by Leanne Banks
Talia was tempted to pick up her bowl of ice cream and dump it on his handsome head, just to wipe that insufferable grin off his face.
She let the anger guide her. It was the only clear emotion in her bloodstream at the moment. Like a cornered animal, she struck out, going for Trace’s jugular.
“The only thing I want from any Barringer,” she said with lethal precision, “is money for my charity. They have nothing else to offer me.”
She immediately felt like pond scum.
Unable to meet Trace’s gaze, she clasped Jason’s hand and pulled him firmly to the door. Deliberately hurting Trace made her stomach churn with guilt and regret. But she had to make it clear there was no future for them.
She was certain she’d dampened his ardor, hurt his ego, until she heard his taunting voice.
“Chicken.”
Chapter Five
Not one word. That was exactly what she heard from Trace Barringer after Saturday night’s ice cream. Sometimes Talia wondered if instead of hearing him softly call her a chicken, she’d just dreamed it.
It was a sad day when a Barringer called a McKenzie chicken and got away with it.
Sadder still, her conscience chided, when it was the truth.
She was beginning to feel like a very inept opponent in this battle for her…for her what? Virtue? She laughed out loud at the thought.
She’d technically lost her virtue five years earlier during her one puny attempt at a serious relationship. Between helping Kevin recover from his ordeal and taking over the sub shop, there’d been little time for romance, and the young man had grown impatient with her responsibilities.
It must not have been too serious, Talia had concluded, because when he’d called it quits, she’d felt more relief than regret.
She just wished she felt no regret over Trace Barringer. But she had never been good at lying to herself. The blatant invitation Trace extended with his sexy voice and eyes was almost too tempting.
So she spent the next several days trying to brainwash herself. She figured if it worked for governments and religious cults, it might work for her. Her best hope lay in the fact that Lung Awareness Month would be over in five weeks, and her ties to Trace Barringer severed. She carried out her daily activities while chanting “Just five more weeks,” and when that didn’t work, she listed Trace’s faults. He was arrogant. He had a bad memory. He was too rich, too well educated and too handsome. He had a smart mouth. Thoughts of his mouth, however, brought such sensual images to mind, she had to abandon that part of her plan.
By the time the next LAM meeting rolled around the following Wednesday night, Talia glumly concluded she wasn’t a good candidate for brainwashing. She would just have to set the tone for a more businesslike relationship between them.
The issue of Kevin would always stand between them, she told herself. When it came to their social worlds, she and Trace moved in different galaxies. While he spent his day directing a multimillion-dollar corporation, she spent hers serving ham and turkey sandwiches.
Arriving home late from the shop on Wednesday put a pinch in her schedule. In an effort to fight the humidity, she threw on a pair of red shorts and a white T-shirt, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
After crossing herself in thanks for the fuses not blowing, she pulled a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. She couldn’t resist the enticing aroma for more than a minute and popped one into her mouth.
She howled at the burning sensation. That’s what you get for rushing, she scolded herself.
Someone knocked on the door.
She headed for the living room with half the cookie in her mouth and the other half in her hand. Pausing, she panted to cool the cookie, then gulped it down.
She opened the screen door with her free hand, licking her lips. When she opened her mouth to say hello, she saw that it was Trace and no sound would come. Her heart slammed into her ribs.
He stood on her brick doorstep wearing his lethal smile, a white shirt that gave peeks of his throat and muscular forearms, and a pair of jeans that knew his body as intimately as she’d like to.
“Hi,” he said as his gaze roamed over her.
“Hi,” she managed over the lump in her throat. Her mind scrambled for its automatic defense mechanism.
“I need to—” she started.
“I wanted to—” he said at the same time.
They both laughed self-consciously.
“Listen,” Trace said, “if you’re not going to eat that, I haven’t had dinner yet.” He looked meaningfully at her right hand.
She glanced at the hand as if it were unattached to her. “Oh, the cookie. You can have it.” She gave it to him. “I have plenty more in the kitchen.”
Walking toward the small kitchen, she rolled her eyes at her awkwardness. “The rest of them should be cool by now,” she added over her shoulder. “I got a little eager and fried my taste buds right before you came.”
