Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,58

she called out as the staccato sound of her high heels striking the cobblestone pavement followed her into the darkness.

Chris listened to her walk away, then sat back onto the bench with a sigh.

She was an angelic vision in red silk tonight, he thought pensively, toying with the folds in his tucked shirt. So devastatingly gorgeous. But more. A delightful conversationalist, a careful listener, a knowledgeable guide, a terrific dancer despite her warning to the contrary. She'd been able to talk easily with every person at their table. Then she managed to do the impossible--show him the Orphanage in a way he'd never seen it.

He'd been so frustrated, and mad, when Sister Mary Clare refused to let him tear it down. Only out of his great affection for her had he agreed to match the state grant for its restoration. But tonight, Libby--how he loved the sound and feel of her name on his tongue--had changed all that. Like a sorceress, she'd helped him envision the Orphanage as it was meant to be. Bright, cheerful, a place full of hope rather than despair.

He hadn't meant to kiss her again. Or maybe he had. It didn't matter. Sister Mary Clare had saved him from making a fool of himself, yet again. His body still ached from unfulfilled desire and the memory of her arms around him as they danced, caused another painful arousal.

Cursing silently, Chris shook his head and took a deep breath of now still air.

She had such an effect on him, he thought, why didn't he have any effect on her? She hadn't even flinched when Sister Mary Clare call her Libby in front of him. In fact, she'd made a bold ploy demanding him to consider her a friend if he wanted to use it. Very clever, he conceded. He didn't really expect her to come right out and admit to being Libby Chatham. Not there. Not with so many people, so many strangers around.

But, he'd hoped she would tell him in the garden, away from the crowd. Away from those who'd just heard him confess how she'd taught him to see the Orphanage in a new way. He'd thought by sharing his genuine feelings with her, she'd be able to do the same in return. Oh, she'd admitted to accepting part of his plan for Harte's Desire. And it probably took some courage on her part to say so. But he wanted to hear more. Wanted to hear they'd been adversaries in the past, too.

Yes, he was hiding as much as she was. The minute Rich Stone told him about Libby, he should have confronted her with the truth. Instead, he'd been running from it as much as she had. Afraid the truth would ruin...would ruin what? A tentative relationship based on lies? A working relationship inspired by his desire for revenge and her desire to save Harte's Desire?

He now wanted her honesty more than he wanted revenge.

Nothing made sense anymore, Chris decided. Any feelings they might have for each other were based on dishonesties and ruses both were party to.

Chris stood up and yawned. He'd spend the night in his center city penthouse. The sixty minute ride back to Borden's Landing seem impossible at this late hour.

Chapter Twenty

"You're right on time," Libby greeted Chris, opening the front door to let him in. Grandpa Reed's grandfather clock, which occupied a place of prominence in the living room, was just chiming the hour in its deep, melodious tones when the doorbell rang.

Chris strode into the room, holding a bottle of white wine emblazoned with the Harte’s Desire label and a large bouquet of roses wrapped in aluminum foil.

Libby's heart skipped a beat, a natural reaction his presence always elicited. A quick glance confirmed what she already guessed--that he looked as handsome dressed casually as he did in a three-piece suit.

Tonight he was wearing navy khakis, Docksider loafers, and a white polo shirt. The placket-fronted shirt was unbuttoned, revealing dark curly hair at its vee showing in sharp contrast to the shirt's whiteness. The knitted cuffs on its half-sleeves tightly hugged Chris's well-defined biceps. His forearms, lean but muscular, were nicely tanned and he wore no jewelry other than a watch on his left wrist.

Libby, dryly observing how vibrant and healthy he looked, concluded his urgent business during the week must have been conducted on the tennis courts or golf course. She felt utterly pale and lifeless in comparison, having spent the past several days indoors, at her computer,