Guardian Angel (5 page)

Then there'd been that ludicrous meeting with the court-appointed attorney. Finding little evidence to support Kevin's defense, the lawyer had suggested they throw themselves at the mercy of the court. Talia had been too naive to seek a second opinion.

Swallowing her pride, she had begged the Barringers to drop the criminal charges. Mr. Barringer had reluctantly yielded to her pleas, providing Kevin met certain conditions. Those conditions—which had included Kevin spending three months in a reform school so violent and poorly run, he had nearly been killed there—had irrevocably changed their lives. She would never recover from her guilt in consenting to the Barringers' legal maneuvering.

But the most tragic loss in the whole damn mess had been the death of Kevin's good faith and innocence. The young happy-go-lucky teenager disappeared, and no matter what she tried, nothing would bring him back.

Maybe if she'd been better informed, it would have ended differently. Maybe if she hadn't been so wrapped up in trying to get her own life on track, she could have prevented it. A thousand “maybe-ifs” always ran through her mind when she remembered.

Talia shook her head and focused her attention on the rainy night. The dismal weather suited her mood. She narrowed her eyes when she spotted a man jacking up a car on the side of the road. A Corvette, she noted. It was fitting, she thought with uncharacteristic spite, that the owner of such an indulgent vehicle should have to change his flat tire in a downpour.

Still, her conscience wouldn't permit her to speed by. Although she wouldn't offer the stranger a ride, she could make a phone call for him when she got home.

She stopped and leaned over to roll down the passenger window. The man immediately turned around, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw it was Trace. She was tempted to roll up her window and drive away, but the sight of his drenched head and clothes roused an ounce of sympathy within her.

She sighed. “Okay, Mr. Barringer. Come on. I'll give you a ride home.”

He moved closer to the car. “Talia,” he said in amazement.

“Hurry up,” she said. If she was obliged to do a good deed, she wanted it over with quickly.

Glancing back at his prized possession, he paused. “I don't want to leave it on the road. It won't take me but a few more minutes.”

Talia rolled her eyes in disgust. Men and their cars. “For Pete's sake, you can pick it up before the rooster crows in the morning. Nothing will happen to your precious car before then. No one with any
intelligence
would be caught dead out on a night like this.”

He hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “Okay, I'll move it farther onto the shoulder. Be back in a minute.”

While he did that, Talia watched in her mirror for oncoming cars. Of course, there were none. Trace snatched his sport coat from the car, checked the locks and swung into Talia's Datsun.

His shoulders were broader than she'd anticipated. In fact, his entire body was bigger. A sliver of unease fluttered in her stomach. His wet shirt clung faithfully to the impressive muscles of his chest, back and arms. She swallowed and looked up at his face.

He flashed a smile, and his gaze fell to her damp dress. “Speaking of intelligence…”

Conceding his point with a nod, she drove forward. “I didn't feel like waiting for the valet.” And she didn't like the way his gaze was lingering on the dress. “I don't know where you live. You'll have to point me in the right direction.”

He sighed and relaxed in the seat. “I haven't had time to find a house yet. So I've been living in the guest cottage on my parents' property.”

Great directions, she thought wryly. He'd made the correct assumption that everyone in Barringer knew where his parents lived, because everybody probably did.

“I'm surprised you know Philip,” he said.

She stiffened and answered carefully. “He was a year behind me in high school.” That was true, but she'd never spoken to Philip in school.

“Philip's always been popular with women. I think he usually spent more time juggling his dates than doing anything else. Must be his looks.”

She mentally compared the two brothers and concluded that she preferred the sculpted angles of Trace's face to Philip's curved boyish features. Still, many women would find Philip's blond hair and calculated charm irresistible. “He's handsome, I guess,” she said. “If you like that type.”

“What type?”

“Uh, he's smooth.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “He's a little too smooth. I can't see any rough edges with a guy like that. It makes me wonder what's really underneath. After all, no one's perfect.”

Trace chuckled. “Well, I'll be damned.” She stole a glance at him and saw he was shaking his head. “I thought he had everyone fooled.”

