Harte's Desire Read online

  He was sweating profusely and his muscles bulged from exertion. Libby was giving him one heck of a workout he thought with a grimace, getting out of the machine. He started this friendly rivalry thinking she would give up after the first few exercises. Instead, Libby seemed to be thriving on the competition and she was giving out as good--no, better--than she was receiving. He thought he was in great shape and could handle anything, but he hadn't counted on her pushing him to the max.

  As they approached the final machine, Chris quickly decided this one would be no holds barred. He would have her begging for mercy if it took his last ounce of strength. He did owe her revenge, after all.

  "You're familiar, Miss Reed, with the leg curl machine?" he teased, reverting to the use of her formal name.

  Libby nodded, wondering what he was planning as she eyed the flat, padded table with a roller bar at one end. She remembered only too well how difficult it was to lay face down on the table, hook her ankles under the bar, then curl them back to her derriere. But, she would gladly endure the torture for shapely legs and some friendly competition, she reminded herself, before staring at Chris questioningly.

  "Well, climb on Elizabeth, and let's see what you can do here!"

  Libby selected a weight level, positioned herself on the table, then curled her legs back.

  "That's much too light," Chris observed as she easily flexed her legs. "Let's make it heavier."

  He increased the weight by ten pounds, causing her to groan with the next repetition. Then he lightened the load and made her do each repetition as slowly as possible.

  She grunted with each contraction, but managed to her surprise to complete ten more. When Libby finally got off the machine, her legs buckled in sheer exhaustion.

  Chris caught her as she started to fall, wrapping an arm around her slender waist in support.

  "Guess I pushed you too hard," he declared, sounding only somewhat sympathetic. And when Libby looked at him she saw a triumphant smile lighting his face.

  "Do you always treat your employees like this?" she replied sternly, deciding he was about to discover the true meaning of the phrase "paybacks are hell.” If only the feel of his arms around her wasn't so divine. When he released her, she almost cried at the loss.

  As Chris positioned himself, Libby remembered two other ways the trainer had shown her to use the leg curl machine. In an instant, she knew they would suit her purposes perfectly.

  She let him start heavier than usual, as he had done to her. He didn't complain about the additional weight and seemed to complete the repetitions effortlessly. When she cut the weight in half, he eyed her suspiciously.

  "Don't get up," she ordered, imitating the authoritative tone of voice he had used on her. "Now I want you to do these one leg at a time," she directed, almost gloating over the look of disbelief he shot her.

  Chris didn't protest out loud, but started the exercise. This time, though, he grunted audibly with each contraction. Libby smiled as she remembered how much more difficult it was to do this way. She forced him to do an additional five repetitions before putting the weight back to its heavier setting.

  This time he looked at her incredulously. "You sure you want it that heavy?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

  "Stay there," Libby said, imitating him again, "and don't question your trainer's decisions." The revenge was sweeter than she anticipated.

  "Now, I want you to do these with both legs but do only half the range of motion. Pull the bar back to your butt, but only lower it half the way down."

  Done this way, the exercise was a killer, she knew, and she watched him struggle to complete it ten times. He was drenched in sweat now. When she had him do it ten more times, she was certain he would start cursing her. He put up with it, however, and when finished just lay there taking in deep gulps of air.

  "I'm almost afraid to get up," Chris finally panted out, looking at Libby with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. "I think you did me in on that one!"

  Then he started laughing. The little minx had proven to be a worthy adversary in the weight room. What stamina! And where did she learn those leg curls? Was he ever going to be sore tomorrow! Chris got off the machine unsteadily.

  Thoroughly exhausted, hot, and drenched in sweat, too, Libby took a long drink from the bottled water she always brought to the health club. The workout nearly killed her, but she felt oddly invigorated and the look on Chris's face at the end of the last exercise was worth all the pain, stiffness, and soreness she knew she'd feel in the morning. Although she'd managed to keep up with him, it was going to cost her dearly the next day and probably the day after, too.

