LITMIR.BIZ

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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 recognized guilt when he saw it and felt some of her sadness. “You don’t really believe she would have been happier without you?”

      Talia shook her head, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a silky curtain. “No. Angelina McKenzie loved her babies more than anything. But I was just nineteen years old. All of a sudden I was responsible for raising my fifteen-year-old brother.” She closed her eyes against the remembered pain. “Her death was horrible. But the year after was…” She stopped, unable to find the words to describe it.

      Trace stepped forward, wanting to comfort her in some way. To touch her hand or shoulder. To offer words that would soothe her wounds. It was an unusual feeling for him. Since he’d become CEO for Barringer Corporation, he’d had little time for tenderness. For that matter, in the last few years his emotional life had become a barren wasteland.

      Her sad brown eyes proved his undoing. He couldn’t find the words, so he took her small hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

      Her eyes widened at the gesture. She pulled back, but he held firm. He kissed her hand and found himself wanting to extend the gentle caress to her lips. For one long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, then he tugged at her hand, wanting her closer.

      Chapter Two

      Someone knocked on the front door.

      Talia jerked back, looking as if she’d touched a snake. “That must be the committee members. I’ll let them in.”

      Trace watched her bolt from the kitchen, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A man could incur some heavy losses under that kind of woman’s influence, he decided. Loss of perspective. Loss of sleep. Loss of sanity.

      His body was still tense with the excitement of merely being close to her, kissing her hand and touching her silky legs. He remembered how her eyes had grown soft and vulnerable. Odd, he mused. It was almost as if she’d forgotten who he was.

      Then she’d turned to ice.

      Talia swung open the door and greeted the committee members as if they were the cavalry coming to her rescue. Accompanied by the two middle-aged men and one woman, she walked back into the kitchen and made the introductions. Lou Adkins, Opal Taylor, and Darryl Harris, one of the vice presidents at the local bank.

      Since the three arrivals wore expressions varying from surprise to distrust, Talia supposed Trace would have his hands full winning them over. It would be interesting to watch. And she was relieved to have his attention directed away from herself.

      “I’m going to check on the brownies,” she said. “You can go into the den.”

      After the others left, she set the brownies on the counter to cool, poured the coffee and set the cups on a tray. Untenable though it may be, she knew she was drawn to Trace. But, as easily as she accepted her curiosity about him, she knew she wouldn’t do a thing about it.

      She picked up the tray. Her shaking hands caused the cups to clatter noisily, and she uttered a mild curse. How was she supposed to be calm and collected with Trace Barringer in her house?

      She didn’t want his attention, she reminded herself as she walked into the living room. She wanted his donation.

      The meeting progressed as the group mapped out more plans for Lung Awareness Month. Though she tried to concentrate on each word, Talia found her gaze repeatedly drawn to Trace.

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