Guardian Angel (8 page)

“Oh no, you can't,” she said in a horrified tone.

“May I help you with something, sir?” a salesman asked.

“The diamond necklace over there.” Trace pointed.

“No!”

Both men looked at her as if she were crazy.

“You don't like diamonds?” Trace asked.

“No. I mean, yes. Oh!” She sighed in frustration. The situation had gotten entirely out of hand.

“Diamonds are nice, but it really isn't necessary for you to buy anything for me.”

“But what if I want to?”

“I still don't think—”

“If she doesn't prefer diamonds, perhaps she'd like something like this.” The salesman pulled out a delicate gold chain with five graduated filigree hearts.

“Oh,” she murmured, this time in pleasure. It was beautiful and she'd never owned anything like it. She reached out to touch it just for a moment, then drew back her hand. “I really can't.”

“Talia.” Trace took her aside and looked at her in a way that made her knees melt. “I want you to have something that will remind you of this weekend.”

“You say that like you think I could actually forget it.”

“Indulge me. It's just a necklace, not the Hope Diamond. Or did you see something you liked better?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It's beautiful. But—”

“We'll take it,” Trace said to the salesman.

 

That evening Talia got her first taste of a high-class Washington cocktail party. Camilla's ballroom had mirrors on every wall, reflecting the sumptuous elegance of original artwork, fine crystal, quiet-voiced servers and a fountain of champagne. Talia smiled to herself. The only original artwork her family had ever possessed had been crayon drawings on the refrigerator.

At first she'd been overwhelmed by the famous people she recognized, by the glitter of exquisite jewels, by the fabulous designer gowns. Fearful of making some horrible social gaffe, she'd stiffly gripped a glass of champagne and smiled and nodded a lot. Trace had loosened her up with sotto voce anecdotes about the people she met.

During one of the few quieter moments, she relaxed enough to notice that he seemed restless. She touched his arm to get his attention. “Anything wrong?”

“Hmm? Not really,” he said, and slipped his arm around her waist.

“Then why did I have to ask you that question three times?”

He looked surprised, then repentant. “I'm sorry. I talked with Robby this afternoon and he mentioned that Madelyn is in New York again, so her mother is taking care of him. I was sure Madelyn would be ready to give me custody by now.”

Talia could feel his impatience and frustration as if it were her own. “Why don't you visit him tomorrow before we leave?”

His gaze held a mixture of tenderness and fire. “You know, you're not just the most beautiful woman in this room tonight.” He bent down to kiss her. “You're the nicest.”

A lump rose in her throat, preventing speech. She leaned against him and watched desire flare in his eyes.

“But at this moment,” he growled in her ear, “I'm not thinking about anything but getting you out of that dress.” His hand slid down her hip, drawing her closer.

“You don't like it?” she asked, knowing her shiver belied her light tone.

Grinning, he eased them back a few paces into a dimly lit corner. “I like the dress. I like the way the top—” He stared at her breasts and stopped. “What kind of top is it?”

Over a very dry throat, she said, “It's called a bustier.”

“Bustier?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked. “That's appropriate, considering it doesn't cover all of your—”

“Trace,” she warned in a shaky voice.

“Right. Well, I like your…bustier.” His hands spanned her waist, then slid down to her hips. “And I love the way it fits here.” His voice grew husky. “But it's a little long.”

She blinked. The dress ended three inches above her knee.

“The silt in the back helps,” he continued, and sneaked a kiss behind her ear.

Between his caressing hands and devouring gaze, Talia was having difficulty breathing. Still, she managed to catch his hands when they strayed too far. “The way you talk about this dress makes me wonder just what kind of clothing you prefer to see on a woman,” she muttered.

“Let's just put it this way,” he said, pulling her against him. “Seeing you in this dress makes me think of all the different ways I could get you out of it.” He put his mouth against hers and whispered, “And all the different things we could do once it's off.”

The rest of the evening passed in a magical daze for Talia. She felt like Cinderella without a curfew. Even the press conference came off without any glitches. Trace handled the journalists without a qualm, and Talia only had to answer a few simple questions. Camilla was the real star, milking the presentation of the valuable carpet and Ming vase for all she could. Talia was counting the minutes until they could leave, when everything came crashing down.

“Trace,” a familiar voice said from just behind her shoulder. A chill ran up her spine, and she stiffened. It couldn't be.

