Hot & Bothered

But as he moved, his foot slipped and a stick cracked beneath him. She froze and then glanced over her shoulder, like a wild animal deciding whether to stay or flee. Her profile, illuminated by the moonlight, was instantly recognizable and Trey sank down behind the log.

“Libby Parrish,” he said, her name touching his lips without a sound. Trey smiled. Such an odd symmetry to find her here on his first night back in town, when she’d been here on his last night.

As she walked into the water, Trey searched for a moment to make his escape. This was definitely not the time for a reunion, with her stark naked and him so obviously aroused.

The bushes directly behind him were thick and impossible to crawl through without making a noise. He’d have to get back to the path on his belly or just make a dash for it. But in the end, Trey decided not to leave. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the stars as he listened to Libby splash in the water.

She’d changed so much since the last time he’d seen her. She’d become a woman, more lovely than he could ever have imagined. But he still remembered the girl he’d known and with that memory came every detail of that night so long ago.

They’d talked for hours—Trey pouring out all his anger and frustration, giving voice to the insecurities that had plagued him, and Libby listening raptly, as if what he was saying were the most important thing in the world.

No one had ever taken the time to listen to what he wanted out of life. Everyone had an image of who he was and what he was supposed to become. Trey had expended so much energy trying to please his parents, his teachers, his coaches and his friends, that he had wondered whether any part of his life truly belonged to him.

The night had closed in around them and Trey had felt almost desperate to stay with her for just a little longer, certain that talking with her would solve all his problems. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but it had seemed like such a natural thing. And when she’d returned the kiss, he’d felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

After that, everything had moved so quickly. She’d unbuttoned his shirt and then skimmed her fingers over his naked chest. And though the night had been hot and humid, Trey remembered shivering, all the heat in his body leaving his limbs to pool in his lap. Until then, he’d considered himself a ladies’ man by high school standards, smooth and confident in the rather limited experience he’d had with willing partners.

Trey had wanted to stop, but he couldn’t deny the need he’d felt with Libby. He’d longed for something more intimate, something to give him the courage to face his future. He’d found it that night in her body, in her soft touch and in the sweet taste of her mouth—in the way she’d moved beneath him.

It had been twelve years and he’d made love to plenty of women since Libby. But he still searched for that unexplainable connection they’d found, still sought a woman who combined guileless innocence with unrestrained passion, a woman who could capture his body and his soul. Though Libby had been a virgin that night, she’d been the one with the power to seduce, daring him to make love to her, soothing his doubts with her lips and her fingers.

And when it had been over and they’d dressed, he’d walked her to the path, her delicate hand tucked in his. She’d smiled at him, as if they’d shared a special secret that they’d both relive again and again after he was gone. And then he’d made her memorize his address at school and told her to write to him; he promised that he’d come home again. And that had been the last he’d seen or heard of Libby—until tonight.

Trey rolled back onto his stomach and looked over the log. Libby slowly walked to the shore, the soft moonlight gleaming on her wet skin. If he thought she was beautiful from the back, he was unprepared for the view from the front. He remembered a famous painting he’d seen on a vacation to Italy—Venus rising naked from a river. He couldn’t remember the artist or where he’d seen it, but he was living it right now.

Water dripped from her hair, sluicing over her body, her skin slick. His fingers clenched involuntarily as he imagined what it would be like to touch her again. God, she was beautiful—not skinny and gawky as she’d been all those years ago. Libby Parrish had grown into a woman who could steal the breath from his lungs and make him ache with desire.

She picked up the dress and slipped it back over her naked body, then stepped into her sandals. Drawing a deep breath, she took one last look at the river before heading back to the path. Trey fought the urge to call out to her, to make the moment last longer. There were so many questions he needed answered—why hadn’t she written to him, why hadn’t she responded to his letters, had she come to regret the night they’d spent together? He watched as she disappeared from view, then groaned softly.

Great. Now he’d have this image swimming around in his head for the rest of the night! Especially since he was going to spend the night alone, with only his dog for company, trapped in a motel room on the edge of town. A motel room where the only distraction was an old television. An old television that got only one channel—the church channel.

