her body against his. But when he pushed aside the dusty drapes to open the window, he found himself faced with something more than just a mental picture. The bedroom window looked right out on Libby’s bedroom, now ablaze with light. He stepped back and let the moth-eaten curtain drop, but his curiosity got the better of him. Hell, if she could spy on him, he could certainly return the favor.
He parted the drapes again and watched. It was obvious she wasn’t aware of the view he had, or maybe the house had been empty for so long that it had never been a concern. Three tall windows spanned the width of her bedroom and opened onto the second-floor veranda. She hadn’t bothered to pull the lace curtains that hung on either side.
Trey watched her make the bed, shaking out freshly laundered sheets and smoothing them over the mattress of the huge four-poster. She wore a simple cotton dress, loose and flowing, like the one she’d worn that night at the river. The fabric clung to her body and outlined long slender legs and a tiny waist. The neckline was cut just low enough and gaped slightly when she bent over the bed. But Trey was left to fill in the image with memories of their kiss, his hand sliding along her back and then around to her hip, her breasts pressed against his naked chest.
She walked to the window and Trey fought the impulse to step away. He knew the room was dark and that he couldn’t be seen. Libby slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress, then turned and lifted her hair from her neck, letting the meager breeze cool her. Trey gnawed on his lower lip, suddenly wondering if she knew he was there, if every move was meant to taunt him further.
With a soft curse, he turned away from the window. He’d do well to find some feminine companionship and find it fast. Fantasizing about Libby Parrish was an exercise in masochism. She’d made her feelings about him patently clear—there was no love lost between the Parrishes and the Marburys, and there’d be none to find between him and Libby.
Trey tucked the drill bits into his back pocket and headed downstairs. Beau was waiting for him, his leash in his mouth and his tail thumping on the floor. “No way,” Trey murmured to the golden retriever. “We’re not going for a walk now. Nighttime is work time.” The dog trotted after him into the kitchen where Trey grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator. He popped the top and then took a long drink, tipping his head back to let the ice-cold liquid slide down his throat.
The interior of the house was a wreck, the result of his enthusiastic demolition. The kitchen was the only thing he hadn’t touched. A guy had to eat, though he hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Chicago was known for great restaurants and he’d been spoiled, never taking the time to cook for himself. But Belfort had a much more limited selection, though the restaurants served good Southern home cooking.
“What I wouldn’t do for some decent Thai food,” he muttered, his stomach growling. As he took another sip of his beer, Trey’s cell phone rang. He picked it up from the kitchen table. “Trey Marbury,” he said.
“When the hell are you coming back to Chicago?”
He immediately recognized the voice of his business partner. The day to day stress of running a successful real estate development company seemed to result in an edgy, almost frantic tone for Mark Callahan and Trey knew that this was a phone call he wasn’t anxious to take. “Hey, Mark. What’s up?”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” Trey said. “That’s barely a standard vacation. Besides, I spoke with Dave this morning. If there are any problems, he’s promised to call me. I can always drive back for a day or two if necessary.”
“Listen, when you said you had to leave for a couple of months, I figured you’d be gone a couple of days. You’re not actually going to stay away for two months, are you?”
“I need some time,” Trey said. “I’ve got a lot of crap to sort out. When my father died in May, I came down here for the funeral and left the same day. I’m not sure I really dealt with what was going on. I need to do that now. Besides, isn’t this one of the benefits of being a partner?”
“Can’t you deal with your crap up here? We’ve got really good psychologists in Chicago.”
“No, it’s got to be here. I’ve got to take care of some things for his estate and I bought a house that I’m renovating.”
Mark gasped. “You bought a house?”
“Yeah, you ought to see this place. It was built in the mid-1800s and it’s got all the original architectural detailing. It’s going to be sweet when it’s finished. I’m doing a lot of the work myself. I was going to flip it, but I’m thinking I might just keep it for a vacation home.”
“It sounds to me like you’re planning to stay a lot longer than two months,” Mark said.
“Well, I’m not. Now, was there a specific problem you called to discuss, or can I get back to work?” They chatted for a few more minutes, Trey reassuring his partner that he was not abandoning the business. When he finally got off the phone, Beau was still sitting at the back door, his tail thumping. Trey tossed the phone on the table and then let the dog out. But to his dismay, Beau made a beeline for the azalea hedge. “Ah, hell,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Running after the dog, he got to the bushes just as the golden retriever scampered through a hole. Trey whistled softly and called, but the dog had never been very obedient. Had it been any other backyard, Trey would have walked away and let the dog wander. But he didn’t need Libby Parrish banging on his door at sunrise to complain about the condition of her roses.
The grass was cool and damp beneath his bare feet as he circled around the hedge and walked into Libby’s garden. As he came around the back corner of the house, he saw Beau sitting on the back porch, his nose pressed against the screen door.
“Get over here!” Trey hissed. “Beau! Come.”
The dog glanced over at his master, but refused to follow orders. Trey started toward the back door, but then a figure appeared in the doorway and he froze.
She had changed from her dress to a gauzy nightgown that left her arms and shoulders bare. Her hair had been pulled up and twisted into a knot, but damp tendrils brushed her temples and curled against her neck. At that moment, Trey was certain that he’d never seen anything quite as beautiful as Libby Parrish. The light from the kitchen outlined her slender form and created a shimmering halo around her body. She looked like an angel, pure and unapproachable.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
For a moment, Trey thought she was talking to him, but then he realized she was speaking to Beau. He waited, unwilling to break the silence of the night, hoping that the dog would turn and run.
Libby glanced both ways, then pushed the screen door open. “Are you lost? You live over there, not here.” She reached down and patted the dog on the head. Trey winced. Beau was an easy mark. The slightest show of affection turned the dog into a loyal friend. It would take ten pounds of raw steak to get Beau to leave now.
“Are you hungry?” Libby asked. Beau wagged his tail and stood up, nuzzling her hand. “Wait here,” she said. “Stay. Sit.”
Libby disappeared into the house and returned a moment later with a plate of biscuits. The smell drifted through the air and Trey groaned softly. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and the scent made his mouth water. He watched as Libby plucked a biscuit off the plate and held it up for the dog.
Beau
