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
"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
Similar Books
