Reckless Passion

by Stephanie James

  "Those are my terms, Yale," she breathed, her face buried in the material of his shirt as she waited with agonized suspense for the results of her reckless play. Nothing should have been more guaranteed to stop his seduction routine than the knowledge that she would be expecting marriage! Dara was certain of her weapon. The only thing she wasn't certain of was whether or not she had really wanted to use it. An­other night with Yale Ransom was a temptation be­yond any she had ever experienced.

  "I'm amazed you think so highly of my sense of honor," he observed coolly, dropping a feather-light kiss on her temple.

  Dara gave a small start of surprise. "There's no doubt in my mind that you're a man who likes to stay on even terms with the world," she gritted. "You seem to have a pay-as-you-go philosophy about life. You proved that this morning!"

  "When I told you you could have my account?" He groaned and then kissed her throat just below her ear. "You may be right."

  "And you're not a fool..." she went on carefully, wishing her body didn't react so strongly to a man she had known such a short time.

  "That's a more debatable point."

  "Not foolish enough to commit yourself to mar­riage with a woman you've only known a little over twenty-four hours!" she declared, bitter triumph lac­ing her words.

  "I'll admit the price you're setting on yourself to­night is a bit steep," he hedged, his mouth traveling down to the curve of her shoulder.

  "And I'm going to stick to it. I won't sell myself as cheaply as you seem to think I did last night!" she cried wretchedly.

  "If that's the way you want it," he said slowly, and she thought she felt him tense. He was going to leave. She knew it. Knew it and wanted insanely to call back her words.

  But it was too late. She had made her decision and she would force herself to abide by it. There was the future to think about tonight, not just a few tempting hours of ecstasy with a man who considered love a business transaction!

  "As long as we understand each other," he whis­pered thickly, "we might as well get on with the transaction."

  He moved, sweeping her into his arms with a smooth power that took away her breath.

  "Yale! What are you doing?" she gasped as he started down the short hall to her bedroom. "Put me down!"

  "Why? You set the terms. Don't tell me you're going to try to back out of them now."

  "That's right!" she rasped furiously. "I set the terms. And I'm going to make you stick to them! I swear it!'

  "Okay," he said simply, using a large foot to open the door to her darkened bedroom.

  "What do you mean, 'okay'?" she yelped, the combination of passion and anger heating her veins until she felt liquid fire running through her body.

  "I accept the terms," he explained evenly, drop­ping her lightly onto the old-fashioned country-patterned quilt that covered the four-poster bed.

  She stared up at him, trying to make out his ex­pression in the dimly lit room. She was curled in a shaft of fight which fell onto the bed from the hall and she felt extraordinarily vulnerable. Everything was going wrong. She had been so sure her demand would send him fleeing into the night!

  "You can't be serious!" she tried, her eyes fas­tened on him in utter fascination. "Do you know what you're saying?"

  Even though he stood in the shadows, Dara couldn't miss the flash of gold in his slow, sardonic grin. "Don't worry about me," he advised, stripping off his shirt and letting it fall, unheeded, to the carpet. "You should be asking yourself that question. Be­tween last night and tonight you're going to find your­self with both me and my account to handle. And we're both going to take a lot of time and attention."

  Dara scrambled to her knees on the bed, not know­ing whether to lash out at him or open her arms to receive him. Was he mad? She wasn't the sort of woman who drove men to rash extremes! She hadn't even been able to seduce her ex-husband away from thoughts of his former fiancée!

  Dara put out a hand in uncertain appeal as Yale began efficient work on his belt buckle.

  "Yale, listen to me. You're not talking about a...a short fling with a woman you happened to meet at a party! You're standing there, telling me you're going to marry me! In the morning you're going to have all sorts of regrets, call yourself a fool! Don't you un­derstand?"

  "After what we found between us last night, I don't see any reason why I should have regrets," he count-ered, stepping out of the rest of his clothes as if he were accustomed to undressing in her bedroom. Or as if he expected to become accustomed to it.

