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.
2
TREY SEARCHED THROUGH the darkened room for his drill bits, the heat in the second-story bedroom making it hard to breathe. Since he’d moved in, he’d been sleeping on an old sofa downstairs, the tall windows thrown open to catch even the slightest breeze.
Hell, he’d been living up north for so long that he’d forgotten what a South Carolina summer was like—the unrelenting humidity, so thick it made everything stick to the skin, including whatever clothes a person could stand to wear.
It was easier to work inside once the sun went down, and there was plenty of work to do. The old Sawyer house had been left to ruin three years ago; its elderly owner had been reluctant to sell after she’d moved to a nursing home. It had been on the market just a few days when Trey moved back to Belfort and he’d jumped at the chance to buy it, offering a cash deal to speed up the sale. He’d moved in before the deal closed, ready to begin the renovations.
He’d told himself that the work would take the place of a social life in town. But after his encounter with Libby three days ago, Trey had been forced to reexamine his motives for choosing to buy this particular house.
Over the years, he’d thought about Libby, about their night at the river. No matter how he rationalized what had happened, it all still felt unfinished to him, as if there were still words that hadn’t been said, feelings that hadn’t been resolved.
The moment he drove into town, it was as if he were driving into the rest of his life. As much as he wanted to deny his small-town Southern roots, he’d come home, to a place where he had history. He’d come home to a place where people knew him and cared about him. Maybe he’d come back to Belfort hoping that he’d find Libby.
Trey bent down and picked through a pile of paint scrapers he’d tossed on the floor. So their first meeting hadn’t gone very well. Trey hadn’t expected it to be a lovefest, considering the feud that had always stood between their families. But he hadn’t expected outright hostility. They’d shared an incredible night; certainly that had to have meant something.
Obviously, it hadn’t. She’d never written him, never tried to make contact, even through he’d sent five or six letters. But all that had happened a lifetime ago. Libby was no longer the pale and skinny girl he knew, her wide green eyes always watching him but never meeting his gaze, taking such care to stay out of his way. She was a woman now and he was a man. Things had changed.
Trey sucked in a sharp breath. Maybe that was the way to rationalize the kiss he’d shared with her—it was just a male response to a beautiful female, purely animal in its origins. But Trey had never acted on impulse when it came to women. Every move in his romantic life had come after careful consideration. But what he felt for Libby Parrish had nothing to do with romance.
Trey snatched up the plastic case that held his drill bits and then straightened. He’d been thinking about Libby all afternoon and evening, trying to figure out what it was that had caused him to temporarily lose his mind. Yes, he was attracted to her, but at the same time, he knew to keep a safe distance. Trey was already the subject of rampant speculation around town and the last thing he wanted was to add a woman—especially Libby Parrish—to the mix of rumor and gossip. If he wanted a sex life, he’d have to find it in Savannah or Charleston, not next door.
Crossing