Abruptly remembering her need to put their relationship on a more businesslike footing, she turned around to face him. “Trace, I—”
There was a knock at the door. She frowned in frustration and started back to the front of the house.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Trace shot out a hand to stop her. His eyes narrowed as he studied her.
Shifting uncomfortably, she joked, “What’s wrong? Have I got a smudge of chocolate or something?”
Moving closer, he rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “As a matter of fact, you did.”
Her cheek suddenly felt as if it had caught fire. She watched him lick the bit of chocolate from his thumb and felt the rest of her body heat.
Hearing another knock, she forced herself to turn toward the door, wondering at the strange light in his eyes.
“Guardian angel!” he called after her in a deep, astonished voice.
The words fell against her back like stones, stopping her in her tracks. She felt a flush of sheer pleasure and she didn’t even try to respond. She couldn’t explain why it was so important to her that he remembered, but a giddy relief sang through her.
And a thousand chants of “five more weeks” bit the dust.
She managed to walk on to the door and open it. “Hi, Opal. Come on in.” She marveled at her calm voice when her insides felt like a bowling alley on tournament night.
Trace scarfed down another five cookies, helped himself to a glass of milk and chatted with the other committee members. He sat in the lumpy blue chair again and kept his gaze on Talia the entire meeting.
Every once in a while she threw him a bewildered little smile that made him feel incredibly predatory. Especially considering his latest scheme. He couldn’t take full responsibility for all of it. The Fitzgerald sisters had given him a perfect opportunity. He’d just developed it to suit his purposes.
After experiencing Talia’s temper, he wondered if her shy smiles would turn to furious glares when she heard his plans. He predicted she wouldn’t give him the full brunt of her temper until the rest of the committee left. By then, though, he’d have her committed to sharing the entire weekend with him.
Guardian angel. He shook his head, staring at her while Darryl droned on about some plans at a local bar. The ponytail had tipped him off. He’d had the unsettling feeling of déjà vu around her almost from the beginning. The fact that she was the one who’d run into those thugs so long ago only made her more appealing to him.
“So, it will be a kind of Western dance night minus cigarette smoking.” In one sentence, Talia summarized what Darryl had taken twenty minutes to say. “So, the first week of Lung Awareness Month, we’ll have information booths set up at the local grocery stores and the town square where people can pick up pamphlets and candy for the children. Health officials are taping spots for television and radio announcements, and the state president of the National Lung Association will make an appearance that first week.
“The second week—” she glanced at Trace for approval “—the mill is spon
soring a skating party, with all the proceeds going to LAM.”
When Trace nodded, she continued, “The third week is the Western dance and smoke-out. And,” she added tentatively, “You asked us to reserve the fourth week for something at the country club, Trace.”
Leaning back, Trace wished for a stiff drink. He had a feeling he was going to need it. “The Fitzgerald sisters contacted me yesterday. They’ve decided on a charity auction. And they’re all excited about a donation they might receive for it. It’s quite valuable. But there’s a catch.”
Talia was thrilled with the prospect of more donations. “That’s wonderful.”
The other committee members nodded in agreement. Only Lou seemed to hear Trace’s last comment. “You mentioned a catch,” he said.
This was where the bottom fell out, Trace thought. “This valuable donation will be given by the Fitzgeralds’ youngest sister, Camilla. Years ago, she married a senator and moved to Washington, D.C. Her husband died a few years ago, but she has stayed active in Washington society with her charitable contributions. Prudence and Martha say she’s a bit eccentric,” he added with an ironic smile.
That was like the pot calling the kettle black, Talia thought, grinning too.
“Anyway,” he went on, “she wants us to come for a weekend visit that will include a press conference and a party. Apparently Camilla loves publicity.”
“Exactly what is she donating?” Lou asked.
“An antique Aubusson carpet, previously owned by an English king.”
“We’ve got to go to D.C. for a rug?” Lou said in disgust.
“Not all of us,” Trace said, and turned his gaze to Talia. “Just Talia and me.”
