Authors: Stephanie James
When at last he lifted his head to smile crookedly down into her bemused eyes,
Dara
wanted to beg him to continue his lovemaking.
She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was reading her state of mind in her wide, gray-green eyes. The crooked smile broadened.
"I'll take you out to dinner tonight," he promised caressingly, his hand stroking the length of her back to the base of her spine. "We'll do it properly this time, I swear..."
"That's...that's impossible," she finally got out with some semblance of haughtiness. She was not going to let this man treat her so shabbily again! Regardless of what her heart was willing to forgive, her mind still functioned and was in control! "I have a date this evening."
"Break it," he ordered gently.
“Why should I? His account might be even larger than yours!" That hadn't been particularly wise, but
Dara
was feeling driven. Nevertheless, as his hands tightened with sudden warning on her, she wished she'd found another insult.
“
Dara
, you ought to have learned something from last night," Yale growled thickly. "If nothing else, you should know by now that it's not wise to push me too far. Either break your date for this evening or take the consequences!"
"What consequences?"
"Honey, if you flaunt someone else in my face now that you're mine, I swear I'll take him apart," he gritted in such a flat, deadly voice she believed him.
"Another example of your good manners?" she scoffed, trying to hide her shock. "Is this the kind of behavior I can expect now that you've announced your intention to treat me as I deserve?"
The amber lashes flickered closed for an instant and
Dara
could feel Yale putting a rein on his temper. It was more than a little unnerving to be so close to the source of a potential explosion. When he opened his eyes again, the lenses of the horn-rimmed glasses couldn't hide the degree of control he was exercising.
"I'm doing my best to be patient with you,
Dara
," he said stiffly. "I know you've been through a lot in the past several hours. Much more than you bargained for...."
"You can say that again! I wasn't even planning on transacting business when I went to that party last night. Goes to show how life is just full of little surprises!"
"You know, I could cheerfully take a belt to you this morning!"
"Really?
Is that how you treat your women?"
"You seem bent on finding out for yourself!" he rasped, shaking his head in quick exasperation. "And if you aren't waiting very meekly at the door for me this evening, I may treat you to a firsthand demonstration of my techniques! In you go,
Dara
. I'll pick you up at six. And don't wear your jeans. We're not going to any of your favorite nightclubs!"
Several hours later, after a lot of furious heart-searching and grim lectures to herself,
Dara
paced the floor of her apartment, for
all the
world like a restless cat.
A tabby cat.
She knew she was waiting for the sophisticated roar of the Alfa Romeo.
She couldn't deny it, she thought gloomily. She was in love. She had fallen in love last night, and nothing was going to change that fact that quickly. She was a woman who prided herself on a pragmatic approach to life. She would deal with the reality of the situation and not pretend she was merely temporarily infatuated. She knew what infatuation was. It was what she had felt for her ex-husband. And now she knew what love was.
There were cures for being in love, just as there were cures for infatuation, she told herself firmly. But the remedies for love were likely to have some severe side effects. And they didn't work quickly, as far as she knew. Time was one of them. Time and throwing oneself into work and perhaps finding another man... She would try them all. As soon as she could free herself from Yale Ransom!
Chewing absently on her lower lip, she came to a brief halt in front of a hall mirror and ran a quick, assessing eye over herself. There had been no date to cancel for this evening. Jeff Conroy, the research analyst from the office, was out of town on business and she hadn't felt like seeing any of her other assorted escorts. She almost hadn't gone to her manager's party last night, in fact. Too bad she hadn't followed her inclinations!
The curving bell of her deep red hair was brushed and polished-looking in the glow of the lamp. The floating material of the exotically printed yellow and green dress fell flatteringly over her rounded breasts and softly flaring hips. She had chosen her highest-heeled sandals in an effort to be on more equal footing with Yale, but she was very much afraid that wouldn't be a lot of help. He tended to dominate everyone in his vicinity.
On the whole, she had to be reasonably satisfied with the overall effect. She looked poised, cool and very much in command of herself. It was as much as she could hope for under the circumstances, she thought with a sigh as the sound of a car stopping out front caught her attention.
She opened the door to find Yale standing on the step, every inch the neat, conservatively dressed professional. For some reason she almost laughed, barely managing to stifle the flash of humor. But he must have seen it in her eyes, because the gold winked in his grin and the hazel eyes glittered wickedly behind the austere glasses.
"Why do you have to look past the surface?" he complained, stepping inside the cozy apartment and glancing around expectantly. "I really am an accountant, you know. Give me a chance!" He finished his quick perusal of the room and lifted her chin possessively with his hand. Dropping a light, proprietary kiss on her lips, he released her almost at once.
"I gave you a chance," she reminded him determinedly. "And you turned out to be something altogether different from an accountant!" She moved away from him. "I'll get my purse."
She disappeared into the bedroom and returned to find him studying her eclectic collection of books. He put down the small volume of eighteenth-century philosophy as she appeared in the doorway.
"Your interests appear to be wide-ranging," he murmured, coming forward. "Do you play that guitar?" He nodded toward the instrument on the wall.
