It was easier to work inside once the sun went down, and there was plenty of work to do. The old Sawyer house had been left to ruin three years ago; its elderly owner had been reluctant to sell after she’d moved to a nursing home. It had been on the market just a few days when Trey moved back to Belfort and he’d jumped at the chance to buy it, offering a cash deal to speed up the sale. He’d moved in before the deal closed, ready to begin the renovations.
He’d told himself that the work would take the place of a social life in town. But after his encounter with Libby three days ago, Trey had been forced to reexamine his motives for choosing to buy this particular house.
Over the years, he’d thought about Libby, about their night at the river. No matter how he rationalized what had happened, it all still felt unfinished to him, as if there were still words that hadn’t been said, feelings that hadn’t been resolved.
The moment he drove into town, it was as if he were driving into the rest of his life. As much as he wanted to deny his small-town Southern roots, he’d come home, to a place where he had history. He’d come home to a place where people knew him and cared about him. Maybe he’d come back to Belfort hoping that he’d find Libby.
Trey bent down and picked through a pile of paint scrapers he’d tossed on the floor. So their first meeting hadn’t gone very well. Trey hadn’t expected it to be a lovefest, considering the feud that had always stood between their families. But he hadn’t expected outright hostility. They’d shared an incredible night; certainly that had to have meant something.
Obviously, it hadn’t. She’d never written him, never tried to make contact, even through he’d sent five or six letters. But all that had happened a lifetime ago. Libby was no longer the pale and skinny girl he knew, her wide green eyes always watching him but never meeting his gaze, taking such care to stay out of his way. She was a woman now and he was a man. Things had changed.
Trey sucked in a sharp breath. Maybe that was the way to rationalize the kiss he’d shared with her—it was just a male response to a beautiful female, purely animal in its origins. But Trey had never acted on impulse when it came to women. Every move in his romantic life had come after careful consideration. But what he felt for Libby Parrish had nothing to do with romance.
Trey snatched up the plastic case that held his drill bits and then straightened. He’d been thinking about Libby all afternoon and evening, trying to figure out what it was that had caused him to temporarily lose his mind. Yes, he was attracted to her, but at the same time, he knew to keep a safe distance. Trey was already the subject of rampant speculation around town and the last thing he wanted was to add a woman—especially Libby Parrish—to the mix of rumor and gossip. If he wanted a sex life, he’d have to find it in Savannah or Charleston, not next door.
Crossing the room to the window, Trey vowed to put every last thought of her out of his head—to forget the sweet taste of her, the feel of her body against his. But when he pushed aside the dusty drapes to open the window, he found himself faced with something more than just a mental picture. The bedroom window looked right out on Libby’s bedroom, now ablaze with light. He stepped back and let the moth-eaten curtain drop, but his curiosity got the better of him. Hell, if she could spy on him, he could certainly return the favor.
He parted the drapes again and watched. It was obvious she wasn’t aware of the view he had, or maybe the house had been empty for so long that it had never been a concern. Three tall windows spanned the width of her bedroom and opened onto the second-floor veranda. She hadn’t bothered to pull the lace curtains that hung on either side.
Trey watched her make the bed, shaking out freshly laundered sheets and smoothing them over the mattress of the huge four-poster. She wore a simple cotton dress, loose and flowing, like the one she’d worn that night at the river. The fabric clung to her body and outlined long slender legs and a tiny waist. The neckline was cut just low enough and gaped slightly when she bent over the bed. But Trey was left to fill in the image with memories of their kiss, his hand sliding along her back and then around to her hip, her breasts pressed against his naked chest.
She walked to the window and Trey fought the impulse to step away. He knew the room was dark and that he couldn’t be seen. Libby slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress, then turned and lifted her hair from her neck, letting the meager breeze cool her. Trey gnawed on his lower lip, suddenly wondering if she knew he was there, if every move was meant to taunt him further.
With a soft curse, he turned away from the window. He’d do well to find some feminine companionship and find it fast. Fantasizing about Libby Parrish was an exercise in masochism. She’d made her feelings about him patently clear—there was no love lost between the Parrishes and the Marburys, and there’d be none to find between him and Libby.
Trey tucked the drill bits into his back pocket and headed downstairs. Beau was waiting for him, his leash in his mouth and his tail thumping on the floor. “No way,” Trey murmured to the golden retriever. “We’re not going for a walk now. Nighttime is work time.” The dog trotted after him into the kitchen where Trey grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator. He popped the top and then took a long drink, tipping his head back to let the ice-cold liquid slide down his throat.
The interior of the house was a wreck, the result of his enthusiastic demolition. The kitchen was the only thing he hadn’t touched. A guy had to eat, though he hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Chicago was known for great restaurants and he’d been spoiled, never taking the time to cook for himself. But Belfort had a much more limited selection, though the restaurants served good Southern home cooking.
“What I wouldn’t do for some decent Thai food,” he muttered, his stomach growling. As he took another sip of his beer, Trey’s cell phone rang. He picked it up from the kitchen table. “Trey Marbury,” he said.
“When the hell are you coming back to Chicago?”
He immediately recognized the voice of his business partner. The day to day stress of running a successful real estate development company seemed to result in an edgy, almost frantic tone for Mark Callahan and Trey knew that this was a phone call he wasn’t anxious to take. “Hey, Mark. What’s up?”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” Trey said. “That’s barely a standard vacation. Besides, I spoke with Dave this morning. If there are any problems, he’s promised to call me. I can always drive back for a day or two if necessary.”
“Listen, when you said you had to leave for a couple of months, I figured you’d be gone a couple of days. You’re not actually going to stay away for two months, are you?”
“I need some time,” Trey said. “I’ve got a lot of crap to sort out. When my father died in May, I came down here for the funeral and left the same day. I’m not sure I really dealt with what was going on. I need to do that now. Besides, isn’t this one of the benefits of being a partner?”
“Can’t you deal with your crap up here? We’ve got really good psychologists in Chicago.”
“No, it’s got to be here. I’ve got to take care of some things for his estate and I bought a house that I’m renovating.”
Mark gasped. “You bought a house?”
“Yeah, you ought to see this place. It was built in the mid-1800s and it’s got all the original architectural detailing. It’s going to be sweet when it’s finished. I’m doing a lot of the work myself. I was going to flip it, but I’m thinking I might just keep it for a vacation home.”
“It sounds to me like you’re planning to stay a lot longer than two months,” Mark said.
“Well, I’m not. Now, was there a specific problem you called to discuss, or can I get back to work?” They chatted for a few more minutes, Trey reassuring his partner that he was not abandoning the business. When he finally got off the phone, Beau was still sitting at the back door, his tail thumping. Trey tossed the phone on the table and then let the dog out.