Reckless Passion (3 page)

"Not anymore," he repeated thoughtfully. "But you were once."

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Do you really want to know?" she asked a little distantly.

"Yes," he said with sudden conviction. "I think I do."

"Six months into the marriage my husband realized he'd made a terrible mistake. Unfortunately for me, his ex-fiancée, who had broken off with him to marry another man, made the same discovery at about the same
time.
"
Dara
shrugged philosophically. "It seemed my husband had been on the rebound when he set about sweeping me off my feet. When both he and his former lover realized they'd made a tragic error, there wasn't anything for them to do except apologize profusely to their respective spouses and ask for divorces."

There was a moment's silence above her head while Yale considered the brief story.

"You sound remarkably understanding," he finally said quietly.

"It all happened a long time ago," she said softly, opening her eyes to study the hard line of his jaw. "I don't think about it much anymore."

"But you haven't remarried, either."

"No. There are other things in life." She smiled. "What about you, Yale? Have you ever been married?"

"Yes."

She waited, and when no further information was forthcoming,
Dara
tried probing.
"A long time ago?"

"Um-hmm."

"Before you became a Southern-gentleman accountant?"

"You are an inquisitive little thing, aren't you?" he charged with a stifled groan. His hold on her tightened, but
Dara
was inclined to think that it was more in irritation than anything else.

"I like to know my clients," she explained placidly, waiting with a hopeful expression for further details of his past

"So you keep saying." Yale angled his head downward, the smoky light illuminating the honey-colored, neatly trimmed hair. "Are you sure you want to know so much about me?"

"Are you trying to warn me that I might not like what I discover?" She grinned.

"It's a possibility."

"Try me."

"It's tempting."

"I meant try telling me something about
yourself
!"
Dara
snapped tersely, mildly annoyed by his sexual interpretation of her words. Why did men always concentrate on the physical side of a budding relationship? Didn't they realize that there were more important matters between a man and a woman? Matters which should be dealt with before the physical side of things
was
explored?

"Oh."

She could almost feel him thinking it over and waited impatiently for his decision.

"Perhaps," Yale said slowly, "I ought to show you."

"Show me?" She tipped her head quizzically to one side as the dance drew to a close and they stopped moving.

"
Mmm
.
How badly do you want to know me,
Dara
Bancroft?'' he asked almost whimsically as he led her off the floor. His arm was wrapped rather casually around her waist, but
Dara
liked the feel of it.

"You make it all sound very mysterious," she countered impishly.

"It's not. It's just that no one's ever been so insistent about it. In fact," he told her with sudden decision, "I don't think anyone's ever even realized..."

"Realized what?" she pressed eagerly.

"Come on, my curious little tabby cat, and I'll show you." He grinned. The flashing gold tooth winked devilishly and
Dara
felt a small chill slip down her spine. What was she getting into by pushing Yale Ransom like this? One thing was certain. She couldn't stop now. She would spend the rest of her life wondering about him. She knew that much with crystal certainty.

It was unfortunate, though, she told herself wryly as he helped her back into her coat,
that
he thought of her as only a curious little tabby cat.

Without a word, Yale led her out of the glittering, rhinestone-cowboy nightclub.

Two

Are
you crazy?"
Dara
laughed, half appalled as she realized their destination some fifteen minutes later. "That's a roadhouse! A truck stop!
The
real
kind."

"Afraid?" Yale asked succinctly, glancing at the parking lot full of trucks, large and small, and cruising on past to a point almost two blocks farther along the street.

"Talk about feeling out of place!"
Dara
exclaimed, ignoring his question. "What are you trying to prove?"

"I asked you if you were afraid."

She thought about that for a moment. "Well, no, not exactly. Not as long as you're with me, but..."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He grinned, parking the Alfa Romeo and climbing out.

"Why are we parking way down here? There was room in the lot."
Dara
watched, brow wrinkling in puzzled fashion as Yale slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the seat. His tie went next.

"Because I don't want to take a chance on coming back and finding the car door accidentally kicked in," he explained as if she weren't very bright.

"Accidentally?" she murmured, climbing out of her side of the car and facing him across the roof. He was unbuttoning the top two buttons on his white shirt and rolling the sleeves.

"Accidents sometimes happen around places like this." Yale grinned.

