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Guardian Angel
Leanne Banks
All Talia McKenzie wants from Trace Barringer is his money–in the form of a donation to her charity. The last thing she needs is the arrogant and sexy businessman muscling his way on to the committee.He may have been the object of her girlhood fantasies, but she stopped believing in fairy tales long ago. Falling for a Barringer, no matter how tempting he is, would mean betraying her own family…Trace doesn't recognize Talia as the girl he once called his guardian angel. But he does know a challenge when he sees one–and the beautiful deli owner is a definite challenge. Trace is used to getting what he wants, and he wants Talia.With the passion between them reaching a fever pitch, Talia can't deny her attraction to Trace for long. But how can they build a future when she can't forgive the past?
Guardian Angel
Leanne Banks
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
All Talia McKenzie wants from Trace Barringer is his money—in the form of a donation to her charity. The last thing she needs is the too-arrogant, too-sexy businessman muscling his way on to the committee. He may have been the object of her girlhood fantasies, but she stopped believing in fairytales long ago. Falling for a Barringer, no matter how tempting he is, would mean betraying her own family…
Trace doesn’t recognize Talia as the girl he once called his guardian angel. But he does know a challenge when he sees one—and the beautiful deli owner is a definite challenge. Trace is used to getting what he wants, and he wants Talia.
With the passion between them reaching a fever pitch, Talia can’t deny her attraction to Trace for long. But how can they build a future when she can’t forgive the past?
Previously published.
This book is dedicated to my sisters, Karen and Janie, for the fights, laughter, tears and hard-won friendship the years have given us.
And special thanks to Bonnie, Carolyn, Janet and Mary.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Prologue
He wasn’t a drunk, he was just a little crazy.
At least that was the consensus among the small population of Barringer, Virginia. As twelve-year-old Talia McKenzie frantically pedaled her bike toward home, she saw men push and poke at crazy old Mr. Simmons. Slowing down, she wondered what in the world she should do.
She was an hour past her curfew. Swimming at the lake had been so much fun, though, and her friend, Gina, had brought sandwiches for lunch. Even after Gina had left, Talia had splashed and swum, pretending the August sun wouldn’t set. She couldn’t pretend away her goose bumps and pruned skin, however, when the water grew cool. And the sun faded in spite of her wishes.
Talia could have stayed at the lake for the rest of her life. An instant jab of guilt squelched that thought, and she sighed. Since her mother had gotten sick in March, it seemed Talia had no time for swimming and pajama parties. She’d spent the entire summer keeping her younger brother, Kevin, out of trouble and caring for her mother.
The only reason Talia had gotten away that day was because her mother’s best friend, Opal Taylor, had promised to spend the afternoon with Mama and Kevin.
“Stop it,” Mr. Simmons cried in an angry, pitiful voice.
“We’ll stop,” the taller youth said with an ugly laugh, “when you give us your money.”
Talia scowled. Mr. Simmons had very little money and no family. She knew for a fact that the minister let the old man sleep in the church.
Hiding on her bike behind some trees, she looked around in vain for help. Mr. Simmons started yelling louder, and she hoped someone would hear him soon. After all, they stood in a fairly public area, behind the town’s movie house.
Not that that was good for Talia. If she didn’t get grounded for coming home late, she’d probably get it for taking the shortcut through town. Her mother disapproved of her biking on busy streets, especially at night.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw another young man walk toward the trio. He was tall and slim and strode along with a confident gait. The light from a distant streetlamp reflected on his long blond hair and white shirt.
“Hey,” she heard him say, “what’s the problem?”
The two thugs immediately turned their attention to him. Talia stared at him, too, thinking she couldn’t wait to tell Gina about him. He was much more impressive than all those rock stars Gina was always mooning over.
He was a good guy, too, she thought, dividing them up just like in an old Western. All he needed was a white hat.
“Nothing we can’t handle, rich boy,” the tall bully said. “Mind your own business.” He gave the new arrival a hard push.
A lump of fear formed in Talia’s throat. What if they carried knives? Mr. Simmons seemed to sense they’d lost interest in him and was edging away. Talia gripped her handlebars tighter. What should she do? Caught up in her anxiety, she didn’t hear the ensuing conversation. She did see one of the bad guys punch the rescuer in the stomach.
She winced at the sound of fist against flesh.
Both thugs went after the blond man full force. Still, he held his own with calculated kicks and blows. He didn’t seem to give their pounding jabs more than a shrug.
Talia watched in awe. When one of the bullies fell to the ground, it looked as if the rescuer might take them both out.
But the bully staggered to his feet. A cold chill settled over her. She could barely make out the object in his hand, but it looked like a brick.
Something had to be done. Adrenaline rushed through her, and Talia acted on pure instinct. She pedaled furiously toward them. Engrossed with the fighting, the three men didn’t see her until it was too late.
She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and rode straight into the man holding the brick.
He howled in pain.
Thrown clear from her bike, she began to scream at the top of her lungs. She raised such a furor that several other people rushed to the scene. The teen thugs tried to run away, but a couple of men stopped them.
She heard several appalled murmurs.
“Isn’t that Harlan Barringer’s son?”
“Trace Barringer?”
“These delinquents will be dead meat when Harlan hears about this.”
Another man chuckled. “Looks like Trace took care of them well enough on his own.”
Talia just wanted to get away without being recognized. She picked herself up and retrieved her bike. Her knees were skinned. They burned with pain, and she could feel blood running down one leg.
At this rate, she figured she’d be lucky to see the lake again before her thirteenth birthday.
Just as she climbed on her bike, the one they called Trace said, “Hey, wait a minute. You on the bike. I need to thank you.”
She gulped as he walked to her. Everyone was staring at her. Acutely aware of her dark, stringy hair and wet clothing, she bit her lip and wished she could make herself disappear.
He gave her a warm smile that made her stomach feel strange, then he offered his hand. Even with his cheek beginning to swell, he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. She would have liked to see the color of his eyes, but it was too dark.
She rubbed her scraped palm against her shorts before taking his hand. “It was nothing,” she whispered, and quickly put her hand back on the handlebar.
“Nothing?” Her heart lifted absurdly at his incredulous tone. “You saved my rear. What are you, some kind of guardian angel?”
She recovered her wits enough to laugh. The last person who’d called her an angel had been her father, right before his death six years earlier. “No angel,” she said. “I just evened the odds a little bit.” She turned and rode away from the crowd.
Chapter One
One of these days, she’d give in to the urge to rip the tinted glasses off his face and see whether his eyes were green or gold.
But not today, Talia McKenzie told herself as she crossed her nylon-clad legs and leaned back in the brown leather chair. Today the only thing she wanted from Trace Barringer was money.
