Libby returned the group to the cafeteria, just as the dais was being moved into place for the awards ceremony.
Deciding she'd had as much of Chris's presence as she could handle, Libby pulled Sister Mary Clare aside and began thanking her for the evening. Sister Mary Clare, however, insisted that Libby stay at least through the awards speeches, even if she didn't want to partake in the dancing that was to follow.
Not wanting to slight the woman, Libby sat down and listened to the Monsignor introduce Chris to the audience. Amidst a standing ovation, Chris approached the podium, appearing somewhat embarrassed by the loud show of approval. Holding his hands up to gain their silence, he cleared his throat and began speaking.
At first, Libby only half-listened to the thank you's Chris acknowledged in his speech, delivered with the usual humbleness of a speaker wishing to share the praise.
At the mention of her name, however, Libby bolted upright in her chair.
"...a tour given by Miss Elizabeth Reed," she'd heard him say.
"Less than an hour ago, I had the privilege of seeing first hand, the exciting changes taking place here at St. Bernadette's," he continued.
Libby leaned forward, her heart racing, as she strained to listen.
"You may, or may not, be aware that I spent eight years of my childhood in this old building. I clearly remember playing tag in its run-down playroom, roaming the drab, dingy halls, eating in this depressing dining room. As they are today, the Sisters were always kind and loving to us children, but they struggled daily to get us hot water and proper lighting from its ancient plumbing and electrical systems."
Chris was relaxed and open, addressing the audience with the ease of a seasoned professional.
"About a year ago, I made an offer to Sister Mary Clare and the Monseigneur that I was sure they wouldn't refuse. I told them I'd tear this place down and build a brand new one, at my expense. I was sure they'd jump at the opportunity. But I was wrong."
Libby was held as captive by his story as was the rest of the audience. The room was completely silent.
"Sister Mary Clare," Chris called out, searching the room before locating her. "Do you remember what you said to me that day?"
Sister Mary Clare rose from her chair.
"I sure do, Chris," she replied in a voice loud enough for all to hear her. "I told you that if this building was good enough to produce such fine people as you, then it might turn out even better ones once we restored it." Beaming, she took her seat.
"Those were her exact words. She went on to tell me that she and the other Sisters' great love for this place wouldn't let them even consider demolition. She was stern and indignant. Basically, she told me to pack my money bags and leave. So, I left. Wondering where the heck they were going to find the money to even fix the Orphanage, let alone restore it."
"Now, those of you who've had to deal with the good Sister know how tenacious she can be. A few days after our conversation, she called me. 'Chris,' she says, 'we're applying for a million dollar state grant to restore St. Bernadette's.' Suddenly, I'm sending her a check so she can hire a professional to write the complex application for them."
He paused, looking over the crowd.
"I admit, I didn't donate the money willingly at first, but you know how persuasive Sister Mary Clare can be when she really wants something!"
The audience laughed gently in agreement.
"The rest of the story you are familiar with. St. Bernadette's got the grant and, after yet another lecture from the Sister, I agreed to match it."
Chris took a sip of water from the glass on the dais.
"I didn't think it possible--or worthwhile--until an hour ago. Miss Reed showed me tonight the hidden splendor being carefully revealed. After restoration, St. Bernadette's will be a model institution and a wonderful place to nurture the children who so desperately need a home filled with light and hope."
Libby felt hot, wet tears gather in her eyes at his words. Had she finally managed to break through the barriers of his resistance?
"I must tell you, though, I still don't believe every old building deserves to be saved. But the Orphanage clearly does. To Sister Mary Clare and all the others who backed this project, I acknowledge you were right all along."
"To Miss Reed, I say thank you for opening my eyes and changing my way of thinking. And in closing, thanks to all of you for contributing your time and money to restoring St. Bernadette's."
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause again and as Chris turned to accept a plaque honoring the occasion from the Monsignor, Libby got out of her seat and slipped quietly out of the room.
Chapter Nineteen
The air in the tiny contemplation garden behind the Orphanage was still balmy despite the lateness of the evening. Libby sat on one of the garden's several wooden benches, savoring the fragrance of the heirloom rose bushes clustered to her right. Strains of music coming from the building signaled the end of the speeches and the resumption of dancing. Needing some fresh air and a quiet moment before the drive home, she decided to spend a few minutes in the lovely green sanctuary she'd discovered during her research at the Orphanage.
Taking a deep breath of redolent air, Libby relaxed against the cold, hard wood slats and stared at the star-filled sky overhead, her mind racing with thoughts of Chris.
"Beauty fleeing the Beast?"
Chris's instantly-recognizable voice floated through the night from somewhere behind Libby. He appeared before her and gestured to the bench.
"Mind if I join you?"
Libby watched uneasily as he removed his black tuxedo jacket, carefully folded it in half, and casually laid it over the arm rest. With a sigh, he unbuttoned the shirt cuffs and slowly rolled up the sleeves. Oblivious to her examination, he loosened the formal bow tie and opened several buttons at his neck, revealing a sculpted chest sprinkled with dark hair. Libby swallowed hard at the memory of his perfect body as it looked during their workout several weeks ago now. Suddenly, she felt as though the sun had risen anew with the heat invading her body.