Trace turned and smiled at his brother. “Philip, I didn't know you were coming.”

Philip looked at Talia, then glanced away. “I couldn't miss it. It's a great opportunity to make contacts.” He nodded toward a photographer and put his arm around Trace's shoulder. “The publicity won't hurt either.”

Philip smiled as a lightbulb flashed. “You want to get together for drinks after this is over? I keep trying to talk you into being my campaign manager for my run for the state senate. I shouldn't have to nag my own brother.”

Trace shook his head. “If you'd take no for an answer, you wouldn't have to nag. Besides, you know you can count on Barringer Corporation for a generous contribution.”

Talia left, quickly and without a word. If she didn't lose her dinner over the way Philip was using LAM to further his political career, then she'd lose it over learning that Trace planned to underwrite him. Sick at heart and not quite sure where she was going, she wandered through the crowd, murmuring, “Excuse me, excuse me, please.”

She ended up at the front door. When the butler asked if she needed a limo, she almost burst into tears. What was she doing? She couldn't leave without thanking Camilla again and saying goodbye.

She closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Miss, is something wrong? May I help you?” the butler asked in a kind voice.

She sighed, opened her eyes and gave the elderly man a tremulous smile. “If you could arrange for a taxi, I'd appreciate it.”

“Of course. How soon will you require it?”.

“Umm, five or ten minutes. Is that possible?”

He smiled. “Anything is possible at Miss Camilla's.”

Somehow, she made it back through the crowded ballroom to Camilla and thanked her again.

“Why, darling, it's been my pleasure,” Camilla said. She gave Talia a little hug. “I'll have to think of something for next year. You know, I believe you paid dearly for that Ming vase. You haven't danced a single dance with your divine Mr. Barringer.”

Talia's stomach turned.

“I shouldn't have let you ride so long,” Camilla fretted charmingly.

“Oh, no,” Talia said. “I enjoyed it.”

“You don't lie well, my dear.” The older woman studied Talia for a moment. “But you're a strong woman. It's been a pleasure meeting you.”

Even in the midst of her misery, Talia was flattered. “It was my pleasure too. Thank you for everything.” Impulsively, she kissed the older woman on the cheek, then dashed away.

Trace looked around the room as Philip continued to pressure him about the political campaign. Frowning, he muttered to himself, “Where the hell has she gone?”

When Philip sighed heavily, he turned his attention back to his younger brother. “What's the problem?”

“Nothing,” Philip said, “if you don't count the fact that I've used my most persuasive abilities trying to win you over to run my campaign for the last ten minutes. It doesn't look good for my future if I can't sway my only brother.”

Impatience flashed through Trace, but he reined it in. He was accustomed to Philip's self-centered attitude. “Look, I'll support you financially. I'll give you advice.” He grinned. “For what it's worth, I'll even give you an endorsement. But, Philip, you need to understand that I've got some big things going on in my life right now. I'm about to get custody of Robby and I just might lose my mind over a certain lady. So don't ask me again. I said no and I mean no.” He put his hands on his hips in vexation. “Where the hell is she?”

“You mean Talia McKenzie?” Philip asked.

“Yes. Who else?”

Philip shrugged.

The silence between them seemed loud in contrast to the conversations surrounding them. Trace turned and looked at his brother closely.

Philip glanced away. “You might want to watch out. The McKenzies seem…ambitious.”

“What do you mean?”

Philip shifted from one foot to the other. “You know what I mean. Some people will do anything to get ahead. They'll use relationships, affection, even sex—”

“That's enough,” Trace said tersely. A dark anger built within him. Philip's insinuations put a tawdry light on Trace's relationship with Talia. It took all of his control not to lash out. “Speculations made from ignorance always cause problems, little brother. In other words, don't discuss things you know nothing about.”

Philip stiffened and met Trace's gaze. “I know plenty about the McKenzies. This isn't the first time they've tried to worm their way into our family.”

He turned to leave, but Trace grabbed his shoulder. “You owe me an explanation after that last comment.”

Angry color flared in Philip's face. “I don't have to tell you a damn thing. As far as Talia McKenzie is concerned, you'd better keep your head on your shoulders and your money in the bank.”

A hot surge of nearly uncontrollable fury hit Trace like a fist. “If you weren't my brother, I'd knock your teeth down your throat.” He took a deep breath, fighting for calm. “Now get out of my face before I do something I regret.” Dropping his hand from Philip's shoulder, he watched his supremely cool brother shakily back away.

