Reckless Passion (16 page)

The sound of a guitar woke her an hour later. For a moment
Dara
simply
lay
quietly, eyes still shut, and tried to remember if she'd left the stereo on earlier in the evening. She must have. The music was so close it couldn't be coming from a neighbor's apartment.

But why hadn't the stereo shut itself off automatically?
her
sleep-clogged brain demanded. Reluctantly her dark lashes fluttered open and she gazed at the pattern of moonlight on the far wall of her room. The guitar sounded so close, not at all as if it were seeping in from the living room....

The panic hit her like a crashing wave, driving her up into a sitting position against the pillows. In the darkness she saw the devil, dressed in black, sitting on the end of her bed and
stramming
the guitar.

"Yale!" She choked on a small scream.
"My God!
What are you doing here? You scared the life out of me!"

She clutched the sheet to her throat, her pulse pounding, and glared at him accusingly.

"I'm really much better with a fiddle," Yale confided softly, glancing up from the movements of his fingers on the strings.

"Yes, I can imagine!" she retorted on an infuriated shriek. "I believe your Southern mountain devil does play a fiddle!"

"Only when he's bargaining for souls."
Yale grinned, the gold flashing wickedly.

In that moment it wouldn't have taken much at all to convince
Dara
that she was facing Lucifer himself.

"How did you get in? What in the world do you think you're doing?"

“Frightened?''
He smiled, still picking out a mountain ballad as he lounged at ease on her quilt.

"You terrified me, and you know it! Now answer me, Yale!" she charged.

He was dressed as he had been that afternoon when she'd glimpsed him in the store. There was no sign of the horn-rimmed glasses. He was all dark, lazy menace.

"I'm here to serenade you to sleep," he murmured. "As for getting in, that was simple. I came through a window."

"Of all the nerve!
Yale, what are you up to? This is...this is insane! And why didn't you speak to me in the store this afternoon?" she added belligerently as an afterthought.

He struck a few more chords on the guitar and then changed to another haunting melody, his amber head bent over the instrument.

"This afternoon?
There was no need. I only wanted you to know I was there."

"But why?"
Perplexed and a little angry,
Dara
sat very still, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"The quarry starts getting nervous when it realizes the hunter is right behind it. If there was one thing I learned to do back in those mountains, it was hunt."

"Hunt!
Are you out of your mind? I'm not going to let you hunt me down like some helpless animal!" she blazed, thoroughly incensed.

"I'll get to you somehow," he told her gently, looking at her through his lashes. "Either me or my alter ego."

"Will you stop talking as if you're two separate men?" she flashed, a shiver going through her whole body at the quiet certainty in him.

"Well," he told her casually, the soft rhythms of the guitar reaching insidiously into every corner of the room, "you're the only one who can bring them together."

"This is ridiculous," she stormed, pushing a curve of russet hair back behind one ear and glaring at her uninvited guest. "If you think I'm going to tolerate this sort of behavior—"

"The first thing you're going to have to do is keep your tactics straight," he cautioned helpfully. "The ranting and raving work on the Southern gentleman. After all, he would hate to distress a lady. But they aren't effective against the man sitting on the foot of your bed tonight."

"Really?" she shot back fiercely. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Sweet, soft submission, I think," Yale said reflectively as if seriously considering the issue.

"When hell freezes over!"

"Let's find out if your approach will work," he drawled, setting aside the guitar and sliding off the quilt.

The prickling sensation along her nerve endings exploded into full-scale alarm as Yale came toward her.

"Yale, no!
I won't let you...!"

He sat down heavily beside her and reached out to pull her into his arms. She struggled, still trying to maintain her hold on the sheet, but he ignored her efforts, cradling her across his thighs.

"Go on fighting me, darling
Dara
, and we'll see where it gets you," he whispered, sweeping the sheet out of her grasp with a short, aggressive movement.

His hand came to rest just below the full curve of her breast and then began slipping down the satiny material of her nightgown.

"Stop that," she breathed tightly, trying to push against his chest with all her strength. "This isn't going to work, Yale Ransom. I'm not going to tamely let you seduce me!"

"Tame is a word I would never apply to you, sweetheart," he assured her as his fingers trailed lightly over her thigh. He anchored her arms against his sides and bent to kiss her angrily parted lips.

"No!"

But the word was lost in a muffled shout as his tongue forged into the warmth of her mouth. Effortlessly he held her still for the heavy, drugging kiss and the marauding quest of his hand.

Dara
gathered her resistance, aware she couldn't fight him physically. He was simply too strong. But she would see to it that he gained no satisfaction from his bold lovemaking tonight. If there was one thing
Dara
Bancroft could do, it was to follow through on a project once she'd finally decided what had to be done.

Grimly she lay acquiescent beneath his touch, calling on her total store of willpower to turn off the electric circuits his hands and mouth switched on. Never again was Yale Ransom going to think of her as an easy conquest!