Not even twenty-four-hour religion would banish his sinful thoughts or erase the image of a naked Libby Parrish from his mind. There was only one thing to do, besides leaving town at sunrise and never setting foot in Belfort again.

He’d just have to buy the house next door and find out exactly what kind of woman Libby Parrish had become.

“WOULD YOU PLEASE get away from that window?” Libby Parrish grabbed a handful of biscuit dough, took aim and hit the back of Sarah Cantrell’s head.

The dough plopped onto the floor and Sarah turned around, rubbing her head. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious? He’s lived over there for a week. Don’t tell me you haven’t done a little spying of your own.”

Libby sighed as she dumped the biscuit dough onto the floured counter. Sarah had been her best friend since the seventh grade, but there were times when she was an outright pain in the ass. And now that they worked together, that fact was made apparent on a daily basis. “Of course I’m not interested. Why would I have the slightest interest in what that man is doing?” She tried to add a good dose of disdain to “that man,” but she only came out sounding like a prissy old woman. “Now, let’s get back to this biscuit recipe. I’m concerned about the directions for working with the dough. Kneading is the wrong word to use here, especially if my readers take it in the context of bread. Kneading will make the dough too tough and—”

“He’s mowing his lawn,” Sarah said in her lazy drawl. “In a pair of baggy cargo shorts that are just barely hanging on to those nice slender hips of his. Oh, my, how I do wish he’d bend over and—”

“Stop it!” Libby cried, her heart skipping a beat. She drew a deep breath and tried to quash the fluttery feelings in her stomach.

“He’s also neglected to put on his shirt, naughty boy.” Sarah turned and grinned at her friend. “Now, I consider myself a connoisseur when it comes to the male form and I wouldn’t mind taking a taste of what Trey Marbury has to offer. There was talk back in the day about how he was quite…confident with the ladies.”

“Enough!” Libby shouted. She hurried to the window and grabbed the lace curtain from Sarah’s fingers, dragging it back into place over the kitchen window. The very last thing Libby needed rattling around her head was talk about Trey Marbury’s sexual prowess. She’d experienced that firsthand.

Her friend arched her eyebrow at Libby. “You’re blushing. Why, after all these years, does Trey Marbury still have the power to get you all hot and bothered?”

“I’m not hot,” Libby muttered. “Just bothered. And you know exactly why.”

“Because he had the high nerve to move in next door to you? You and the Throckmorton sisters have been complaining about the falling-down condition of that house for three years now. You should be happy someone has moved in and started fixing it up.”

“You know that’s not why I’m bothered,” Libby said.

Sarah’s eyes rolled up and she groaned. “Oh, please, must we talk about that silly feud again? It’s over. His daddy’s passed on, your daddy’s moved to Palm Beach and the rest of us in this sleepy little town have all but forgotten why the feud ever started in the first place.”

“I’m not talking about the feud.” Libby paused. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. It was only the most humiliating experience in my young life.”

“Oh, the kiss heard ‘round the world.” Sarah grinned. “The kiss that changed your life. The kiss that—”

“I am holding a rolling pin,” Libby warned. “And in my experienced hands, it could be considered a lethal weapon.”

“You threw yourself at him and he couldn’t resist your charms. Then he left town, never to be heard from again.”

“And then, I was stupid enough to write him a letter and profess my adoration for him. Not just a few pages of ‘Hi, how are you?’, but a ten-page dissertation on my feelings. I actually thought we were the modern-day equivalent of Romeo and Juliet.” Libby moaned. “Oh, God, I quoted Shakespeare and Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

“You never told me about the letter,” Sarah said.

“He never wrote back. And he never came back to Belfort. I hear he spent his vacations working construction in Atlanta. He was probably too terrified to set foot in the town where I was living.”

“It was just a kiss. A high school kiss. How good could it have been?”

Libby felt her cheeks warm. She’d been carrying the secret around for so long. Maybe it was time to tell Sarah. “It was more than a kiss. I lost my virginity to Trey Marbury that night.”

Sarah gasped. “What? You and Trey Marbury—wait a second. How come you never told me this?”