Trace cursed as his usually agile mind raced fruitlessly. Why was Philip so hostile to Talia?

It made him wonder anew if Philip and Talia had once been involved. The insulting way Philip had spoken of her infuriated him. He'd been an inch away from tearing a strip off Philip. The only thing that stopped him was the possibility that Philip might reveal what was at the bottom of this mess right in front of all the reporters.

Thinking about that only raised more questions that couldn't be answered, and Trace felt a swift, searing need to see Talia. He shook off his disturbing thoughts and looked around the room once more. She'd been gone entirely too long.

He checked the champagne fountain, the corners of the room. He even asked a woman to check the powder room. Finally, he asked Camilla.

She frowned. “Well, she said goodbye to me a while ago. I assumed you'd made arrangements to depart separately.”

Doing anything separately from Talia had been the furthest thing from his mind. He thought they'd planned to be together for the rest of the evening, straight through till morning if he had anything to do with it.

He smiled stiffly. “Thank you again, Camilla. I hope you can make it to the auction.”

“Oh, I will try,” she assured him as a senator's wife cornered her.

Spying an elderly butler, Trace paused at the door. “You haven't seen a dark-haired woman in a magenta dress, have you? She's about this tall.” He held his hand up. “She's got brown eyes and a little mole above her mouth.”

“Wearing a necklace with little hearts?” the butler asked.

Trace's heart raced. “Yes.”

“She left about thirty minutes ago. I called a cab for her.”

The knocking on her door was getting louder.

“You might as well open up, Talia. I'm not going anywhere,” Trace yelled through the door.

“It's been a long day,” she called back. She looked down at the tissue she'd completely mauled and cursed softly. “I'm tired, Trace. I really don't feel like talking.”

“That's too bad,” he said without one drop of sympathy. “Open up.”

She stared impotently at the door.

“Talia.”

“Oh, all right!” She tied her robe tighter, mentally girding herself for the battle she knew was coming. She'd only been in her room long enough to discard her clothes and take a quick shower. When she'd spied the heart necklace still on her neck, she'd practically ripped it off. It was a glaring reminder of how foolish she'd been to forget the barriers between Trace and herself.

She walked stiffly across the plush carpet, flung the door open, then stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her first tactical error was looking at him. Exasperation-mussed hair topped a grim, yet achingly tender face. His eyes were so full of hurt that guilt began to seep into her.

“Is there any particular reason you left without me tonight?” he asked in a quiet, controlled voice.

She shrugged and turned away, moving back into the room. “I got tired. It looked like you were enjoying your time with Philip, so I didn't want to interrupt.”

She felt the vibration of one heavy footstep before he jerked her around and clasped her shoulders. She flinched at the expression on his face. The tenderness had vanished, replaced by fury.

“It's over,” he bit out.

Her heart dropped to her knees.

“All this evading the issue,” he continued, “running whenever Philip shows up, is over. I want to know what's going on and I want to know now.”

Shaking her head, she tried to back away.

He stopped her by tightening his hands. “Now.”

“No, Trace, I can't. I told you why.”

“I don't care why you think you can't.” He ruthlessly stripped away her defense. “I deserve to know why you were all over me at that cocktail party and now you can't bear to talk with me, let alone touch me.”

Her cheeks flooded with heat. “You know why. It's Philip. Seeing him brought it all back, and I just couldn't deal with it.”

He loosened his hands slightly and began to move his fingers in a caressing motion. The gentleness she'd grown accustomed to crept back into his eyes, his voice. “Brought all of what back?” he asked in the voice that never failed to turn her to putty.

It almost worked. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him anything he wanted to know, then a shred of reason permeated. He should hear this from Philip. She shook her head and looked away. “I can't—”

He stepped back and cursed.

“Why not?” he asked in a harsh voice that chilled her blood. “Are you sure you're not making a big deal out of nothing?”

That gave her a start. Her gaze whipped up to meet his.

“What's the big secret?” he went on. “Did you and Philip have an affair? I can't believe you'd be the type to play the scorned woman for this long.”

Talia was speechless for a moment.

“Affair? Scorned woman?” she said in a high-pitched voice. She gave a choking laugh and felt her fury rise. “Oh, I wish that was all it was. Big deal out of nothing,” she repeated incredulously, and shook her head.

