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
