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.
The twanging waltz came to a close and sensuously entwined dancers began making their way slowly off the floor as the strains of a toe-tapping railroad song took over.
Yale's arm guided her through the smoke-filled, dimly lit room, past a table of raucous truck drivers who watched in open male appreciation as she walked by them. Self-consciously, Dara kept her eyes on the far wall, grateful for Yale's possessive arm on her waist.
"I think we've got a visitor," Yale said calmly as they neared their table. The sound effects of a nearby electronic pinball game covered his next words, and Dara glanced up curiously. Then she saw the husky stranger sitting at their table.
The large man, balding on to and wearing a belt which had to be buckled below his stomach to accommodate his bulk, stood up at once as they approached.
"Sorry, folks." He grinned good-naturedly. "Tables are kind of scarce, and I was taking a chance this one might have been recently vacated." His bright blue eyes dropped interestedly to Dara's neckline with the appraising look she was coming to expect. "I'll be moving on," he added, picking up his bottle of beer. "Reckon there's always a spot at the bar..."
"That's all right," Yale said easily, surprising Dara. "Why don't you join us for a while? We don't mind sharing, do we, Dara?"
Dara shook her head and smiled politely, thinking that Yale's accent seemed to be changing more and more quickly. He was beginning to sound a little like the truck driver who had just taken their table.
"I appreciate that, friend." Their new acquaintance grinned, resuming his seat as Dara sat down. "I won't be staying long. Got a lot of miles ahead of me tonight."
"Where you headed?" Yale asked laconically, reaching for his beer.
"Sacramento."
"Home port?"
"You can say that again," the stranger breathed with an air of great expectation. "Got a wife and kid waitin' there. Name's Bonner, by the way. Hank Bonner."
Yale introduced himself and Dara, and when Hank's eyes strayed to her neckline, Dara felt obliged to try some sort of distraction.
"I, uh, expect your wife must miss you when you're gone on these long trips," she said gently. "I take it you drive a truck?''
"You take it right. And I surely hope to God she's been missing me!" Hank said in a heartfelt tone.
"How old is your child?" Dara persevered bravely, wishing he wouldn't look at her quite so interestedly.
"Two." Hank brightened suddenly. "Got a picture. Want to see it?"
"Oh, I'd love to." She smiled quickly.
She was aware of Yale's silent amusement as Hank Bonner began dragging photographs out of his wallet. He had several pictures, it seemed, of a smiling, dark-haired woman holding a young boy. He spread them out in front of Dara with obvious pleasure.
"Took this one out behind the house last month. That's the new camper I just bought, and this one's on the front lawn. Wife wanted that new patio furniture so bad I finally had to break down and get it for her," he said, shaking his head affectionately. "No peace at all until it arrived. Guess women are like that, huh, Ransom?" He grinned.
Yale's mouth lifted slightly at the corners. "I guess so. No peace at all until they get what they're after."
Dara ignored his sardonic glance, but she couldn't fully ignore his next words. "The interesting part is watching them find out if they really wanted it after they've gotten it."
"I'd be willing to bet that women know their own minds better than men ever will!" she stated firmly, shooting Yale a severe glance.
"That's a fact!" Hank Bonner agreed, chuckling. "Probably ain't a man alive who really understands a woman's mind!"
"No great loss, I reckon, as long as he understands the rest of her," Yale said smoothly, sipping his beer and watching the color climb in Dara's chee
ks.
"The man who doesn't make an effort to understand both is only going to get half the satisfaction out of a relationship!" she heard herself say crisply.
"But it's likely to be the half that counts," Yale retorted coolly while Hank roared with laughter. Dara glared at him.
"I like this little lady of yours, Ransom. Don't suppose you'd let me have a dance with her, would you?" Hank asked hopefully.
Dara winced. It was obvious her feelings didn't matter. As far as Hank was concerned, she was private property and he had to request permission from the owner, not the property!
Yale shrugged. "Ask her yourself. I guess she can do what she wants."
