Guardian Angel (7 page)

“I remembered your courage, your sense of humor.” He grinned and brushed back a loose strand of her hair. “I remembered your ponytail. But I also remembered you as a child.” He ran his thumb down her cheek to her lips. “And now you're a woman with all kinds of charms and secrets that have me half out of my head.”

She let out a soft, trembly sigh that tried his self-control. He gazed into her eyes and felt he was staring at his destiny. “We need this trip.” When she started to protest, he shook his head and pressed his thumb against her lips. “We need it so we can be just Talia and Trace. Not Barringer and McKenzie.”

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her to him. “Just you and me, Talia, for three days. Deal?”

A sea of emotions rose and fell like the tide within her, but her desire for Trace remained the strongest. Perhaps it was no longer desire, but need. When she accepted that, an odd peace enveloped her. “Deal,” she answered, unable to think beyond this special moment.

He nodded, then kissed her.

 

They made their escape at dawn and forgot about responsibility and bad memories. They shed their last names and became Trace and Talia. It was wonderful.

She learned that he preferred any kind of home-cooked meal over restaurant food because he ate out so often. He learned that she preferred restaurant food because she prepared food all day long. They shared a smile over that and privately thought of ways to compromise.

They both avoided any discussion of Philip. Talia was relieved. Did he know yet? she wondered once, then brushed the depressing subject from her mind. In spite of the luxurious Cadillac they rode in, she could almost forget the differences between them, because Trace kept the conversation light and easy.

She finally asked him why he'd worn tinted glasses that morning she'd met him in his office. He explained that he'd just gotten back from the eye doctor, and drops had made his eyes sensitive to light. He normally wore contact lenses.

“You've got great eyes,” she said honestly.

He flicked those great eyes over her and said, “You've got great everything.”

When they arrived in Washington, Trace pulled into a downtown parking garage and cut the engine. “I've been wanting to do this for at least a hundred miles,” he said. He leaned across to kiss her, then nuzzled the sensitive spot just below her ear.

Talia didn't even think to push him away. Closing her eyes, she clutched his strong shoulders and savored the sensation of his firm mouth against her skin.

“You know,” he murmured, “you never did tell me what kind of perfume you wear.”

She sucked in a quick breath and drew away. “I told you it's French. I can't pronounce it.”

He grinned. “Then why are you blushing?”

“We've discussed this before,” she said, grabbing her purse. “I don't blush. Shall I meet you in an hour?”

He watched her fumble with the door. If she weren't so charmingly unsettled, he'd consider pushing the issue. “An hour would be fine.”

Later that afternoon, they drove to Camilla Wentworth's estate not too far outside the city. Everything seemed to go well. Accustomed to hostessing, the grande dame put Talia at ease. Trace made both of the women laugh. And Talia didn't embarrass herself by spilling tea.

But how had she been persuaded to go horseback riding? she wondered later, as she stood in borrowed riding clothes near a freshly painted stable. The tea cakes she had just eaten sat heavily in her stomach. “Trace,” she whispered, “this is not a good idea. I've never ridden before.”

“Never?”

She nervously eyed the black stallion the stable hand brought out to him. “Never. The only horse I've ridden was wooden. It did not eat.”

Trace nodded and turned to the stable hand. “We need a gentle mount for the lady.”

“Sure, I've got just the one,” the man replied.

“It's really not that difficult,” Trace told her with easy confidence. “These horses are probably so well trained they need little direction. Just keep your knees and toes in and your heels down. If you need to stop, simply pull the reins in.” He squeezed her stiff shoulder, but she did not feel reassured. “You'll be fine. And Camilla might fork over another donation if we take a little ride with her.”

“This is not a good idea.” She rubbed her damp palms together, realizing this was a prime example of the incompatibility of their life experiences. Trace had probably owned pedigreed horses, while she'd never even ridden one. What if she fell off? What if she embarrassed Trace? He should have brought someone else this weekend, someone more accustomed to tea parties, cocktail parties and horseback riding.

“It's a great idea.” Trace patted his mount. “Think about how you rode into those hoods who were trying to beat me up.”

“I was riding a bike,” she reminded him.

Impatient to be off, the stallion stomped and whinnied. The scent of leather and horseflesh filled her nostrils. She backed away, briefly considering tapping her boots together and saying, “There's no place like home.”