She watched in growing fascination now as he removed his glasses and tucked them into a case in his shirt pocket. Then he raked a hand carelessly through his amber-shaded hair and the grin broadened. Gold gleamed in the moonlight.

"My God!"
Dara
breathed,
her eyes full of laughter. "'If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it!"

She turned as he walked around the hood of the car and came to stand beside her. Deliberately she ran an eye over him from head to foot.

"I can see that only one of us is going to feel out of place here," she finally groaned, shaking her head at the transformation. "You look like you just stepped off the rodeo circuit!"

"Don't worry about how you look," Yale told her consolingly. "I'll take care of you."

"You'd better! Remember that I didn't let anything terrible happen to you at
my
nightclub!" She slipped off her coat and left it behind.

"Trust me," he instructed, lacing her close to his side with a strangely possessive arm around her shoulders.

Dara
shot him a quick glance from under her lashes at the familiarity of the grip but said nothing. In any event, her unspoken question was answered almost as soon as they stepped inside the loud, smoky tavern. Several male heads turned to run frankly sexual gazes over her rounded curves.

Dara
felt like a prize palomino being led around an auction ring. This sort of inspection might be common in taverns and nightclubs the world over, but she was accustomed to it being performed in a more subtle manner. The crowd here was not subtle.

But the interested eye always came to a halt when they took in the sight of the sinewy arm anchoring her to Yale's side. After one last, assessing glance at her companion most of the eyes turned back to other subjects, such as the beer on the table or the sultry female lead singer with the band. With a wry grimace,
Dara
admitted that the possessiveness in Yale's hold was purely for her own protection.

"I suppose there's a point to all this?" she forced herself to say flippantly as Yale found a table and settled her into a chair.

"My bringing you here?
You asked for it. Remember that," he went on with a touch of grimness. "Whatever happens tonight, you asked for it!"

Some of her laughter fading,
Dara
stared at him. "Are you angry with me?"

He stared back for another moment. "I can't decide whether I am or not."

Dara
bit her lip, suddenly contrite. Her gray-green eyes widened in genuine apology. "Yale, I'm sorry if I've made you show me something you didn't want to show me about yourself. I never meant—"

"Didn't you?" he asked cryptically,
signalling
the blond waitress for two beers. American beers,
Dara
realized vaguely. That was the only sort the bar featured.

“Well, I admit I was curious.'' She sighed ruefully. "But I still don't understand everything. What's the big mystery? That you're at home in places like this? What did you do for a living before you became an accountant?"

He leaned back in his chair and studied her anxious expression.
Dara
would have given a great deal to know exactly what he was thinking.

"A lot of things," he finally said evenly, his eyes intent.

"You weren't raised on a charming, picture-book plantation with lots of history and money and the right Southern schools, were you?"
Dara
risked, her eyes smiling across the table at him. She willed him to respond, but he continued to watch her with that implacable gaze.

"Not quite," he said absently, fishing out cash for the impatient waitress. When she'd left with a fat tip, Yale finally seemed to come to a decision. "I was raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Know
them?"
xxx

"North Carolina?
Somewhere around Asheville?"
At least he was talking, she thought hopefully.

He nodded.

"So?"

"So—" Yale drew a deep breath as if about to plunge into a cold pool—"I've spent a lot of time and effort leaving those damn mountains and all they stood for behind me. I've put a couple of thousand miles between me and them, as well as a college education and a better accent. I've changed almost everything I could change, and over the past several years I've built a very successful image. Then you come along and in the space of a couple of hours tear through all my fine plumage demanding to know the real me."

"I see,"
Dara
whispered, guilt rising now that she began to realize exactly what she'd done. "But I don't understand why you bothered. You could have told me to mind my own business. You didn't have to ask me to leave the party with you. You didn't—"

"I don't know why I did it, myself," Yale said quietly. "Would you like to dance?"

"Yale, I think we ought to talk about this first,"
Dara
began earnestly. "I mean, everyone knows that part of the country has a lot of poverty, but I don't see why you should be so determined to forget you came from there. Everyone also knows the mountain people have a lot of pride and courage and—"

"Are you going to dance with me or not?" he interrupted as if she hadn't spoken.

Dara
sighed. He wasn't in the mood for a philosophical discussion of his origins. That much was obvious.