She watched the new ruler of Barringer Corporation as he prowled from one end of his cherry desk to the other, speaking into the phone. A long-fingered hand raked through his blond hair. Actually, it was brown with sparks of blond shot through it. Talia absently pushed a strand of her own dark hair behind her ear and searched Trace’s face for signs of stinginess. She hoped he was a generous man.
His dark, baritone voice held just a hint of raspiness. It was the kind of voice that wouldn’t need to be raised to command authority. The kind of voice that sensitized all the nerve endings in a woman.
Talia shifted in her chair, then let her gaze follow the line of his navy tailored suit along his well-toned physique. She wondered if the suit was Italian, and smiled. Perhaps it was. But the rest of Trace Barringer was one hundred percent all-American well-bred male.
He’d definitely aged well.
Though he fairly emanated impatience, she noticed he kept it from his tone. Unwillingly, she admired his control.
He concluded his phone conversation and punched another button. “Hold my calls, Dusty.” Replacing the receiver, he turned his attention to Talia. “Would you care for coffee or a soft drink?”
“Neither, thank you.” She had no desire to make this meeting last one minute longer than necessary.
“Fine.” He sat in his chair and studied her for a moment.
His scrutiny unsettled her, and the years fell away, making Talia feel twelve again with skinned knees, stringy hair and gangly legs. She restrained the urge to smooth her collar or make sure her bra strap wasn’t showing. Instead, she twisted a tiny gold earring, thankful she’d chosen to wear two earrings that day instead of her usual six.
He opened a folder. “Ms. McKenzie, according to our records, Barringer Corporation has donated a generous sum of money to the Lung Foundation Drive for the past three years.”
“Yes, you have. And it’s been greatly appreciated by the Foundation. In the past, I’ve always dealt with your father. I usually mailed him a letter, then he sent us a check.” She’d always wondered if the senior Barringer’s donations had been motivated by guilt. “I hope there’s no problem with your company giving a donation this year.”
Trace shook his head. “No. The company plans to make a donation. But we’d also like to be more involved in the planning of Lung Awareness Month. That’s the reason I asked you here today. I’d like to see the drive expanded to the textile mill.” He paused and smiled, revealing a slash of strong white teeth.
A lethal weapon, that smile, Talia thought. She wondered how many women had fallen casualty to it.
“In other words,” he continued, “we want to be represented on the Planning Committee.”
Over my dead body. It was one thing to spend fifteen minutes politely requesting a donation from a Barringer. But Talia’s mind couldn’t conceive of deliberately placing herself in the position of dealing with him or any other Barringer for the three months the fund drive required. “That’s really not necessary, Mr. Barringer. At this point, our plans are well under way.”
“Please call me Trace. And you’re…?”
Ms. McKenzie, she thought peevishly. “Talia,” she said with reluctance, and bit her lip. This meeting wasn’t going as planned. She’d hoped to be out the door with a hefty check by this time.
His gaze settled on her mouth. “Talia.” He tried it out, as if he were tasting a new wine. She waited, shifting uncomfortably when his intent gaze trailed down to her crossed legs.
The intercom buzzed. He snatched up the phone. “Dusty, I told you—” He paused, and his entire demeanor changed. His eyebrows drew together while he muttered a curse. “I’ll take it. Tell Madelyn to hold on for one minute.”
Punching the hold button, he turned back to Talia. “We won’t be able to get anything settled here. Can I meet you for dinner tonight?”
Dinner! Shock ran through her until she found her voice. “Uh, no. I already have plans.”
He checked his calendar. “How about tomorrow night?”
“I don’t think so.” How did one politely say “When hell freezes over?” she wondered.
“Next Monday?”
“No.”
He cocked his head and studied her for a moment. “How about if you tell me what evening you have available?”
She lifted her shoulders. “My mind draws a complete blank.” At least that was the truth. She hadn’t been able to think straight since he’d suggested dinner. She shook her head and stood. “I’m sorry. I’ll send you our tentative plans and budget. Then you can decide what kind of donation Barringer Corporation will be able to make.”
He opened his mouth to speak as she left, but the buzzer sounded again. She’d lay odds that he was rarely thwarted. When she saw the look of frustration on his face, she almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Thank you, Mr. Barringer,” she murmured, and closed the door behind her.
A curious combination of relief and disappointment bubbled within her as she left the building. He hadn’t recognized her.
Ten minutes later Talia swept into her deli, On A Roll. “Thanks for watching the store for me, Gina.” She strapped a red apron over her white blouse and navy linen skirt as her very pregnant friend waddled out from behind the counter.
“How’d it go?” Gina asked. “No, don’t tell me. I want to hear everything from start to finish, and right now I’ve got to get home to meet Jason at the bus stop.”
Accustomed to the way Gina tended to carry on a conversation with herself, Talia just smiled and put some cookies in a bag. “Take these with you. And about Jason, can I borrow him one evening while you and Don go out to dinner?”
Gina narrowed her blue eyes at Talia. “I’ve got your number. You know I won’t accept money for helping you, but I’d never turn down free babysitting.” She gave Talia’s shoulder a squeeze before she opened the door. “I’ll call you tonight. And I want every juicy detail about Trace Barringer. Don tells me all the women at the plant swoon when he comes around.”
Fortunately, the door swung shut before Talia could reply. She waved goodbye through the window, then reached for her tape of Carmen. Flipping it into her tape player, she sighed as the music washed over her. She saved Carmen for her most depressing or disturbing days. D-days, she called them.
And today had been most disturbing.
She didn’t want to think about the source of her disturbing feelings. If she examined the source, then she’d remember the blond male lead in a thousand of her adolescent daydreams.
She’d always carried a crazy image of Trace Barringer as her knight in shining armor. The image had brought her comfort during the years of her mother’s illness. Times when Talia had felt like weeping. Times when she could have used a strong shoulder to share the load.
Trace’s appeal had only increased with age. He emanated the kind of confidence a man gained from repeatedly proving himself in challenging situations. Considering that she may have unwittingly presented him with a challenge, Talia felt a vague shiver of premonition and turned away from her unsettling thoughts.
Out of habit, she checked the small dining area of her shop. Everything was clean. She should have known Gina would keep the shop immaculate. Though most of her business was take-out, a few customers enjoyed eating at the wooden bar that served as a windowsill, or at one of the four round tables. Owning the solitary sub shop in small-town Barringer had its advantages. The absence of competitors allowed her to enjoy her brisk business without constantly looking over her shoulder.