When Chris caught her peering at him, she stammered in embarrassment. "F-forgive me, I know how rude it is to stare."
"You're forgiven," he replied lightly. "I find myself staring at you sometimes, too. Especially tonight." Chris laughed and raised his eyebrows in a wolfish leer.
"That was a nice acceptance speech you gave this evening, Chris," Libby proffered, evading the sensual awareness always present when he was near. "You may not believe this, but it wasn't my intent to make you into a preservation advocate with my tour of the orphanage after dinner!"
"Don't worry, you haven't," he began slowly. "But I meant every word. You can be very persuasive, Libby. You helped me see this old place in a different light and I wanted to express my thanks publicly."
The sincerity in his eyes caught and held Libby.
"Sometimes it takes an outsider to show you something new about a place you've passed by a hundred times before but never noticed," Libby countered. "A man I used to date was an avid fisherman," she continued. "You know, the kind of guy who'd rather catch his own bait than buy it from the store? Well, we had just started dating and one Sunday afternoon he took me to a spot to catch herring, a kind of bait that he used."
Libby paused, deep in remembrance, then continued.
"It was a lovely place on the Mullica River. You could only get to it by walking along an abandoned railroad line that crossed the river back in the early 1900's. We parked his pick-up truck and starting walking down the dirt road where the tracks used to be, scanning the marshes along both sides of the old rail bed for herring. The water is shallow there and you can see the fish splashing close to the surface. They're only there for a week in the spring, maybe two, spawning before they head back down the river to the bay."
"I noticed up ahead of us that the old railroad bridge was still there, spanning the river. Of course, the rails had been removed long ago, but the huge oak beams that held them were
in place. You could actually cross the river there if you didn't mind balancing on those 12" beams."
"Well, I got all excited about finding the bridge and as I looked more closely at it, I became very curious about two metal beams placed smack dab in the middle of the wooden ones. I thought maybe it had been a drawbridge or could move somehow, so I convinced him to go out with me and look at it."
"We gingerly made our way over the river but even standing on top of the metal beams, we still couldn't figure out what purpose they served. From our perch out there we had a beautiful view of the river. The sun was low in the sky and you could hear the ducks quacking over the noise of the fast-running water below us. In the distance, he pointed out a beaver, paddling swiftly to get to the other side."
"After admiring the scenery, we turned around and headed back to the embankment. Then we retraced our steps along the road, still searching the marshes for herring. Finally, we found some hiding in the weeds along the banks and my friend caught of few dozen in his net."
"I'll never forget. As he started emptying them into the holding tank he brought along on the truck, he began to laugh. He said he'd been down that old railway hundreds of times and, sure, he'd seen the bridge. But he'd never noticed the metal beams sitting amid the wooden ones."
"Then I started laughing. I told him that if he hadn't been with me, I never would have seen the bait fish lurking so close to the road in my single-mindedness to explore the bridge. And I probably wouldn't have noticed the beaver, either."
"We agreed that each of us had learned something from the other's unique perspective."
Libby stopped, realizing that she'd related much more than she ever intended to. Chris was watching her closely through the darkness, seemingly absorbed in every word she said.
After a moment of silence passed between them, he finally responded. "So what have you learned from me, if anything?"
Libby thought for a minute, staring up into the starlit sky as she did. "I've come to see now that your plan for Harte's Desire, the site I should say, is a good one. The town desperately needs more office space in addition to the tax ratables your project will bring.” Libby looked at him with open honesty as she spoke. Although the garden's broad shadows made his features barely discernable, she could see he was listening to her avidly.
"But the mansion, Chris. Harte's Desire. It's one of a kind. It's unique, and there's no other like it. Once you tear it down, it's gone forever. Build your office buildings and parking lots. But spare Harte's Desire. Please? I know in my heart it would make a splendid conference center."
Libby watched Chris carefully for a reaction to her words, hoping to find him moved by her plea. But he was lost in thought, staring into the distance, silent and cold.
"You're not going to save Harte's Desire, are you?" she finally asked, her low voice shaking with barely contained emotion.
Chris turned on the bench to face her.
"I can't, Libby," he responded quietly. "I'm a businessman and the balance sheet tells me I'd be an idiot to pump millions into a run-down twenty-five room oddity for the sake of preserving a historic whimsy. It just doesn't add up." He paused. "Besides, I'm already helping the Orphanage and historical society and that's more than enough old buildings for me."
He gazed at her steadily, his eyes never wavering from hers. "You ask too much when you ask me to save Harte's Desire."
Unable to endure the sincerity of his words, Libby quickly looked away, feeling a lump of emotion welling in her throat.
"I'm sorry, Chris," she finally managed to say. "Sorry you can't be persuaded. Sorry that Harte's Desire will be bulldozed in the name of progress. But I'm not sorry I tried to convince you otherwise. I had to, or I would always regret my silence. The mansion has been special to me all my life."
A sudden gust of wind caught Libby's golden curls, loosening several strands. Reflexively, Chris reached up to push them back into place, then gently cupped her face in his hands.
