Guardian Angel. Leanne Banks

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СКАЧАТЬ had picked up when she’d heard his name. “Yes. How did you get in?”

      “Your door was unlocked. I saw the lights go out and thought you might need some help.”

      “Oh,” she mumbled, resolving to lock her door in the future. “The wiring in this house is ancient,” she said nervously as she made her way into the hall to turn off the air conditioner. “If I use the air conditioner and the oven at the same time, it often blows the fuse for the ground level of the house.”

      “So replace the wiring,” Trace suggested.

      “There’s this small matter of college tuition for my brother,” she answered before realizing that Trace Barringer wouldn’t understand the concept of having to choose carefully how to spend one’s money. She felt him prowling along behind her and tried to shove aside her discomfort at having him in her house. It would be easier to ignore a lion following her.

      “Why are you here?” she asked.

      “For the planning meeting. There was a list of the meeting times on the memo Ms. Taylor sent me. With your busy schedule, this seemed the only way to meet with you.”

      Darn. Talia had been so eager to be rid of anything relating to Trace Barringer, she’d asked another committee member to keep him informed. If Talia had sent him the information, she would have been careful to omit the meeting times.

      Distracted by her thoughts, she stumbled over the edge of the hall carpet and pitched forward. “Oh!” Her knees hit the floor and pain shot through her legs. Before she had time to throw out her hands, Trace wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her up.

      “Hey, what happened?” His voice was edged with husky concern.

      Talia’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know which was worse, the pain in her knees or the sensation of Trace’s hard body pressed against her back. “I tripped over the carpet,” she finally said.

      “Are you hurt?”

      “Just my knees.”

      “Let me see. Sit down.” He released her and retrieved the flashlight that had flown out of her hand.

      “No. It’s not that bad, and it’s dark,” she protested. She was uncomfortable with the darkness and his nearness. She also wished she hadn’t given in to a fit of spring fever earlier and put on shorts.

      He grabbed her hand and gave a gentle but firm tug. “I can use the flashlight. Come on.”

      He joined her on the floor and began to examine her knees with his hands. It was strange, sitting in the middle of her hall with Trace’s hands on her bare legs. She couldn’t see his face clearly. He used such a gentle touch, she could almost forget he was a Barringer.

      One of his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh. She gasped at the provocative thrill that ran through her.

      He stopped, then touched her the same way again. “Does this hurt?”

      “N-no. I guess my legs are just sensitive,” she said, honestly.

      The following silence hung thickly between them, and a weird tension zinged through the air. She wondered if he felt it too. It was only the darkness, she told herself.

      Pulling her leg away she scrambled to her feet, damning the sound of her quickened breathing.

      Trace followed, his large frame looming over hers. “Are you okay?”

      “Fine. I just got a little shook up. The fall,” she added quickly, and turned away.

      Back in the kitchen, she concentrated on replacing the blown fuse. She was glad to have something to do with her hands. Instantly the lights came on. “Voilà,” she said, smiling and extending her arms dramatically.

      “Incredible,” Trace murmured. What had happened, he wondered, to the French twist, conservative suit and pursed lips of the disapproving woman who’d been in his office? At least, he thought, the legs were the same: long, shapely, silky, the kind of legs that led men to dream wild fantasies. Her hair was a mass of tempestuous waves, and her brown eyes sparkled with fire. And her lips… His mouth went dry at the sight of her rosy lips.

      He looked back at her eyes and held her gaze for several seconds until she looked away. Shy, he concluded, until she spared him another glance. With surprise, he noted the banked hostility in her eyes.

      She turned and bent, placing the brownies in the oven. It took enormous control, but he unglued his gaze from her tempting rear end. Feeling the heat for the first time that evening, he tugged at his collar and studied the daisy-print wallpaper.

      “Mr. Barringer, do you have some questions about the plans we’ve made for Lung Awareness Month?” Talia asked as she turned on the coffeemaker.

      “Trace,” he corrected her. “I have a few. But they can be answered during the meeting. I’m actually more curious about you.”

      Her polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. He found himself longing for the alluring smile she’d given him just moments before.

      “As I told you before, Mr. Barringer, I appreciate your interest in LAM, but the Planning Committee is already formed. I’ll be happy to keep you informed. However, your presence isn’t really…” Her voice drifted off, and she bit her lip.

      She’d done that in his office, and he wondered if she knew how sensual the gesture was. He sensed something familiar about her, but couldn’t put a label on it. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he stepped closer. She took a step back. “You’re saying my presence isn’t necessary,” he said in a low, challenging voice.

      She raised her chin. “I have to believe the CEO of Barringer Corporation has better ways to spend his time than as a member of a Planning Committee for LAM. Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you just had your secretary send me your ideas?”

      “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But convenience isn’t always the primary consideration. I would think you’d be happy to extend your influence directly to the textile mill.”

      A hint of vulnerability filtered into her gaze. She looked away.

      “Tell me, Talia,” he asked gently. “How did you get involved with this project?”

      “My mother died of pneumonia several years ago.” She paused. “She also had emphysema. The doctor said she was weak, that she worked too hard.”

      Trace nodded. So that was it. “She worked at the mill.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you blame the mill.”

      “No.”

      She said it too quickly, and her self-deprecating smile showed she knew he’d seen through her denial. “In the beginning I blamed the mill,” she confessed. “I was very angry. My mother had to work so hard after my father died. But she was the kind of person who would have worked hard no matter where she was employed. Her supervisor was always very understanding about her illness.” Talia sighed. “Sometimes I thought if she hadn’t had Kevin and me, she would have been much better off.”

      Trace СКАЧАТЬ