Reckless Passion (2 page)

"Well, you wouldn't want the real thing here, would you?"
Dara
challenged laughingly. "Genuine truckers and cowboys tend to be a bit rough around the edges, I'm told. The ones in designer jeans are easier to handle."

"You think so?" Yale asked, deciding at last not to undo the tie. Apparently he felt more comfortable in it,
Dara
thought in smiling amusement.

"Don't chicken out on me,"
Dara
warned. "I'll take care of you."

He glanced at her over his shoulder as he closed the car door again. The hazel eyes flashed for an instant behind the lenses of his glasses. "Will you?" he demanded interestedly, taking her arm.

"Oh, yes," she assured him breezily. "I know this isn't quite your usual style, but I think the experience will be good for you."

"Are you by any chance trying to tell me I'm a little too conservative for your taste?'' Yale took her arm in a firm grip.

"I think, perhaps, you're a little too conservative for your own tastes,"
Dara
hazarded.

"I would have thought that, as a stockbroker, you'd appreciate my conventional qualities," he told her dryly.

"Well, you see, I haven't been a stockbroker very long,"
Dara
explained lightly.

"Really?
What did you do before you became one?" He sounded genuinely interested, she thought, smiling.

"Remind me to tell you someday."

At the entrance to the disco, which had recently converted to high-gloss country-western,
Dara
and Yale came to a halt. The crowd of trendy would-be cowboys and their dates filled the room completely. A smoky haze wafted toward the wood-beamed ceiling and through it a bejeweled country-western band could be seen energetically twanging their electric guitars.

"See? I told you. It's a very popular place,"
Dara
pointed out unnecessarily, scanning the room for a vacant table. From the height of five feet four inches she didn't stand a chance of discovering a spot.

"Over there." Above the noise Yale managed to get her attention.

"See something?"

He nodded and made his way through the crowd. He had been right when he noted they probably weren't dressed for the occasion. The majority of the club's clientele was in designer jeans and pearl-buttoned shirts. Imitation Stetson hats were everywhere, as was imported beer.

"Marvelous going out with a strong male,"
Dara
said in tones of mocking admiration as Yale forged a way to the table and commandeered it.

"We accountants have hidden talents," he told her, helping her off with the coat.

"How hidden?" she demanded immediately, gray-green eyes shining with warm laughter as he took the seat across from her. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Then you should have let me take you home instead of stopping off here," he retorted, looking up as a briefly clad cowgirl came to take their order. He requested two bottles of a distinctive English beer without bothering to check
Dara's
preference. She didn't mind. It was the proper thing to order in this atmosphere.

"'Something tells me I shall learn more about you in this environment,"
Dara
informed him blandly.

"You think I belong here?" Yale glanced around dubiously.

"Doesn't it remind you of L.A.?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing is like L.A.!" he declared flatly, a disgusted look crossing the hard features.

"You miss it?"

"Not in the least."

"I believe you said you lived here for two years,"
Dara
noted. "Where were you before that?"

One amber brow climbed slightly as he folded his arms and leaned forward to rest them on the small table. "Am I going to be subjected to an inquisition?"

"I always like to interview my clients extensively before establishing a financial plan for them,"
Dara
said smoothly, eyes glinting.

"As I said, you should have let me take you straight home." He smiled. "I could have given you a much clearer insight into my character."

"Who is supposed to be seducing whom?"
Dara's
laughing eyes hardened a fraction.

"You're right," Yale said, instantly apologetic.
"I'm being much too aggressive, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment,"
Dara
said kindly, sitting back slightly as the English beer arrived. She watched him pay the cocktail waitress and then continued charmingly, "I don't seduce potential clients—physically, that is. I prefer the intellectual approach.
Makes for a better long-term working relationship."

"The intellectual approach?"
He looked skeptical as he poured the foaming beer into a tall glass. "You're going to wow me with your brilliant market strategy?"

"Something
like
that. After all, if I bring my taxes to you to prepare I'm going to want some assurance you can at least use a calculator."

"Meaning it wouldn't matter how good I am in bed?" he said wistfully, sipping his beer.

Dara
gave him a haughty look, torn between laughter and the need to put him in his place. Already the polite, conservative image was slipping away. She had been right to force him gently out of his adopted element in an effort to discover what lay below the surface, but it suddenly occurred to her that what she uncovered might not be quite so manageable. At least in the guise of conservative accountant, Yale Ransom could be easily dealt with.

"Meaning you ought to have some interest in my ability as a stockbroker!"

"I'll find out soon enough, won't I?" he countered.

"You're going to give Edison, Stanford and Zane your account?" she pressed.

"Probably.
This is a small town. It's not as if I had a great deal of choice," he said smoothly.

"True." She grinned wickedly.

