As soon as he’d left, she whirled back to Holden and inhaled, the action lifting the soft curves of her breasts. A pulse worked in her throat as she kept her eyes meshed with his. “You had no right to tell Jeff Johnston he couldn’t go up to the second floor.”
Holden found himself tracking the fall of honey-colored hair swinging against her shoulders and caressing the feminine lines of her face. Wondering if it was as silky to the touch as he recalled, he asked, “You were really going to let Jeff Johnston see the bedrooms?”
“No, of course not.” Libby propped her hands on her hips and sent him a chastising look. “Not without having a chance to tidy up and get the property ready to show!” She inched closer, inundating him with a drift of cinnamon perfume. “But that’s not the point, Holden.”
Desire sprang up within him, as surely as irritation had. Reminding himself she was off-limits for a whole host of reasons, he returned carefully, “Then what is the point?”
Their eyes locked, providing another wave of unbidden heat between them. “You intimated to him that you and I are having a fling.”
“No.” Holden savored her nearness, and the pleasure that came from being alone with her, in a way they hadn’t been for months now.
He turned and wandered toward the cozy family room in the back of the house. “I said we are involved,” he corrected, as he passed another row of photos, of Percy and Libby together, involved in all the outdoor activities Percy loved.
Reminded that Libby was once his best friend’s wife, Holden shoved his hands in the pockets of his wool trousers and drawled, “I just didn’t say how we are involved.”
She stepped out of her heels and stood holding the sexy shoes, as if she wanted to lob them at his head. “Same difference,” she snapped.
Holden let his glance drift down her spectacular pantyhose-clad legs to her toes. “Really?” His gaze returned slowly and deliberately to her face, pausing on her lips, before moving to her long-lashed green eyes. Ignoring the threat of the stilettos, he leaned closer still and dropped his tone to a husky whisper. “‘Cause I don’t remember anything sexual or romantic happening between us.”
Libby sniffed and sent him a quelling look. “Only because you came to your senses and put a stop to it.”
Wanting something wasn’t the same as taking it. Particularly when they both had been lost and hurting, searching for any way to end the pain.
As it turned out, Holden recalled soberly, neither of them could have lived with that.
Curtailing his rising emotions, he shrugged. “You said it was for the best.”
Libby kept her distance, eventually drifting over toward the fireplace, where she pivoted, her back to the mantel. Raking her teeth across her lower lip, she admitted quietly, “And that was true. I wasn’t myself that night.”
For a long time, Holden had let himself believe that.
Now, cognizant of the tension that charged the air between them, he studied the mixture of regret and longing in her eyes. Found himself theorizing before he could stop himself, “And maybe you were yourself, Libby. Maybe your instincts were right.”
Another shadow crossed her eyes. “What are you saying?”
Holden looked at the gold broken-heart pendant shimmering against the delicate ivory of her skin. Lower still, he could see the hint of cleavage in the V neckline of her black cashmere sweater dress. “That if I hadn’t been such a gentleman … If I had allowed us to follow through on our urges …”
Maybe she wouldn’t have held him at arm’s length all this time. Maybe they could have shrugged off that flare of desire and gone back to being friends. Kissed and found out there was no chemistry between them, after all. Or argued and cleared the tension that way.
Instead, they had been adult about it. Distant. Careful. Unerringly polite. And tense as could be.
Libby studied him with a brooding look. “I know you’re trying to be gallant here, Holden. But we have to face facts. I was the one who wanted to kiss you that night. Not the other way around.”
Noting the raw vulnerability in her expression, Holden felt his heart go out to her all over again.
He realized it was his turn to be honest. No matter how much it complicated their lives. “You’re wrong about that, Libby,” he told her hoarsely.
His gaze lingered on her, as he paused to let his words sink in. “I would have given everything I had that night to see where that burst of physical attraction would lead.”
She shook her head. “But we couldn’t because I was a wreck. In some ways I still am a wreck.”
Not sure what she meant, Holden stared at her.
Libby lifted her hands. “It’s this house, Holden. The dealership. I can’t be either place without feeling like Percy’s wife.” Her voice caught and her lower lip trembled. “That’s the real reason I can’t stay here in Laramie. If I do, I’ll never be able to move on.”
As Holden looked around, he saw what she meant.
The home was brimming with signs of Percy and his folks, and the generations who had lived here before that.
It was clearly a Lowell domain.
Holden recalled that Libby had suggested a few small changes after they had taken over the residence, when Percy was still alive. All had been gently but firmly refused. Libby, in her usual genial way, had stopped bringing up the subject. And although she could have redecorated since Percy died, she hadn’t. Probably because it would have felt disloyal, an insult to his memory, or disrespectful to his wishes.
No wonder she felt trapped, Holden mused sympathetically. He edged closer. “You want to get married again?”
Determination stiffened her slender frame. “Of course. I want to fall in love. I want to have kids. I want to feel like everything good is still ahead of me.”
Everything she would have had, Holden thought, on a fresh wave of guilt, had her husband still been alive.
“Then you’re going to have to do a lot more than just sell the dealership and the house,” he told her sternly. “You’re going to have to start dating again.”
Libby eyed him mockingly. “Thank you, Dr. Phil.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” Her hips swaying provocatively, she strode past him toward the kitchen.
Like every other room in the house, it had been decorated long before Libby arrived on the scene. And although the color scheme was okay—if you liked bleached oak cabinets and beige walls—the once top-of-the-line appliances were definitely showing their age. As were some of the wall hangings and wooden blinds.
“The only problem is, no one will ask me out.”
She hit the switch, flooding the room with light, then headed for the fridge.
Holden followed her lazily. Glad she had decided to do something to distract them from the new tension between them, he watched her rummage through the contents until she emerged with a chocolate-and-peppermint Yule log from the local bakery.
His mouth watering for more than the sweet, he settled against the counter.
“That’s because you’re still putting out the I’m-a-widow-and-therefore-off-limits-to-anyone-with-any-sensitivity vibe.”
Libby stood on tiptoe to reach the dessert plates. “I am not.”
He came forward to help her, steadying her with a hand to her waist. “Yeah … you are.” He finished getting the dishes down for her. “But we can fix that.”
Her