Wanting to drop the subject, Talia was glad to see the entrance to the Barringer estate up ahead. She slowed to turn. “Which way to the guest cottage?” she asked when she reached a fork in the drive.

“To the right.” Without missing a beat, he asked, “So what is Talia's type? Let me guess. A hardworking, honest guy who adores your Italian cooking and approves of your many earrings.”

She felt her cheeks heat and reminded herself she'd be able to dump him at his doorstep very soon. Normally sensible, she allowed herself only a few eccentricities, one of which was her multipierced ears. She considered it a harmless expression of individuality. “Yes to hardworking and honest. My earrings aren't usually an issue. And if a guy decides he wants me for my lasagna, he's gonna have problems. Kevin's the lasagna cooker in this family. I may make subs, but I have a passion for Chinese food.”

She stopped in front of the cottage. “Here you are. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.”

In the glow from the cottage's porch light, Trace could see the expectant expression on her face. She wanted him to slink away into the night. But he harbored an aversion to missed opportunities. “Come in for a drink. You can dry off.”

“I'll dry off at home.”

“Think of it as a small gesture of my appreciation.” He got out of the car and walked around to her door, opening it with a flourish.

Taking in her distrustful expression, he smiled. “If that doesn't work, think of it as a way to avoid future harassment from me.”

“Can I have that in writing?”

“Of course,” he said, and helped her out of the car.

“One drink,” she insisted.

“One drink,” he repeated.

Talia wondered why she felt as if she were being conned. Probably because she was.

Inside, Trace brought her a towel and a glass of wine. Then he excused himself to change his drenched clothes. Talia figured if she gulped the wine down fast enough, she could leave by the time he returned. But the soothing decor of the living room relaxed her, and she found she wasn't inclined to rush.

The room beckoned in a low-key way with a softly glowing brass lamp and muted green-and-blue color scheme. The casual decor surprised her. She would have expected formality. The striped pillow-tossed sofa looked entirely too inviting when she pictured Trace stretched out on it.

She moved to the bay window and stared into the rainy darkness. She'd only taken a few sips of wine when Trace reentered the room. Turning, she watched him approach her. The worn jeans fit him perfectly, molding powerful thighs and lean hips like a lover's hands. He'd left the top button of his cotton shirt undone, revealing a spray of brown hair. In the glow of the lamp, he was a study of masculine light and shadow. Talia's mouth went dry.

“Is the wine okay?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Fine.”

Narrowing his eyes, he lifted a strand of her still-damp hair. “There's something very familiar about you. I would almost swear we've met before.”

She wavered over revealing when they'd first met.

Would he laugh? She glanced down and shrugged. “Not likely.”

“I guess not.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “So, what did you think of the Fitzgerald sisters?”

Her pulse tripped at his nonchalant touch, and she tried to answer in a normal tone. “They were nice. If you ever need a biography written on your childhood ailments, they're the experts.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but I think they'll do a good job for LAM.” He looked at the sofa. “Let's sit down.”

She'd feel silly if she made a big deal out of it. After all, he wasn't inviting her to bed. The thought jolted her. “What would you say if I thought I might stay out of trouble if I remained standing?”

He trailed his palm down her arm and caught her hand in his. “I'd say someone has neglected your education.” He led her to the sofa. “C'mon, Talia, give those pretty feet a rest.”

She looked doubtfully at her sandal-clad feet as she sank into the cushions. “Pretty?”

He poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the coffee table. “Sure they are. They're slender and delicate with cute little toes.”

Suddenly self-conscious, she curled her toes.

He sat down next to her. “And you know what that longer second toe means, don't you?”

She glanced at him skeptically. “I don't know. But this is beginning to sound like a palm reading.”

“No, this is scientific. That longer second toe means you're very intelligent.”

“I'll buy that,” she said, and sipped her wine.

“Of course, it also means you're highly sensual and insatiable.”

She choked and sputtered. When Trace thumped her on the back, she glared at him. “And which men's magazine did you get that from?”

He laughed. “A guy in my college fraternity had all these theories on how to distinguish the, uh, warm women from the icebergs. Something about your feet reminded me of that particular one.”