On A Roll brought her a great deal of pride and pleasure. She’d worked hard for it. So had her brother, Kevin, in spite of his hurt and confusion over their mother’s death. In spite of what the Barringers had done to him. Her blood seethed just thinking about it, and she wondered how Trace could ooze integrity when his family was a bunch of vipers.
“Another donation to my ex-wife’s favorite charity—herself,” Trace muttered as he signed the check.
At least he knew it wouldn’t be long before Madelyn’s acting career took off. If ever a woman belonged on stage, it was she. Madelyn was the kind of woman who never got off the stage. She wasn’t honest. She wasn’t real.
An image of the intriguing lady who’d raced out of his office minutes before hovered in his mind. Talia McKenzie. Now she was real. She may have wanted to conceal her emotions, but her feelings showed in every move she made. A nervous self-conscious twisting of a tiny earring. A flash of fire in her dark eyes.
And she’d bit into her generous lower lip with small white teeth. Trace pulled off his glasses and wondered what had been going on in her mind.
She was a little hostile. A little challenging.
And a whole lot of temptation.
Leaning back in his leather chair, he tried to remember the last time a woman had really tempted him. He couldn’t.
He’d spent too many years trying to fix a marriage that had started out broken. He’d spent too many months trying to gain custody of his young son without an ugly court battle. And the family company had demanded every spare minute since his father’s heart attack the previous year.
He glanced at the signed check in front of him. It was only a matter of time before Madelyn gave him custody of Robby. She was weakening. She knew her life wasn’t stable enough for an active four-year-old. It was only a matter of time.
Perhaps he’d put his personal life and needs on hold long enough. Trace felt a very masculine stirring when he recalled the challenging sparkle in Talia’s eyes.
He savored it and grinned.
When he punched the button for his secretary, she picked up immediately. “Yes, Mr. Barringer?”
“Dusty, you should be receiving some correspondence concerning Lung Awareness Month from Talia McKenzie. Bring it to my attention when you get it.”
“You don’t want Public Relations handling this?” She sounded surprised.
That would be the practical thing to do. Barringer Corporation had a PR department for this kind of thing. And he really didn’t have time. Trace didn’t hesitate. “No, I’ll handle this myself.”
One week later Talia set the oven on preheat to bake the brownies she’d just mixed. The lights dimmed. “Oh, great,” she muttered, then watched with resigned futility as the lights went out in her small Cape Cod. Daylight Saving Time didn’t kick in until next week, so the house was covered in a veil of darkness. Turning, she groped through the kitchen drawer that held extra fuses.
Was that a knock at the front door? “Give me just a minute,” she called. It was probably one of the members of the Planning Committee arriving for their scheduled meeting that night.
She felt an assortment of pens, rubber cement, paper clips and coupons, but no fuses. Muttering to herself, she headed for her bedroom. She kept a few in her nightstand for emergencies.
Someone pounded on her front door again. “Hold your horses,” she yelled. It was probably Lou Adkins, the printer. The guy couldn’t stand waiting. Reaching into the bottom drawer of the nightstand, she stretched her fingers to the back and found a fuse. “Thank you, Lord.”
“Having problems?” a deep voice said behind her.
It wasn’t Lou.
Talia whirled around and just barely swallowed back the scream in her throat. A squeak came out in its place. Her heart beat wildly; her knees all but knocked together.
She stepped backward. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The man walked toward her and she gulped. Where was her flashlight? She could tell by his shadow that he was quite tall and broad-shouldered.
Strange how the brain functioned in moments of crisis. Her mind raced a million miles in a few seconds as she considered what man would enter her bedroom.
The only man who’d overtly attempted to woo her lately was Mick Ramsey from the auto parts store. The last time he’d come in for lunch, he had reeked of garlic. Upon his departure, he’d informed her, with nauseating suggestiveness, that the Chinese considered garlic an aphrodisiac. Talia figured he’d retrieved that scintillating bit of information purely by accident. Mick wasn’t the type to stretch his reading past the sports page or the back of a cereal box.
She sniffed suspiciously, but the faint scent she caught was an intriguing blend of woodsy aftershave and man. “Mick?”
The intruder reached for something on her nightstand. “No. But if that’s who you were expecting, I can pretend to change my name.” Amusement wove its way through his dark voice. “It’s Trace. Trace Barringer.” He turned on her flashlight. “Is this what you were looking for?”
Blinking, Talia reached for the flashlight and tried not to dwell on how her pulse had picked up when she’d heard his name. “Yes. How did you get in?”
“Your door was unlocked. I saw the lights go out and thought you might need some help.”
“Oh,” she mumbled, resolving to lock her door in the future. “The wiring in this house is ancient,” she said nervously as she made her way into the hall to turn off the air conditioner. “If I use the air conditioner and the oven at the same time, it often blows the fuse for the ground level of the house.”
“So replace the wiring,” Trace suggested.
“There’s this small matter of college tuition for my brother,” she answered before realizing that Trace Barringer wouldn’t understand the concept of having to choose carefully how to spend one’s money. She felt him prowling along behind her and tried to shove aside her discomfort at having him in her house. It would be easier to ignore a lion following her.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“For the planning meeting. There was a list of the meeting times on the memo Ms. Taylor sent me. With your busy schedule, this seemed the only way to meet with you.”
Darn. Talia had been so eager to be rid of anything relating to Trace Barringer, she’d asked another committee member to keep him informed. If Talia had sent him the information, she would have been careful to omit the meeting times.
Distracted by her thoughts, she stumbled over the edge of the hall carpet and pitched forward. “Oh!” Her knees hit the floor and pain shot through her legs. Before she had time to throw out her hands, Trace wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her up.
“Hey, what happened?” His voice was edged with husky concern.
Talia’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know which was worse, the pain in her knees or the sensation of Trace’s hard body pressed against her back. “I tripped over the carpet,” she finally said.
“Are you hurt?”
“Just my knees.”
“Let me see. Sit down.” He released her and retrieved the flashlight that had flown out of her hand.
“No. It’s not that bad, and it’s dark,” she protested. She was uncomfortable with the darkness and his nearness. She also wished she hadn’t given in to a fit of spring fever earlier and put on shorts.
He grabbed her hand and gave a gentle but firm tug. “I can use the flashlight. Come on.”
He joined her on the floor and began to examine her knees with his hands. It was strange, sitting in the middle of her hall with Trace’s hands on her bare legs. She couldn’t see his face clearly. He used such a gentle touch, she could almost forget he was a Barringer.
One of his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh. She gasped at the provocative thrill that ran through her.
He stopped, then touched her the same way again. “Does this hurt?”
“N-no. I guess my legs are just sensitive,” she said, honestly.
The following silence hung thickly between them, and a weird tension zinged through the air. She wondered if he felt it too. It was only the darkness, she told herself.