“I wanted to. But after it happened I needed to think about it for a while. And then, when he didn’t write back, I was embarrassed. I never was very confident with the boys and that certainly didn’t help.”

“And now you blame Trey Marbury for your lack of a social life?”

“No,” Libby said. “I blame my busy career and living in a small town and the lack of eligible men in Belfort.”

“Your career? Honey, you’re every man’s wet dream. You’re beautiful, you make a lot of money and you cook. All that’s missing is a short career as a stripper.”

“Oh, right. Just the other day I saw a bunch of handsome single guys hanging out watching Julia Child. They were all saying how she was really hot and they wished they could see her naked.” She slowly shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with this life. Why didn’t I ever get out of this town? I’m living in my parents’ old house, I spend my days stirring and slicing and sautéing. My idea of an exciting evening is writing grocery lists and reading old cookbooks. When did I turn into my mother?”

“Why didn’t you get out of town?” Sarah asked.

Libby shrugged. “This is going to sound pathetic but I guess I always hoped he’d come back someday. At least that’s what kept me here during college. And now, I have this house and I feel safe here.” She sighed. “Maybe I should move. I could buy a place in Charleston and get out of Belfort for good.”

Sarah watched Libby from across the kitchen, her expression filled with concern. “Or maybe you ought to just face him and put the past in the past. Bake some cookies, wander over into his yard and reintroduce yourself to your new neighbor.” Sarah crossed the kitchen and grabbed Libby’s hand, dragging her to the window. “Look at that,” she ordered. “If you still want that man, you’d better make a move, because every other single woman in town is eyeing him up. Including me.”

Suddenly, Libby didn’t care about her biscuit recipe. She pushed the curtain aside and searched the yard for the subject of their discussion. “Why did he have to buy the house next door? It’s like he just wanted to get under my skin.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember you live here,” Sarah said.

“Believe me, he knows I live here. And I think that’s why he bought the house. I—” Suddenly, Trey Marbury came back into view and her words died in her throat. Libby held her breath as she watched him walk the length of the side lawn. Sweat glistened on his bare chest and his finely muscled arms strained against the push mower. As he passed, her gaze didn’t waver. His dark hair clung damply to the nape of his neck and Libby’s eyes dropped lower, to the small of his back, revealed by the low-riding shorts. Sarah had been right. If his shorts dropped any lower, she’d enjoy a full appreciation of his backside.

He turned and started back in the opposite direction, Libby’s gaze now taking in a deeply tanned torso, marked by paler skin above the waist of his shorts and a line of hair that ran from his belly to beneath the faded fabric. She lingered over the view for a moment longer, then realized she’d forgotten to breathe. “He’s changed,” she murmured.

“It’s been twelve years,” Sarah said as she began to gather up her papers from the table. “We’ve all changed.”

Libby looked over her shoulder with a rueful expression. “I guess we have.” But Trey Marbury had become a man in those years, a man who seemed to exude power and strength, even in the simple act of mowing his lawn. Libby swallowed hard, memories of their night together flooding her brain.

A girl’s first experience was supposed to be awkward and painful. But that wasn’t how Libby remembered it. He’d been so gentle and sweet to her, taking her places she’d never been before. Libby couldn’t help but wonder what twelve years had done to his abilities in the bedroom.

“I wonder why he came back,” Libby murmured.

“He’s not really back,” Sarah replied. “Wanda Van Pelt sold him the house and she says that he’s taking care of his daddy’s business concerns in the area and just renovating the house as an investment. He’s been living in Chicago and has some big career up there.” Sarah turned away from the window and wandered over to the recipes they had spread across the table, finally resigned to getting back to the job at hand.

“He probably doesn’t even remember the letter you sent him,” Sarah murmured. “And you could use a few more male prospects besides Carlisle Whitby, Bobby Ray Talbert and Wiley Boone.”

“Carlisle is my mailman,” Libby said. “And Bobby Ray is our police chief. And I barely know Wiley Boone.”

