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and stepped away. “I’ve already had lunch. I dropped by to tell you we won’t be meeting with the country club members on Saturday night.”
    Talia felt as though he were changing her gears without using the clutch. She tried desperately to keep up. The country club. He’d said something about the country club.
    â€œSaturday night?” she asked.
    â€œYes.” He seemed pleased with her bemusement. “I had to change it to next Saturday, since I have to go out of town. Is next week okay with you?”
    â€œI don’t know. Perhaps one of the other committee members might—”
    â€œCome on, Talia, we’ve been through this before. No one else will do it.”
    Totally confused by his nonchalant attitude, she turned away from him and began slicing sub rolls with short, jerky movements. “Well, maybe I don’t want to go. Maybe I don’t trust you after the way you, you…” She broke off in frustration.
    â€œAfter I what?” he asked far too innocently.
    She counted to ten. She was hot: angry-hot and aroused-hot. “After the way you talked to me.”
    â€œDid I say something threatening? Was I insulting?” He sidled close to her again, and she felt the space around her shrink. “I was just telling the truth. You can’t fault a man for that. As a matter of fact, you have all the more reason to trust me if I tell the truth.”
    Her head started to pound. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”
    He smiled sympathetically. “I have a law degree, but I’m not practicing now that I’m CEO.”
    Not practicing? she repeated silently. You could have fooled me. She wanted him out of her shop so she could regain her equilibrium. Giving in now seemed the lesser of two evils. “What time next Saturday night?”
    â€œSame time. Six o’clock in the lounge. We’ll be having dinner with the two Misses Fitzgerald.”
    She nodded. “I’ll be there.” She turned to watch as he strode to the door.
    Just before he left, he said, “By the way, you’ve got a great logo.”
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    Talia spent the better part of the next week wondering what had possessed her to allow Trace to speak to her in such an intimate manner. For that matter, what had possessed him to speak to her that way? When her mind could provide no suitable answer, she threw her arms up in frustration and vowed to think of anything but Trace Barringer.
    If her heart raced at the thought of him, she ignored it. If the image of his heated gaze taunted her day and night, she pushed it aside. But in her deepest, darkest fantasies, she remembered his graphic analysis of her breasts and paid him back in spades.
    During a day trip to Richmond, she splurged on a new dress and French perfume. She chose a soft white frock with a shawl collar and V-neck. It skimmed over her slim curves with womanly appeal down to a knee-length pleated hem that flirted against her long legs.
    When she asked the saleswoman the translation for the name of the perfume, the older woman got a naughty gleam in her eye. She drew out the three-syllable word with a flourish. “Ecstasy.”
    Dismayed, Talia was thankful her natural tan concealed blushes. Otherwise, her cheeks would have been flaming red. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she could keep that information to herself. Besides, she preferred to smell like something besides salami and meatballs.
    Before she felt sufficiently prepared for enduring a dinner with Trace at the country club, it was Saturday evening. Her new clothes did give her a measure of confidence, and the perfume made her feel sensual and feminine. Still, when she pictured the two women she was supposed to meet that night, her stomach fluttered with nervousness.
    Talia envisioned a pair of eagle-eyed society matrons who would assess every thread of her clothing, every piece of faux jewelry and every hair on her head. In an