by Leanne Banks
“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.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” she said in a horrified tone.
“May I help you with something, sir?” a salesman asked.
“The diamond necklace over there.” Trace pointed.
“No!”
Both men looked at her as if she were crazy.
“You don’t like diamonds?” Trace asked.
“No. I mean, yes. Oh!” She sighed in frustration. The situation had gotten entirely out of hand.
“Diamonds are nice, but it really isn’t necessary for you to buy anything for me.”
“But what if I want to?”
“I still don’t think—”
“If she doesn’t prefer diamonds, perhaps she’d like something like this.” The salesman pulled out a delicate gold chain with five graduated filigree hearts.
“Oh,” she murmured, this time in pleasure. It was beautiful and she’d never owned anything like it. She reached out to touch it just for a moment, then drew back her hand. “I really can’t.”
“Talia.” Trace took her aside and looked at her in a way that made her knees melt. “I want you to have something that will remind you of this weekend.”
“You say that like you think I could actually forget it.”
“Indulge me. It’s just a necklace, not the Hope Diamond. Or did you see something you liked better?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s beautiful. But—”
“We’ll take it,” Trace said to the salesman.
That evening Talia got her first taste of a high-class Washington cocktail party. Camilla’s ballroom had mirrors on every wall, reflecting the sumptuous elegance of original artwork, fine crystal, quiet-voiced servers and a fountain of champagne. Talia smiled to herself. The only original artwork her family had ever possessed had been crayon drawings on the refrigerator.
At first she’d been overwhelmed by the famous people she recognized, by the glitter of exquisite jewels, by the fabulous designer gowns. Fearful of making some horrible social gaffe, she’d stiffly gripped a glass of champagne and smiled and nodded a lot. Trace had loosened her up with sotto voce anecdotes about the people she met.
During one of the few quieter moments, she relaxed enough to notice that he seemed restless. She touched his arm to get his attention. “Anything wrong?”
“Hmm? Not really,” he said, and slipped his arm around her waist.
“Then why did I have to ask you that question three times?”
He looked surprised, then repentant. “I’m sorry. I talked with Robby this afternoon and he mentioned that Madelyn is in New York again, so her mother is taking care of him. I was sure Madelyn would be ready to give me custody by now.”
Talia could feel his impatience and frustration as if it were her own. “Why don’t you visit him tomorrow before we leave?”
His gaze held a mixture of tenderness and fire. “You know, you’re not just the most beautiful woman in this room tonight.” He bent down to kiss her. “You’re the nicest.”
A lump rose in her throat, preventing speech. She leaned against him and watched desire flare in his eyes.
“But at this moment,” he growled in her ear, “I’m not thinking about anything but getting you out of that dress.” His hand slid down her hip, drawing her closer.
“You don’t like it?” she asked, knowing her shiver belied her light tone.
Grinning, he eased them back a few paces into a dimly lit corner. “I like the dress. I like the way the top—” He stared at her breasts and stopped. “What kind of top is it?”
Over a very dry throat, she said, “It’
s called a bustier.”
“Bustier?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked. “That’s appropriate, considering it doesn’t cover all of your—”
“Trace,” she warned in a shaky voice.
“Right. Well, I like your…bustier.” His hands spanned her waist, then slid down to her hips. “And I love the way it fits here.” His voice grew husky. “But it’s a little long.”
She blinked. The dress ended three inches above her knee.
“The silt in the back helps,” he continued, and sneaked a kiss behind her ear.
Between his caressing hands and devouring gaze, Talia was having difficulty breathing. Still, she managed to catch his hands when they strayed too far. “The way you talk about this dress makes me wonder just what kind of clothing you prefer to see on a woman,” she muttered.
“Let’s just put it this way,” he said, pulling her against him. “Seeing you in this dress makes me think of all the different ways I could get you out of it.” He put his mouth against hers and whispered, “And all the different things we could do once it’s off.”
The rest of the evening passed in a magical daze for Talia. She felt like Cinderella without a curfew. Even the press conference came off without any glitches. Trace handled the journalists without a qualm, and Talia only had to answer a few simple questions. Camilla was the real star, milking the presentation of the valuable carpet and Ming vase for all she could. Talia was counting the minutes until they could leave, when everything came crashing down.
“Trace,” a familiar voice said from just behind her shoulder. A chill ran up her spine, and she stiffened. It couldn’t be.
Trace turned and smiled at his brother. “Philip, I didn’t know you were coming.”
Philip looked at Talia, then glanced away. “I couldn’t miss it. It’s a great opportunity to make contacts.” He nodded toward a photographer and put his arm around Trace’s shoulder. “The publicity won’t hurt either.”
Philip smiled as a lightbulb flashed. “You want to get together for drinks after this is over? I keep trying to talk you into being my campaign manager for my run for the state senate. I shouldn’t have to nag my own brother.”
Trace shook his head. “If you’d take no for an answer, you wouldn’t have to nag. Besides, you know you can count on Barringer Corporation for a generous contribution.”
Talia left, quickly and without a word. If she didn’t lose her dinner over the way Philip was using LAM to further his political career, then she’d lose it over learning that Trace planned to underwrite him. Sick at heart and not quite sure where she was going, she wandered through the crowd, murmuring, “Excuse me, excuse me, please.”
She ended up at the front door. When the butler asked if she needed a limo, she almost burst into tears. What was she doing? She couldn’t leave without thanking Camilla again and saying goodbye.
She closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Miss, is something wrong? May I help you?” the butler asked in a kind voice.
She sighed, opened her eyes and gave the elderly man a tremulous smile. “If you could arrange for a taxi, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course. How soon will you require it?”.