With righteous anger oozing from every part of her, she narrowed her eyes and practically spat the condemning words from her mouth. “My brother spent three months in a hellhole, got stabbed, and came out a shell of his former self. All due to your precious brother Philip.”

Trace looked like she'd slapped him. “There must be some mistake,” he finally said.

Talia was on a roll now. “Yeah, there was a big mistake and Philip engineered it real well.”

Trace's brows pulled together in confusion. “Not Philip. You can't be sure.”

“I couldn't be more sure.”

He shook his head. “No. I can't believe—”

“That's exactly why I haven't told you,” she said with bitter triumph, and turned away. “You've got your story. Now get out and leave me alone.”

She sank down on the bed before her knees betrayed her. A lump rose in her throat when she realized she'd destroyed any chance for a future with Trace. But there'd really never been a chance, she reminded herself. She hugged herself tightly as if to ward off the cold. Staring down at the bedspread, she noticed for the first time that the flowers were orchids. She concentrated on the green leaves and pink petals, willing the time to pass until the door closed behind Trace.

But Trace didn't leave. Instead, he sat beside her and took her cold hand. “Please,” he said, “tell me the whole story.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, then looked at his face. It was bare of anger and judgment, stark with vulnerability and need. She sensed that such vulnerability was rare for him. And he'd become too important to her to push him aside cavalierly. She couldn't take away his pain or her own, but he desperately wanted the truth. And she desperately wanted to give him what he wanted, even if it drove them apart.

Unable to look at him, she stared down at her clasped hands and told him how Philip had engineered Kevin's arrest.

“They closed the reform school a few years ago,” she finished later, “due to mismanagement and health code violations.”

Trace stared at Talia and fought against overwhelming, painful bewilderment. He didn't know what to think, but he didn't want to believe Philip was capable of such deceit. The horror and senselessness of the deed appalled him. “Are you sure you didn't misunderstand? Could you have misinterpreted something he said or did?”

She shook her head. “The whole thing went too smoothly not to be planned. You're a lawyer, Trace. You know how difficult it is to prove something like this. Especially against someone whose name is Barringer,” she added bitterly.

Her lost expression made his gut clench. “I'm a Barringer.”

She looked up with tears in her eyes. “Yes, but you're everything he isn't.”

He took a deep breath. Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don't know what to say. It seems unreal. I don't think you'd lie,” he assured her quickly. “But Philip— I can't understand why he'd do something like this. He was always protective of Valerie, but this is out of character.”

Seeing his confusion hurt her further. “Trace, I know this is hard for you. But surely you can see why I've insisted that things won't work between us.”

His head whipped around, his eyes piercing her to her core. “As a matter of fact, I don't.”

She lifted her hands. “Trace, your family is everything to you. And Kevin is everything to me. This can only destroy us.”

“No!” The rush of sheer panic surprised him. The problem with Philip was disturbing, but the mere suggestion of Talia supping away from him was untenable. A cold chill swept through him. “You're wrong,” he said, coming back to her side. “My family may mean a lot to me, but they're not everything. This can only destroy us if we let it.”

“Philip is your brother.”

“He's not me.” He wanted to shake her, but cupped her chin instead. “This happened years ago. We have to deal with the present.” He gazed into her misery-filled eyes. “Or are you determined to live in the past?”

She looked away. “It's not that easy, Trace. Even if your brother hadn't tried to destroy my brother, we'd still have all these differences between us. Your life is completely different from mine. Our social circles will never mix.”

“We mixed pretty well last night. You came apart in my arms and I came apart in yours.” He saw the doubt and confusion in her eyes and wanted to kiss it away, but he sensed it wouldn't work. He'd have to find the right words. “And it isn't just sex,” he continued, correctly guessing what was going on in her mind. “I've waited too long for this, maybe all my life.”

Her eyes widened in alarm, and he bit off an oath. She still didn't want to admit how important they'd become to each other. “Tell me, Talia, have you ever felt like this before?”

He saw the fire dance in her gaze before she closed her eyes and shook her head. “It doesn't matter,” she said. “It can't matter. There are too many—”

“Too many other people's needs?” he interrupted, barely reining in his impatience. “What about what you need? What about what I need?” He shook her gently. “When will the time be right? When will everything be perfect so you can let go and take a risk?” He paused because he knew he had her attention. Her eyes, full of worry, were fastened on him.

