Pausing before the mirror, she admired the way her outfit emphasized her figure, making her waist seem smaller and her bust a little bigger. She opened a few buttons down the neckline, stopping at a point just short of being risqué. Her nicely rounded breasts were enhanced by the new décolleté and Libby felt absolutely adventurous as she viewed her reflection. It was time she got out and enjoyed life, even if only for a few hours, she decided. Her mother wouldn't want her sitting home, brooding about the past and what couldn't be changed.
She casually fluffed her almost dry hair into a soft halo of waves, noticing the way her slightly tanned face glowed from being outside most of the day. After applying mascara and a hint of blush, she headed out the door.
Chapter Seven
Christopher Darnell sat alone at a small table for two, nursing a beer as he watched the restaurant and bar in the Chesterfield Inn fill with a noisy crowd of Saturday night patrons. They were an interesting mix of young and old, couples and singles, who came for the delicious food and cozy but casual atmosphere.
Chris looked around the inn.
It wasn't his usual sort of place. Too old-fashioned and intimate. One end was dominated by an enormous, turn-of-the-last-century oak bar complete with brass rails and an ornate mirror. The dining area was full of antique tables covered with fabric tablecloths, linen napkins, and fresh flowers. A variety of mis-matched antique chairs were clustered around each table, making the room seem warm and welcoming.
Tonight it didn't matter what the place looked like, Chris decided. It was just nice to get out and be among other people for a while.
He took a sip of almost-warm beer and idly played with the few cold French fries remaining on his plate. The meal left him satisfyingly full while the beer made him relaxed and mellow.
He'd spent a busy day at Harte's Desire, putting in a full eight hours of work even though it was Saturday. There were plans to review, contractors to meet with, and endless piles of paperwork to wade through. The phone had been thankfully quiet, so he had gotten a lot accomplished. At the end of the day, satisfied he'd done all he could and thoroughly tired of being alone amid the quiet stillness of the old mansion, he decided to try this restaurant Edwina McElroy had recommended. Although he hated eating by himself, tonight he couldn't spend another minute sequestered in the mansion's absolute silence.
As he sipped on the tepid beer, he pondered yesterday's meeting with Elizabeth, speculating when she was going to tell him the truth, if ever.
"Libby," he vocalized out loud. The name suited her so perfectly.
He recalled his conversation Friday morning with Rich Stone, head of the state office. When Stone told him about the report on Harte's Desire that had to be filed, Chris inquired if there was anyone locally Stone could recommend who was qualified to do the job.
"You've got one of the state's best consultants living practically in your back yard, Mr. Darnell," Rich Stone had replied. "Libby Reed lives in Borden's Landing and I can't speak highly enough of the caliber of her work. She's had a lot of dealings with my office and I can tell you that if anyone can do it, she can. And, if I may be frank with you, Mr. Darnell, you're darned lucky Libby was out of town when you bought the property. I know she would've fought you tooth and nail to save that place."
Mention of the name "Libby" had momentarily taken Chris by surprise. He knew of only one Libby--Libby Chatham--the woman who had cost him millions of dollars in legal fees, forfeited options, and lost profits from projects that were scrapped because of her meddling.
A simple question put to Rich Stone solved the mystery as he learned of her name change a few years ago. They hadn't met as foes in well over two years so it was entirely possible she could have moved and resumed using her maiden name without him knowing it.
He hung up the phone thoroughly livid that he had unknowingly agreed to let her use Harte's Desire. True, it wasn't for her benefit, he acknowledged, but had he known the charmingly attractive and all-too-capable Miss Reed was really Libby Chatham, he would have taken great pleasure in thwarting her plans for a change.
How he would have gloated as he denied her use of the mansion in retribution for those times she'd challenged him and won. He would have relished the look on her face at his words, knowing that for once he was the victor, and not her.
And why hadn't anyone on his staff mentioned just how attractive she was? Chris was almost embarrassed that he'd never met her in person before yesterday. He'd only glanced at the newspaper articles about her which his PR department clipped and placed on his desk. The damning headlines were all that caught his eye. If he'd bothered to personally appear at the various public meetings she attended, he would have been able to recognize her for the enemy she was.
Well, he knew now, he scolded himself, taking another swallow of beer. It was a pity she was so damned desirable. But that hadn't altered the plan for revenge he formulated after talking with Rich Stone.
His first thought was to confront her with the truth, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he hated her dishonesty as much as he hated her. He would then coldly withdraw his permission to use Harte's Desire for the dinner dance. Maybe she would beg him to change his mind, although he wouldn't, no matter how hard she pleaded.
Unfortunately for him, he was a man of his word. The kind of man who wouldn't even now take back something he already promised, as much as he might want to.
After discarding that plan, another quickly came to mind. He mulled it over, examined it from all possible angles, and knew he'd come upon the perfect revenge.
Of course, he couldn't hire Libby Chatham to do the work. He had his pride, and she had her secret. But he could hire Elizabeth Reed, pretending he didn't know her true identity. Stone hinted that Libby probably needed the work, so Chris figured she wouldn't turn the job down.
And it was perfect, hiring her to study her beloved Harte's Desire before he tore it down. Poetic justice at its best, he decided, popping a cold French fry into his mouth. And he would find every opportunity to involve her in its pending demolition.
But he hadn't counted on his unexplained fascination with her. Their meeting yesterday had gone exactly as he hoped when she readily agreed to take on the assignment. However, the last thing he expected was her bold condemnation of him and his demolition plans. What spunk!
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 identity, 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 cashier, when a noisy group of people sat down a few tables away from him. He looked over at the boisterous assemblage 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 inte
nsity of his stare and all memory of what she was going to say to Patty was forgotten in a fluster 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 passing between them. Damnation, 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 shielded 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, embarrassed to be discovered watching his departure. Thoroughly flustered, 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-shirt 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 wishing 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 repetition 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 assume the correct position. She couldn't help but stare at the physical perfection he projected. He wore a skin-tight work-out shirt 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 sexy, 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 repetitions.
"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 hitting 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. Damn, 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 pushing 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, pushing a weighted bar over his head for the twelfth time.
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