"I'll keep her safe and sound," Hank vowed, getting to his feet and clearly expecting Dara to do the same.
Thoroughly annoyed but not yet at the point where she was wilting to cause a scene in such unfamiliar territory, Dara allowed herself to be led off by Hank Bonner.
"Where'd Ransom meet a little lady like you?" Hank asked glibly as he took her into his arms for another country waltz. "You come here often?"
"This is my first time here," Dara said politely. "As you've probably already guessed," she added as Hank grinned broadly.
"No offense, ma'am, but you are a little different from the kind of woman I normally find here."
"Do I look so out of place?"
"Just different," he repeated soothingly. "So where did you meet Ransom if not here?"
"You mean he does look like he belongs here?" she asked immediately, curious once again. It would be helpful to have another opinion on the man, she thought.
Hank Bonner chuckled. "Sure. I'm just wonderin' where he had to go to find you, that's all."
"A party," Dara explained weakly.
"Must have been some party!"
Dara wisely let that one go and concentrated on following Hank's energetic waltzing. Eventually the dance came to an end and Dara turned with relief to head back to the table. Somehow, in spite of his less than gentlemanly behavior this evening, Yale represented safety in this strange place. She was turning that one over in her head when a very drunken cowboy loomed in her path.
"Is the lady beginnin' to circulate?" he drawled deliberately, dark eyes moving crudely over Dara. “It so happens I'm lookin' for a partner..." He stretched out a hand to snag her wrist and Dara instinctively withdrew, bumping against Hank's protruding stomach. His arm came around her protectively.
"Sorry, the lady's only on temporary loan to me. Got to return her to the rightful owner," Hank explained breezily. But Dara could feel the sudden tightening of his muscles.
Oh, Lord! she thought, horrified. She mustn't let this turn into a fight!
"Excuse me," she said very firmly. "I have to get back to my table."
"Come on, honey," the drunken cowboy said, his words slurring as he tried once again for a grip on her wrist. "I dance a hell of a lot better than this turkey, and as long as your man's lectin' you entertain others..."
"Let go of me, you idiot!" Dara grated, pulling her hand free with a totally exasperated movement.
"You heard her," Hank growled, and now Dara knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her dancing partner was preparing for battle.
Beginning to panic, she scanned the teeming crowd for Yale.
"Stop it, both of you," she tried in desperation. "I'm not going to dance with anyone...!"
"Except me," the cowboy muttered.
"Yale!" Instinctively, Dara put herself between the two men who seemed on the verge of a fist fight. "Yale! Where the...oh! There you are!"
She saw him as he suddenly appeared behind the cowboy and tore herself free of Hank's protection to hurl herself into Yale's arms.
"It's about time you showed up!" she hissed as he curved his arm around her waist and held her against his side.
"Didn't take you long to start causing trouble, did it?" he observed placidly, his eyes on the drunk. "A slight misunderstanding here?"
"Ah, he's just bombed out of his skull," Hank explained disparagingly, sauntering forward. "Thought Dara was spreading the favors around. I was about to set him straight, but now you're here I reckon that's your right."
"No one is going to set anyone straight!" Dara yelped angrily. "I'm not going to dance with anyone! Is that clear?"
"As crystal," Yale confirmed, grinning down at her. "Ready to sit down?"
"Yes!"
"Then, if you'll excuse us," Yale told the cowboy imperturbably, "we'll be on our way. Unless, of course," he added silkily, "you have some objection?"
Dara froze, realizing with appalled comprehension that Yale was as fully prepared to fight as Hank had been. What was the matter with these men? Was that the only solution they had to "misunderstandings" of this nature?
"Yale, please," she whispered fiercely, tugging at his sleeve. He ignored her, his narrowed, waiting gaze on the cowboy.
"I thought she was being allowed off the leash," the drunken man muttered. "Not my fault..."
"As I said, a misunderstanding." Yale nodded pleasantly. But Dara could feel the tautness of his muscles and knew he was still coiled to strike. "I'm sure you can find another woman. This one's mine."