  "Well, what about me?" she tried, unable to keep her longing gaze away from the tanned and powerful male body standing in front of her. "Think about what you're doing to me!"

  "I don't have to think about that. You've already done your own thinking and set your own price. I'm willing to pay it. What could be simpler?"

  He put one knee on the bed and reached for her. Panicked, Dara wriggled backward, getting shakily to her feet1 on the opposite side. She retreated swiftly, convinced he would pounce at her.

  But he didn't move. Instead, Yale sat patiently on the edge of the bed and watched her with persuasive, gleaming eyes. His voice was unbelievably dark and silky on her nerves.

  "Don't run from me, my darling Dara. Haven't I agreed to give you everything you've asked for? What more can a man do? I want you. Badly enough to pay your price. And you know you want me. Come here and let me show you...."

  She felt her senses reeling at the seductive tendrils curling around her and she knew she was going to be caught up in the spell of him as she had been last night. How could a woman deny the man she loved? It was like denying her own breath. It went against all her natural instincts. And he was going to marry her!

  "Come here, little tabby cat," he coaxed with elec­trifying tenderness. "Come and warm me with your passion and your need. I want to feel the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts. I want to know that moment when you lose control and give yourself completely. I want to feel you take me inside and make me a part of you...."

  "Oh, Yale," Dara whispered weakly, knowing her resistance was rapidly collapsing and helpless to stop it.

  He held out his hand invitingly, and in spite of herself, Dara took a tentative step forward toward the bed. He was drawing her close with invisible bonds that had been forged last night and could never be unmade. She knew that in the deepest recesses of her mind. As long as Yale chose to chain her she was caught.

  "I meant it, Yale," she tried valiantly as she stopped at the edge of the bed. His hand was still extended in silent demand. "I really meant it. If...if you go through with this I will expect nothing less than marriage!"

  He moved then with unexpected swiftness, snag­ging her wrist and pulling her down beside him. He rolled heavily onto her, crushing her into the quilt and gazing down into her startled eyes with masculine triumph.

  "I never supposed you didn't," he assured her with a low groan of desire.

  And then he was covering her mouth with his own, plundering the warmth he found there as if the pre­vious night had only whetted his appetite. She was held fettered beneath his heavy strength while he mas­tered her senses once more.

  "Yale, why do I let you do this to me?" Dara said huskily, coming alive under his touch.

  "When you know the answer to that, tell me," he ordered gruffly.

  Confident now of her willing compliance, Yale shifted, moving onto his back and pulling her into an abandoned sprawl across his chest. He slid the dress from her shoulders, past her waist, leaving her to kick free of the confining folds.

  "You fill my hands so perfectly," he marveled, deftly unsnapping the front clasp of her bra and let­ting her soft femininity spill into his waiting hands.

  Dara moaned deeply with mounting anticipation as her nipples rose to the touch of his thumb and fore­finger. Unconsciously she arched her lower body against the pulsating maleness of him.

  "Show me how an Oregon woman treats the man she's going to marry," Yale growled roughly, his ha
nds moving down to her waist and over the curve of her hips, urging her closer.

  Dara closed her eyes and gave herself over to the need they shared. Throwing any remaining caution to the winds, she allowed her love full rein.

  Her lips sought his willingly, enticing a response that was granted immediately. She felt him groan as her breasts brushed teasingly against his chest, and his undisguised response encouraged her as nothing else could have done.

  Her excitement scaling ever upward, Dara probed against the challenge of his tongue, defeating it ut­terly, and then she withdrew to explore the tips of his ears.

  "You'll pay for that," he rasped in tantalizing menace as she carefully closed her teeth around one lobe. His fingertips sank sharply into her buttocks and scored a flickering pattern of excruciating, exhilarat­ing stimu-lation which coursed down to her toes.

  "Oh!" Dara's cry was one of feminine need and desire, and it seemed to act on him just as her hands and lips had acted.

