“I’ve been thinking about touching you all day,” Trey murmured

He gently teased at her nipple through her silk blouse.

Libby thought back to the night they’d spent together twelve years ago, to the trust he’d broken. If she let him touch her again, then she’d be doomed to suffer that humiliation all over again.

“Please don’t do this to me,” she begged.

“What is this, Libby? Just because you deny the desire between us, it isn’t going to go away.” Trey took her face between his hands and kissed her. “I was there in your bed the other night,” he murmured against her mouth. “I know what I made you feel.”

She drew a ragged breath and backed out of his embrace. “That was lust,” Libby said, her voice thin and tight. “One night was enough.”

He stared into her eyes, as if searching her soul for answers. “One night every twelve years? Hell, if that’s all I can hope for, then I guess I’ll see you in another twelve.” Then he turned and walked out.

Dear Reader,

I’ve traveled back to the South for the setting of my newest Harlequin Temptation novel, Hot & Bothered. And while you might be reading this book on a warm summer day, it was written in the midst of a snowy Wisconsin winter.

Trey Marbury and Libby Parrish are caught in both a meteorological heat wave and a heat wave of their own making in the fictional town of Belfort, South Carolina. Those of you familiar with the Low Country might recognize the real town that Belfort is based upon, although I’m not sure that a real Southern town would have quite so many charming and eccentric characters living within its limits. Or maybe it would. Maybe that’s exactly what I love so much about the South.

In any case, I hope you enjoy the ideas Trey and Libby come up with to beat the heat….

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

Books by Kate Hoffmann

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

795—ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

821—MR. RIGHT NOW

847—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: CONNOR

851—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: DYLAN

855—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: BRENDAN

933—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: LIAM

937—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: BRIAN

941—THE MIGHTY QUINNS: SEAN

963—LEGALLY MINE

Hot & Bothered

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Prologue

A BUMBLEBEE BUZZED in lazy circles around a potted jasmine, the sound breaking the silence of the oppressive midday heat. A few steps away on the wide veranda of the house on Charles Street, the Throckmorton sisters stirred the heavy afternoon air with rice-paper fans. A silver tray rested on the table between their two wicker chairs, holding a pitcher of iced tea and two sweaty glasses.

“We’re doomed,” Eulalie Throckmorton said, her fan fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

Eudora Throckmorton took in the morose expression on her twin sister’s face and sighed. “It’s just the heat, Lalie. When I’m drenched in perspiration, I don’t feel like chatting. Neither do the rest of the ladies of the Thursday Ladies’ Bridge and Luncheon Club.”

“But it was as quiet as a Quaker wake.”

Eudora shifted in her chair. “If you’d just agree to install air-conditionin’ in the house, then we wouldn’t have this problem. Grace Rose Alston just had air-conditionin’ put in her house and she says it’s been a godsend with this mid-summer heat.”

“We don’t need air-conditionin’, Dora. We have this lovely veranda. Mama and Papa lived here for over fifty years and they never had air-conditionin’. Besides, we’d just shut ourselves up in the house and never see our neighbors strolling by. Out here, we’re part of the world. Good gracious, if I wanted to live in the cool and dark, I’d run down to Wilbur Varner’s funeral home, buy myself a nice coffin and move in next to Mama and Papa at the cemetery.”

“There’s no need to get all dramatic about it,” Eudora replied. “I swear, you’ve always had a way of pilin’ on the agony. You should have taken up a career on the stage. You could have given that Driving Miss Daisy lady a run for her money.”

“And you should be sellin’ gadgets on the Home Shopping Network, with your fondness for new-fangled inventions. Need I remind you that we have an electric juicer sittin’ in our kitchen that you’ve never even used?”

“Air-conditionin’ is not a new-fangled invention,” Eudora countered. “Some would argue it’s a necessity in the heat of a South Carolina summer. And we are approachin’ an age where personal comfort is all we can look forward to on a good day.”

“Let’s be honest, Dora. It isn’t our lack of a temperature-controlled environment that will spell the end of our beloved bridge club. It’s the shortage of decent gossip. There’s just nothin’ left to talk about in this backwater town!”