“Umm, five or ten minutes. Is that possible?”
He smiled. “Anything is possible at Miss Camilla’s.”
Somehow, she made it back through the crowded ballroom to Camilla and thanked her again.
“Why, darling, it’s been my pleasure,” Camilla said. She gave Talia a little hug. “I’ll have to think of something for next year. You know, I believe you paid dearly for that Ming vase. You haven’t danced a single dance with your divine Mr. Barringer.”
Talia’s stomach turned.
“I shouldn’t have let you ride so long,” Camilla fretted charmingly.
“Oh, no,” Talia said. “I enjoyed it.”
“You don’t lie well, my dear.” The older woman studied Talia for a moment. “But you’re a strong woman. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
Even in the midst of her misery, Talia was flattered. “It was my pleasure too. Thank you for everything.” Impulsively, she kissed the older woman on the cheek, then dashed away.
Trace looked around the room as Philip continued to pressure him about the political campaign. Frowning, he muttered to himself, “Where the hell has she gone?”
When Philip sighed heavily, he turned his attention back to his younger brother. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” Philip said, “if you don’t count the fact that I’ve used my most persuasive abilities trying to win you over to run my campaign for the last ten minutes. It doesn’t look good for my future if I can’t sway my only brother.”
Impatience flashed through Trace, but he reined it in. He was accustomed to Philip’s self-centered attitude. “Look, I’ll support you financially. I’ll give you advice.” He grinned. “For what it’s worth, I’ll even give you an endorsement. But, Philip, you need to understand that I’ve got some big things going on in my life right now. I’m about to get custody of Robby and I just might lose my mind over a certain lady. So don’t ask me again. I said no and I mean no.” He put his hands on his hips in vexation. “Where the hell is she?”
“You mean Talia McKenzie?” Philip asked.
“Yes. Who else?”
Philip shrugged.
The silence between them seemed loud in contrast to the conversations surrounding them. Trace turned and looked at his brother closely.
Philip glanced away. “You might want to watch out. The McKenzies seem…ambitious.”
“What do you mean?”
Philip shifted from one foot to the other. “You know what I mean. Some people will do anything to get ahead. They’ll use relationships, affection, even sex—”
“That’s enough,” Trace said tersely. A dark anger built within him. Philip’s insinuations put a tawdry light on Trace’s relationship with Talia. It took all of his control not to lash out. “Speculations made from ignorance always cause problems, little brother. In other words, don’t discuss things you know nothing about.”
Philip stiffened and met Trace’s gaze. “I know plenty about the McKenzies. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to worm their way into our family.”
He turned to leave, but Trace grabbed his shoulder. “You owe me an explanation after that last comment.”
Angry color flared in Philip’s face. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing. As far as Talia McKenzie is concerned, you’d better keep your head on your shoulders and your money in the bank.”
A hot surge of nearly uncontrollable fury hit Trace like a fist. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d knock your teeth down your throat.” He took a deep breath, fighting for calm. “Now get out of my face before I do something I regret.” Dropping his hand from Philip’s shoulder, he watched his supremely cool brother shakily back away.
Trace cursed as his usually agile mind raced fruitlessly. Why was Philip so hostile to Talia?
It made him wonder anew if Philip and Talia had once been involved. The insulting way Philip had spoken of her infuriated him. He’d been an inch away from tearing a strip off Philip. The only thing that stopped him was the possibility that Philip might reveal what was at the bottom of this mess right in front of all the reporters.
Thinking about that only raised more questions that couldn’t be answered, and Trace felt a swift, searing need to see Talia. He shook off his disturbing thoughts and looked around the room once more. She’d been gone entirely too long.
He checked the champagne fountain, the corners of the room. He even asked a woman to check the powder room. Finally, he asked Camilla.
She frowned. “Well, she said goodbye to me a while ago. I assumed you’d made arrangements to depart separately.”
Doing anything separately from Talia had been the furthest thing from his mind. He thought they’d planned to be together for the rest of the evening, straight through til
l morning if he had anything to do with it.
He smiled stiffly. “Thank you again, Camilla. I hope you can make it to the auction.”
“Oh, I will try,” she assured him as a senator’s wife cornered her.
Spying an elderly butler, Trace paused at the door. “You haven’t seen a dark-haired woman in a magenta dress, have you? She’s about this tall.” He held his hand up. “She’s got brown eyes and a little mole above her mouth.”
“Wearing a necklace with little hearts?” the butler asked.
Trace’s heart raced. “Yes.”
“She left about thirty minutes ago. I called a cab for her.”
Chapter Seven
The knocking on her door was getting louder.
“You might as well open up, Talia. I’m not going anywhere,” Trace yelled through the door.
“It’s been a long day,” she called back. She looked down at the tissue she’d completely mauled and cursed softly. “I’m tired, Trace. I really don’t feel like talking.”
“That’s too bad,” he said without one drop of sympathy. “Open up.”
She stared impotently at the door.
“Talia.”
“Oh, all right!” She tied her robe tighter, mentally girding herself for the battle she knew was coming. She’d only been in her room long enough to discard her clothes and take a quick shower. When she’d spied the heart necklace still on her neck, she’d practically ripped it off. It was a glaring reminder of how foolish she’d been to forget the barriers between Trace and herself.
She walked stiffly across the plush carpet, flung the door open, then stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her first tactical error was looking at him. Exasperation-mussed hair topped a grim, yet achingly tender face. His eyes were so full of hurt that guilt began to seep into her.
“Is there any particular reason you left without me tonight?” he asked in a quiet, controlled voice.
She shrugged and turned away, moving back into the room. “I got tired. It looked like you were enjoying your time with Philip, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”
