Hot & Bothered. Kate Hoffmann

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