The Thursday Ladies’ Bridge and Luncheon Club was nearly a century old. Founded by Eulalie and Eudora’s grandmother and a group of her friends, members were all prominent socialites in the town of Belfort, South Carolina. The club was a Belfort institution that had weathered two World Wars, Prohibition, the Great Depression and an attempted seditious coup by several members who wanted to replace the bridge games with gin rummy. But through it all, the ladies had always shared lively conversation among the sixteen members. Eulalie might call it gossip, but Eudora preferred to think of it as…illuminating discourse.

“Maybe we should consider bringin’ in some new members,” Eudora suggested. “Some ladies who might have some interestin’ topics to share. I met a lovely widow at the Winn-Dixie who just moved from New York City.”

“The ladies would never tolerate a Yankee.” Eulalie shook her head. “Besides, we’ve always had sixteen members and until one of our ladies goes to her great reward, we can’t bring in a new member. It’s in our bylaws, and you should know our bylaws since you’ve served as president twice!”

“According to Charlotte Villiers, she herself is circlin’ the drain as we speak,” Eudora muttered. “If I have to listen to one more recitation of her medical woes, I do believe I might just get great-granddaddy’s dueling pistol from the gun cabinet and kill her myself.”

Eulalie chuckled, her mood lifting at her sister’s audacious remarks. Still, this was serious business. If the bridge club struggled under her watch as president, the ladies might find some way to put the blame on her. “It wouldn’t have to be anything major,” she murmured. “Just somethin’ juicy. Perhaps a nice political scandal would spice things up. Bribery, blackmail, corruption. Or even better, a scandal of the—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—private kind, if you catch my meanin’. You know, I always believed Desmond Whitley was a homosexual. Maybe we could convince him that this would be a nice time to come out of the woodshed.”

“That’s closet, sister. Come out of the closet.”

“Closet, woodshed. Now that would be something worth talking about.”

“I like Desmond,” Eudora said. “And to tell the honest truth, I don’t much care if he is a homosexual. He does lovely flower arrangements for the fall bazaar at the church and he embroidered that tablecloth for the Friends of the Library auction. And he’s a very fine dancer.”

“All right,” Eulalie grumbled. “Forget Desmond. Besides, he’s sixty-two. We need to find someone younger. All the better, someone who has a spotless reputation, someone who is a stranger to scandal.” She paused. “Someone who actually might participate in passionate…unbridled…slightly kinky…” She paused again, this time fanning herself frantically. “Well, I’m sure you understand what I’m gettin’ at.”

“Sex,” Eudora said plainly. “You’re speakin’ of sex, sister. Good gracious, I may be eighty-three years old, but I’m a modern woman and I’m not afraid to talk about these matters out loud. Even though we’re both considered maiden ladies, you and I have some experience with men. It’s no use pretendin’ we’ve never even seen the one-eyed monster.”

Eulalie nearly choked on her iced tea and a fierce blush warmed her cheeks. She snatched up a linen napkin and pressed it to her lips, then cleared her throat. “There is no need for such plain speakin’, Eudora.”

Her sister shrugged. “You blush when I use proper medical terminology and you blush when I choose a euphemism.”

“The point I’m makin’ is that despite our experience, we’re still innocent to the ways of the modern world. Things have changed a bit since we were young women. Back then, a boy couldn’t lay a hand on a girl’s bosom without a proposal of marriage. It takes a lot more to get folks talkin’ these days.”

“This is silly, Lalie. We can’t make a scandal happen. They just do.”

A slow smile broke across Eulalie’s face. “But we can help it along a bit.”

“And how will you accomplish that?”

“Rumor, innuendo, baseless accusations. I’ll think of somethin’.”

“And just who will you get to participate in your little scandal?”

Eulalie slowly fanned herself. “I don’t know. Someone with an upstandin’ reputation.” She stared at the house across the street, its wide verandas lined with hanging baskets of fuchsias. “That will take careful consideration. But one thing I can guarantee you, sister. There’ll be a lot more to talk about in Belfort after I’m done stirrin’ the pot. And our precious bridge club will be safe for another hundred years.”

1

EVERYTHING IN BELFORT moved a little slower in the heat of summer. Dogs didn’t pull at their leashes; birds retreated to the cooling shade of the live oak trees. Even the sunset took a lazy route to the horizon. Trey Marbury wiped a trickle of sweat from his neck as he waited at one of Belfort’s three stoplights, grateful that night had finally fallen on a stiflingly hot day.