The committee seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Talia, however, felt a bolt of sheer terror at the thought of a press conference and a stuffy Washington party. “Me! Why me?”
The question left her lips before she realized she’d already received her answer. Trace wore that lazy predatory expression she’d glimpsed a few times that evening. First suspicion, then indignation flared through her. That scheming, manipulative…
Ready to lash out, she glared at him, then caught her breath. His expression might be predatory, but his eyes held such hunger, she had to turn away.
“Apparently,” he said, “Camilla wants the head of the committee to receive the carpet personally. And she also wants a Barringer around, since Barringer is her hometown.”
Talia’s heart raced at the prospect of an entire weekend with Trace Barringer at her disposal. Or would she be at his disposal? Either way, the mere thought sent shivers of fear and pleasure down her spine. How could she possibly keep her distance from him in those circumstances? Especially, her conscience chided, when she didn’t want distance.
Alarmed at the thought, she pushed it aside. “This is very unusual, Trace. And I do have a business to run.”
Opal piped up. “I’d be glad to help you out, and you’ve got your part-timer to fill in for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Before we get all in a dither,” Lou interrupted, “just exactly how much is this rug worth?”
Trace almost smiled at Lou’s blunt question, but he shared the businessman’s attitude toward the bottom line. And he predicted the bottom line would end all of Talia’s protests.
“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said.
They all gaped at him.
“A hundred and fifty big ones,” Lou muttered. “Hell, I’d be willing to walk to D.C. for that.”
Darryl cleared his throat. “Well, you simply must go. We’ll take care of your sub shop. Do you have the proper clothing?”
Still reeling from the amount of the gift, she blinked at Darryl, then realized he’d directed the question to her. “I’m sure I’ll manage something,” she murmured, though she had no idea what.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, realizing she’d just committed herself to going. She really had no choice, she told herself. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she asked, “When do we leave?”
Trace saw her struggle with confusion, anger, embarrassment. Right now she looked ready to face the guillotine. “Camilla has summoned us to meet her early Friday afternoon.” He improvised his plans just in case she needed to do a little shopping. “If you don’t mind, I thought you could go to a museum or do some shopping while I take care of some business downtown before we go see her. We’ll leave early Friday morning and return on Sunday. The party’s Saturday night.”
“This Friday?” she asked weakly.
He nodded, feeling a smidgen of sympathy for her. She’d caused him too much frustration for him to feel too sorry for her, though.
“Oh, this is so exciting,” Opal said as she stood. “I want you to remember everything about the party so you can tell us all about it.”
Darryl and Lou stood as well and started toward the door. “Don’t worry about your shop,” Lou said. “We’ll take care of it.”
Talia nodded absently. The shop was the least of her worries. She bade her guests goodbye and, after closing the door behind them, turned to face Trace.
“Go ahead and get it over with,” he said.
“What?” she asked blankly. She was still wondering what she was going to wear and when Trace had figured out how they’d first met.
“The screaming and the yelling. I could tell you were about to go off like a firecracker when you realized what I’d done.”
“Oh.” She nodded in understanding, remembering her earlier vexation. Gazing at him, she thought he looked unusually restless. “You mean now is when I’m supposed to tell you what a miserable, dirty, manipulative, low-down snake you are.”
He winced. “Something like that.”
“And how you took advantage of me to suit your purposes. That you were sneaky and underhanded by telling me about the Fitzgerald donation in front of the other committee members. Because you knew,” she continued doggedly even though he clenched his jaw, “I would sooner walk through—”
“I think you’ve made your point. I’ll see you Friday morning.” He walked stiffly around her.
“Trace,” she said, barely suppressing a smile, “there is just one more thing.”
He stopped, but kept his broad back to her. “What?”
“What took you so long to remember how we met?”
The sound of crickets filled the momentary silence as Trace slowly turned. He’d braced himself for another strike from her tongue. Instead, she stood in front of him with her hands on her hips and full of feminine pique that he hadn’t remembered her. Seeing that small display of vulnerability tugged at his protective nature. He started toward her.
“I remembered the important things,” he said, wanting to please her.
She arched her eyebrows skeptically.
“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.