“Never,” he said, answering his rhetorical question. “And never's not good enough for me.” He took her hands again and comforted himself with the fact that they trembled. Then he played his last card, knowing Talia rarely backed away from a challenge. “Is never good enough for you?”

“Oh, Trace.” She let out a shaky sigh and looked at the ceiling. He watched her blink against the shiny tears forming in her eyes. “I don't know.”

He still wasn't satisfied. He wanted more. But when the phone interrupted the silence, he told himself “I don't know” was better than a definite no.

Talia answered it, then handed the phone to him. As he listened to a hospital receptionist, he wondered what else could go wrong that day. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind and battling fatigue.

“It's the hospital,” he told Talia as he hung up the phone. “Something's happened to Robby's grandmother.”

Over the next hours, Talia was amazed at how time alternately crawled and sped by. They were at the hospital in a matter of minutes. It was by unspoken request that she'd come along. And she found she wouldn't have it any other way. She was thrilled to have Trace depend on her.

While Trace spent hours on the phone trying to locate Madelyn in New York, Talia reassured Robby about his grandmother. She had fallen down the steps and broken her leg in two places. She went immediately into surgery at the hospital, where they inserted some pins. Recovery, the doctor predicted, would be slow.

By late Sunday afternoon all three were headed back to Barringer in Trace's Cadillac. Talia sat in the backseat with Robby, because he'd looked so forlorn by himself. His little body was stiff with tension, but finally, after four books and three songs, he snuggled against her. His eyelids began to droop. “Talia, you smell so good,” he said.

She smiled. “Well, thank you, Robby.”

“You smell just like bubble gum. Do you have any?”

She blinked. Catching Trace's eye in the rearview mirror, she laughed. “If he keeps up these compliments, he's destined for permanent bachelorhood.”

“Oh, I don't know. His technique may need a little work, but his heart's in the right place.” Trace lowered his voice. “I can't fault his taste.”

She looked back at Robby and started to answer his request, but he'd already gone to sleep. Brushing the blond hair off his forehead, she marveled over what a beautiful child he was. He already had the same dark eyebrows and eyelashes that Trace had. Frowning, she noticed he also had dark circles under his eyes. It had been a tough night for everybody.

“Out for the count?” Trace asked quietly.

After securing a pillow beneath Robby's drooping head, she leaned toward the front seat. “He's gone,” she murmured. She startled herself by almost reaching out to stroke Trace's face in an offer of comfort.

“Give me your hand,” he said, as if he'd read her mind.

He kissed her hand, then leaned his whiskered cheek against it. They rode that way for a long time in quiet contentment. Talia didn't want to examine that feeling too closely. She might destroy the peace and serenity of the moment. Still she couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather be than in the backseat of a car with a four-year-old boy, while her arm fell asleep because Trace Barringer insisted on holding her hand.

The Cadillac ate up the remaining miles to Barringer. Robby was still asleep when Trace stopped in front of Talia's house. She couldn't resist giving the sleeping child one last kiss before she got out.

“I'll get your suitcase,” Trace said in a low voice.

She nodded, feeling strangely reluctant to leave the car. But she did leave as quietly as she could.

Trace followed her up the walk. The night air was thick with humidity, and only the sounds of a neighbor's dog and chirping crickets broke the silence.

She'd left the porch light on. It illuminated the big crack in the concrete walk that she hadn't had a chance to fix yet. She needed to mow the yard too. Maybe she could squeeze it in tomorrow evening. She hadn't noticed how dingy the paint looked either. But it was clean, her prideful side asserted. And it wasn't cracked or peeling.

Suddenly she realized why she was noticing all the little faults in her home. Trace Barringer. She'd spent the weekend pretending to be Cinderella, eating caviar, drinking champagne and getting drunk on Trace's attention.

But the ball was over.

The Cadillac coach would be gone in just a few moments, and she would be left with her Datsun pumpkin.

But what about the necklace? her softer side argued. What about the way he held her in his arms? That had to mean something.

It meant they'd had a great weekend, she answered herself. Trace and Robby were going back to the Barringer mansion where they belonged while she remained there where she belonged.

Funny how that short walk from the car could make a world of difference.

She sighed, then turned to face Trace when she reached the door. After all they'd been through in the last twenty-four hours, she felt like weeping at the prospect of not being with him and Robby any longer. If she could just avoid looking into Trace's eyes, maybe she could avoid making a fool of herself.