He peered out the windshield of his Jeep at storefronts that had once been so familiar. Sam Harrington’s hardware store had a new neon sign in the front window and Royal Farley had added fancy new pumps at the filling station. But beyond that, everything was pretty much as he’d left it that day he’d driven out of Belfort, South Carolina, for the last time.

“No parade, no Welcome Home banners, no marching band,” Trey muttered, turning onto Center Street. So far, the return of Belfort’s former favorite son had caused little notice.

Twelve years ago, Trey had been an all-conference quarterback, homecoming king, an honor student, and had won a football scholarship to Georgia Tech—all in one year. Belfort had expected great things from Clayton Marbury III, but not nearly what his father had demanded from his only child. Clayton Marbury II wanted nothing short of perfection—and unquestioning obedience.

Trey had been relieved when he tore up his shoulder in his junior year at Tech. The pressure was off, the expectations gone. He and his father had nothing more to fight about, except the surgery that Trey refused to have and the disinterest he had shown in the family business.

In the end, that’s what had brought him back to Belfort, back to his past—unfinished business. Home was no longer this sleepy little town in the Carolina low country, but a high-rise condo on the Gold Coast of Chicago. He’d lived in the north for so long he’d grown accustomed to the cold winters and the fast pace. The deep drawl that had marked his speech when he had arrived in the Windy City was nearly gone, along with his tolerance for summer weather so hot it made a man’s fingernails sweat.

Trey swung the Jeep onto River Street and pulled into the parking lot of Garland Van Pelt’s convenience store. He ignored the curious stares from the small group of men gathered around a television set as he walked inside. He pulled a six-pack from the cooler, then he grabbed a package of pretzels and headed to the counter.

“Trey Marbury?”

Trey glanced up from his wallet to find the store-owner staring at him. “Hey there, Garland. How’s it going?” He frowned inwardly. His drawl had suddenly reappeared, each word of his greeting sliding into the next.

“Well, well,” Garland crowed, clapping his hands. “Look who we have here, boys. It’s Trey Marbury. We were just talkin’ about you last week. About that game against Marshall. You remember that? You dropped back, Bobby Ray Talbert threw that block and you hurled the ball down the field. It bounced off the defender’s back and into Lanny Freemann’s arms. Belfort wins by three.” The group of men erupted in a cheer, giving each other high fives.

“That was a great game,” Trey said as he tossed a twenty on the counter.

“What are you doin’ back in town?”

“I’m taking care of a few things for my father’s estate.”

The men dropped silent and Garland nodded soberly. “I heard about your dad. I’m real sorry, Trey. He was a good man.”

Trey forced a smile. To most people in town, Clayton Marbury was a good guy, the picture of an upstanding citizen and model family man. He just hadn’t been a loving father to his son. In truth, Trey couldn’t remember his father ever showing an ounce of affection toward him. “Thanks,” he murmured. Trey pushed the money closer to Garland, hoping to make a quick exit.

“He weren’t no cheapwad, either. I never met a more generous guy. Told the funniest stories down at the lodge and could make a mean barbecue. Always threw that big shindig every year on his birthday. Yep, he looked out for his friends, he did.”

“And made life miserable for his enemies,” Trey added.

Garland chuckled. “You’re right about that, son. Though there hasn’t been much to the feud since Wade Parrish and his wife moved out of town three years ago. I think that took all the fight out of your dad. He and your ma left for their place in Arkansas a few months later.” Garland totaled the price of the beer and pretzels, then dropped them both in a bag. “So how long you plannin’ on stayin’ here in Belfort?”

“My mother asked if I’d liquidate the last of the real estate around here and in Charleston. I’ve got to meet with Realtors, get some repairs made to some of the properties. I guess I’ll be here for a few months at least. Just until everything closes. Then I’m headed back home. I mean, back to Chicago.”

Garland nodded. “You got a place here in town?”

“The motor lodge out on Highway 32, though it took a bit of sweet-talking since I have my dog with me. I’m thinking of buying a place and renovating it in my free time. You guys know of any properties I could pick up quick?”

Garland chuckled. “Boy, the apple don’t fall far from the tree. You’re just like your daddy, boy! Clay Marbury was always on the lookout for a good buy. He had the Midas touch, he did.”

Trey had heard just about enough about the great Clayton Marbury II. He grabbed the bag and nodded, a tight smile pasted on his face. “Thanks, Garland. Be seeing you boys.”

