him with unmasked appreciation and somewhat jealously wondered if any of them was his date for the evening.
Accepting the glass of wine from Chris's outstretched hand when he returned, Libby demurely addressed him.
"I had no idea you were the one being honored tonight, Chris. Congratulations."
The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"If you'd known, you wouldn't have come, right?"
Ignoring his pointed remark for the truth it presented, Libby decided to direct the conversation into safer territory.
"The restoration is proceeding beautifully, thanks to you. Did you notice how stunning the outside of the building looks?" she asked politely.
"It's impressive, I agree, for an old building. But I'm curious to know your connection with the Orphanage, Libby?" Chris stared at her intently, his blue-green eyes seeking, almost demanding, an explanation.
"I thought you knew, since you paid for my services."
"I did?"
"I was the consultant the Sisters hired to complete the grant application," Libby countered, returning his gaze, willing herself to confront the man so capable of rendering her senseless.
Chris deliberately took another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving hers. "I didn't know," he began slowly, "that you were the one being so highly praised by Sister Mary Clare. She never mentioned you by name."
He pursed his lips and smiled. "By her description, I thought an angel had returned to earth with the sole mission of helping them restore the building."
"Certainly, I'm no angel. And frankly, I'm surprised to find you, of all people, funding the restoration of something historic," Libby countered, enjoying the innuendos passing between them.
"Yes, it's not one of my usual charities, but I have my reasons. Maybe now you'll concede that I'm not the enemy of every old building?" He absentmindedly adjusted the stiff collar of his shirt, making Libby long to touch the corded sinews of his neck being chafed by the tightness there.
"Well, perhaps this does raise you a notch in my esteem," she said with a slight catch in her voice. Watching his strong, lean fingers unbutton and re-button the shirt was having a devastating effect on her ability to think clearly. "You're helping the Borden's Landing Historical Society, too, so I guess you're not the total monster I’m convinced you are." Libby laughed teasingly, feeling the tension between them dissipate during their friendly repartee.
As the band started to play a slow tune, couples headed for the dance floor, arm in arm.
Setting his glass down, Chris held out a hand. "Would the beauty care to dance with this beast?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Your date won't object?" Libby cautiously inquired, ignoring the loud inner voice telling her to run from him in the opposite direction.
"I didn't bring one," Chris replied simply. "Will your date mind you dancing with the guest of honor?"
"I felt like coming alone tonight, too. So, if you don't mind a partner with two left feet, I'd love to dance," Libby replied, making it known she was single there by choice and not default. The rational part of her mind said she should have pretended to bring a date, while the emotional part screamed not to.
His heated gaze sent shivers of desire down Libby's spine. Realizing she was taking a calculated risk by dancing with him, Libby quickly decided she really could bury any physical response being in his arms might bring.
Although she loved to dance, Libby had never been that adept at following music in an ordered rhythm. Kicking herself for not having taken the lessons her mother suggested in high school, Libby followed Chris onto the dance floor with dread and trepidation.
Chris gently pulled Libby close, placing one arm solidly behind her narrow waist, while cupping her hand and bringing their entwined arms to rest intimately on his broad shoulder.
Libby quivered with his nearness and the havoc it was wreaking on her senses. His smell was thoroughly masculine and infinitely alluring, a heady combination of soap, aftershave, and something so personally him as to be undefinable. His hold on her was possessive but not threatening and she felt his muscular strength scorching through every point their bodies made contact.
As he whirled them around the dance floor, Libby marveled at the fluidity of his motions and the ease with which he led her, transforming her usual clumsiness into something more closely resembling grace and accomplishment. He was a marvelous dancer, she noted, with the natural ability to make her feel an equally-talented partner.
She relaxed against him with a small sigh and felt his powerful arms