Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,65
deep.
She relaxed against him, utterly satisfied and wholly complete.
As the afterglow of their lovemaking subsided, feelings of remorse and guilt flooded her. With a heart pounding in regret, she starkly faced the reality she'd tried so long to deny.
She loved him--deeply, totally, absolutely--as she never loved before. Although she should hate him for razing Harte's Desire, he was now more dear to her than any building could ever be. She'd tried to fight the attraction she felt for him. In the end, however, her heart won over her head and she knew she'd love him even as the wrecking ball made its first pass at the mansion's crumbling walls.
Heaven help her, but she'd fallen in love with the very man who opposed everything she believed in. Love knows no reason or logic, Libby conceded silently, still running her fingers lightly over his body.
She had to tell him.
The deception of her identity had to end. He had to know who she really was if there was any chance, any hope, for true love between them.
Did he love her, too?
Libby pondered the possibility, and concluded that while Chris didn't seem the type to engage in one night stands, he didn't act like someone mindlessly in love, either. Moving back to Philadelphia was hardly the action of a man besotted with his next door neighbor. She decided he did feel something for her, though, which might grow into love. But she had to confess before the truth was destroyed by any deeper feelings he might acquire.
Libby gazed lovingly at the utterly masculine body stretched languidly beside her. His powerful limbs were entangled with hers and his sculpted chest rose and fell with slow regularity.
She had to tell him.
Perhaps now was the best time to do it. Now. Not an hour from now, not in the morning. Now.
"Chris," she whispered hesitantly, slowly putting her feelings into words. "There's something you need to know about me."
She paused. His face was hidden from view so she couldn't see his reaction.
"I should have told you this from the very beginning because I never meant to deceive you, only to help the historical society. But I cannot lie to you anymore."
Once she opened the floodgates of confession, Libby felt tremendous calm and knew she'd made the right decision.
Taking a deep breath, she finally uttered the words so long withheld.
"Before my divorce, my married name was Libby Chatham. Elizabeth Reed is my maiden name."
Chris made no response, physical or verbal, so Libby repeated her words more boldly this time, thinking he hadn't heard her. Again, no reply.
She pulled away from his embrace and propped up on one elbow to stare at him, only to discover he was asleep. Deeply, soundly asleep. For a minute she watched him slumber, admiring his handsome features muted in the darkness.
The deception had to end, but it would have to wait until they woke up, she decided, greatly disappointed he hadn't heard her confession.
Snuggling back next to him, she marveled at how perfectly their bodies fit together. Their intimate embrace was pure heaven for the senses; she clutched him tightly and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Several hours later, Chris awoke with a start. The dimly lit numerals on Libby's clock confirmed that if he didn't leave now, he'd miss the plane to London.
He looked at the sleeping form next to him and stopped from reaching out to smooth the tangled tresses framing her face in joyous abandon. How he would love to wake her with a tender caress and repeat the wild lovemaking they shared just hours ago. Only this time, he would go more slowly, worshipping every sweet curve and seductive valley, until they both could no longer stand it. His body swelled in response to his lusty thoughts and he stifled a groan of regret.
Not wanting to rouse Libby, he cautiously eased off the bed and collected the clothes strewn on the floor. As quietly as possible, he got dressed and, with shoes in hand, tiptoed downstairs.
The roses Edwina sent over stood proudly in a heavily-cut crystal vase on the oak table where Libby placed them as a centerpiece for last night's dinner. Many of the buds were now fully open and their heavy, old-fashioned scent filled the room.
Chris plucked a single, red bloom from the vase and laid it on the table. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen sitting near the phone, he jotted a quick note and tucked it under the rose.
Chris re-read the brief words he'd