The storekeeper scratched his chin. “Now that I think of it, the old Sawyer place is goin’ up for sale. They moved Mrs. Sawyer to an old folks’ home up in Florence, where her daughter lives. The house is fallin’ down, so I reckon you could get a good price for it. My daughter’s a real estate agent. I’ll have her give you a call.”

Trey waved at Garland as he counted out his change. “Keep it,” he said. “Buy the boys a beer on me.”

As Trey backed the Jeep out of the parking lot, he knew it would be a matter of minutes before all the town gossips knew that he was back in Belfort. No doubt, there’d be all kinds of speculation about where he’d been and what he’d been doing these past twelve years. “I should have taken a place in Charleston.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s true—you can’t go home again.”

Trey swung the Jeep back onto Center Street and headed for the old residential section of town. Belfort sat at the junction of two rivers, rivers that emptied into the Atlantic about fifteen miles downstream. Most of the huge white clapboard homes were located on the wide peninsula of land that split the rivers in two, set on streets shaded by centuries-old live oaks and boasting huge lots that backed up on the water.

Trey knew where the Sawyer house was located and headed down Charles Street. As he pulled up in front of it, his gaze drifted to the house next door. This had always been considered Parrish territory, the east side of the historic district. Since the War Between the States, Parrish supporters had lived east of Hamilton Street and Marbury supporters lived west of the dividing line. A person declared their allegiance by where they chose to buy their home. Trey chuckled softly. Buying in enemy territory would have sent his father into an apoplectic fit.

Trey reached over and grabbed a beer, then popped it open and took a long sip. Even if there were still Parrishes living in the house next door, the feud was over now. As the only Marbury heir, he had no intention of continuing the hostilities. And to his recollection, there was only one Parrish heir left and that was Lisbeth Parrish; she’d probably taken off for parts unknown at her first available opportunity.

He hopped out of the Jeep and strolled up to the Sawyer house, the facade looming darkly among the overgrown bushes and trees. Like the house next door, it boasted wide verandas that circled all four sides on both stories, shading the house from the relentless summer sun. He could see the place was badly in need of paint, and the verandas were sagging in spots. But even if it were falling apart inside, a guy didn’t come across a house like this every day. The craftsmanship was incredible, the detailing probably untouched since it had been built in the mid-1800s.

Trey wiped his hand over a dusty window and tried to see inside, making out an old carved mantel and furniture covered with sheets. Suddenly, he’d found a reason to set up housekeeping in Belfort. Smiling, Trey turned back to the street. Hell, he didn’t care what they wanted for the house—he’d pay it. After eight years designing everything from shopping centers to condo complexes, it would be fun to wield a hammer and saw again.

Halfway to his Jeep, Trey turned around. There had always been a secret path around the back of the old Sawyer house, a path that he and his buddies had taken numerous times on a hot summer night. It led through a dense thicket of trees and kudzu to a tiny inlet in the river, a deep pool with a sandy bottom. The high school had built a swimming pool the year after he’d graduated and the spot probably had been long forgotten. A swim might be nice before he headed back to the motel.

He retrieved the rest of the six-pack from the Jeep and then walked past the empty house into the deep backyard. Crickets chirped and unseen night animals rustled as he searched for the entrance to the path. Though the inlet required trespassing on Parrish property, that had never stopped Trey and his friends. If they didn’t get too loud and cleaned up after themselves, they usually went undetected.

As he pushed through the brush, Trey recalled one time when he had been caught, and not by old man Parrish. His memories of that night, just a few days before his eighteenth birthday, were still strangely vivid, for they had represented a turning point in his life. Maybe it had been the setting or the events leading up to the encounter. Or maybe it had been his unbidden reaction that had burned the memory so deeply into his mind.

It had been his last night in Belfort before leaving for summer football practice at Tech. He’d started the evening embroiled in an argument with his father, who had insisted he’d pay nothing for Trey’s education. Though Clayton Marbury II had been born into wealth, he had somehow gotten the idea that his son would benefit from working his way through college. At the time, Trey wasn’t sure how he’d be able to juggle football, architecture courses and a job, but he’d seen the advantage of being completely free of his father’s control.