Pulling her leg away she scrambled to her feet, damning the sound of her quickened breathing.
Trace followed, his large frame looming over hers. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I just got a little shook up. The fall,” she added quickly, and turned away.
Back in the kitchen, she concentrated on replacing the blown fuse. She was glad to have something to do with her hands. Instantly the lights came on. “Voilà ,” she said, smiling and extending her arms dramatically.
“Incredible,” Trace murmured. What had happened, he wondered, to the French twist, conservative suit and pursed lips of the disapproving woman who’d been in his office? At least, he thought, the legs were the same: long, shapely, silky, the kind of legs that led men to dream wild fantasies. Her hair was a mass of tempestuous waves, and her brown eyes sparkled with fire. And her lips… His mouth went dry at the sight of her rosy lips.
He looked back at her eyes and held her gaze for several seconds until she looked away. Shy, he concluded, until she spared him another glance. With surprise, he noted the banked hostility in her eyes.
She turned and bent, placing the brownies in the oven. It took enormous control, but he unglued his gaze from her tempting rear end. Feeling the heat for the first time that evening, he tugged at his collar and studied the daisy-print wallpaper.
“Mr. Barringer, do you have some questions about the plans we’ve made for Lung Awareness Month?” Talia asked as she turned on the coffeemaker.
“Trace,” he corrected her. “I have a few. But they can be answered during the meeting. I’m actually more curious about you.”
Her polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. He found himself longing for the alluring smile she’d given him just moments before.
“As I told you before, Mr. Barringer, I appreciate your interest in LAM, but the Planning Committee is already formed. I’ll be happy to keep you informed. However, your presence isn’t really…” Her voice drifted off, and she bit her lip.
She’d done that in his office, and he wondered if she knew how sensual the gesture was. He sensed something familiar about her, but couldn’t put a label on it. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he stepped closer. She took a step back. “You’re saying my presence isn’t necessary,” he said in a low, challenging voice.
She raised her chin. “I have to believe the CEO of Barringer Corporation has better ways to spend his time than as a member of a Planning Committee for LAM. Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you just had your secretary send me your ideas?”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But convenience isn’t always the primary consideration. I would think you’d be happy to extend your influence directly to the textile mill.”
A hint of vulnerability filtered into her gaze. She looked away.
“Tell me, Talia,” he asked gently. “How did you get involved with this project?”
“My mother died of pneumonia several years ago.” She paused. “She also had emphysema. The doctor said she was weak, that she worked too hard.”
Trace nodded. So that was it. “She worked at the mill.”
“Yes.”
“And you blame the mill.”
“No.”
She said it too quickly, and her self-deprecating smile showed she knew he’d seen through her denial. “In the beginning I blamed the mill,” she confessed. “I was very angry. My mother had to work so hard after my father died. But she was the kind of person who would have worked hard no matter where she was employed. Her supervisor was always very understanding about her illness.” Talia sighed. “Sometimes I thought if she hadn’t had Kevin and me, she would have been much better off.”
Trace recognized guilt when he saw it and felt some of her sadness. “You don’t really believe she would have been happier without you?”
Talia shook her head, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a silky curtain. “No. Angelina McKenzie loved her babies more than anything. But I was just nineteen years old. All of a sudden I was responsible for raising my fifteen-year-old brother.” She closed her eyes against the remembered pain. “Her death was horrible. But the year after was…” She stopped, unable to find the words to describe it.
Trace stepped forward, wanting to comfort her in some way. To touch her hand or shoulder. To offer words that would soothe her wounds. It was an unusual feeling for him. Since he’d become CEO for Barringer Corporation, he’d had little time for tenderness. For that matter, in the last few years his emotional life had become a barren wasteland.
Her sad brown eyes proved his undoing. He couldn’t find the words, so he took her small hand in his and lifted it to his lips.
Her eyes widened at the gesture. She pulled back, but he held firm. He kissed her hand and found himself wanting to extend the gentle caress to her lips. For one long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, then he tugged at her hand, wanting her closer.
Chapter Two
Someone knocked on the front door.
Talia jerked back, looking as if she’d touched a snake. “That must be the committee members. I’ll let them in.”
Trace watched her bolt from the kitchen, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A man could incur some heavy losses under that kind of woman’s influence, he decided. Loss of perspective. Loss of sleep. Loss of sanity.
His body was still tense with the excitement of merely being close to her, kissing her hand and touching her silky legs. He remembered how her eyes had grown soft and vulnerable. Odd, he mused. It was almost as if she’d forgotten who he was.
Then she’d turned to ice.
Talia swung open the door and greeted the committee members as if they were the cavalry coming to her rescue. Accompanied by the two middle-aged men and one woman, she walked back into the kitchen and made the introductions. Lou Adkins, Opal Taylor, and Darryl Harris, one of the vice presidents at the local bank.
Since the three arrivals wore expressions varying from surprise to distrust, Talia supposed Trace would have his hands full winning them over. It would be interesting to watch. And she was relieved to have his attention directed away from herself.
“I’m going to check on the brownies,” she said. “You can go into the den.”
After the others left, she set the brownies on the counter to cool, poured the coffee and set the cups on a tray. Untenable though it may be, she knew she was drawn to Trace. But, as easily as she accepted her curiosity about him, she knew she wouldn’t do a thing about it.
She picked up the tray. Her shaking hands caused the cups to clatter noisily, and she uttered a mild curse. How was she supposed to be calm and collected with Trace Barringer in her house?
She didn’t want his attention, she reminded herself as she walked into the living room. She wanted his donation.
The meeting progressed as the group mapped out more plans for Lung Awareness Month. Though she tried to concentrate on each word, Talia found her gaze repeatedly drawn to Trace. Although he sat relaxed and quiet, she’d bet he could recite every detail of the discussion.
Watching his deliberate examination of her living room, she wondered what conclusions he was making. What did he think of the oak end tables her father had made before he died? The homey green sofa and slightly lumpy chairs? Did he recognize Kevin from the picture on the wall? Could he possibly know the porcelain bunny collection on the second shelf of the bookcase was one of her weaknesses? And why did she feel he’d gained too much knowledge of her just from his perusal of the room?
His gaze slid from the bunnies to her eyes, and she wondered, inanely, if he could read her mind. Then he was studying the little mole above the right corner of her mouth. She had to purse her lips to resist the urge to run her tongue over the mark.
Flustered by his quiet, invasive attention, she forced her eyes away from him.