  "That's it for me," Libby declared, putting the cap back on the water. "You can stay until midnight if you want, but I've had it!"

  Chris laughed again. "I'm ready to go, too."

  He paused, thinking how nice a relaxing soak in a hot tub would feel. Even better would be a massage, slow and gentle, melting the stress and strain away. He’d do the same for Libby. Maybe after they eased away each other's aches and pains, they could...he stopped the thought abruptly.

  He'd never expected to see her here, and he surprised himself by asking her to work out with him. The afternoon had sped by in her enjoyable companionship, and he was almost sorry to see their time together coming to an end. He considered suggesting they grab a bite to eat, but immediately ruled against it. What the hell was he thinking? They might have enjoyed a friendly rivalry in the gym, but it had been a true rivalry in Philadelphia. No, he couldn't allow himself to socialize with her, no matter how tempting it was to spend more time with her.

  For a moment Libby thought Chris was about to ask her out. Not on a real date or anything, but maybe to get some ice cream or a cold, refreshing drink. He had been so relaxed during their workout, so unlike the ambition-driven man he usually appeared to be. They had laughed together and teased each other, both seeming to forget the world outside. Then she noticed a change come over him and knew they would both leave, going their separate ways.

  "Thanks for a great workout, Chris. See you tomorrow."

  "Okay, Elizabeth," Chris responded before heading towards the men's locker room.

  Libby stood there, watching wistfully as he walked away from her without so much as a goodbye. From the very start, this was a relationship destined never to be anything more than it was, she reflected with regret. Built on lies and half-truths, it was hardly the way to begin a romantic entanglement, let alone a business agreement.

  Libby took a quick shower before changing back into her jeans. She shoved the soggy shorts and wet towel into the gym bag and left the locker room.

  As she approached her car, she saw Chris bent down, examining the right front tire of her old, but serviceable, Honda.

  "Something wrong?" she called out with a trace of annoyance. She was tired, thirsty, and stiff. But more than that, she wanted to be away from him and the hypnotic effect he had on her.

  "Your tire's low. You might have a nail in it, or maybe a slow leak around the valve. Why don't you have it checked before you come over tomorrow? I’ll understand if you’re late." Chris looked up at her with concern as she stood next to him.

  "And give you a reason to fire me?" she retorted, “No way. I can handle this." Why did men always seem to think women were damsels in distress when it came to car problems?

  "You're right, of course you can," he confirmed, rising up to face her.

  She started to express regret for her testy behavior when he interrupted.

  "No apologies needed. I’ll see you in the morning." He turned on his heel to leave, but stopped midway, turning to look back at her. “If you can still walk, that is.” With a wink and a broad smile, he walked to his car, got in, and sped off.

  Chris berated himself the whole way home. Why was being with her as natural as breathing? This was revenge? Hardly, he scolded inwardly. How could he possibly have enjoyed their work-out as much as he did when she was the enemy? Shaking h
is head in disgust, he renewed his pledge to avenge the many times she’d triumphed over him. As long as he kept that goal front and center, he’d do fine he reassured himself. Smiling with satisfaction, he reviewed the many ways he already had the upper hand and decided his momentary weakness at the gym was easily dismissed.

  Chapter Nine

  Chris uttered a silent curse as he shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. He'd tried putting his legs in several different positions under the mahogany dining table that served as his desk, but hadn't yet discovered one that was comfortable. Each painful movement, whether by arms or legs, reminded him of yesterday's excruciating workout with Libby. It hurt to get dressed. It was misery to walk downstairs. And it was sheer torture to do something as simple as sit down.

  And if each movement wasn't reminder enough, Libby was working around Harte's Desire all morning, camera in hand, photographing the mansion from a thousand different angles. He hadn't noticed any hesitation in her stride, or slowness in hoisting the camera to suggest she was feeling any discomfort. Chris thought he'd seen her wince once as she bent down to retrieve a lens cover that had fallen on the grass. But she'd sprung right back up. If Libby was in pain, she was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

  Chris pressed the button on his phone’s intercom.