He’d stormed out, ready to find a cold six-pack and some buddies to drink it with. But in the end, he had decided to spend his last night alone, away from all the big talk about athletic accomplishments and his bright future in college football. In a few days, he’d be considered a man. It was time to start acting like one.

He’d found himself at the inlet, angry and overwhelmed, confused about the direction his life was taking and scared that he might not be able to cope. She’d appeared sometime between his third and fourth beer and, at first, Trey had thought he might be hallucinating. But once he’d realized she wasn’t just a by-product of a drunken buzz, Trey had been glad for the company.

Libby Parrish hadn’t run with the in crowd at Belfort High School. Shy and bookish, she’d never stood out in the midst of prettier, more popular girls. She was also just a junior. And she was a Parrish, the only flaw that made any difference in his world. But that night, in the moonlight, she became something more to him.

The moment he saw her, he almost bolted. But then she spoke, telling him he didn’t have to leave, that she wouldn’t tell her father. Trey still remembered the look in her eyes, the curiosity mixed with a little bit of fear. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to go home anyway, so why not? Besides, spending time with Libby Parrish was as good as thumbing his nose at his father.

Trey let the memories drift through his mind as he stepped around the last clump of bushes and walked into a small clearing. Moonlight sparkled on the river, and in the distance, a duck took flight, its wings flapping in the dark. Trey found an old log near the spot where they used to build a fire to fend off the mosquitoes. He sat down on the ground and leaned back against it, taking another long sip of his beer. For the first time since he’d driven into Belfort, he felt like he’d found a memory worth reliving.

But a moment after he settled in, Trey heard rustling in the bushes behind him. With a soft curse, he crawled behind the log and lay flat on his stomach, then reached over to grab the rest of the beer. Though he hadn’t minded breaking the law as a kid, Trey was pretty much a stranger in town now and he wasn’t sure how the owner would feel about his presence on private property.

He waited, holding his breath, half expecting a group of kids to appear. But a single figure stepped through the bushes, a woman, her slender body outlined by a loose cotton sundress, her pale hair shining in the moonlight. She reached for the hem of her dress and in one easy motion, pulled it over her head, then kicked off her sandals and walked to the edge of the water.

Trey sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking as he did. She wore nothing beneath the dress and the shock of seeing a naked woman just a few feet away made his pulse suddenly quicken. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. She was just about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Her body was perfect, her limbs long and delicate, her backside perfectly shaped. The light played over her skin and he found himself caught by the graceful curve of her shoulders and the gentle indentation at the small of her back. She lifted her arms and slipped her hands beneath her hair, holding the wavy mass off her neck. Trey shifted slightly as he felt himself grow hard, a crease in his jeans making the reaction a little painful.

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.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” he said, leaning closer to examine her wounds. “Shouldn’t leave a scar.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” Libby said as she drew away. “But since your dog was the cause of my accident, I don’t think I will.”

He stared at her for a long moment, as if he could read her mind, and then shrugged. “Just trying to be neighborly.”

Libby brushed the dirt off her dress. “With a line like that, it’s a good thing we’re standing in my garden,” she muttered. “My roses need the fertilizer.”

Trey hitched his hands up on his waist and shook his head. “Maybe you ought to just lay back down with the rest of the prickly things in this garden, Lisbeth.”

The insult stung. She hadn’t meant to act so nasty, but Trey had a way of making her feel like a seventeen-year-old geek all over again. “So we finally see the real Trey Marbury,” Libby murmured, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and straightening her spine.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She tipped up her chin. “Tell me, of all the houses in Belfort, why did you choose to move into this one?”

“You think I bought this house because of you?” Trey chuckled. “Now don’t you have a low eye for a high fence.”

Libby ground her teeth. He looked so satisfied, as if he had her exactly where he wanted her! All the confidence he’d possessed as a teenager had increased tenfold and Libby knew he’d have a snappy retort for anything she might throw his way. Well, she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman fully capable of defending herself against his charms. “You’re no better than any other Marbury, all of you crooked as a barrel of snakes.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Trey asked, taking a step toward her, his eyes glittering with amusement, goading her.

“Just stay out of my way,” Libby warned. “Keep your dog out of my garden and keep your nose out of my business. I’m watching you.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you peering out from behind those starched curtains. For someone who values her privacy, you’re just a little too interested in your neighbors. Or is it just me you find so fascinating?”