The stallion stomped again, and Talia broke into a sweat. Visions of getting kicked or bucked raced through her mind. “I'm going to die,” she whispered.

“Talia,” Trace said sternly, “I won't let anything happen to you. Now look at your mount. Doesn't he look gentle?”

Talia took a deep breath and looked at the brown horse being led to her. He didn't look too wicked. “What's his name?” she asked.

The stable hand smiled reassuringly. “Satan.”

 

She would never walk normally again.

Even after soaking in the Jacuzzi in her hotel room until her skin wrinkled, Talia was sure she would never walk normally again. The “little ride” Trace had suggested had extended to two hours of derriere-breaking torture. On the positive side, Camilla had donated a Ming vase to LAM.

At least her room, with its thick plush carpet, cherry furniture and soft lights, provided a soothing ambience to her aching body and frayed nerves. She lay, carefully positioned, on her stomach on the large bed, almost asleep.

There was a knock at the connecting door to Trace's room. “Room service,” he said.

“I didn't order anything,” she called.

“It's Chinese,” he answered in a tempting voice.

The man knew her weaknesses. Sighing, she dragged herself from the bed, wrapped a robe around her poor body and opened the connecting door. Trace held a bottle of wine, two glasses and three white take-out cartons.

“Your color's a little better,” he said, looking her over. “You were white as a sheet when the groom told you your horse's name was Satan.”

“How was I supposed to know it was a misnomer?” she grumbled.

He smiled. “I shouldn't tease you. You did great. I had no idea Camilla would keep us so long. Did the Jacuzzi help any?”

“Some.”

She watched him pull a small table to the foot of the bed and pour the wine. He turned the radio on to a soothing station, then shut off all the lights except one. Talia's heart hammered against her rib cage.

He walked over to her and reached for her hand. “Come on and eat. You look like you're about to fall over.”

“Trace, I can't,” she said, trying to pull her hand from his.

“Can't?” He frowned and noted her uneasy stance. Glancing around the room, he saw that while he had attempted to create a relaxing atmosphere, she'd misread it and assumed he was going for seduction. And if she didn't look so miserable, that was exactly what he would be doing.

He contained the chuckle bubbling within his chest and pulled her to him. “You've got the wrong idea. As much as I like the idea, I don't think you're in any shape for a tumble in bed. I'm just trying to get you to sit down to eat.”

Pushing against him, she made a little sound of frustration. “I can't.”

He began to feel worried. “Can't. You can't what?”

She looked at him with such forlorn eyes, his heart melted. “I can't do anything, even if I want to.”

If he read her correctly, “anything” meant making love and she wanted to. His body immediately responded.

“I don't even think I can sit,” she added.

He winced when he realized the extent of her problem. “Damn. I forgot how sore you get the first few times you go riding. I should have stopped Camilla after an hour.”

“No. It's okay, and we did get the Ming vase,” she said in an unconvincing tone.

“Ah, Talia.” He hugged her. “Let's see if lying on your tummy will work. Maybe some wine, food and a back rub.”

So she followed Trace's orders and stuffed herself with sweet-and-sour chicken and cashew shrimp. After sipping two glasses of wine, she was past drowsy, but not quite drunk.

For the next fifteen minutes Trace rubbed his magical hands over her shoulders, back and bottom. The effect was both soothing and stimulating. In other words, frustrating, and instead of relaxed, Talia felt cranky and vulnerable.

“Why are you doing this, Trace?”

“You said you were sore.” He continued the tender massage, willing himself to keep his mind on the massage, even though he wanted to remove her silky robe and nightgown and do something else entirely.

She sighed into the pillow. “No, I mean why have you been giving me the rush? There must be scads of women who'd be more suitable for you. Ouch!”

His hands had dug into her skin, and he immediately gentled them. “Suitable,” he repeated.

Talia couldn't see his face and was deceived by his calm tone. “As in wealthier, better educated, et cet— Ouch!” She turned around to look at him.

Trace removed his hands from her completely, since he was considering wringing her neck. He caught her wary expression and took a breath to gain some patience.

“What does wealth and education have to do with a woman I might want? For that matter, who's to decide what is suitable for me?”