At the very least, she should be offended by such an obvious ploy. She wanted
not
to like him. It would be so much easier. Instead, she was drawn in deeper by his charm, enticed by his sexy rumpled look. And when, pray tell, had a man complimented her feet? Fighting a smile, she asked, “How many times have you tried that line before?”

“Just once. It didn't work then, either.”

She laughed at his dejected expression. “Should I offer condolences?”

“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “I'm where I want to be.”

Talia couldn't think of a response, so she took another gulp of wine.

Trace hooked a bare foot across the opposite knee. The V of his jeans stretched to accommodate the movement, and she'd have to be a saint or sightless to miss the impressive masculine swell. She was neither. She should have stayed at the window, she thought.

“I'm glad you came tonight,” he said.

“Did I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

She shook her head. “Responsibilities can limit our options.”

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “I understand responsibilities.”

She didn't move away. His touch felt oddly comforting.

Stroking her hair, he spoke in a low, mesmerizing voice. “I wonder about you, Talia.” His thumb grazed the three dainty earrings she wore.

It was an idle movement of his thumb against her ear, she told herself. It shouldn't affect her so. Still, she found it difficult to breathe.

He continued caressing her ear. His breath fanned against her cheek. “I wonder if Talia took care of her mother when she was sick.”

Growing warm, she swallowed. “Yes.” A fist of wanting tightened in her belly.

Stroking his hand down her cheek to the little mole above her mouth, he stared at the mark as if fascinated. “I wonder if Talia took care of Kevin.”

Her skin prickled pleasurably. She should get up, but his gaze held her, as if she were a deer stunned by headlights. Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded.

His finger traced the bow of her upper lip. “I know Talia takes care of her deli and LAM. But you know what I really wonder?”

Her mind was so clouded, he could have been speaking Chinese. His face was only inches from hers, and her heart pounded in a runaway rhythm. “What?” she whispered.

After placing her wineglass on the table, he leaned closer and their breaths mingled. “I wonder who takes care of Talia.”

Automatically, she said, “I don't need—”

His lips landed gently on her open mouth.

It was like an extended, leisurely “Hello.” Though her mind felt separated from her body, she remembered he'd once said something about not rushing. His firm mouth molded hers. He learned her pleasure by rubbing his lips against hers, tugging on her full lower lip, then sucking gently, tempting her to respond.

There was a second when she could have pulled away, but then he deepened the kiss. His tongue drew a circle of desire around her lips. He led her in a sensual duel, teasing her with light thrusts and parries of his tongue.

She forgot he was a Barringer. In the past few weeks, she'd fought fantasy after fantasy about him. The reality, she found, left those fantasies in the dust.

She gasped when he flicked his tongue over the mole he was so entranced with. He murmured his pleasure, and the sound of his deep voice rippled all the way down to her toes.

She'd never been lured with such care before. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she joined in the seductive dance, opening her mouth to stroke his tongue with hers.

He groaned at the gliding motion, thrusting more deeply. He pushed her down on the sofa and followed her, drawing a breath of air. “Your perfume's enough to drive me crazy. What is it?”

Turning her head, she gulped. “It's French,” she said. “I can't pronounce it.”

He turned his mouth onto her neck, spreading hot kisses up to her ear. “I've got a thing about all these earrings.” He ran his tongue over the tiny studs.

Talia was sure she was going to black out if he didn't stop. Her pulse was pounding in her head, in her chest, in her very core. If she had any sense at all, she'd roll off that sofa and run. But sense wasn't a factor. She wanted his mouth again.

Turning her head, she licked his lips, deliberately enticing him. With a low growl, he took control and sucked her tongue into his mouth. Talia gave and took, raking her fingers through his tousled hair.

He pressed his hard arousal against her and searched out her feminine curves. His heat only made her hotter until she thought she'd explode into flames. When had anyone affected her this way?

Her nipples peaked against his clever hands and she grew greedy. She arched into him. An intense satisfaction coursed through her as he groaned and ground himself against her eager hips. Her hands skimmed down his chest to where his heart thundered.