“He’s the city building inspector and Flora down at the drugstore says that Wiley was inquiring about you the other day. I think he plans to ask you out. And Carlisle always gives you the extra coupon flyers and he hangs around on your porch after he delivers your mail, just hoping you’ll come outside. And Bobby Ray asks you out every New Year’s Eve and every Fourth of July, regular as clockwork. So which would you prefer—one of those three besotted fools or Trey Marbury?” She raised her eyebrow. “Or maybe you want to end up like the Throckmorton sisters?”

“I’m not going to be a spinster!” Libby said. “I could have a man in my life—if I wanted one. I just haven’t found the right one.”

“Now you’ve got four to pick from.”

“That’s some choice,” she murmured.

“Well, I’m off,” Sarah said, gathering up her things. “Like panties on prom night.”

Libby chuckled softly. “I’ll try the biscuit recipe tonight and see how the cheese variation turns out.”

“You could try bits of sausage or bacon as a variation, too.”

Libby turned back to the window. “Fine. Bacon sounds good.” She heard the front door close; her gaze was firmly fixed on the man who lived next door. Clayton Marbury the third. He’d been Trey for as along as Libby could remember, the only son of Clayton and Helene Marbury. At one time, the Marburys had owned the bank, the general store, a string of gas stations, two car dealerships, the newspaper and half the commercial properties on Center Street. The Parrish family had owned the other half, a fact that only added fuel to the conflict over which family was the most powerful in Belfort.

Had any other single, handsome man moved in next door, Libby might have been happy. After all, it had been five years since the humiliation of her last boyfriend’s infidelity, five years since she’d had a serious relationship with a man. But Trey Marbury? Every instinct told her to stay away.

Libby closed her eyes, then slipped her hands beneath her hair and lifted the pale blond strands off her neck. This heat wave was setting her nerves on edge. And the fact that she was almost a month late with her newest cookbook wasn’t helping matters. In another week, she’d begin taping the next season of Southern Comforts, the PBS cooking show she’d been doing for the past two years. The book had to be printed and ready to ship when the first show aired in January, or she’d lose sales and viewers.

“So get to work,” Libby muttered, letting her hair drop back onto her shoulders. “And stop thinking about the past. You were a silly lovesick girl living out a fantasy that was never supposed to be real. And he was nothing more than a one-night stand.” She took a last look out the window and then froze, her fingers clutching the lace of the curtain.

Trey Marbury was no longer cutting the grass. He now stood in the side yard chatting with Sarah Cantrell! Libby’s mouth dropped open as she watched her best friend flirt with the enemy. They seemed to be caught up in a lively exchange, laughing and joking with each other. When Sarah reached out and brushed her hand along Trey’s biceps, Libby ground her teeth. “Traitor,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Libby’s fingers twitched as she tried to imagine the sensation of touching him…smooth skin, slicked with sweat, hard muscle rippling beneath. She hadn’t touched a man in so long that she’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to run her palms over long limbs, to sink against a male body and to be enveloped in a strong embrace. He was tall, well over six feet, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist—not a trace of the boy was left in him.

Why had he always fascinated her so? From the time she’d first known who Trey Marbury was, her parents had warned her against him. There’d be no socializing with the enemy. It wasn’t difficult, considering she and Trey ran with different crowds—Trey with the popular kids, and Libby with those who preferred the library to football games and Saturday night dances.

It wasn’t until she began noticing the opposite sex that Libby realized how dangerous Trey really was. Just looking at him made her think of things that her mother had warned her about—meeting boys beneath the bleachers before school, kissing in the balcony at the movie theater, doing unspeakable things in the back seats of cars. Whenever Libby had thought about these things, the boy in her head had always been Trey and the girl he’d chosen to seduce had been her.

As she peered through the window, an unbidden rush of jealousy and a warm flood of desire collided deep inside of her. Desperate to know what Sarah and Trey were talking about, Libby tried to read their lips. But the attempt brought only frustration. She’d need to get closer. If she just wandered out to the veranda to water her hanging baskets, she might be able to overhear their conversation.

Libby grabbed her watering can from beside the back door and tiptoed to the side veranda, but all she could hear was the indistinct murmur of voices—and laughter, lots of laughter. Sarah had always been more comfortable around men, but this was ridiculous! This wasn’t just a friendly conversation anymore—Sarah was flirting!