  "Edwina," he barked out. "Do you have any aspirin in that suitcase you call a handbag?"

  He heard Edwina rummage through its contents.

  "You're in luck, Mr. D.," she replied, "got some right here. Want me to bring them in to you?"

  "No, I'll come get them myself," he responded impatiently, adding under his breath, "if I can make it that far." He winced at the thought of asking his legs to move again.

  As he entered the butler's pantry, Edwina observed her employer closely, wondering what, or whom, was responsible for Chris's surly temperament this morning. The reproachful look in his eyes told her not to probe, but that had never stopped her before and it sure wasn't going to stop her now.

  "What's up, Mr. D.?" she asked with motherly concern. "You have a headache or something?"

  "'Or something' about sums it up, Edwina. I'll take those aspirin now, please, if you don't mind." He moaned softly, then swore under his breath at the pain each step brought.

  "Too much dancing this weekend?" she inquired and continued before he could answer. "Here, sit down while I get you a glass of water."

  "No, really, I'll get it myself. I'm not an invalid," he protested mildly, “yet.”

  "Christopher Darnell, I've known you since you were eighteen, so I know when you've overdone it. Now sit. And that's an order." She turned and headed to the adjoining kitchen, only to hear footsteps behind her.

  Never could keep that one down, she thought, filling a glass with cold tap water. Always so darned independent, even from the day he first started working for Bob Darnell, the man who later became his adopted father.

  She was Bob Darnell's secretary then, handling the correspondence and phones for his already large and successful construction company in Philadelphia. Christopher Darnell showed up in the office one day, responding to their ad for experienced carpenters. She chuckled, remembering how Chris convinced Bob Darnell to hire him even though he'd never pounded a nail in his life. There was something about Chris's determination to learn the trade that convinced Bob Darnell to take a chance on him. Darnell later confided to Edwina that Chris reminded him of himself as a young man, desperate for a job and looking to be given an opportunity, no matter how small.

  So Darnell put him on the crew and proceeded to teach him everything he knew about the construction business from the ground up, from pouring basements to laying roofs. He found Chris to be a quick learner who only had to be shown once how to do something. He also discovered that Chris was an astute businessman, capable of bidding jobs accurately, bringing them in on time and near, or under, budget. Edwina had watched in amazement as the scrawny eighteen-year-old blossomed into a confident and capable young man with a body honed to chiseled perfection from the years of physical labor.

  Nor was she surprised when Bob Darnell announced to her one day that he was going to adopt Chris. Their working relationship had evolved into a true father-son relationship filling a huge void for both of them. Darnell and his wife were unable to have children and they came to love Chris as the son they never had.

  When Bob Darnell died, Chris inherited the construction company along with several choice building lots "Pops" had invested in.

  On one of the lots Chris built his first success, a twenty-store strip mall full of glass and polished steel. It instantly established his credibility as a builder and real estate developer, providing the less-than-humble beginnings of a career that quickly expanded to include office buildings, hotels, and high-rise condominiums.

  Edwina smiled to herself and looked with pride at the young man before her. She had been delighted when he asked her to stay on as his secretary and even though she had grown children of her own, she felt a parental affection for him.

  Now if he would only stop limping around their "office" and either get some work done or cease hounding her with petty requests. So far he'd done neither.

  Now that she'd seen him walk, she wondered again what David had conquered her Goliath. She'd never seen him this sore from physical exercise, except when he first started throwing a hammer and climbing scaffolding. Edwina chuckled. Maybe he got into a friendly game of tag football yesterday, but somehow she doubted it. He was already in great shape and could easily handle that. His mood was too gruff to blame on a bunch of guys slogging it out in a contact sport.

  Chris accepted the aspirin and glass of water with a nod.