He pushed her dress up her legs and squeezed her thighs, then lifted his head. She whimpered at the loss and looked at him. His eyes burned hot. The thought struck her that she'd never seen green fire before.

“When I first saw you in this dress tonight,” he said, his voice harsh, “I thought you looked beautiful. I didn't have any complaints when it was wet either. But right now, I want it off. I want everything off. Are you ready for what comes next, Talia?”

She closed her eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. She waited to cool off, but that probably wouldn't happen in this lifetime. Was she ready? She had known physical pleasure, but her limited experience had not prepared her for the storm of Trace's desire.

Choices. Either way she'd get punished. If she went ahead, her mind would kill her with regrets. If she didn't, her body would be aflame until she died.

She took a deep breath and allowed her mind to prevail. “This is difficult for me, but we've got to stop. I just can't do this.”

A long silence swollen with suspended passion and emotion hung like a veil between them.

He clenched his jaw and pulled away. “It's too soon,” he said. “If I'd been thinking with anything above my belt, I wouldn't have pushed.”

When he moved off her, she had to bite her lip to keep from begging him to stay. Dammit, why couldn't he act nasty? It would be so much easier. “You didn't push,” she said in a husky voice.

He helped her into a sitting position and brushed her hair from her face. “I'm not usually this way. But there's something about you, Talia, something about your smile and eyes.” He tore his gaze from her red lips. “But we don't need to rush it. When can I see you again?”

She shook her head. “We can't.”

“Can't?” he repeated, incredulous.

“That's right. It just wouldn't work, Trace. There are far too many—”

He grabbed her fidgeting hands. “You called me Trace.” His voice held a note a triumph.

“It was a slip of the tongue.”

He grinned. “Speaking of your tongue…”

“Trace,” she warned, and pulled her hands from his.

“Talia,” he mocked gently. “You can't convince me you don't feel anything when I touch you. We'd be crazy not to pursue this.”

Exhaling a long breath, Talia rearranged her dress. He wasn't making this easy. She looked him directly in the eye. “It just won't work. There's too much bad blood between your family and mine.”

His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Bad blood?”

“You really don't know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“I think you'd better talk to Philip.”

His gaze was piercing. “What's the big secret? Why don't you tell me?”

She picked up her purse and stood. “You'd never believe me.”

He stood too. “Try me.”

That was the problem, she thought. She'd like to try him in all the ways a woman tries a man. Intellectually, emotionally, sexually. She was tempted to tell him what his brother had done to Kevin, but something stopped her. She sensed how disillusioned Trace would be when he learned of Philip's lies, and a deeply embedded sense of fair play she'd never applied to the Barringers before kept her silent.

She felt an aching sense of loss for stopping their relationship before it started, but it wouldn't work. Tears leaked from her eyes. Mortified at such an emotional display, she swiped at them. How could her heart feel ripped in half when she hadn't given it away yet?

“Why don't I tell you?” she repeated shakily. “I guess because I don't want to be the one to hurt you. And if you have an ounce of integrity or family pride, if you love your brother half as much as I love mine, when you hear the truth, you're gonna hurt like hell.”

With that, she fled to her car.

 

The following week passed in a blur of expended energy. On those rare moments when Talia's carefully erected shield of activity crumbled, her thoughts turned to Trace and she waged a furious internal battle against the memories of the way he'd touched her body and mind.

Touched, she berated herself, was an apt description. Touched, as in mentally ill.

It didn't matter that he made her heart race and her blood heat as no man had before. It didn't matter that he made her feel precious. It didn't matter that by word and deed he made her believe she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

It didn't matter, because it couldn't matter.

Trace had called her three times that week asking to see her. Each time she'd forced her mouth to say “No,” while a small voice inside her whispered, “Yes.” At least she'd been honest when she'd turned down his invitation to dinner Saturday night. She'd told him she had other plans, and she did. A hot date with a guy with mischievous blue eyes, curly blond hair and a fun personality.

At seven o'clock Saturday night, Talia found herself surrounded by the sound of bells, laser guns and simulated jet engines. “Jason, isn't there something else you want to play tonight?”

