Reckless Passion (11 page)

"Definitely.
Just because we talk a little slower than the rest of you doesn't mean we think any slower!"

He danced with her after dinner. Not in the restrained way he had danced at the flashy, ex-disco nightclub nor in the earthy, blatantly sexual way he had at the truckers' bar. This time Yale held her close, the embrace intimate but not embarrassing, and
Dara
foolishly allowed
herself
to revel in the swaying, enticing strength of his lean body.

She knew she was being seduced; knew it and for the life of her didn't know how to combat it. She loved this man in all his complexity, and saying no to him tonight was going to take more willpower than she might have in reserve. But it must be
said,
her whole future depended on it.

Six

A
s much as she had tried to prepare herself for the inevitable difficulty of ending the evening adroitly, and even with all her considerable experience at ending such evenings with other men,
Dara
had to acknowledge later that she badly mishandled the event. She found herself detonating the male time bomb in her hands with hardly any effort at all.

"I hope you're going to invite me to stay the night," Yale said deliberately, setting aside the guitar on which he'd picked out a couple of haunting mountain melodies for her and reaching for the glass of brandy
Dara
had poured.

So matter-of-fact!
Dara
drew a deep breath and said very carefully, "No, Yale. Not tonight." She sat quite still and watchful on her end of the couch and waited.

"Tonight, especially," he contradicted quietly, his eyes meeting hers with cool certainty.

In spite of herself,
Dara
shivered. "Why do you say that?" she whispered.

"Because I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember?" Yale allowed himself a smile at her look of astonishment.

Dara
arched an eyebrow
quellingly
. "To tell you the truth, I'd almost forgotten about that small-time smuggler. But it doesn't matter. We both know he's not likely to show up. He doesn't even know our names."

"He could have followed us this morning, waiting until tonight to come calling," Yale suggested helpfully.

"Don't be ridiculous! You're making excuses and you know it!"

"You're right." He sighed. "I really don't need any other excuse than the obvious, do I?"

"You're not staying here tonight, Yale. The evening has been
lovely,
I'll admit that much, but not lovely enough to cause me to make a fool out of myself again.
This is as far as you're going to get with your seduction."

He considered that for a moment. "I'm going to stay," he announced flatly.

"Then you'll have to sleep outside in the Alfa Romeo, because you most certainly aren't staying here. Good night, Yale." With an air of determination,
Dara
rose to her feet.

He leaned back into the corner of the couch, one leg stretching out along the cushions with the foot dangling. The picture of the relaxed male, she thought in dismay. His dark tie had
ben
loosened and his jacket lay over the back of the couch. Some of the rakishness of last night was back. It set off all the alarms Yale had spent the evening silencing.

"Yale," she tried reasonably, "what happened last night was bad enough, but only a bunch of truckers whom we'll never see know about it. If you stay here tonight all my neighbors will know! As you yourself pointed out, this isn't Los Angeles! If you're not concerned about my reputation, you ought to think about your own."

He sipped his brandy and contemplated the unicorn tapestry on the far wall.
"An interesting notion."
He turned his head to look at her speculatively. "It occurs to me that I
am
the injured party in all this. It was my reputation you set about tearing down last night...."

"Don't be an idiot! All I ever did was
ask
you a few questions! You're the one who—"

"Let's not get into that argument again. We're never going to agree on whose fault it was that we wound up at that motel last night." He groaned good-naturedly, wriggling his shoe a couple of times as he stared at the tip. "But I am staying, sweetheart. I'm a little concerned about that creep still being on the loose. I won't be comfortable thinking about you alone here."

"Yale...!"
Dara
opened her mouth in mounting frustration.

"I won't force myself on you, for God's sake," he told her irritably. "I'll sleep out here on the couch."

"That's not going to help the problem of my reputation!"

"Or mine. But I suppose we'll live it down," he said philosophically.

For some reason his nonchalance was the match to her kindling.

"Why you...you
bastard!
How dare you spend the evening behaving so perfectly when all along you were planning this! If you think I'm going to tolerate...oh!"

Her eyes blazed up at him as he leaped to his feet, all the lazy gentleness vanishing instantly.

"That's enough! You've called me a bastard twice today, and that's twice too often!" Yale had his hands on her shoulders before
Dara
could slip aside. The hazel eyes echoed her own simmering fury, and
Dara
was acutely aware of the fact that he had far more strength than she had to back his anger.

"I told myself I was going to be patient with you, give you a chance to cool off after this morning, but maybe the temper I saw then is routine for you! If that's the case, then I'm going to have to do something about it.
Beginning now!"
He gave her a small, decisive shake. "Apologize,
Dara
! There was a time when I would have taken a knife to any man who called me a name like that!"

"Why don't you try that approach?" she bit out recklessly. "You probably still carry one in your sock for old times' sake!"

"There are other tactics one can use on a woman," he warned silkily, forcing her closer.

"Don't you dare threaten me, Yale
Ransom!
"

"How are you going to stop me,
Dara
Bancroft?" he said with a hint of savagery. One hand sliding up to grip her nape and hold her steady as if she were a kitten, Yale snapped off his glasses and tossed them down onto the circular glass coffee table. Then his hand went to his loosened tie, pulling it free. It followed the glasses. His eyes never left her frozen face as his fingers went to the top button of his shirt.

