Guardian Angel (10 page)

“Space?” he repeated incredulously. “When the hell did I ask for space?”

Talia could suddenly imagine what Trace's employees felt like when they incurred his displeasure. She barely resisted the urge to squirm. “You didn't. But our time in Washington was rather…” Feeling uncomfortable, she turned away.

He caught her arm and pulled her back to face him. “Rather what? Exciting? Exhausting? Erotic?”

“Intense,” she blurted out. Lord, she was botching this. Her thoughts were getting all jumbled up and the fact that Trace had both hands on her arms wasn't helping.

“We lead such different fives, Trace. I didn't know if your feelings would change once we got home.”

“And what about your feelings?”

All of her barriers tumbled down at the hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I've missed you,” she whispered, “more than you could know.”

“I doubt that,” he muttered, and took a moment to absorb her confession. His heart lifted a little. “Then where have you been all the times I called you?”

He watched the color rise to her cheeks as she looked away.

“Yard work,” she mumbled.

“Yard work?”

“Yes, yard work,” she repeated testily. “I was upset after we came back from Camilla's. It was like withdrawal. I had to keep busy with something.”

He chuckled and she glared at him.

“Crazy lady,” he murmured, and bussed her forehead. “Do you realize how tormented I've been for the last week? When I go to bed, I remember everything about that night in Washington. The way you kiss, the way your skin feels, the sounds you make when you…” His voice trailed off as he remembered where they were.

Her eyes were full of the memories, too, the passion, the pleasure. She let out a shaky sigh and bit into her lower lip.

Trace withheld a groan and looked around. “Is there anywhere around here where I can kiss you?”

Talia heard the frustration in his voice. It matched her own. She shook her head. “Nowhere.”

He cursed softly, but didn't release her yet. He looked at her silky hair, her expressive eyes, the earrings in her ears, and wanted her so much it made him crazy. He kept his voice low. “I've imagined you in my bed.”

Talia sucked in a deep breath and tried to lighten the mood. She felt entirely too warm. “I hear anything's possible when you have a Reptile Renegade bedspread.”

He laughed, and the sound landed in the pit of her stomach. He touched her hot cheek. “You're blushing.”

Pulling away, she prayed for someone to drop a bucket of ice on her. “We've discussed this before. I don't blush. I'm not pale enough.”

“It's not a pink blush,” he said thoughtfully. “More of a dusty rose.”

Indignantly, she faced him. “I don't blush. But if I did, it would be very rude of you to point it out.”

He faked contrition. “I wouldn't want to be rude. How can I make it up to you?”

“Let's skate,” she said briskly.

He took her hand, but his look was easily read. “Okay,” he said. “For now.”

It wasn't smart.

Not smart at all to get so close to Trace and Robby. Not smart to eat dinner with them three nights the next week, or have Trace follow her back to her house after Robby had been tucked into bed. Not smart to ignore the fact that Kevin would be home within two weeks and she hadn't a prayer of explaining her feelings to him.

Not smart to ignore the differences that would always stand between her and Trace. It was easy to forget they were worlds apart when he held her in his arms or talked with her late at night. But when she was away from him, she remembered he was far more educated, sophisticated and wealthy than she could ever hope to be. Than she ever wanted to be, for that matter.

Talia sighed and dismissed her disturbing thoughts. She glanced at her alarm clock, then at Trace, and a smile found its way to her lips.

He was sprawled in naked contentment amid her cotton sheets. He was also sleeping. She couldn't help but admire him. She'd done that quite a bit lately, in and out of bed.

He was such an attentive father, listening to Robby's chatter, laughing with his son, encouraging Talia to join in. She never felt excluded. It seemed both of them were always touching her. Trace would slide his hand around her waist or touch her hair. Robby would grab her hand and drag her off to see something or give her a wet kiss.

It was dangerous. It made her hope and dream.

But Talia was too happy to upset the applecart. She knew that time would come without any help from her. She'd deal with it then. Right now she needed to wake Sleeping Beauty and send him home. By mutual agreement, he never stayed overnight. He'd hired a wonderful live-in nanny for Robby, but he needed to be there in case of nightmares.

She smoothed his eyebrows and ran his fingers through his love-mussed hair. “Trace,” she said softly, “it's time to get up.”

Grudgingly, he opened one eye. “It can't be time. I just got here.”

“It's eleven-thirty. Time for all good CEOs to be in their own bed.”

He closed his eye again, but a sexy grin teased the corners of his mouth. “‘Good' is a rather bland term, wouldn't you say?” He snatched her hand and placed it on his chest.

Dirty pool, Talia thought. Trace knew she was endlessly fascinated with his chest. Of its own accord, her hand wandered over it, combing through the dusting of brown hair and playing with his nipples.