"I admire you greatly for trying," he said tenderly, softly running his fingers along her cheeks.
Before Libby could protest, Chris pulled her close and bent his head towards hers, their lips a whisper apart.
His kiss was hesitant at first, full of apology and restraint. Yet he lingered there, slowly tracing the outline of her full lips with the tip of his tongue.
Too surprised to react, Libby sat immobile on the bench, frozen, thinking she should break away from Chris's embrace as she had before. But as he caressed her lightly with his tongue, she knew she was helpless to escape the feelings of passion he aroused in her. She moaned softly, then met his kiss with the urgency of unleashed desire, knowing all the while it was pure madness to respond. Reaching up to cradle his head with her hands, she pulled him close to her, savoring the feel of his dark, wavy hair against her sensitive fingertips.
She almost gasped when his tongue probed gently between her lips, parting them to explore the sweetness inside. The maddening assault on her senses continued as his hands slowly traveled down her neck, behind her shoulders, then deep along her spine. Libby felt the persistent ache between her legs burst forth into a steady throb. She returned his kiss, now equally passionate and demanding, with a fervor to match, and heard him growl in response.
Chris arose from the bench, pulling Libby up with him as he did so, then drew her against his muscular frame. Ignited by the closeness of their embrace, Libby wrapped her arms around his solid chest. The feel of his engorged manhood rubbing through the silk of her dress sent hot shivers of desire through her. Emboldened by his blatant arousal, Libby trailed her hands down his back with deliberate motions before stopping at his waist. Libby felt the highly-toned muscles there tighten under her embrace as he deepened the kiss. His lips were hot and greedy, melding with hers.
His hands moved lower still. The delicious sensation of silk sliding sensuously against her skin fanned the flames of raw need burning within her. Libby, nearly delirious with passion, was about to trace the length of his muscular thighs when she stopped, hearing someone nearby.
"I was hoping you two would find each other irresistible," Sister Mary Clare's voice called out in the darkness. She moved towards them, her black habit rustling with each step.
Libby quickly withdrew from Chris's embrace, frantically rearranging her dress and fingering her mussed hair. Chris straightened abruptly and cleared his throat nervously.
Sister Mary Clare eyed them with a mischievous grin. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to say goodbye to you before you slipped away. And to say thanks for coming tonight. You both made this event a real success."
"Forgive me, Sister. I confess I thought I could just sneak out while no one was looking," Libby said contritely.
"No apology needed. I just hope you two had a good time." Sister Mary Clare turned and disappeared into the night, calling out to them with a chuckle, "Looks to me like you are. I told you I'm a great matchmaker!"
Flustered by the interruption and still aroused by Chris's passionate kiss, Libby looked at him, only to find an icy, unemotional mask staring back at her. How could he kiss her with such ardor a few minutes ago and now act as though nothing had happened between them?
Men, she thought with growing disgust. They only want one thing and would do anything to get it. Secretly, she'd hoped after Sister Mary Clare left, he would pull her back into his sturdy, secure arms and continue the kiss. Instead, she found herself watching him coolly and casually slip his jacket back on.
“There’s something about you Libby Reed that I cannot resist. Even you agree we are totally unsuited for each other. I had no right to lead us down a path tonight neither wants to follow.” His gaze held hers.
Feeling intensely hurt and rejected, Libby addressed him as indifferently as she could, changing the subject quickly.
"I'll have the report in your office Friday morning. That was the agreed deadline, wasn't it?" Her tone was polite and professional, almost frosty, and absent of any trace of prior pas
sion or need.
"That's actually why I sought you out tonight after I saw you leave the room, Libby," Chris replied, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket before adjusting the front button.
He continued, "I've got a really hectic week ahead. And Friday morning I have to fly to London on business, so I was wondering if I might look over the report Thursday night? I have to spend the day in New York City, but I'll be back at Harte's Desire late in the afternoon. Could you come over, say, around 6 p.m.? If the report's not quite done, just bring what you have and I'll trust you to get the rest to Mrs. McElroy on Friday."
Libby thought carefully before answering. She honestly never wanted to set foot in Harte's Desire again and she knew she'd have a hard time containing her emotions with him there. Better to have him come to her for a change. Surely she could resist any moves he might make amid the safety of her own house. Having the enemy under control on her turf suddenly made a lot of sense.
"Why don't you come to my place instead, Chris?" Libby proposed easily. "That way, if you have questions about any aspect of the report, or my research, I'll have the answers right there in my office or on the computer. It's next to the house."
"That sounds fine. Sorry to change plans like this, but I can't help it."
"That's OK."
"What time should I be there?"
"Six should give us plenty of time." Libby gave him the easy directions to her house and laughed out loud when she saw the surprise register on his face.
"We're next door neighbors," she chuckled, feeling in charge of her fate once again, "or didn't you know?"
"Well, I won't have any trouble finding you, will I?" Chris responded, looking at her somewhat sheepishly.
"Nope," Libby retorted before turning and heading out the wrought iron gate and fence that enclosed the tiny garden. "I'll see you then," she called out as the staccato sound of her high heels striking the cobblestone pavement followed her into the darkness.
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