Читать книгу Guardian Angel - Leanne Banks - Страница 10

Talia whirled and stared up at Trace. Her heart sank with disappointment when she saw he still looked wonderful. She’d been hoping he’d grow a few warts during his time away. A man with his looks, intelligence, wealth and insufferable self-confidence needed some flaw to bring him down to the rest of the human race. And she certainly didn’t see a flaw. A charcoal silk blazer covered his impressive shoulders and chest, and well-tailored slacks fit his long legs perfectly. The light reflected off his tawny hair, and his green eyes glinted with humor.

What did he find so amusing, she wondered, then she remembered what he’d called her.

“Who told you that?” she asked as he led her down a hall.

“One of the supervisors at the mill. When I mentioned the plans for LAM, he casually passed on the information.” Smiling wickedly, Trace opened the brass-and-glass door to the lounge. “I found it…intriguing.”

“Did you happen to notice the guy’s nose?”

Puzzled, Trace thought that over as they sat at a small round table. “Now that you mention it, Don’s nose is a little crooked. Why do you ask?”

Talia smiled. “I went to school with Don. He’s my best friend’s husband. But he had this annoying habit of teasing me. I warned him to stop.”

Trace watched the spark of indignation in her eyes and drank in the force of her personality. After another fruitless week spent trying to gain custody of his son, Talia was a breath of fresh air to him.

“Outside my family,” she continued, “he’s the last person to call me Italia to my face since seventh grade. I finally had to break his nose.”

At the image of a feisty young Talia and a howling Don, Trace let out a deep laugh, feeling the tension leave his body.

“Can I get you something from the bar?” a waitress asked.

“Scotch, neat,” Trace said, and turned to Talia.

“I’ll take a Bloody Mary.”

As they waited for their drinks, Trace noticed the way she looked around the room with carefully veiled curiosity. Dismay seemed to cloud her eyes, and she bit her lip.

“So what made your mother name you after Italy?” he asked in an effort to regain the earlier mood.

She turned to him, the bleak expression fading. “My grandmother died in Italy the week before I was born. Mom was devastated that she couldn’t attend the funeral. And though my grandmother liked America, her first love was Italy. She was always telling my mother never to forget Italy.”

Talia paused as the waitress set their drinks on the table. “When she first mentioned the notion of naming me after my grandmother’s homeland, my father thought she was crazy with grief. But he went along with it, hoping she’d change her mind when it came time to fill out the birth certificate.” Talia smiled and ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “She didn’t. I’m just glad Grandmother wasn’t from Turkey.”

Trace grinned and watched the motion of her finger around the glass. “Imagine how many more noses would have been broken.”