When Trace finally spoke, he offered his opinions and suggestions with utter politeness. “Since you have a dual goal of raising both awareness and funds, it sounds as if you’ve got a good start. I’d like some posters for the mill, Lou, if you could manage that.” Lou nodded, and Trace continued without missing a beat. “The mill could sponsor an event. Perhaps a bowling tournament or a night at the roller-skating rink. And I think you could increase your donations significantly if you generated some interest from the country club.”
They all stared at him. That last suggestion had the impact of a small bomb, because none was a member of the country club.
The silence was unnerving. Knowing she would have squirmed under such intense scrutiny, Talia gave him points for sitting in her lumpy chair with a confident, expectant expression on his face.
Opal Taylor cleared her throat. Darryl Harris pushed his glasses back on his nose. Lou Adkins studied his fingernails. The only sound in the room was the ticking of her mother’s anniversary clock.
Talia sighed. Since she would receive no help from her fellow committee members, she’d better go ahead and respond. “I think your suggestions are very helpful. Getting the mill involved would increase awareness among the part of the population who need the information.”
She paused and chose her next words carefully.
“As far as the country club is concerned, you already have connections with the members there. It seems logical that you would be the one to represent our committee.” There, she thought. That hadn’t been so bad.
Trace hooked an ankle over the opposite knee and smiled. “I’ll be glad to represent the committee.” He pulled an appointment book from his suit coat, which he’d hung over the side of the chair. “However, since I’ve only just become involved in this project, I’d like another committee member to come along with me. Talia, are you available Saturday night? We could meet a few of the club’s charter members for dinner.”
“Not in a million years,” she said under her breath.
He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Talia couldn’t bear that penetrating gaze one more minute. She felt as if he’d been studying her the entire evening. If that wasn’t galling enough, she’d had a hard time tearing her own attention away from him!
She stood and collected the coffee cups and dessert plates. “Actually, I was wondering if one of the other members would be interested in helping you out. I’m pretty busy. What do you think, Opal?” She sent her late mother’s best friend her most persuasive look. “You’d probably enjoy an evening out.”
Opal gave a self-conscious little giggle. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear for a night out at the country club, Talia dear. Besides,” she continued coyly, “Mr. Barringer is such a young, attractive man. He needs a young, attractive escort.”
Talia barely stifled her groan. Trace had won Opal over, but Talia hadn’t lost yet. “Well, what about you, Darryl? Perhaps you could bring your wife with you.”
Darryl again nervously arranged his glasses on his thin nose. “Nancy and I have a standing date for dinner at her mother’s house on Saturday nights.” His voice held a note of apology. �“They’re both pretty insistent about it.”
“Oh, but for just one night—” Talia broke off when she saw Darryl’s strained expression. She was beginning to feel desperate.
With her brightest smile, she turned to her last, most futile hope, and tried to ignore the amused light in Trace’s eyes. “Lou, I’ll bet you haven’t—”
“I’ve got poker Saturday night,” he said bluntly.
If she didn’t get out of that room, Talia knew she was going to scream. She picked up the tray of cups and saucers and carried it into the kitchen. Once there, she resisted the urge to test the dish manufacturer’s warranty against breakage by flinging a few pieces against the wall.
Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched back into the living room where the group waited expectantly. Just as she opened her mouth to refuse, Trace said, “Talia, we can set this up for another time if Saturday night is inconvenient.”
He sounded so reasonable. “Of course,” he continued in a bland tone, “it would be a shame to give up all those potential donations.”
With that, he nailed her coffin shut. If Talia turned down this opportunity, she’d be doing a disservice to the agency that had appointed her, the people who were depending on her and, in a way, to her mother’s memory. She forced the words from her mouth. “What time shall I meet you?”
Wearing an indiscernible expression, Trace stood and pulled on his suit coat. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll pick you up.”
“No, thank you.”
He stopped in the midst of straightening his tie and studied her. “I insist.”
“No.” She abandoned any attempt at tact. He wanted to bulldoze her. She could see it in his eyes. But he was too clever to push her any further tonight.
“Six o’clock in the lounge,” he said, and walked to the front door.
Within three minutes they were all gone. Sensing her mood, the other committee members patted her shoulder on their way out. Opal touched Talia’s cheek and murmured, “You go on and have a good time.” Too weary to take Opal to task, Talia merely thanked the older woman for coming.
When her home was quiet and empty again, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Even though Trace was gone, the air still hummed with tension. She could smell his woodsy aftershave, see his wicked smile.
Moaning at her predicament, she thought of her brother. He would die if he knew she was going out with Trace Barringer, even for charity’s sake. She could imagine the betrayal he would feel.
They both bore a grudge against the Barringers, and her Sicilian blood ran hot when she remembered what they’d done to her only brother. She unapologetically, unequivocally detested them.
If one good thing had come out of the evening, it was that she would never again have to restrain herself from pulling off Trace’s glasses to determine his eye color. She’d waited fourteen years to find out, and he had stood close enough for her to see that they were a penetrating green.
After a restless night, Talia was woken by the insistent ringing of her phone. She rolled over and blindly reached toward the noise coming from her nightstand.
“Hello,” she murmured in a sleep-husky voice.
“Talia, this is Trace Barringer. Did I wake you?”
“Oh, no,” she said automatically, and wondered if everyone lied about being asleep when the phone rang.
“Right,” he said. His low chuckle brought her nerve endings pleasantly to life. “I wouldn’t have called this early, but I think I left my wallet at your house.”
Talia’s eyes flew open.
“Would you mind,” he went on, “if I pick it up on my way into the office? I can be at your front door in about twenty minutes.”
Her mind was still stuck on the wallet as she absently repeated, “Twenty minutes.”
“Right. I’ll see you then.”
Click.
“Wait!”
She sat up abruptly, then pounded her fist against the mattress in frustration. Like a punch-drunk fighter, she shook her head to clear it. She was never at her finest in the morning. “Trace Barringer is going to be here in twenty—” she glanced at the clock “—in nineteen minutes for his wallet.”
In her panicked mind, she saw an eerie similarity between this incident and the one that had happened years ago between Philip Barringer and her brother. When Philip had invited Kevin to the Barringer estate for a night of pool and pizza, Kevin had practically leaped at the opportunity.
After all, Philip had made it plain that he didn’t want Kevin dating his sister, Valerie. With the invitation, Kevin had assumed Philip had changed his mind, that he now found Kevin acceptable.
It had all been a dirty trick.
Kevin had left the Barringers’ home with a false sense of hope and some family jewelry planted in his car by Philip. He hadn’t even made it all the way home before the sheriff stopped him.
Talia wondered if the practice of framing people ran in the Barringer family. Should she expect the police to show up with Trace?
She glanced at the clock again. Fifteen minutes. There was a reasonable explanation for this, she told herself, but part of her wondered if this was Trace’s idea of a sick joke.