"Stop it, Yale! I mean it, damn you!"

"I want an apology,
Dara
. A heartfelt one, I think."

"Why should I apologize?" she managed bravely. "It's the truth."

"I know. Which is probably why I want the apology," he retorted, his fingers on the second button of his shirt.

"You know?" she repeated in blank confusion.

"Umm.
My father was killed in a fight before he got around to marrying my mother."

"Oh! Yale, Yale!"
Dara
lifted her palms to his face, her heart in her eyes. "You must know I never meant it literally! It's always been just another swear word to me. Please accept my apology."

His hand stilled and he regarded her solemnly for a moment while she waited contritely for him to tell her everything was all right again.
Dara
could have bitten her tongue out for having fought so unfairly. The gray and green eyes were full of her anxiety as she gazed up into his face, her hands still gently framing his hard jaw.

"How can I refuse?" he whispered a little hoarsely, his fingers gliding up her arm to capture one of her hands.
"When you say it so nicely."
He touched his lips to the sensitive area of her palm, first kissing it and then closing his teeth ever so tantalizingly on the flesh at the base of her thumb. The utter eroticism of the caress chilled her.

"Yale?" The question in her voice was clear and tremulous. He smiled gently down into her face. Without a word he drew her against him and kissed her.

"Do you always go from raging inferno to sweetly yielding female so quickly?" he breathed in amusement as his lips feathered across hers. "I find it fascinating, you know.
So much fire and so much warmth."

"Yale, no!"
Dara's
voice was a plea as her eyes closed involuntarily against the force of her own passion. "I won't let you stay tonight. I can't!"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," he promised thickly. She knew he was letting the arousal he had held in check all evening begin to take command. She could feel it in the growing tautness of his thighs as he used his hand to force her close against him.

"Don't fight me, honey," he begged, shifting his leg so that it thrust between hers. Off balance and terribly aware of her vulnerability in the intimate position,
Dara
tried to resist.

"I won't let you do it!" she whispered, pushing at him even as her body longed for the embrace. "I won't conduct another...another business
transaction
with you, damn it!"

"No?" he mocked huskily, his hands moving down her sides, sliding across the high breasts with loving slowness before descending to the shape of her waist. He urged her closer so that his upper thigh pressed heavily against her. The thin fabric of her dress was little protection and
Dara
was fully conscious of the hard maleness of him.

The undeniable evidence of his physical response to her was a seduction in itself, she realized, alarmed. She felt the rush of longing she had known the night before and began to panic.

"No!" she gasped in answer to his mocking question. "No, I will not allow another business deal between us, because you
couldn't afford the price
this time!"

The defiant words seemed to scorch the air around them.
Dara
froze as she felt the savage tension in him. His hands clenched into her soft flesh and his words came back angry and raw.

"What price,
Dara
?
Name it!
We'll find out whether or not I'll pay it!"

She was committed, forced to follow through on her wild threat. She felt backed into a corner and she came out fighting for her very survival.

"The price is marriage, Yale! I don't want you to get the idea I'm still selling myself for anything
so
paltry as a stock account! You'll have to marry me this time!"

A taunting wickedness flashed in the hazel eyes. "Is that your idea of revenge, little tabby?" he drawled.

"That's my idea of how to stop a Southern gentleman in his tracks!" she flung back, incensed at his barely masked humor. "Force yourself on me tonight and I will demand that you do the
honorable
thing!"

"I think," he informed her gravely, "that you're in the wrong part of the South. Where I come from we called that sort of thing a shotgun wedding. Have you got a shotgun?" he asked interestedly.

"Push me too far tonight and you'll find out!" A thoroughly ridiculous promise,
Dara
thought gloomily. How could you force a man to marry you? Unless, of course,
his own
code of honor required it....

“I do believe you're trying to threaten me, sweetheart," Yale murmured, gliding his hands down her back and capturing her hips in a kneading grip. His lips hovered in the vicinity of her ear and she trembled at the overpowering nearness of him.

"Those are my terms, Yale," she breathed, her face buried in the material of his shirt as she waited with agonized suspense for the results of her reckless play. Nothing should have been more guaranteed to stop his seduction routine than the knowledge that she would be expecting marriage!
Dara
was certain of her weapon. The only thing she wasn't certain of was whether or not she had really wanted to use it. Another night with Yale Ransom was a temptation beyond any she had ever experienced.

"I'm amazed you think so highly of my sense of honor," he observed coolly, dropping a feather-light kiss on her temple.

Dara
gave a small start of surprise. "There's no doubt in my mind that you're a man who likes to stay on even terms with the world," she gritted. "You seem to have a pay-as-you-go philosophy about life. You proved that this morning!"

"When I told you
you
could have my account?" He groaned and then kissed her throat just below her ear. "You may be right."

"And you're not a fool..." she went on carefully, wishing her body didn't react so strongly to a man she had known such a short time.

"That's a more debatable point."

"Not foolish enough to commit yourself to marriage with a woman you've only known a little over twenty-four hours!" she declared, bitter triumph lacing her words.