  "I understand Courtney Blair found you at the Chesterfield Inn the other night," Edwina commented while he took the pills.

  "Word sure travels fast in these parts," Chris drawled with a trace of annoyance.

  "With her parents living next door to me, I always seem to get an unsolicited description of her many social activities. Especially since you gave me a ride home a few weeks ago and accidentally got to meet her." Edwina regarded Chris speculatively.

  "Frankly, Mr. D., I think the woman has a crush on you. Her mother practically hinted as much. And...well...I'm sorry. I think you have me to blame for her appearance Saturday night. Without thinking, I let it slip to her mother that I'd suggested you try the place for dinner this weekend. She must've run and told Courtney."

  "Yes, Courtney came up to my table, alone, with some trumped up excuse of needing a ride home. She had some story about eating there with her folks, but they left, and I forget why she said she stayed behind."

  Chris was getting irritated all over again, just remembering her thinly-veiled attempt at seduction. The deeply-exposed cleavage, the tight outfit clinging to every curve, the make-up too heavily applied. It was obvious to him she was out for the kill and had him lined up in the crosshairs of her matrimonial gun sights.

  A month ago, he might have been interested, but not now. His project at Harte’s Desire and his plan for revenge were all consuming.

  "What else could I do, Edwina? The lady said she was stranded, so I gave her a ride home, then came back here for a quiet and peaceful night at this idyllic home-away-from-home." The last words were spoken with sarcasm.

  Edwina raised a suspicious eyebrow. "That's all you did? Take her home?"

  "Yep."

  "To her house?"

  "Yep."

  "Not back here?"

  "That's right."

  "Since when have you ever turned down a beauty like that Mr. D.?"

  "She's not my type, Edwina. Now stop your ceaseless matchmaking and get back to work," he teased gruffly. The woman was going to drive him nuts until he got married and settled down.

  A recognizable blur of blue and red passed by one of the kitchen windows, catching Chris's attention. He gingerly walked to the window, craning his neck to see which way Libby was headed now.

  Edwina watched C
hris stare intently out one of the large, multi-paned windows. Following his gaze, she saw Libby on the back patio, trying to find the best shot of the terraced gardens. Libby appeared to be thoroughly absorbed in the task at hand, checking and rechecking the light, distance, and angle. She was wearing slim-fitting jeans and a red plaid shirt, looking as though she could just as easily be a construction worker as a business executive. Edwina noticed her hair was worn down today, its golden waves highlighted by the warm May sun.

  Edwina recalled the obvious attraction Chris and Libby felt for each other but tried to deny the other day. Maybe, just maybe, she thought intuitively, there was something going on between her employer and Miss Reed. It made sense. His testy frame of mind, his peering out the windows at her all morning. Chris wouldn't admit to the cause of his soreness, but she suddenly suspected Miss Reed had something to do with it.

  Edwina itched to pursue her hunch, but knew she'd only be sidetracked by more of Chris's evasive answers. He wasn't in a confiding mood today. And, he'd just told her to resume working. She loved her job as much as she admired him and didn't want to risk losing her employment because of his quirky temperament. Better to keep her mouth shut and follow the boss' orders for a change.

  "I'll be in the pantry if you need me, Mr. D.," she called out to him as he kept his eyes trained on the lithe figure outside.

  “When Miss Reed comes in, please send her into my office,” he called after her. “We have some things to discuss this morning.”

  An hour later, a polite knock on the dining room door announced Libby’s arrival. He pushed some papers aside, motioned her in, and watched her take a seat in the side chair closest to him while setting her camera, tape measure, flashlight, and notebook on the table.

  Chris carefully studied her while maintaining a mask of calculated indifference. He was fascinated by the expressiveness of her eyes as she looked up at him. Sharply he reminded himself to concentrate on the purpose of their meeting and remember the evil she had done him in the past. Suddenly, it was easy to see her for the adversary she was.