Fourteen minutes.
With her heart thundering in her chest, she tossed the covers aside and raced to the shower.
Her hair was wet, but she was clean, alert and wearing decent clothing when she answered his knock. She thrust the eel-skin wallet at Trace as if it were a grenade.
“Here it is. It was hidden under the cushions. I practically tore the chair apart, but nothing seemed to have slipped out. You might—” She broke off her verbal sprint when she noticed the strange way he was studying her.
Dressed in a chalk-striped suit, he stood with one hand resting on his hip. It was a very masculine, very powerful stance. A tingle of awareness ran through her. Having Trace Barringer’s undivided attention was pretty heady stuff.
She cleared her throat. “You might want to make sure everything is there.” She looked at his wallet and waited expectantly.
He shrugged and put the wallet away. “I’m not really worried about it. I just realized I’d left it here last night and I never know when I’ll get called out of town. Between your schedule and mine…” His voice trailed off, and he gave her a grin that had nothing to do with schedules.
She tried to ignore the quick flutter of her heart. “I’d really feel better if you looked through it now.” When he wrinkled his brow, she explained, “Since you misplaced it at my house, it would set my mind at ease if you made sure everything’s in the right place.”
He paused, then took the wallet back out and riffled through the credit cards and money. “It looks okay to me. But I would have been very upset to find this missing.” He flipped to a photograph and showed it to her.
Feeling foolish for overreacting, she let out a long breath of relief. The man had simply left his wallet by accident and she’d had a full-scale anxiety attack over it. She smiled weakly and looked at the photograph. A pint-sized version of Trace looked back at her. “Your son?”
He nodded. “You see the family resemblance?”
She studied the towheaded charmer with the heartbreaker smile. “How could I miss? He’s adorable. He’s got your smile.”
“Thank you. I’ll assume that means you think I’m adorable.” Trace chuckled at the disconcerted expression on her face. She’d appeared so panicked when she first opened the door, and he was glad she seemed more relaxed. Her hair was starting to dry into tousled waves that reminded him of rich silk.
He’d love to put his hands through it.
Her clothing was perfectly respectable, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she wore a bra beneath the aqua T-shirt.
“You assume quite a bit, Mr. Barringer.”
He tore his gaze from her shirt up to her beautiful eyes. “Talia,” he said in mock offense. “I’m beginning to think you have something against me. And I know that can’t be true, because you don’t know me yet.”
He said the last phrase like a promise, Talia thought, as though she was going to get to know him if he had anything to do with it. Biting her tongue didn’t keep her retort back this time.
“You’re smarter than I thought, Mr. Barringer.”
He laughed, and she hated him for having a sense of humor. Most men in his position would be pompous. He was entirely too charming for her good. Furthermore, he made her want things she couldn’t have. She backed away and turned the doorknob behind her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting ready for work.”
She’d just about made it through the door when he clasped her hand and lifted it to within an inch of his lips. Talia’s heart lodged in her throat.
“Saturday night, Talia. And my name is Trace.” His gaze held hers as he deliberately turned her hand over and pressed his warm mouth against the racing pulse in her wrist. The effect was like liquid flame racing through her bloodstream.
When he loosened his grip, she snatched her hand back, resisting the urge to rub away the effect of his light caress. “Saturday night,” she whispered, and miraculously managed to back her way through the door without falling.
She watched him walk away with that same confident stride he’d had fourteen years ago. He walked like a man who knew how to get what he wanted.
“Just a minute please, Freddie,” Talia said as she pulled a food order from her fax machine. After noting the number and types of subs ordered, she mentally calculated how long it would take to fill the order.
“Is that Aida you’re playing today, Talia?” Freddie asked.
She turned and smiled at the shy young man. She had a soft spot for Freddie, probably because he was the same age as her brother. “Yes, it is. You’ve been listening to Verdi more.”
Her smile faltered when she saw a man walk up behind Freddie. Trace. Her heartbeat quickened.
“What can I get for you today?” she asked, focusing on Freddie again. She tried not to think about the attractive blond man who’d never set foot in her deli before that day. A difficult task, considering the way he was studying her.
“I’ll take a meatball sub and a cola,” Freddie said. “How’s your fax machine working out? Sometimes I think we use it more than the telephone or mail.”
“It’s been great. Kevin nagged me to get it, you know, and I love it. This way I don’t have to answer the phone as much. Especially for large orders.” Large orders from the Barringer complex. What was Trace doing there? She had deliveries taken over to the main offices every day at lunch.
Freddie grinned. “I know all about those large orders. The secretaries usually ask me to tally up an order and send it to you. I guess they figure since I’m a messenger for the Barringer complex, it’s easy enough for me to take orders for lunch when I deliver memos and the mail.”
Growing weary of the Barringer name, Talia just smiled and rang up Freddie’s sub and soda.
“If you ever need any help with that fax machine,” Freddie said as he took his order from her, “you let me know. I do a lot of—” He was so intent on watching Talia that he backed right into Trace.
“Oh! Excuse me.” Freddie’s pudgy cheeks flooded with color. “Mr. Barringer,” he gasped.
Talia thought she heard a faint “Oh my God” too. Her heart went out to Freddie as he struggled with both his words and his wide plaid tie.
She gazed beseechingly at Trace.
He put a steadying hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “That’s no problem, Freddie. I probably shouldn’t have been standing so close.” He shared a “we men have to stick together” grin with Freddie and lowered his voice. “Besides, she’s pretty distracting.”
If possible, Freddie’s face turned brighter red. He mumbled something unintelligible, then ran out the door.
Talia expelled a disgusted sigh. “Well, I’ll know not to look to you for help in the future.”
“I was just trying to put him at ease. It’s obvious he’s got a crush on you.”
“He does not!”
“Are you kidding? The poor guy couldn’t tear his eyes from your shirt the whole time he was in here. And I don’t think he’s that enamored with the logo on it.”
“Right. And Dolly Parton’s my twin sister.” Well acquainted with the assets and deficits of her lean body, Talia had faced the fact long ago that Playboy wouldn’t be beating down her door with offers. Still, Trace’s remarks left her feeling unsettled. And the fact that his gaze remained on her logo didn’t exactly help matters.
She turned away and picked up the order from the fax machine. “Was there something else, Mr. Barringer? I don’t have time to chat right now.” That wasn’t exactly true. The lunch crowd had cleared out a few minutes before.
The impersonal way she said his last name annoyed Trace. He wanted to hear his first name from her lips. He wanted to watch her tempting mouth form the word. Talia had something against him and he had no earthly idea what it was.