"Relax, honey," he breathed encouragingly as he began a series of slow, lingering kisses down the length of her throat. "Remember how good it was when you gave yourself to me? You know you want that again...."

"It won't work, Yale," she hissed, turning her face into the black material of his shirt as his exploring hand slipped under the edge of her nightgown and found the silky skin of her inner thigh.

He said nothing but continued the patterns he was weaving on her skin, his fingers probing ever closer to the secret heart of her desire with knowing ease.

"I've learned a lot about you during the past couple of days," he told her insinuatingly. "I know how your body responds to my touch, how warm and soft and welcoming it becomes...."

"I've warned you before that the body I was given doesn't reflect the mind behind it!" she challenged, stiffening herself against his touch.

He kissed the nape of her neck and then sank his teeth gently into the skin of her shoulder. "I think it does," he countered when he felt her tremor of response. "Tell me the truth,
Dara
. Can't you hear the click of everything falling into place when you lie in my arms?"

"No, Yale, there are too many missing factors still...."

But she was lying and she knew it. The click had been
resounding
and final the moment she'd looked up into his eyes that night at the party.

"What's missing, sweetheart?" he asked persuasively between kisses as he worked his way down the slope of her breast to the lacy edge of the nightgown. "Tell me and I'll provide it."

"You've already proved you'll say anything you have to say to get what you want," she swore bitterly. "You even agreed to marriage the last time!"

"But you didn't hold me to the agreement," he pointed out. "Why was that, I wonder? What made you change your mind about our bargain?"

"It was never meant as a bargain! I only wanted to find some way of stopping you!"

"I would have abided by it," he drawled, withdrawing his hand from her inner thigh momentarily to pull back the bodice of her nightgown.

"I'm flattered," she ground out furiously, aware of her breast being slowly, deliciously exposed.

"You should be. I don't marry every woman I sleep with!" he retorted on a thread of passionate humor.

"And I don't marry every man who claims he wants me in bed, either!"

"Waiting for love?" he taunted, lowering his head once again to her bared breast.

"Yes!"

His teeth closed around her nipple, sending a gasping wave of desire and helpless panic through her. She was fighting to recover from it when the second attack was launched. The rough fingers probing her thigh swooped, claiming the intimate warmth of her.

Dara
moaned and twisted in reaction. She was shivering from the physical exertion of trying to maintain her control and from the effects of his lovemaking.

"I'm going to steal your soul, darling
Dara
," Yale growled
raspingly
as he tightened his hold. "Your warm, inviting body will come with it!"

"Yale, please!"

“Begging already? What happened to the fierce resolve?"

"Damn you!"

"Don't say that, honey," he ordered hoarsely. "Accept the truth. You want me. I want you. Let
yourself
go and see where it leads...."

"I already know where it leads!
To cheap motels and even cheaper love!"

"The surroundings don't matter! I've told you that!" he grated tersely and then punished her with his teeth.

She flinched at the small, sharp pain on her nipple and cried out softly. Instantly he relented, but his hand didn't cease its erotic pattern between her thighs.
Dara
felt the buildup of that strange, curling sensation in her stomach and wanted to shout her defiance of it and the man who caused it.

He felt her trembling against him and she knew his body responded to her weakness with the eagerness of the predator to the prey. Yes, she thought wildly, the
hunter,
wasn't that what he had called himself? She was being systematically hunted, forced to react to each new foray against her body.

But she had her own goal and she knew this wasn't the way to reach it.

"Stop fighting me, sweetheart," he urged. "Feel what your body is telling you. My God! It's almost screaming the message at me! How can I deny it? You're shivering with your need. You're moist and hot and shaking with it. How can you deny yourself?"

"I can, Yale," she whispered harshly. "When I've made up my mind, I can do anything. And the devil in you tonight can't change that!"

"The hunter in me tonight could take his quarry without too much effort, I think," he growled, letting his tongue taste the fine sheen of perspiration in the valley between her breasts.

"It would be rape, Yale. I swear to heaven, it would be rape!
Because I'm not going to ask for it tonight!"

She felt the taut, muscular chest beneath her
cheek,
knew the still-leashed power in him and wondered if he would force himself on her, after all. Was there anything of the Southern gentleman in him now?

"I don't want you to merely ask for it," he rasped. "I want you to
beg
for it!"

"You won't get that from me, not tonight!"

He moved, settling her back onto the pillow and leaned over her. His hands were planted on either side of her, caging her. In the darkness he was a demon in black with amber-colored hair and she knew the overwhelming dominance in him, knew he was barely restraining himself from taking what he'd come to think of as his.

"Perhaps not tonight,
Dara
, but how long can you hold out? How long can you deny both of us?"

"As long as I have to!" she vowed, lying very still, instinct telling her not to provoke him physically or she would be lost.