"Yes, I'd like to dance," she said softly, getting to her feet

The band slipped into a twanging waltz, the singer crying out a song of unfaithful men who spent their nights in taverns like this one and left their women alone at home.

"I thought the mountain music was more of the bluegrass type,"
Dara
couldn't resist saying as Yale took her into his arms.

"Sorry. This was as close as I could get. I'm sure the band knows a few bluegrass tunes," Yale told her shortly.

There was silence between them as they moved round the floor to the country waltz.
Dara
tried to think of something to say, anything to break the strange mood she had created. At least Yale was holding her closer now, she told herself with determined cheer. He might be a little angry at her, but he wasn't trying to keep her at a physical distance the way he had earlier. Nestling her head against his shoulder, she took advantage of that small concession.

But she couldn't keep silent long. The urge to know the full truth about her escort was overpowering.

"What
did
you do before you became an accountant?" she finally dared to ask softly, speaking into the fabric of his shirt. She felt his arms stiffen around her.

"You don't seem to know when you've pushed your luck far enough," Yale observed almost mildly above her head.

"I'm sorry," she murmured humbly. "I can't help it. I want to know."

"Are you this curious about all your potential clients?" he drawled. Some of the aristocratic Southern accent was fading to be replaced by a slightly different inflection.
From the mountains?
she
wondered.

"No,"
Dara
admitted honestly.

"I suggest you don't ask any more questions tonight, honey," Yale advised very gently. "You've gone far enough."

Dara
raised her head and opened her eyes at the faint warning in his words. Yet another question hovered on her lips, and she was on the verge of asking it when a gleam of purely masculine impatience lit the hazel eyes gazing down into hers. Before she could get the words out of her mouth, Yale took action to silence her very effectively.

Bending his head, he took her lips with a slow, forceful possession that startled
Dara
into momentary blankness. For an instant she struggled instinctively, not so much against the kiss itself, but against having her next question cut off so completely.

He never missed a beat of the waltz as he tightened his arms, stilling her automatic protest. Then he placed the hand he was holding around his neck so that her arms were circling him in an intimate dancing posture. His fingers moved with deliberate exploration down her sides, into the curve of her waist, and came to a rest on the flare of her hips.

Telling herself that he was beginning to get out of line,
Dara
made a move to break off the kiss, but he diverted the effort by using his hands to press her close against the lower half of his body. His mouth moved tantalizing on hers as he forced her into the hardness of his hips.

With growing shock,
Dara
finally realized she was being made love to in the middle of a dance floor. No one else seemed the least bit scandalized, she had to acknowledge. The other couples on the floor were equally involved with each other. But she wasn't used to this sort of public display, she told herself firmly, trying and failing once more to pull back.

Helplessly she found herself molded against Yale's lean length. She could sense the arousal growing in him, felt it in the deepening kiss which was threatening to swamp her senses. His tongue probed her bruised lips, seeking entrance to the warmth of her mouth.

Dara
tried to remain firm in the face of the seductive invasion, telling herself this simply wasn't the place for that sort of thing, regardless of how inviting Yale made it seem. But his fingers began stroking the small of her back, finding the sensitive area at the base of her spine and massaging it sensuously.

"Oh, Yale," she groaned huskily against his mouth, and as she spoke the words he took advantage of the opportunity to force his way gently past her teeth.

The kiss exploded in heated sexual energy, destroying the last of her feeble defenses. Without another thought,
Dara
stopped trying to resist the impulse to simply let her full weight lean into the strength of him.

She felt her high, curving breasts crushed against the muscular chest, knew the power in Yale's thighs and felt his desire for her. It shocked her senses, sending answering thrills out to her fingertips, and she knew she was making small, helpless sounds deep in her throat.

When her arms tightened around his neck, Yale rasped her name into her mouth and she felt the tremor of barely hidden passion which went through him. He wanted her, she realized dazedly. He truly wanted her! All the hope and excitement which had blazed so unexpectedly into life earlier in the evening when she'd given him her hand in greeting was culminating in a sense of wonder. Who would have thought that she would have to wait until she was thirty to know this sensation...?

Or that she would find it in the middle of a honky-tonk dance floor?
the
humorous side of her nature tossed in for good measure as Yale's hands slid down to follow the curve of her buttocks beneath the soft material of her dress. She shivered at the caress.