Guardian Angel (3 page)

“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?”