He considered using the straightforward approach of asking her flat-out, but she was acting too cool. He found he liked her better a little off balance.
A kiss would do the trick. She’d either go off like a firecracker or melt in his arms. Or, he thought with a touch of irony, she’d pick up one of those sharp knives from the counter and use it on him.
An outrageous idea formed in his mind, and he grinned wickedly. Slipping behind the counter while she turned her back to him, he moved close enough to her to feel the warmth from her body.
“Trace,” he said into her ear.
Talia spun around, startled to find him so near. That was why she was dizzy, she told herself. Not because of his tantalizing scent. Not because of his inviting green eyes. And certainly not because of the naturally seductive timbre of his voice.
“Dolly Parton’s okay,” he went on, “but you’re more my style—sleek and firm.”
The intimate remark embarrassed her, though it was nice to know he approved of her body. She cleared her throat and started to speak, but he continued in a low, matter-of-fact voice.
“Yep,” he said, “you’re just right. Not too firm, soft enough to mold to a man’s hand. And I bet you’re responsive. It would probably only take a couple of flicks from my thumb.”
The room grew very warm. Her shirt felt tight, her breasts heavy. He stood too close, yet he was careful not to touch her. Talia swallowed hard. “You should—”
“I imagine you taste sweet, like honey or cream.” He kept on as if she hadn’t spoken.
His words paralyzed her vocal cords. She knew she should be appalled, but she was oddly mesmerized by his fantasies. The sub shop faded away as the picture of him with his mouth on her breast formed in her mind. She bit back a moan as her nipples pushed against the cotton of her shirt.
“I’d want to feel you against my chest,” he whispered. “You know, there’s something about a woman’s soft naked breasts rubbing against a man’s hard, bare chest that drives a man crazy.”
Images raced on through her mind like a movie, each more erotic than the last. Trace’s muscular chest, her pouting breasts, rubbing, caressing each other. Though she’d never seen his chest before, she could feel it in her hands, hard and muscular with crinkly hair. Her breath came in short spurts. Her knees turned to liquid.
He leaned toward her, his eyes intent on her face. She could feel his arousal, but it brought her no comfort to know his verbal torture had done him in too. He’d drummed up a fever within her, and all her secret places throbbed with life. In some distant, coherent corner of her mind she knew she should push him away.
His chest grazed her aching breasts. She didn’t bother to withhold the moan this time. “Talia, haven’t you heard that more than a mouth—”
“Stop,” she choked out, and covered his mouth with her hand. Shaking her head, she whispered, “We’re in the middle of a deli. For Pete’s sake, what do you want from me?”
He considered that. “We don’t have time for me to answer that question completely.” He took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Besides, you’re not ready. And I never rush.”
He dropped her singed hand and stepped away. “I’ve already had lunch. I dropped by to tell you we won’t be meeting with the country club members on Saturday night.”
Talia felt as though he were changing her gears without using the clutch. She tried desperately to keep up. The country club. He’d said something about the country club.
“Saturday night?” she asked.
“Yes.” He seemed pleased with her bemusement. “I had to change it to next Saturday, since I have to go out of town. Is next week okay with you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps one of the other committee members might—”
“Come on, Talia, we’ve been through this before. No one else will do it.”
Totally confused by his nonchalant attitude, she turned away from him and began slicing sub rolls with short, jerky movements. “Well, maybe I don’t want to go. Maybe I don’t trust you after the way you, you…” She broke off in frustration.
“After I what?” he asked far too innocently.
She counted to ten. She was hot: angry-hot and aroused-hot. “After the way you talked to me.”
“Did I say something threatening? Was I insulting?” He sidled close to her again, and she felt the space around her shrink. “I was just telling the truth. You can’t fault a man for that. As a matter of fact, you have all the more reason to trust me if I tell the truth.”
Her head started to pound. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”
He smiled sympathetically. “I have a law degree, but I’m not practicing now that I’m CEO.”
Not practicing? she repeated silently. You could have fooled me. She wanted him out of her shop so she could regain her equilibrium. Giving in now seemed the lesser of two evils. “What time next Saturday night?”
“Same time. Six o’clock in the lounge. We’ll be having dinner with the two Misses Fitzgerald.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.” She turned to watch as he strode to the door.
Just before he left, he said, “By the way, you’ve got a great logo.”
Talia spent the better part of the next week wondering what had possessed her to allow Trace to speak to her in such an intimate manner. For that matter, what had possessed him to speak to her that way? When her mind could provide no suitable answer, she threw her arms up in frustration and vowed to think of anything but Trace Barringer.
If her heart raced at the thought of him, she ignored it. If the image of his heated gaze taunted her day and night, she pushed it aside. But in her deepest, darkest fantasies, she remembered his graphic analysis of her breasts and paid him back in spades.
During a day trip to Richmond, she splurged on a new dress and French perfume. She chose a soft white frock with a shawl collar and V-neck. It skimmed over her slim curves with womanly appeal down to a knee-length pleated hem that flirted against her long legs.
When she asked the saleswoman the translation for the name of the perfume, the older woman got a naughty gleam in her eye. She drew out the three-syllable word with a flourish. “Ecstasy.”
Dismayed, Talia was thankful her natural tan concealed blushes. Otherwise, her cheeks would have been flaming red. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she could keep that information to herself. Besides, she preferred to smell like something besides salami and meatballs.
Before she felt sufficiently prepared for enduring a dinner with Trace at the country club, it was Saturday evening. Her new clothes did give her a measure of confidence, and the perfume made her feel sensual and feminine. Still, when she pictured the two women she was supposed to meet that night, her stomach fluttered with nervousness.
Talia envisioned a pair of eagle-eyed society matrons who would assess every thread of her clothing, every piece of faux jewelry and every hair on her head. In an act of defiance, she wore her hair down.
She’d chewed off her rose lipstick for the second time when the phone rang. Her stomach fluttered again. Could it be Trace?
“Hey, Little Italy,” a man said when she answered. “How’s life in the fast lane?”
Talia smiled. That nickname had been a source of torment throughout her elementary school years. The only person she allowed to call her that was Kevin. “You’re walking on thin ice, baby brother. You know how I feel about my name. Since exam week is coming up soon, I’ll assume your anxieties have rendered you temporarily insane. I’ll excuse you this time. And I’ve noticed you only call me Italia when you’re more than an arm’s reach away.”
Kevin laughed. “Yeah, well, I like my face the way it is.”
“As do all the women in Massachusetts.” She checked her watch. “So, why are you calling me on a Saturday night?”
She could picture his broad-shouldered shrug in the brief silence that followed. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing. And to let you know I’m going camping up in Vermont with a few of the guys in my dorm for a week after exams. Is that okay with you?”
