand, Chris had gained complete and total mastery over her. If he were to explore any further, she would surely lose what little control she had left.

Through half-closed eyes, Chris gazed with longing at the delicate neck partially hidden by waves of golden hair. Just a kiss, he thought, no more than a kiss. With a trembling hand, he reached out to expose the tender skin concealed there. So as not to alert her, he pushed the tresses aside with infinite languor and slowly leaned closer, his full lips pursed in antic.i.p.ation.

"Mr. D.? Oh, Mr. D., are you up there?" Edwina yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

Chris pulled quickly away from Libby before she could discover his intent. Libby, with a swiftness to match his, bolted upright and looked at him with alarm, the spell broken by Edwina's voice.

"I'm up here, Edwina," Chris called out tersely.

"You said to let you know when the call from England came through. Mr. Bickers is on the line now."

"I'll be right down." Chris hastily stood up and wordlessly strode to the bedroom door. He turned and gazed intently at Libby, who remained on the bed, frozen in apprehension.

The intensity of banked desire radiating from Chris's eyes scorched her. Surely he knew the erotic effect the ma.s.sage had on her? Couldn't he feel the desire coursing through her body in uncontrollable waves? Even now she was wet and slick and ready for him.

"I suggest it's time for you to get back to work, Miss Reed. I trust you'll feel better tomorrow." Desire had been replaced with cold disinterest, his face now dark and dismissive.

Angry he could so easily flip-flop his emotions where she was concerned, Libby blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Thank you, Mr. Darnell," she said with stiff politeness. "But, it was you who waylaid me, if I recall the chain of events correctly."

"The 'chain of events,' Miss Reed, began when you decided to rest on MY bed this afternoon when you should have been working."

"Believe me, it was never my intention to lure you into your bedroom." she retorted. "I'm not so desperate for a man that I would resort to a tactic as school-girlish as that." She could never admit that even though she hadn't been with a man, in that sense, for several years, she'd built up a wall of defense around herself that he managed to breach through a mere touch. He didn't know the shattering effect he was capable of wreaking on all her senses. Her momentary loss of control was frightening.

She tossed her head defiantly and continued, throwing all caution to the wind. "Why would I ever want to seduce someone whose goals are the polar opposite of mine?"

"Your rea.s.surances comfort me," he mocked, his lips a thin, hard line. Chris opened his mouth to say something more, but was so furious with himself, and Libby, that he abruptly closed it, fearing that if he said anything else he would lose the self-control he'd spent a lifetime cultivating.

He'd vowed never to get close to another woman again, particularly Libby, yet here he was mooning over her like a love-sick puppy. Gallantly offering her a ma.s.sage, when he should've woken her up and ordered her back to work right then and there. She did have a deadline, after all. If he was upset with the way he handled things, he was equally livid-for reasons he didn't care to examine or admit-with her response to the whole incident.

Chris threw her a look of contempt and stalked out the door.

Libby stared after him, wondering what he was going to say before he changed his mind. Oh, she'd made a mess of things this time, she decided, as she slowly put her shoes back on, tugging at the laces with unaccustomed strength and gathering anger. She'd been the fool today, melting in his arms like b.u.t.ter.

It wasn't safe to be near him, but until she finished this project she had no choice.

Chapter Eleven.

With a slim notebook tucked under one arm, Libby stepped off the patio and headed to the overgrown garden. It had been two days since "the bedroom incident" as she had come to call it, and she and Chris had studiously avoided each other ever since, barely acknowledging the other's presence beyond a polite nod or a stolen glance.

She felt him watching her closely, though, when he didn't think she noticed. And she was always aware of him, as if some hidden intuition leapt forth to announce his proximity.

It was pointless to strike up a conversation with him. They obviously had nothing to say to each other.

Unfortunately, Libby's a.s.signment had kept her busy at Harte's Desire. Today she was doc.u.menting Amanda's rose garden. Having found a fairly comprehensive description and some detailed photographs of it in an 1895 horticultural magazine, Libby wanted to see how much of the original design remained. It was a perfect spring day, sunny and not too hot. She headed for the highest terrace and was so busy comparing the photos with the bedraggled garden that she nearly collided with one of the surveyors who'd set up his gear there.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, moving out of his way.

"Not a problem," he replied, placing a wooden stake topped with a pink plastic ribbon in the ground near her feet.

"What is that marking?" she asked.

"Oh, we're mapping out the footprint of the new conference center. This represents the northwest corner of the main block," he said, gesturing to the stake.

Libby's heart sank, as it did every time she faced, head-on, the impending demise of Harte's Desire. "Does it really have to be right here in the middle of the rose garden?" she asked, knowing the answer even though she had to ask it.

"That's not up to me, lady. Mr. Darnell and his architect worked out the plans. I'm just following what's on the drawings."

"Is there a problem, Joe?" Chris Darnell called from the patio as he strode toward them purposely, approaching Libby and the surveyor with a scowl on his face. He glanced at Libby, barely acknowledging her presence, then turned to Joe.

Libby sensed he was in a foul mood and hoped she wasn't the cause. Secretly, she studied the handsome figure he made, his crisp robin's egg blue s.h.i.+rt rolled up at the cuffs exposing tanned, muscular forearms and jet-black pinstriped pants that accented his model-like physique.

"d.a.m.n it, man," Chris snapped, "you were supposed to be done with the layout two days ago, but here you are, still plodding along. You can't blame it on the weather. It's been gorgeous." He glared at Libby as he added, "I hope Miss Reed here has not been detaining you."