Catching herself, she pushed away and sat up. She automatically pulled the sheet to her, leaving Trace in a rather exposed position, which he ignored. She, however, could not.

“You're always kicking me out of bed, Talia,” he said as he opened his eyes and raised himself to his elbows.

“You need to get back to Robby,” she reminded him.

He frowned. “I know, but do you have to be so damned enthusiastic about it?”

She smiled, managing not to laugh. “I guess I could weep and pitch a fit every night. Would that help?”

He plucked at the sheet, then looked up at her, his expression serious. “No, but it would be nice if I knew you wanted me to stay.”

Her breath caught. Trace could do that to her with just a look, yet this time he did it with words. She leaned over him and touched his chest. “You must know that I want you to stay.”

He rubbed his face into her palm. “You never say it.”

She almost protested, then realized it was true. Trace was always praising her, but she was too awestruck or shy to tell him how she felt. A tinge of guilt sneaked in when she saw how she'd made him suffer. Another step closer, she thought, and decided it was time.

“I want you, Trace. It feels like I want you all the time. The bed is cold and lonely when you leave. There are times in the middle of the night when I have to force myself not to phone you just to hear your voice.”

Chagrin swept over her. “Do you know how many orders I've messed up thinking about you instead of work?”

“Salami instead of turkey?” he asked, looking very pleased. He pulled her closer and kissed her palm.

“Something like that.” Sobering, she bared a little more of her soul. “I want you, Trace, like I've never wanted anybody else.”

She was flat on her back with his mouth pressed to hers before she could take a breath. The kiss was full of passion, charged with emotion, demanding her response. She gave it in full measure.

Finally Trace pulled back and looked at her for a long moment. He could drown in her soft brown eyes, lose his mind when she smiled. He touched the mole above her mouth, then ran his hand to the three gold beads in her ear.

“The next time you feel like calling me in the middle of the night, do it,” he said as his hands grew more restless. He stroked her hair and cheek, then extended the caress to her neck and shoulders, gorging himself with the satiny texture of her skin.

Drawing circles around her breasts, he watched her nipples pucker before he touched them. Her breathing quickened, and his mouth went dry the way it always did.

“Trace,” she whispered huskily.

Leaning down, he took one rosy bud into his mouth and suckled. Her trembling tightened his already hard body. Suddenly, he knew that seeing Talia for a few hours here and there wouldn't be enough. The implication of that knowledge could have scared him, but need superseded fear. In time, they would have to deal with what was happening to them. Right now they had a few stolen moments, and he'd give her everything he could.

“We've got to make this bed so hot,” he murmured, “it stays warm until morning. I can't have you getting cold.”

She smiled, and his heart turned over. “We haven't got long,” she said.

He flicked his tongue over her other nipple. “You want to help?”

She smoothed her fingers down his chest, hovering at his belly button while he shifted to accommodate her. She gently wrapped her hand around his aching fullness.

“What do you think?” she asked as she began to stroke him.

Trace just groaned.

 

“She's gorgeous, Gina,” Talia said to her friend the next day. Gina had brought her baby daughter to the shop to show her off. Talia cooed at the wide-eyed infant. “What does Don think of her?”

“He's in love,” Gina said smugly. “All Natalie has to do is blow a few bubbles or bat those baby blues and he gets all misty-eyed.”

Talia shook her head at the notion of Don getting weepy over a baby. Still, when she looked at Natalie, she felt a tug at her heartstrings herself. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what her baby would look like if Trace was the father.

The jingling of the bell at the door diverted her attention. Freddie swept in and handed her a package from the Barringer complex. “Thank you,” she called as he raced back out the door. Freddie had acted much more reserved around her since that incident with Trace over a month ago.

“Boring business stuff?” Gina asked, shifting her little burden to get a better look.

“I don't know,” Talia murmured as she tore off the brown wrapping paper. “I've never gotten anything from them before.”

She opened the box. It took her a moment to identify the green stuffed animal, then she laughed out loud.

“What is it? Let me see,” Gina said.

Talia laughed again and held up the green creature.

“A Reptile Renegade,” Gina said, a baffled expression on her face. “Who in the world would send you a Reptile? And why?”

Talia saw the note at the bottom of the box and read it silently.

“He couldn't afford it,” she murmured, smiling.

“Couldn't afford what?” Gina asked. “Talia, you're acting very strange.”

“He couldn't afford all the mistakes I'll make today.” She folded the note and tucked it into her pocket. When a customer came through the door, Gina got distracted with displaying her new little girl. Natalie soon began to fuss, though, forcing Gina to wave a harried goodbye while Talia waited on the customer.

Afterward, as she dropped
The Marriage of Figaro
into the cassette player, Talia's happy mood faded when she thought of the dinner date that evening with Trace and some out-of-town business associates. Knowing she'd feel uncomfortable, she'd tried to beg off. It was difficult to refuse Trace, though. She wanted to make the right impression on his colleagues and friends, wanted to be an asset to him. Still, she had serious doubts about her ability.