"What remains to be seen is whether or not I get you for my personal broker."

"Surely you're not going to tell me that will depend on how agreeable I am tonight?''
Dara
said loftily, daring him to come right out and proposition her.

As she had expected, Yale backed down from a direct confrontation on the subject. Something flickered and was gone in the hazel eyes, and she nodded to herself, satisfied.

"I didn't think so," she said sweetly. "Now, are you going to dance with me?"

"I already feel rather out of place just sitting here,'' he complained ruefully, glancing over at the packed dance floor
. "
I'd feel an absolute idiot out there!"

"Give it a try, Yale. Please?"

"Where did you learn to pout so endearingly?" he inquired wryly.

"I'm not pouting, I'm being persuasive!"
Dara
snapped, slightly miffed at the comment.

"I beg your pardon," he said quickly, laughter in the hazel eyes. "I didn't mean to imply you were one of those annoying females who
gets
her way by threatening to sulk."

"Yes, you did, but I'm going to ignore it. I'm too anxious to get you out onto the dance floor."

"Why?" Yale tossed her an unexpectedly stark look which vanished almost immediately.

"Because I like to dance, of course.
Why do you think I brought you here?"
Dara
smiled dazzlingly.

"You wanted to make me feel uncomfortable? Out of my element?" he guessed coolly.

"No!" But there was a trace of guilt behind the word, and
Dara
was afraid she might not have hidden it with complete success. She did want to jar him a little, watch him react to a situation where he could not hide behind his image. She felt an almost reckless urge to find out what lay behind that conservative, Southern-gentleman exterior.

"You're a little old to be playing games like this, aren't you?" Yale asked after a moment's thought.

"Games!
I'm not playing games! You asked me to leave the party with you and then you asked me where I wanted to go dancing. I've been nothing but straight-forward about the whole thing!"

He favored her with a narrow stare for a moment and then set down his beer abruptly.
"All right.
We'll dance."

"Now?
But they've just changed to a slow number. I wanted—"

"You wanted to dance. I'm offering this one. Take it or leave it."

Dara
got to her feet without further argument. "It really is slipping, Yale. I feel in all fairness that I ought to warn you again," she whispered as he led her out onto the wooden floor and took her quite formally in his arms.

"My gentlemanly image?" he hazarded. "It's probably not surprising. You've been provoking me all evening. I wonder why. Did you think that getting my attention like this was the best way to go about getting my account?"

"Is it?"
Dara
leaned her head against his shoulder, forcing a closer intimacy than he had attempted.

"Beats me," Yale admitted, relaxing his grip and letting his body make contact with hers. "I guess we'll find out, won't we? What's wrong with my image, anyway?" He sounded interested.

"I don't know,"
Dara
told him honestly, a slow smile quirking her mouth as she nestled her head against the expensive material of his jacket and closed her eyes. "Something about it isn't quite real."

"You don't believe I'm really an accountant?"

"Of course I believe you're an accountant! It's not that..."

"Are you sleepy?" he asked suddenly, ignoring her comment.

Gray-green eyes flickered open and she met his slightly frowning look.

"A little.
I've had a long day. Stockbrokers get up early, you know. I'm at the office by seven on weekday mornings. What's the matter? You don't like women falling asleep on your shoulder while you're dancing with them?"

"Not particularly."

"Then you should have danced a fast one with me. That would have perked me up considerably,"
Dara
advised him.

"I'll remember that. In the meantime, try not to drift off completely, will you? I feel idiotic enough out here with all these fake cowboys. Carrying you off the floor isn't going to make me feel any more at home!"

"You sound annoyed,"
Dara
told him, aware of the lean length of him as the dance grew a little more intimate. Strange how her soft curves seemed to fit the hardness of him. Was he responding to her? She couldn't be sure. There was
an aloofness
to Yale Ransom at the moment As if he were deliberately trying to put some distance between them.

"Do I? Does that worry you?"

"Nope."

"Maybe it should," he suggested dryly.

"I'm not afraid of losing your account,"
Dara
returned blithely.

"Edison, Stanford and Zane might not appreciate your losing it!"

"Am I in any danger of letting down the firm?" she taunted.

"You haven't got your hands on my money yet," he reminded her with a small smile.

"The evening's young," she teased.

"Perhaps, but you've already admitted you're in danger of falling asleep."

"So keep me awake. Tell me about yourself, Yale Ransom."

"Stop snuggling!" Yale muttered feelingly. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Too old to snuggle, I expect."
Dara
sighed. "I'm thirty. How old are you?"

"Thirty-seven," he answered shortly, as if his mind were on something else. "You're not married, are you? It would be just my luck to have an irate husband come barging in."

"Relax," she soothed. "I'm not married. Not anymore. Besides, I told you I'd take care of you in here, didn't I? Trust me."