  But it also unleashed a totally unfamiliar aggres­sion in her. A fantasy of power and seduction which Dara would never have dreamed she had. This man was hers. She had pushed him into a promise of mar­riage, a promise which she fully intended he should keep. He thought he was merely paying the price she had set, but there was more to it, much more. He was going to learn that he belonged to her, she decided exuberantly.

  "My tabby cat is secretly a wildcat," Yale mut­tered in astonished wonder as Dara began a feverish explorat-ion of his body. "My God, little one. You drive me crazy!'

  She trailed kisses of damp passion down his throat, into the hollow of his shoulder and out to the sensitive inside of his elbow. His hands wrapped themselves in the heavy tangle of her hair as she kissed the warm skin of his stomach. His legs shifted heavily, rest­lessly, around her as she moved down to his thighs.

  Once again she used her teeth, nipping with playful passion at the muscled tautness of him. She felt the rising desire that threatened to put an end to her bold loveplay and swiftly captured his wrists.

  Dara was too caught up in the excitement and won­der of her newfound arrogance and aggression to re­alize she wasn't exactly mastering his strength with her own. The fact that he was submissive before her onslaught was enough. She would make him remem­ber this night, she told herself as she moved upward again, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists be­side his head.

  "A wildcat," he grated hoarsely, no fighting the restraint of her hands as she leaned over to kiss him deeply, hungrily, persuasively. His body lifted, seek­ing hers, but she resisted, teasing him with a wanton­ness that amazed a small corner of her mind. This couldn't be her, that corner protested, quite shocked.

  But it was, and Dara thrilled to the knowledge. She had known this man was crucial to her future happi-ness, but she had never dreamed he would open this door to her physical responses.

  "Come and claim your man, woman!" Yale's soft command came tightly as she nibbled on his shoulder. She felt him arch upward again, urging her to com­plete the union.

  But the wildness of her mood was not to be so easily coaxed back to the yielding Yale's body wanted. She would show this man he was at her mercy, make him acknowledge his desire for her. He would discover what it meant to be the one who sub­mitted.

  She lifted her head from his throat long enough to laugh a siren's laugh, gazing down into his gleaming hazel eyes.

  "Do you want me, Yale?" she breathed.

  "Want you, need you, desire you..." His head moved once on the pillow in silent disgust with the lack of sufficient words. Then he groaned with deep insistence. “Finish your seduction, tabby cat. Put me out of this misery. I can't stand your teasing much longer!"

  "Misery?" She pouted, her fingertips toying with the masculine nipples. "I'm not sure I like that de­scription. I wouldn't want to make you miserable, Yale...."

  "Call it what you want," he breathed huskily, "but finish it before I go out of my head!"

  "I would like to see that." Dara laughed throatily, bending to touch her lips lightly to his throat. "I would like to see you driven a little crazy by me...."

  "You're enjoying your power?" he murmured, drawing in his breath sharply as she touched her tongue to the edge of his mouth and then his chin.

  "Enormously."

  "Have you ever played with fire before?" he de­manded tightly.

  "Not like this," she admitted.

  "And now that you've chained a man in your spell, you're determined to extract all the pleasure from tor­turing him that you can, is that it?"

  "I want to hear you beg," she agreed delightedly.

  "I'm begging," he whispered.

  "Not loudly enough." Still holding his wrists firmly to the bed, she scattered fleeting, alluring little kisses across his chest.

  "You're a harsh mistress," he groaned.

  "Not a mistress," she denied at once, angered slightly. "I'm going to be your wife!"

  "In that case," he rapped suddenly, "you'd better start learning a litde something about wifely obedi­ence!"

  He seemed to erupt beneath her, his hands coming free of her grip as if she had never attempted to bind him. Before she could do more than gasp her startled surprise, Dara found herself flat on her back, bis broad shoulders looming over her.

  Without warning she was thoroughly anchored to the bed, both her hands caught in one of his and drawn tautly over her head. His thigh moved over hers, pinning her writhing legs.

  She felt the excitement flash through her in waves, as she reacted to the passionate capture with a thrill­ing awareness that was as strong as her previous sen­sation of power.