She’d have to get closer. Drawing a deep breath, she headed toward the steps and then crept along the line of azalea bushes that created a hedge between the two properties. The voices got louder and when she finally settled between two rose bushes, she could hear everything Sarah was saying.

“I’m sure she’ll stop by soon,” Sarah said. “She’s been very busy, what with the book and the show. She starts taping the new season in the next few weeks. Have you ever seen her show?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Trey replied. “I’ve been living in Chicago.”

“Oh, we’re on the PBS station in Chicago.”

“You’re on the show, too?” Trey asked.

“No, I produce the show. And I help Libby edit her cookbooks and test her recipes.”

A rustling in the azaleas drew Libby’s attention away from the conversation. She nearly screamed when a wet nose poked through a hole in the bushes. Libby gave the golden retriever a gentle shove and wriggled back a few inches.

“Is that your dog?” Sarah asked. “You better not let him in Libby’s yard. She is pathological about her roses. Her grandma planted those roses years ago and Libby treats them like her children.”

Trey whistled softly. “Come here, Beau. Come on, boy. He’s been chasing squirrels all day. You can take the dog out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the dog.”

“Go,” Libby whispered, waving her hand in the dog’s face. “Get out of here, you mangy mutt!” But Beau took her frantic movements as encouragement and he leapt through the bushes and knocked Libby flat on her back. Libby flailed her arms as the dog stood above her and licked her face with his cold tongue, his muddy paws planted firmly on her chest. Libby closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

When the dog finally stopped, she risked a look up to find both Trey and Sarah staring down at her. An amused grin quirked Trey’s lips.

He chuckled softly. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lisbeth Parrish.”

“I—I have to go now,” Sarah said, forcing a smile. “I’ve got recipes to type. I’ll call you later, Lib. Nice seeing you again, Trey. Y’all take care now.”

“Oh, we will be talking,” Libby muttered, pushing up on her elbows and brushing her hair out of her eyes.

Trey grinned, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “I was wondering when you were going to stop by and welcome me to the neighborhood.” He held out his hand to her, but Libby slapped it away, humiliated that she’d been caught spying on him.

“Is that any way to welcome me to the neighborhood? Where’s my chicken casserole and my pineapple upside-down cake?”

Libby struggled to get to her feet, the roses scratching at her arms and face. He found this all so amusing. Probably as amusing as he’d found her letter, full of flowery prose and professions of love. “I only bake casseroles for people I’m happy to see.”

“Lisbeth, I expected a much more hospitable welcome.”

Biting back a curse, Libby brushed the mud off her cotton sundress. “I may have to tolerate your presence next door, but I don’t have to like it, Clayton. You’re a Marbury and I’m a Parrish. What do you expect from me beyond hostility?”

Trey frowned and for a moment, Libby regretted her sharp words. This was not the way she wanted to begin, but he seemed to delight in her embarrassment. He took a step toward her and she backed away, but he managed to capture her chin.

“Stay still.” He slowly turned her head, then ran his thumb along her cheek.

“What—what are you doing?”

“You’re bleeding,” Trey said. He reached down and withdrew a bandanna from the pocket of his shorts. Gently, he dabbed at her cheek. “You shouldn’t lurk in the roses. They have thorns.”

Libby stared up at his face, unable to drag her gaze away. He was much more handsome than she remembered—but then, she remembered him as a boy, a high school football star with a disarming smile and a body worthy of a Greek god. He was a man now, and his features had a harder edge; his mouth was firmer and his jaw stronger. She felt her heartbeat quicken and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

“I—I wasn’t lurking.”

His gaze met hers directly and she saw eyes so blue they sent shivers down her spine. When he licked his upper lip, Libby lapsed into contemplation of how his tongue might feel moving across her mouth, tracing a path along her neck, dipping a bit lower. She swallowed hard. Why was this happening to her? She’d had other men in her life—handsome, attentive men. But they’d never made her feel this way, all light-headed and breathless, as if she were teetering on the edge of something very dangerous.