Libby wanted to turn and run, but that was not possible. Dear heaven he was in a rage.

"No, Mr. Darnell," the surveyor responded evenly, obviously not cowed, "she's not the problem. Your legal description is the problem."

"My legal description?"

"Yes, I can't get it to close."

"What do you mean you can't get it to close?" Chris eyed him with knitted brows.

"I've followed the description of the property's boundaries down to the last compa.s.s heading and inch, and the beginning point doesn't meet the end point. They're hundreds of feet apart. I've spent two days re-doing my work to no avail. Something's wrong."

"That's the description used in the deed, Joe. What could possibly be wrong with that?" Chris replied, wis.h.i.+ng Libby were anywhere but here. She was a distraction he'd been doing his best to avoid, and so far had managed to quite nicely.

"I don't know. Some of the lines are fine, others are not. It just isn't working."

Libby could keep silent no longer. "I suspect you need to look at the first deed, when the Harte's bought the property in 1878," she stated authoritatively. "Back then the county clerk transcribed each deed by hand and it is entirely possible that over the years the numbers in the compa.s.s headings and the distances were written down incorrectly from one deed to another."

At first, Joe looked at Libby like she had two heads, took a minute to consider what she said, then grinned with recognition. "You could be right, missy. I don't suppose you've got that original deed handy, do you?"

"I can have it for you this afternoon," she a.s.sured him, noting that Chris seemed relieved to have the problem solved.

Libby turned to continue her work when his strong arm shot out to restrain her.

"Could you spare a minute in my office? Now?" he asked, his face emotionless. "I'd like your opinion."

"Sure." What else could she say to the boss?

Libby followed him into the dining room and immediately noticed the colorful drawings pinned to the wall.

"My architect stopped by this morning with three different designs for the new conference center and I'd like to know which one you think is the best." Chris posed the question as innocently as he could, then watched as a riot of warring emotions danced across her face. Excellent, he thought. This part of his plan for revenge was working exactly as desired.

Libby said nothing as she studied the different renderings, wis.h.i.+ng anew that the mansion was not to be razed. Each design was sterile, devoid of character, and unimaginative. And the thought of Harte's Desire being replaced by one of these nondescript steel-and-gla.s.s boxes almost made her nauseous.

She looked at him, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I don't like any of them," she stated flatly.

"That answer's not good enough," he taunted. "I need you to pick the best one of the bunch."

"There is no best one, Chris. They're all dull and ordinary," she rejoined.

"Explain."

Libby chewed her bottom lip in contemplation. "Well, their designs are boring. You could place them in any suburban metro setting and they'd blend right in. The first one here focuses on the faade, but totally ignores the beautiful river view in the back. The second one looks more like a cruise s.h.i.+p than a conference center. And the third one is just plain ugly."

Chris' face was a blank slate as he digested her comments. "I have to disagree. People want modern, not old-fas.h.i.+oned these days."

"Well, then, aren't you asking the wrong person's opinion, Chris? You know how I feel about your plans for Harte's Desire."

"Ah, yes, the demolition," he said brightly, not bothering to couch it in more palatable terms for her sake.

Libby cleared her throat. "I need to get back to work. Find someone else to weigh in, Chris, because I refuse." She met his gaze head-on and found his steely blue-green eyes watching her carefully.

"I'll take your comments into consideration and will see you Sat.u.r.day Miss Reed."

Chapter Twelve.

At the appointed time on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, Libby appeared in his doorway and announced her arrival. Since their tangling over the conference center's new design, she'd taken time away from the mansion to do some research in the archives and at the county court house in Burlington. But today they'd be forced to work side by side.

Standing patiently as Chris finished a phone call, Libby groaned inwardly, knowing that as much as she needed the extra income, the work this afternoon would also be both distasteful and demoralizing. After reveling in the mansion's beauty the past week, she'd once again have to acknowledge its demise for the next five hours or so.

Chris put the phone down, signed one last doc.u.ment, and glanced over at her as he set his pen aside. "Ready?" he asked brusquely. "Let's start in the attic and work our way down."

Libby nodded and followed him as they headed up two flights of stairs, glad that his businesslike manner announced he'd put their disastrous personal confrontations this week behind him. She would do likewise.

The attic was musty but the day's clouds had kept the heat down. Soft light filtered in through the mansard roof dormers providing an almost ethereal glow. Earlier in the week Libby had photographed the room without paying any attention to what was in it, but the many steamer trunks, stuffed-to-overflowing cardboard boxes, and wooden crates strewn about immediately caught her eye today, as did the antique furniture--dressers, beds, and chairs--taking up the rest of the s.p.a.ce.

She opened one trunk and found it filled with photographs, the old-fas.h.i.+oned kind mounted on dark st.u.r.dy cardboard. There were street scenes of Borden's Landing and portraits of folks from babies to aged spinsters. Other images were even older, portraits framed in velvet-covered embossed metal cases.

"Chris," she started hesitantly. "I know you're auctioning the contents, but could you possibly let the historical society go through these? These old photographs of the town and its residents would be a welcome addition to our collection."

"Do you have a budget for acquisitions?" he asked coolly.

"Well, we did until we took on the schoolhouse restoration." She kept her voice upbeat as she looked at him hopefully.

"So you have no money to purchase the photographs, is that what you're telling me?"

She gulped. "Yes. That's what I'm saying."

"I'll consider it, but I make no promises." He tried hard to keep his voice firm and steely, but he was having a h.e.l.l of a time ignoring her and the charming visage she presented today. And when she regarded him with those big brown doe eyes, it was all he could do to turn away.