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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.”
