Guardian Angel

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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.”