  "Now, future wife," Yale gritted gently, his free hand beginning to move deliberately on her vulnera­ble midsection, "it's your turn to plead."

  Dara smiled with dazzling witchcraft, her body al­ready lifting against the touch of his hand. "Please, Yale. Please show me what being your wife will be like!"

  "When you look at me like that, how can I refuse you anything?" he breathed, sliding his leg between hers with purposefulness and deliberate slowness.

  He was going to keep her waiting, she realized dimly as she coiled and uncoiled beneath him. He wanted her to know the powerful need in every fiber of her being. She wanted to cry out her love for him, knew it was much too soon and cried out her desire instead.

  "I want you, Yale. I want you so desperately!"

  "I'm yours, sweetheart. I think I have been from the beginning!" He was poised above her in the dark­ness and then he was taking her with finesse and strength. She knew every inch of him along her skin, and her body vibrated in resonance with his.

  He swept her along with him in the dizzying path of their mutual desire. Dara surrendered willingly to the demands he made of her, issuing her own de­mands in retain. They were met with the same ea­gerness, and together they bounded toward the top of the cliff which overlooked the emerald valley.

  Dara felt the shuddering release she had first known last night, still unprepared for the sensation even though she knew what to expect this time. "Yale!"

  Then he was leaping over the edge with her, a hoarse male shout caught in his throat as he slid a hand beneath her buttocks to hold her violently close. She felt him tremble, felt every muscle in his lean frame tauten. In that moment the taking and giving were so bound up together it was impossible to speak of mastery and surrender. Each gave and each took. Each mastered and each surrendered. It was a timeless cadence which required only love to make it com­plete. And that Dara gave with all her heart, even if it was in silence.

  It was a long time later, deep in the heavy aftermath of their passion, that Yale stirred and spoke softly, compellingly into the quiet darkness.

  "You see, little tabby cat?" he said wistfully. "It doesn't really matter."

  "What doesn't matter?" Dara murmured, luxuri­ating in the feel of him. She stretched like a cat be­neath the soothing stroke of his hand.

  "Where we come together like this," he explained. "A truc
k-stop motel or your bedroom or on a moun-taintop overlooking the world. It's all the same. We're what counts, not the location."

  She smiled against his damp skin and sighed bliss­fully. Secure in the knowledge that Yale couldn't have made love to her like this if he wasn't close to falling in love, she made her decision.

  In the morning she would release him from his promise to marry her.

  It was very simple, she told herself with catlike contentment. Yale would tell her he had no wish to be free of his promise and she would go to her wed­ding with the full knowledge that he wanted the mar­riage as much as she did.

  How could it be otherwise after what they had shared?

  Dara made her decision with the perfect certainty and confidence she had known when she finally re­alized she had discovered her niche in life as a stock­broker. Made it with all the absolute sureness with which she had first known she wanted to belong to Yale Ransom. Made it with a woman's sure instincts about herself and her man.

  Yale would marry her because he wanted her, not because he was bound to a promise. And she would teach him to love her after the wedding.

  Perhaps it was inevitable that such complacency should not go unpunished. But the inevitability did not lessen the heart-wrenching shock Dara experi­enced when Yale calmly accepted his freedom and grabbed it with both hands, making no effort to step back into the net.

  Seven

  "Okay."

  That was his exact word the next morning when Dara, soft-eyed and full of love, told him she wouldn't hold him to the marriage promise. He was sliding out of bed, on his way to a shower in her eye-opening yellow and red bathroom.

  "Okay!" she repeated to his disappearing back as the door closed. "Okay!" Dazed, she stared after him, unconsciously clutching the sheet over her full breasts. Only a short time ago he had awakened her with a kiss at the base of her spine, turned her over and made lazy, warm love to her.

  And now he calmly shrugged and accepted his free­dom as if he never had intended to marry her.

  No! she told herself resolutely as she struggled free of the startled paralysis and got to her feet. Yale would have married her if she'd held him to his prom­ise. She was sure of it. He was the sort of man who paid his debts!