“No,” her four-foot-tall companion insisted. “I've been looking forward to playing the Reptile Renegades game all week. Aw, shoot! I keep getting phaser-dazed.” Jason turned and fixed his pleading eyes on her. “May I please have another quarter?”

She fished another coin from her pocket and put it in his hands. Realizing she'd run out of quarters, she pulled out a few dollar bills too. “Here you go, sport. I'm going to get some more change. I'll be right back.”

She turned and was heading for the change machine, when a pint-sized tornado whirled into her legs, yelling, “Reptile Renegades!”

The boy began to fall, and she instinctively reached for him, steadying his little body.

“Robby,” a familiar male voice called over the roar of the arcade. “I told you to stop running.”

Talia stared into the boy's green eyes. Her heart turned a somersault as she looked at the smaller version of Trace. She had no time to steel herself against the effect of Robby's father before he was standing in front of her.

“Robby,” Trace began, then broke off when he recognized her. “Talia?”

Darn. Darn. Darn. Her gaze locked helplessly with his for a timeless moment until Robby began to wiggle. Talia dropped her hands.

“Look, Dad, they've got Reptile Renegades. Can I play?”

Talia could practically feel Trace tear his gaze from her, and was glad she had a moment to get her bearings.

Trace gave Robby a quarter. “Wait a minute, Robby. It looks like somebody else is playing right now.”

Watching Robby's face fall, Talia quickly said, “There's room. Four can play at the same time.”

Robby immediately raced on to the game, Trace following him.

Talia went to the change machine, her mind racing a mile a minute. Every instinct she possessed screamed out warnings when Trace came around. Perhaps she could bribe Jason to leave, she thought without hope.

When she returned to the Reptile game, she was all set to haul Jason away.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Trace said.

“Uh-huh,” she said in a noncommittal voice, then tapped Jason on the shoulder. “Jason, you've been playing this game since we got here. Don't you want to try something else?” He gave her an uninterested glance, and she looked around the arcade. “How about Ghostbusters? Or the simulated jet flight? What about Skee-ball? I love Skee-ball,” she finished a little desperately.

Jason regarded her solemnly. “Talia, if you don't like this game, I won't make you play. You can play Skee-ball and I'll stay right here.”

He said it as if he were giving her permission, and she pursed her lips to keep from laughing. But when she heard the male chuckle behind her, she did laugh, over the whole situation. She'd spent the entire week trying not even to think about Trace, and here he was in the flesh, in a video arcade.

Jason and Robby seemed to be getting along wonderfully, she thought. It really wouldn't be nice to separate them. So it looked like she was stuck with three gorgeous males for the evening. Perhaps she could pretend that her history with the Barringers didn't exist. By his easy manner, she concluded that Trace hadn't learned about Kevin and Philip yet. And considering their two chaperones, it wasn't as if anything could happen between Trace and herself.

“Skee-ball or Ghostbusters?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Talia shoved the past behind her like dirt under the carpet. It was still there, but out of sight. She smiled and took his hand. “Skee-ball.”

Several minutes later, Trace shook his head at all the coupons Talia had accumulated. “At this rate, the only way I'm going to be able to get Robby that stuffed animal he saw in the prize window is if I buy it.”

“Buy it!” Talia exclaimed. “I can't believe you'd stoop so low. Every kid in here would be laughing up his sleeve if he saw you
buy
one of the prizes.”

Trace grinned at her tone of horror. She finished up another game of Skee-ball, and he shook his head again, but this time at the view. The woman had the sweetest backside that encouraged all kinds of thoughts about things he'd rather be doing with her than playing Skee-ball.

Combing a hand through his hair, he promised himself the time would come. When she turned around and waved her coupons at him, he just barely stopped himself from kissing her.

“Okay, smarty-pants,” he said, “just how do you suggest I get enough coupons?”

She shook her head sadly. “Trace, Trace. I can only conclude that you've led a horribly deprived life. If you knew anything about arcades, you'd know Ghostbusters is the only way to go if you need a lot of coupons.”