Talia closed her eyes against the fury in his gaze. “Nobody should decide what's suitable for you,” she admitted. “I—I guess I just don't understand the attraction. I mean…” Her voice shook alarmingly. “I have a correspondence-school certificate. You have a law degree. I'm not wealthy. You are.” She shrugged and opened her eyes to look at him.

Trace truly would have wrung her neck if she hadn't looked so vulnerable. “I could tell you those things don't matter to me, and that would be true.”

She still looked so doubtful, he had to smile. He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I could tell you I've had a thousand fantasies about that little mole above your mouth, about feeling your skin against mine, about your legs wrapped around me. And that would be true, too.” He watched her cheeks heat and her eyes darken, and cursed a horse named Satan.

Leaning next to her, he placed a soft kiss against her lips. Her eyelids fluttered. “Your honesty and courage impress the hell out of me.”

He stroked a finger along her jaw and gazed into her eyes. “But I think the real reason is that I haven't been lonely since we met.”

Talia closed her eyes, but the tears welled up and over anyway. Heedless of her soreness, she reached for him, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, Trace,” she murmured. “No one has ever—” Unable to finish, she took a deep breath.

He snuggled her warm body into his arms. “What? No one has ever taken care of Talia?” She nodded. “Then I'd say it's about time, isn't it?”

She parted her lips, seeking his. It was a generous kiss, full of poignant emotion that led to passion. His mouth explored, giving more than she'd ever dared to dream.

And she gave to him, more than he'd ever dared to hope. When they broke apart, their breathing was shaky, and she said only one word. “Stay.”

Sometime in the middle of the night, a tingling in her arm woke Talia. She could have shifted her arm and gone back to sleep. Instead, she realized her head rested on Trace's bare chest, which was rising and falling in an easy rhythm.

She wanted to identify every sensation of being held by Trace Barringer and save them up for some cold, lonely night when her arms were empty again.

Both of his arms were wrapped around her protectively, almost possessively, one behind her neck and the other over her hip. His grip was relaxed, but she sensed that if she moved, he would tighten his hands.

Her own hand curled against his chest. She felt the steady thud of his heartbeat. His chest hair tickled her cheek. She nuzzled against him, inhaling the compelling combination of his cologne and masculine scent.

With a will of its own, her hand slid over his chest, exploring the muscles, the whorls of brown hair, the male nipples.

His hand snaked from her hip to catch her wandering one. He brought it to his lips, kissed it, then placed it back over his chest.

“Not sleepy anymore?” he asked in a nimbly voice.

His heart was beating faster, she noticed. She shifted back to look at his face and stretched.

“My arm fell asleep. It woke me up.” She fluttered her fingers over his whisker-rough jaw to his lips, smiling at the sight of his sleep-tousled hair. She would remember that too.

He rubbed her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said, surprising herself. Earlier she'd wondered if she would ever feel better.

His hand stilled and he looked at her intently. “How much better?”

She knew what he was asking. She also knew he was giving her a choice, even though he was already aroused. With their lower bodies pressed together, she felt the full evidence of that fact against her thigh.

She could call it quits and later say she'd done the practical thing. But if she was going to remember Trace Barringer on cold, lonely nights, she wanted more than bits and snatches. She wanted it all.

With that in mind, she eased up and kissed him. “Much, much better,” she murmured.

He didn't ask again, but placed her hand against his thundering heart so she could feel his response.

They used no words, but spoke eloquently with their eyes. He turned her gently until she was beneath him, then began a devastating assault on her mouth.

After teasing the seam of her lips with his tongue, he took jabbing little thrusts into her willing mouth. The room spun and she clasped her fingers behind his head, joining in the dance, fusing their mouths to savor his darker flavor.

Her breathing was ragged when he finally pulled away to unbutton her silky nightshirt. All her anxieties about her body rushed to the forefront until she remembered the time in her store. The time when he'd told her in exquisite detail what he'd like to do to her.

As if he were recalling that also, he gave her a heart-stopping grin and flicked his thumb across the tip of one breast. She felt the jolt down to the pit of her stomach.

“I dreamed you'd be like this,” Trace murmured, enjoying the play of his hands against her receptive nipples. “Soft. And hot.” He molded his large hands to her flesh, and stroked and tempted until her skin was flushed and she arched into him.

He groaned at her instinctive sexual movements. If it weren't for that scrap of lace covering her femininity, he'd be slaking himself in her velvet sheath that instant. The lure of her tested his self-control. But he wanted this to be right for her.

