Guardian Angel by Leanne Banks Page A

“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.”

Chapter Six
    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.
    â€œNot 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.
    â€œMy 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?”
    â€œBetter,” 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