"A little," she admitted carefully, eyeing him uneasily.
"And can you really cook stuff out of those fancy gourmet cookbooks?"
"Do I look like I've been starving to death most of my life?" she tossed back, reaching for a fluffy shawl.
He came up behind her, adjusting the shawl and then sliding his hands warmly down her sides, shaping her curves. "No," he whispered throatily. "You look like a woman who knows instinctively about womanly things like cooking and loving and—"
"And selling securities!" she interrupted, stepping hastily away from his touch.
"And selling securities," he agreed smiling. He flicked a glance over her interestedly. "Tonight's my night to ask the questions," he went on slowly.
"I thought you were going to take a lesson from me in the perils of curiosity," she muttered, turning briskly toward the door.
"I won't complain if my curiosity leads us to bed as yours did last night." He chuckled, following her out the door and into the dusk of the spring evening.
"It won't!" she swore. "Nothing will lead me into a repeat of last night! Unlike you, I've learned my lesson!'
"What did he say?" Yale asked almost conversationally as he helped her into the car and took his place behind the wheel.
"Who?"
She frowned, momentarily at a loss.
"The guy you broke the date with tonight."
"That's none of your business," she declared regally, glancing pointedly out the window.
"Everything about you is my business now," he told her patiently. "But I'll let that question ride. After all, you didn't try to force a confrontation. I'll be satisfied with that."
"You're too generous!"
"I know, but that's probably because I'm feeling guilty."
"Over last night?" she scoffed. "I don't believe you."
"Try me. Give me a chance, honey. I'll make everything right this time around."
She slanted a suspicious glance across the seat, not certain how to react. This sudden earnestness to start over left her confused and wary.
"Tell me about
yourself
," he ordered in a rather businesslike fashion some time later as they were seated in a charming downtown restaurant. One of the new Oregon-grown and-bottled wines was on the table, the atmosphere was elegantly subdued and the other patrons were well dressed and well mannered. Yale had brought her a long way from last night,
Dara
thought with fleeting humor.
"What do you want to know?" she asked, picking up the menu with a sense of anticipation. The food really was very good here, and
Dara
appreciated good food.
He shrugged.
"Anything.
Everything.
Are you a native?"
"Native Oregonian?
Definitely," she informed him, scanning the list of Continental specialties.
"Have you ever been outside the state?" he asked in amusement.
"Only when absolutely necessary," she told him with the blissful smugness of the classic Oregonian. "I was forced to go to California once for a time and I've made a couple of brief forays into Washington." She shuddered in recollection.
"I'm beginning to feel that way myself, and I've only been here a short while," Yale chuckled.
She glanced up and met his laughing eyes. "Most new immigrants want to be the last ones allowed over the border. They'd like to see the place closed off once they're safe here. You know, issue passports and visas to the rest of the folks who want to come for a visit!"
"You can't blame us," he said gently, watching her face with deep interest. "Oregon is so unspoiled and has so much to offer. We newcomers feel like we've found a paradise, and we know how easily paradises are ruined. What amazes me is that you natives are equally conscious of what you've got."
She nodded, perfectly aware of what he was talking about. "We've got everything that counts. The outdoors is everywhere, even in the cities. We're proud of our past and we've preserved it. We're very self-reliant, a heritage from that past, I suppose. A lot of us are descendants of people who came out west on wagon trains, you know. Our towns and cities are manageable in size. Portland's our only 'big' city, and that's only about four hundred thousand people. A lot of people make their living in the lumber industry, and that tends to breed an independent spirit."
"Everything about this state is independent," Yale murmured, trying his wine tentatively. It was his first exposure to Oregon wines. "Your environmentalist attitudes are famous throughout the rest of the nation, you know. You're all considered naming radicals on the East Coast! Your state and local governments have spent a fortune taking care of your rivers and air and land."
"We know what we've got" She shrugged. "Land this beautiful doesn't last unless it's taken care of."
He nodded. "I'm aware of that."
"Why did you move from California?"
Dara
asked.
"L.A. turned out to be a little too far from the hills," Yale confided with surprising honesty.
Dara's
lashes flicked against her high cheekbones as she considered that. "So you came looking for someplace a little more real, is that it?"
"Something
like
that," he agreed reflectively. "I don't ever want to go back to the mountains, but I found out I didn't want to give up everything I'd taken for granted as a child, either. I like smaller towns. I'll never be at home in a huge metropolis. And I like having the outdoors in my backyard."
"You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy?"
Dara
grinned in sudden sympathy.
"I guess that's it," he said slowly, returning her smile.
In that moment of communication
Dara
realized she had made a huge mistake. She had unwittingly allowed him to establish the truce he had been seeking.
"And that, my darling
Dara
," Yale continued, cementing the truce with sure instinct, "is something I hadn't even admitted to myself until you forced the realization on me. You're a witch, sweetheart."
"Do people back in the mountains still believe in witches?" she whispered, aware of the sensual tension she was experiencing.