Lowering his head to her small, high breasts, he kissed and tasted her, then sucked a rosy bud into his mouth. She whimpered and moved restlessly beneath him.

“Trace,” she whispered, and clutched his shoulders as a hollow feeling settled low in her belly.

He brought his mouth back to hers, this time with less finesse and more need. Moving his arousal against her yielding form, he gave her a tantalizing hint of what was to come.

She grew more adventurous and slid her hands down his chest, past his flat belly to the edge of his briefs. He sucked in a deep breath when her hand lingered at the elastic barrier. Then, sensing his need, she pushed beneath and took him into her hand. She squeezed, then stroked with loving fingers.

“Oh, Lord, you're incredible,” he rasped.

She'd never been so bold before and had only imagined acting with such reckless abandon. With Trace's response encouraging her, she pushed the briefs down his legs until he could kick them off. With his gaze consuming her, she urged him onto his back and took a journey down his body with her mouth and tongue. She tasted his neck, then kissed his nipples, nipped his belly, and nuzzled his thighs.

Trace was half out of his mind with her. She'd ignored the part of him that swelled and ached for her, teasing him unbearably with the sweep of her hair as she made her way down to his feet.

She kissed behind his ankle, his knee and thighs again and hovered over the essence of him. He gritted his teeth at the picture she made, tousled hair, dark hazy eyes, swollen lips. The beaded tips of her breasts pressed into his straining thighs.

She looked at him for a moment, and it struck him that she was just as aroused as he.

Talia stared into green eyes naked with desire and shivered. Then she lowered her head.

And Trace went straight over the edge. She attended to him with kisses and caresses, running the tip of her tongue up the length of his throbbing shaft and robbing him of his very breath.

His chest heaving with exertion, he dragged her up and fastened her mouth to his, then he removed the last barrier between them. When her hands began to wander again, he firmly circled her wrists.

“Just one moment,” he said huskily. “Or it will all be over so fast your head will spin.”

“My head is spinning,” she said.

He cursed, though it sounded more like a prayer, then he rolled her onto her back and returned measure for measure. Enticing her relentlessly with a tongue that ignited and hands that stoked the flame, he made her his. He kissed every inch of her, until their bodies grew damp with perspiration, and she was frantic with the building tension. She wanted him so much.

“Trace,” she whispered.

“Soon,” he promised, and caressed the pearl of her femininity until she was moist and swollen with need.

“Trace,” she cried as he drove her closer to insanity, “I need you.”

He was gone for only seconds as he pulled the protection from his slacks pocket. Joining their hands on either side of her head, he stared into her eyes and slid his thighs between hers.

His face held such intense desire that for a moment she panicked. She lay before him, a bundle of feminine need and vulnerability. It was just Trace and Talia now. She felt completely at his mercy, until she saw the evidence of forced control—his clenched jaw and uneven breathing.

She lifted her hips in invitation.

He accepted, sinking his body into hers, inch by excruciating inch, until there was nothing between them. His fullness in her tightness. She grew light-headed.

“Tonight you're mine,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes at his words, but he wouldn't allow it.

“Look at me,” he said tenderly.

When he withdrew, she tightened her legs around him instinctively.

“Tonight I'm yours.” He thrust deeply and muffled a groan. She shuddered as the coil within her tightened.

He withdrew again. “Say it.”

“Yes,” she whispered brokenly, knowing her soul had been taken along with her body.

Trace's control was spent. He plunged deep into her, leading her into a depth of passion, both terrifying and glorious, chasing sensation after sensation. Then he thrust one last time, and they both cried out as the tempest snatched them into ecstasy.

 

Trace lay heavily on Talia, his face wedged into the curve of her shoulder, breathing as if he'd raced a freight train. He expelled another shuddering breath and squeezed her.

“Good Lord,” he muttered.

Talia was having difficulty catching her own breath, let alone talking.

Raising his head, he looked at her. He touched her cheek as if she were fine porcelain, and concern edged into his eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded.

A slow grin spread across his face. “You look kinda phaser-dazed.”

She smiled faintly, recalling the fate of the Reptile Renegades whenever an enemy defeated them. Phaser-dazed was exactly how she felt.

Moving to her side, he gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair. “I'd really like to know what's going on inside your head right now.”

