Guardian Angel by Leanne Banks

connecting door. Trace held a bottle of wine, two glasses and three white take-out cartons.
    â€œYour 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.”
    â€œHow 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?”
    â€œSome.”
    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.”
    â€œTrace, I can’t,” she said, trying to pull her hand from his.
    â€œCan’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.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œNo. It’s okay, and we did get the Ming vase,” she said in an unconvincing tone.
    â€œAh, 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.
    â€œWhy are you doing this, Trace?”
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œWhat 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.