Dinner conversation at the four-star restaurant that night went straight over her head. After Trace's business associates Hal and David bemoaned the unstable stock market, their wives, Deirdre and Mary, chatted about trips to Europe. The closest Talia had been to Europe was a local European theme amusement park.

Her hands went clammy at the array of sterling silverware on the table. She saved herself from embarrassment by watching which fork the others used first. But with her concentration fixed on the silverware, she nearly knocked over her wineglass.

When talk turned to baseball, she relaxed marginally and even joined in. Having a brother obsessed with the Red Sox paid off. Trace squeezed her hand, and the gesture warmed her to her toes.

The warm feeling would have lasted the rest of the evening if she hadn't overheard Deirdre and Mary in the powder room.

“Did you notice her nails?” Deirdre asked. “My mother always said the mark of a true lady lies in how she grooms her hands.”

Standing just outside the washroom area, Talia looked at her hands and saw fingernails cut to a neat, serviceable length and calluses on her palms.

“I didn't notice her nails,” Mary said. “I was too busy admiring her hair.”

“Her dress is definitely off the rack,” Deirdre pointed out.

Talia stiffened, glancing down at the cream-colored dress she'd been so proud of. Deidre's words hit her so hard, she wondered if she was going to be sick. Trace had probably never been with a woman who'd worn anything but designer originals, she realized. Distantly, she heard the sound of paper towels being torn from a dispenser.

“Yes,” Mary said. “But Trace sure looks happy.”

Blinking away sudden, angry tears, Talia fled back to the table, wishing she'd left the washroom earlier. The women's comments left her feeling self-conscious and confused.

Trace noticed her subdued mood on the drive home and finally dragged the incident from her.

His mouth tightened. “Deirdre's a bitch. We won't see them again.”

“But they're your friends. You can't cut them off just because Deirdre made an idle comment about my dress.”

“I most certainly can. We don't need those kind of people cluttering up our life.”

Talia sighed. She wondered how many more friends Trace would have to give up because of his relationship with her. The thought depressed her.

When she remained quiet, he glanced at her. “You're not really going to let someone like Deirdre get to you, are you? Ignore her. I do.”

“But they're your friends.”

“So are Mary and David. What did Mary say?”

“She said you sure looked happy,” Talia said in a small voice.

Trace relaxed. “That's because I am happy.” He reached across the seat to capture her hand. “And I'm happy because of you. Remember that.”

She'd be hard-pressed to forget it, Talia thought later, after the lingering emotional kiss they shared. The way he looked at her when he reluctantly said good-night would stay with her for a long time. But try as she might, she couldn't completely erase the doubts in the back of her mind.

The following evening Trace's nanny took the night off for her weekly bridge game, so Talia fixed lasagna for the three of them at Trace's house.

After the meal Trace leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment. “I thought you said you couldn't cook Italian food.”

“No,” she corrected him as she cleared the table. “I said Kevin was the lasagna cooker in our family. And he is. I
can
make Italian food. I just usually don't feel like taking the time. Between my mother being sick and my cooking, Kevin got more than his share of sandwiches.” She chuckled. “I think desperation drove him to learn how to cook.”

Trace picked up Robby's plate and followed her into the kitchen. “When do I get to meet him?”

She halted her scraping for a moment then continued. “He'll probably be home in a week or so. Where did Robby go?”

Trace noticed the swift change in subject, but didn't comment. “He's watching a cartoon on TV. Does Kevin know about us?”

Her back stiffened. She turned the water on full force. “I haven't really talked to him that much lately. I think he was going to stop off at some friends in New York after camping. I'm just about finished here. Would you like some coffee?”

She looked like a high-speed windup doll, Trace mused, as she slid the dishes into the dishwasher. He didn't want the tension between them, not yet, so he let it pass and poured the coffee.

She glanced up. “I would have gotten it.”

“It's okay,” he said, and handed her a cup. “You've done everything else. Let's go into the den.”

They walked through the hall to the comfortable room. She heard the sound of the TV from the living room farther down the hall. Green loungers and a striped sofa stocked with plump pillows were arranged in a cozy formation on the plush beige carpet. Walnut end tables coordinated with the paneling.

“I love this room,” she murmured, taking a seat on the sofa.

Trace sat beside her and touched the sleeve of her lightweight sweater. “Tomato sauce.”

She rolled her eyes. “That's the second reason I hardly ever make lasagna.” She plucked at the red spot, then gave up. “I'm as bad as Robby.”

Trace remembered his orange-faced son and shook his head. “Not quite as bad. But it reminds me of when you ran your bike into that guy who was about to smash my head. What happened to you? It seemed like you were there one second and gone the next.”