With a frustrated and angry glance at Dara, the man wheeled unsteadily and plunged off through the crowd.
''A sigh of relief?" Yale murmured, his fingers, which were resting just under her breast, correctly interpreting her long breath.
"You don't have to look so nervous, Dara," Hank told her soothingly. "Ransom ain't gonna let anything happen to you."
"I can't tell you how reassuring that is!" she snapped without thinking, her annoyance plain.
"Why are you so upset?" Hank demanded, genuinely puzzled. "You don't want to dance with that creep, and we're here to make sure you don't have to!"
"Just another example of not being able to understand a woman's mind, Hank," Yale quipped, pushing Dara gently back toward the table. “Do what you think she wants and help her out of a situation, and the first thing she does is lose her temper!'
“The temptation to knock both your heads together is rapidly become irresistible," Dara informed them grandly, taking her seat. "You might be able to defend me against drunken fools, but who's going to defend you against me?"
"She's got a point," Yale conceded, grinning at Hank.
"That she does," Hank agreed admiringly. "A good point like that deserves another beer. I'm buying!"
Dara reflected much later that they might all still have managed to get out of the tavern without a fight if the frustrated drunk hadn't decided to take out his anger on the pinball machine.
At least, she assumed that was what initiated the disaster. There was a loud, shattering sound from the direction of the game machines shortly after the arrival of the beers Hank had ordered.
"What in the world...!" Dara swung around to stare in the direction everyone else was staring, but it was impossible to see exactly what was happening. The group of men standing around the machines seemed to turn into a brawling riot before her very eyes.
"It would appear this enchanting evening is about to come to a close." Yale groaned, getting lithely to his feet as chaos erupted. The band played on, oblivious to the shouts and yells and bodies spilling onto the dance floor.
"Yale!" she squeaked, once more seeking the sanctuary of his smoothly muscled strength. "What's going on?"
"Guess," he invited succinctly, turning toward the door and shoving her unceremoniously in front of him. "'Bye, Hank. Nice meeting you. Have a good trip down to Sac...."
"Reckon I will at that," Hank agreed cheerfully, grabbing his jacket and loping after them as he tossed a vaguely regretful glance back over his shoulder at the rapidly expanding fight.
The sounds of breaking glass and male war calls were all around Dara as Yale hustled her through the mob. She gasped as the path which had appeared momentarily clear toward the door was suddenly littered with brawling men.
"This way,"
Yale ordered, pulling her off course in an attempt to circle the melee.
"What the hell you think you're doin', pal?" Hank's voice demanded behind them.
Dara felt Yale hesitate and then turn to see what had happened to Hank. She swiveled with him, and both were in time to watch their table partner deflect a swinging beer bottle with his jacket-wrapped arm. An instant later he was planting a huge, square fist into the face of the man who had swung the bottle.
Before he could recover his balance, though, another man surged out of the mob, swinging a bottle. It was the drunken cowboy who had insisted on dancing with her, Dara realized dazedly.
She thought he was going to bring the bottle down on Hank's balding head, but before that could happen, Yale had left her side to intercept.
Hands across her mouth in the traditional pose of feminine shock, Dara gazed, stunned, as Yale stopped the drunk with an arcing fist. The drunken cowboy sank to the floor, blissfully unconscious.
"Hey, thanks, Ransom. That's one I owe ya." Hank beamed.
"Come on, both of you. Let's get out of here," Yale ordered, forcing his way once more toward the door.
From somewhere in the distance the wail of a police siren sounded.
"Some spoilsport must have called the cops," Hank muttered as the three of them made the door and staggered out into the parking lot. "Yup, here they come. Where you guys parked?"
"A couple of blocks away," Yale growled, grasping Dara's wrist and yanking her in the proper direction.
"You'll never make it, and they'll be lookin' for everyone they can get their hands on... Come on. My truck's out back!"
"Hank!" Dara exclaimed as she caught sight of a dark splotch on his hand. "What happened? You've been cut!"
"That bottle raked across my knuckles. Don't worry, I'll be all right."
Reckless Passion Page 3