Libby took a step forward, standing so close to him she could feel the heat of his body. She poked him in the chest, setting him back on his heels. “Don’t dare presume that I have even the slightest interest in you, Marbury.”

His jaw went tight as he stared into her eyes. Then, in one quick movement, he grabbed her hand and swept it behind her back, pulling her body up against his. At first, she was too stunned to protest. And then, when she opened her mouth to speak, all she could manage was a tiny gasp.

Libby’s eyes drifted down to his lips and she wondered if he had any intention of kissing her. If he did, she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to do anything about it—except perhaps kiss him back. But when her eyes met his again, Libby’s heart froze. It was there, in the icy blue depths. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

Trey’s lips curled into a grin and he chuckled softly. “What? Can’t think of anything to say?”

“What I have to say to you isn’t fit for civilized ears.”

He leaned closer to her, taking his own sweet time as he did. Libby waited, frantically wracking her brain for some acidic comeback or well-aimed put-down, certain he was about to kiss her and knowing she didn’t want to stop him. But before his lips touched hers, he paused, hovering so close she could feel his breath on her face.

Her heart hammered in her chest and Libby felt herself losing touch with reality. All she could think about was this moment and how everything hinged on her reaction. She didn’t move, barely breathed, her body trembling with anticipation.

And then, he did it. She knew it was coming, but she still wasn’t prepared for the flood of desire that raced through her bloodstream. In single fleeting moment, his lips were on hers. A tiny moan slipped from her throat as she collapsed against him, and he took it as an invitation. His tongue slowly traced along her bottom lip and then invaded, taking possession of both her mouth and her ability to reason.

Every nerve in her body seemed to come alive, every thought focused on the feel of his lips on hers. She’d kissed a small number of boys in her life, but this wasn’t just a kiss. It was a challenge, a dare, the first salvo in a battle that had just begun—and Libby couldn’t show any weakness. They weren’t kids anymore and along the way, they’d acquired some very adult weapons.

She returned the kiss in full measure, her tongue meeting his, touching and tangling until the taste of him filled her. Her hands flitted to his face and then furrowed through his hair, tempting him to surrender and declare her the victor.

When he finally drew away, Libby looked up at him, proud of her effort. She expected to see the self-satisfied grin she’d come to know, but instead he appeared to be as consumed by the kiss as she was. He gazed down at her through half-hooded eyes, and his breathing was shallow and quick.

“I think we’ve gotten off to a fine start,” he murmured, allowing his nose to bump against hers. “In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy the neighborhood just fine.”

With that, he let go of her arm. Libby stumbled back, light-headed and weak-kneed, nearly falling into the rose bushes again. But she caught herself just in time, straightening her posture and smoothing her trembling hands over the front of her dress. “Don’t be so sure. Just because you managed to kiss me doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about you.”

“Managed to kiss you? Considering your response, I more than managed. Besides, if you think there was anything romantic about that kiss, you’re wrong.”

“Really?” Libby said. “Why did you kiss me then?”

“It was the only way to keep you from hurling another insult at me,” Trey replied.

“Well, there’s a much easier way to accomplish that. You could just run on down to the train tracks and take yourself a nice long nap.” She glanced at her watch. “The train comes through at about three, so why don’t you plan on sleeping ‘til four?”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” Trey said.

“Then just stay out of my life. Keep your dog out of my garden and your face out of my line of vision and we’ll get on just fine. And if you’re going to do yard work, at least wear a shirt.”

“My, I have missed that Southern hospitality.” He slowly backed away. “Just warms a man’s heart.”

Libby ground her teeth. There was no winning with him, no getting the last word! Deciding it was best to cut her losses, she turned on her heel and started for the house.

“I’m looking forward to that cake, Parrish.”

Libby clenched her fingers into fists. “No more than I’m looking forward to the day when you lose your testicles in a tragic lawn mower accident, Marbury,” she shouted over her shoulder.

As she continued her retreat to the house, Libby smiled to herself. Maybe she had gotten the last word. It wasn’t the most poetic turn of phrase, but the imagery had certainly hit the mark. Yet, there was no satisfaction in the victory. Though she might have won the battle, Libby wasn’t looking forward to waging the war.

It was entirely too difficult to remember that Trey Marbury was the enemy—and that falling for him again would mean surrendering the last shreds of dignity she had left.

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