Talia’s insides turned to marshmallows. Kevin had always possessed the unique ability to mold her into a complete softy. “That’s great. I’ll miss you, but I’m glad you’re getting away for some fun. How’s campus life?”
“This semester’s been tough. MIT hasn’t gained its reputation for being the top engineering school by coddling the students.”
Mentally putting together a care package of cookies and other treats for him, she said, “You sound tired. Are you worried about your exams?”
“Nah, but I’ll be glad for summer.” He paused. “Listen, Tal, I’ve got this professor friend. He teaches calculus. I told him about you, and showed him your picture—”
“Hold it right there, Kevin. If you’re going to start matchmaking, more than your face will be in danger.” She knew her brother felt responsible for her lack of dating partners during his high school years. Since she was financing his education now, too, he felt obliged to provide her with suitors beyond the realm of Barringer. “I’m doing fine,” she added. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting ready to go to the country club in a few minutes.”
Kevin gave a low whistle. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Talia rolled her eyes in self-disgust. She’d walked right into that hornets’ nest. “Actually, it’s part of the planning for Lung Awareness Month. I’m meeting a few people for dinner.”
“Anybody I know?”
Studying her buffed nails, Talia grimaced. Kevin would be present for some LAM activities, so she’d better go ahead and break the news now. “Trace Barringer.”
The silence was heavy, fraught with painful memories. Her heart twisted, and she rushed on. “It’s not a real date, Kevin. For some reason I don’t understand, Trace Barringer has been real pushy about this. I tried to put him off, but he’s set on the idea of the mill being directly involved. If it were up to me, I’d tell him to take a flying leap, but the Barringer Corporation is one of our biggest contributors.” She was breathless by the end of her explanation, and felt incredibly guilty and disloyal.
When Kevin didn’t immediately respond, she said, “Listen, if it really bothers you, I’ll resign from the committee.”
His sigh was audible. “No. It just threw me for a minute. There probably isn’t anybody who cares as much about LAM as you, Talia. Mom would be proud of you for what you’re doing. Besides, Trace is the one Barringer who wasn’t involved in my little mess with them. Val used to talk about him. She always said he…”
Talia strained to hear the uncompleted sentence. Kevin rarely spoke of Valerie Barringer, even though he’d been wildly infatuated with her years ago.
“Just keep your eyes open,” Kevin warned her in a voice beyond his years. “We learned the hard way not to trust the Barringers.” Then his tone lightened.
I’ll see you in a few weeks, big sister. And I’m bringing you a tall, dark, handsome guy with a brain as a coming-home present. The guys in Barringer are too stale for you. I love you.”
“I love you,” she whispered to the dial tone, and tried to work up some enthusiasm for Kevin’s tall, dark “coming-home present.” Unfortunately she was far more intrigued by a certain blond man with green eyes. She sighed heavily and snatched up her keys.
Alternately cursing and encouraging herself, Talia drove to Hidden Hills Country Club. When she stepped from her battered Datsun, she bit back a laugh at the parking attendant’s expression of chagrin. She dropped the keys into the older man’s hand and gave him a saucy smile. “Be careful with it, the front fender’s a little loose.”
When she looked up at the club’s white columns and grand entrance, a tremor of unease swept through her. The differences between Trace Barringer’s lifestyle and her own suddenly seemed acute. On her last date, she’d gone to a miniature golf course. Before that, it had been bowling. The most adventurous date she’d had in the last year involved a trip to Richmond to see a baseball game. And while she enjoyed baseball, she would have given her eyeteeth to see the opera.
Opera and ballet. Country clubs and elegant dinners. Those were Trace’s life. Hers was ham and salami.
Still, Talia hadn’t arrived at the age of twenty-six without a large dose of practicality. This country club would likely provide LAM with a generous donation. She battled down the notion that she was a fish out of water and marched up the steps.
Nodding briefly to the doorman, she muttered under her breath, “This one’s for you, Mom.”
She was crossing the red-carpeted foyer, heading toward the desk to ask for directions to the lounge, when she felt a hand on her arm.
“Wait up, Italia,” a familiar voice murmured behind her.
Chapter Three
Talia whirled and stared up at Trace. Her heart sank with disappointment when she saw he still looked wonderful. She’d been hoping he’d grow a few warts during his time away. A man with his looks, intelligence, wealth and insufferable self-confidence needed some flaw to bring him down to the rest of the human race. And she certainly didn’t see a flaw. A charcoal silk blazer covered his impressive shoulders and chest, and well-tailored slacks fit his long legs perfectly. The light reflected off his tawny hair, and his green eyes glinted with humor.
What did he find so amusing, she wondered, then she remembered what he’d called her.
“Who told you that?” she asked as he led her down a hall.
“One of the supervisors at the mill. When I mentioned the plans for LAM, he casually passed on the information.” Smiling wickedly, Trace opened the brass-and-glass door to the lounge. “I found it…intriguing.”
“Did you happen to notice the guy’s nose?”
Puzzled, Trace thought that over as they sat at a small round table. “Now that you mention it, Don’s nose is a little crooked. Why do you ask?”
Talia smiled. “I went to school with Don. He’s my best friend’s husband. But he had this annoying habit of teasing me. I warned him to stop.”
Trace watched the spark of indignation in her eyes and drank in the force of her personality. After another fruitless week spent trying to gain custody of his son, Talia was a breath of fresh air to him.
“Outside my family,” she continued, “he’s the last person to call me Italia to my face since seventh grade. I finally had to break his nose.”
At the image of a feisty young Talia and a howling Don, Trace let out a deep laugh, feeling the tension leave his body.
“Can I get you something from the bar?” a waitress asked.
“Scotch, neat,” Trace said, and turned to Talia.
“I’ll take a Bloody Mary.”
As they waited for their drinks, Trace noticed the way she looked around the room with carefully veiled curiosity. Dismay seemed to cloud her eyes, and she bit her lip.
“So what made your mother name you after Italy?” he asked in an effort to regain the earlier mood.
She turned to him, the bleak expression fading. “My grandmother died in Italy the week before I was born. Mom was devastated that she couldn’t attend the funeral. And though my grandmother liked America, her first love was Italy. She was always telling my mother never to forget Italy.”
Talia paused as the waitress set their drinks on the table. “When she first mentioned the notion of naming me after my grandmother’s homeland, my father thought she was crazy with grief. But he went along with it, hoping she’d change her mind when it came time to fill out the birth certificate.” Talia smiled and ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “She didn’t. I’m just glad Grandmother wasn’t from Turkey.”
Trace grinned and watched the motion of her finger around the glass. “Imagine how many more noses would have been broken.”
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