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remarks left her feeling unsettled. And the fact that his gaze remained on her logo didn’t exactly help matters.
    She turned away and picked up the order from the fax machine. “Was there something else, Mr. Barringer? I don’t have time to chat right now.” That wasn’t exactly true. The lunch crowd had cleared out a few minutes before.
    The impersonal way she said his last name annoyed Trace. He wanted to hear his first name from her lips. He wanted to watch her tempting mouth form the word. Talia had something against him and he had no earthly idea what it was.
    He considered using the straightforward approach of asking her flat-out, but she was acting too cool. He found he liked her better a little off balance.
    A kiss would do the trick. She’d either go off like a firecracker or melt in his arms. Or, he thought with a touch of irony, she’d pick up one of those sharp knives from the counter and use it on him.
    An outrageous idea formed in his mind, and he grinned wickedly. Slipping behind the counter while she turned her back to him, he moved close enough to her to feel the warmth from her body.
    â€œTrace,” he said into her ear.
    Talia spun around, startled to find him so near. That was why she was dizzy, she told herself. Not because of his tantalizing scent. Not because of his inviting green eyes. And certainly not because of the naturally seductive timbre of his voice.
    â€œDolly Parton’s okay,” he went on, “but you’re more my style—sleek and firm.”
    The intimate remark embarrassed her, though it was nice to know he approved of her body. She cleared her throat and started to speak, but he continued in a low, matter-of-fact voice.
    â€œYep,” he said, “you’re just right. Not too firm, soft enough to mold to a man’s hand. And I bet you’re responsive. It would probably only take a couple of flicks from my thumb.”
    The room grew very warm. Her shirt felt tight, her breasts heavy. He stood too close, yet he was careful not to touch her. Talia swallowed hard. “You should—”
    â€œI imagine you taste sweet, like honey or cream.” He kept on as if she hadn’t spoken.
    His words paralyzed her vocal cords. She knew she should be appalled, but she was oddly mesmerized by his fantasies. The sub shop faded away as the picture of him with his mouth on her breast formed in her mind. She bit back a moan as her nipples pushed against the cotton of her shirt.
    â€œI’d want to feel you against my chest,” he whispered. “You know, there’s something about a woman’s soft naked breasts rubbing against a man’s hard, bare chest that drives a man crazy.”
    Images raced on through her mind like a movie, each more erotic than the last. Trace’s muscular chest, her pouting breasts, rubbing, caressing each other. Though she’d never seen his chest before, she could feel it in her hands, hard and muscular with crinkly hair. Her breath came in short spurts. Her knees turned to liquid.
    He leaned toward her, his eyes intent on her face. She could feel his arousal, but it brought her no comfort to know his verbal torture had done him in too. He’d drummed up a fever within her, and all her secret places throbbed with life. In some distant, coherent corner of her mind she knew she should push him away.
    His chest grazed her aching breasts. She didn’t bother to withhold the moan this time. “Talia, haven’t you heard that more than a mouth—”
    â€œStop,” she choked out, and covered his mouth with her hand. Shaking her head, she whispered, “We’re in the middle of a deli. For Pete’s sake, what do you want from me?”
    He considered that. “We don’t have time for me to answer that question completely.” He took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Besides, you’re not ready. And I never rush.”
    He dropped her singed hand