She turned so she could look at his face. “I don't know what to say.”

“How do you feel?” he asked, searching her eyes for answers.

“Devastated.”

“You're not alone.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe he was as deeply affected as she. But she couldn't prevent her doubts.

Some of her uncertainty must have shone through. “You don't believe me, do you?” he asked.

She sighed. “Well, Trace, I'm not exactly widely experienced. I'm sure you've had more…involvements.”

“Nothing in my whole life comes close to what we just did.”

“But your wife—”

“Nothing.”

She shivered at his resolute tone.

“And I'm glad you're not widely experienced,” he said, chucking her chin with his forefinger. “I don't think I'd like sharing you.”

“Is that so?” The corners of her lips turned upward. He sounded so much the territorial male.

“It is,” he said, his expression still fierce. The thought struck her that maybe even the great Trace Barringer needed reassurance sometimes too.

“Well.” She drew out the word and rolled over onto his chest. “You know, you've got droves of competition. There's—” She stopped, unable to come up with even one other man's name in her present flesh-against-flesh position. She shrugged helplessly. “Well, there're just too many to name.”

“So many men littering your sidewalk, you probably have a hard time getting to your car in the morning.” He clucked sympathetically and settled her along his long, hard length. “Must be a rough life.”

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she saw by the gleam in his eyes he was getting into the spirit of the conversation.

“Oh, it is,” she assured him. “But you are—” she paused, assessing him carefully “—passably handsome.”

“Passably?” He lifted one of his dark eyebrows.

“More than passably.”

He waited in silence.

“Oh, all right. You're incredibly handsome.”

He grinned.

“And as a lover—”

He shifted beneath her until his hardness pressed against the apex of her thighs. She drew in a weak breath.

“—you're,” she tried to continue, but he moved again. She could feel her nipples beading in the hair on his chest. His arousal pressed against, but did not enter, her femininity, and she started to turn to liquid.

“Yes?” he prompted.

It would only take a slight movement, she thought, and he would be inside her. Her mind was as hazy as early morning fog.

“I forgot what I was saying.”

He trailed his hand down to her bottom and lightly stroked. “You were saying something about what kind of lover I am.”

She looked at him blankly, and he took pity on her. “Maybe this will help,” he said, and slipped inside her.

He watched her close her eyes in an expression of rapture and almost came right then. Only his earlier release gave him the control to hold back. He lifted his hands to her soft breasts and turgid nipples, gently squeezing.

She arched and took him in more deeply.

Groaning, he brought her mouth to his for a wet, hungry kiss.

She lifted, then sank down the length of his swollen shaft again. They both trembled. He reached down into her warm, damp curls, and flicked the sensitive spot, once, twice.

She lifted. He plunged. They both exploded.

A minute later she opened her eyes and whispered, “Unequaled.”

Although she tried to hide it, Trace detected the stiffness in Talia's gait the next morning. She was sore, he realized, and he'd bet it wasn't all from the horseback ride. So, after separate showers, he hustled them out for sight-seeing.

It was a golden day he'd never forget, filled with laughter, fun and easy conversation. He was surprised at the pleasure he took in the little things, like holding her hand as they toured the Smithsonian. It made him feel young again, like a teenager on a first date, so eager to please.

After lunch, as they strolled past shops, he noticed Talia's attention straying to the windows. “Let's go in,” he said, and gently pushed her into the closest store.

It was a jewelry shop, and for the first time he realized that she wore no jewelry except her earrings. It bothered him enough to want to alter the situation. His first instinct was a ring, a ruby for her passionate nature, or perhaps a diamond. A diamond that could later accommodate a matching band.

My God, what are you thinking?
He took a deep breath and stared at her as she fiddled with some costume bracelets.

She must have sensed his gaze, because she looked up at him and smiled. His heart lodged in his throat.

“You're bored, aren't you?” she said. “I appreciate the effort, Trace, but I don't know any men who enjoy shopping.” She hooked her arm through his. “We can go now.”

He blinked. The feeling was too new and too strong. He'd have to deal with it later, when he had time to sort it all out.

“I'm not bored,” he assured her, and thought for a moment. “What are you wearing tonight for the party and press conference?”

“A two-piece dress. It's magenta colored. Why?”

He was already pushing her over to another counter. “I'd like to get something for you to wear with it.”