"I've decided it's time you expanded your food horizons," she retorted condescendingly. "Every time we go out you order steak-and-potatoes-type meals."
"I'm willing to learn. I always feel like I'm indulging my senses when I'm around you," he added meaningfully.
Dara flushed and took an industrious bite out of her sandwich while Yale calmly uncorked the wine.
"I've been doing some serious thinking about this streak of cowardice in you," he went on conversationally as he poured the Burgundy into the paper cups.
Dara nearly choked on her sandwich.
"Cowardice!" she managed, gasping for air.
"That's what it amounts to, I think." Yale nodded thoughtfully, slapping her helpfully between the shoulders. "Why else would you have backed off from where we had gone with this relationship of ours?"
"Yale, we've been through this," she began firmly.
"I realize that, but I'm starting to get worried," he explained patiently.
"Worried! What about, for heaven's sake!"
"You've implied you're waiting for the magic 'click.' What I'm wondering about is, how will you know it when it occurs? What are the signs? Are you just going to turn to me someday and say, '"Okay, Yale, it happened'?"
"Hardly!" She sniffed. How could she explain it had already happened?
"Then how am I going to know when you've come to your senses and realized you want this relationship as much as I do?" he pressed gently, his expression one of genuine, studious concern.
"Relationships should evolve over a period of time, Yale."
"Time can be telescoped under the right circumstances," he said quietly.
"Perhaps," she agreed carefully. "But it didn't happen like that in our case, did it? Our relationship didn't exactly take place in the right circumstances!"
"Are you going to hold that motel room against me forever?"
"Maybe," Dara declared. "It sure got us off to a bad start!"
"What about the next night, Dara? Why did you withdraw your demand that I marry you?"
"No woman wants to force a man into marriage!" she snapped, gulping a swallow of the wine.
"I was willing...."
"To pay a price. That's hardly calculated to convince a woman of undying love!"
"You never asked for my undying love," he pointed out softly.
Dara felt the red wash into her cheeks and glanced away from the intent hazel eyes.
"You made it very clear the next morning that your demand for marriage had merely been a means of trying to stop me from seducing you," he went on after a moment. "You withdrew it because it hadn't worked. And now you're using every other means at your disposal to keep from winding up in bed with me again. Why is that, honey?"
"Must you be deliberately obtuse?" she gritted. "I'm trying to let a normal relationship develop. How many times do I have to tell you? I want to be sure."
"There are no certainties in this life, Dara. You can't positively protect yourself against making the kind of mistake you made with your first husband. Sometimes you have to take a risk."
"I disagree," she said staunchly, glad it was the gentleman who was having this argument with her and not the devil. "I think one can take steps to ensure that things are right between two people!"
"Which brings me back to my initial question," he interrupted. "How will you know? How will I know you've finally made the big discovery?"
Dara was at a loss. There was no way to tell him she'd already made her discovery and was merely waiting for him to make his. He would either fall in love with her or he wouldn't.
"I expect one knows when one is in love," she evaded coolly.
"Ah," he breathed, "is that what you're waiting for? To fall in love?"
"I don't want a relationship based on...on sex, Yale. You must understand that. If that's all we have together, then—"
"Then you're going to break it off and go your own way, is that it?" he growled.
She shrugged helplessly. "I suppose that's the way it will have to be."
There was a tight pause. "How long did you know your first husband before you married him?" he finally asked.
"A...a few weeks," she confessed. "I told you, it was a whirlwind courtship. We were married less than four weeks after we met. He was eager to get on with it, I suppose, because his ex-fiancée had already married...."
"And how long would you have had to know him to realize it wasn't going to work? To realize you were allowing yourself to be used?" Yale probed.
Dara sighed. Resting her arms on her drawn-up knees, she gazed out over the wooded countryside. "I don't know. Perhaps a few months...."
"A few months!" he exclaimed, his irritation seeping through the gentlemanly exterior. "How many months? Six? Ten? How many?"
"In that case, I suppose three or four would have done it," she admitted, remembering how long it had taken before she realized another woman had a hold on her husband. An unbreakable hold.
"Four months," he repeated to himself. "Is that what you're proposing for us? A four-month period of getting to know each other thoroughly before we take up where we left off last weekend?"
"Is that too much to ask?" she flung back, suddenly annoyed. The burnt-russet sweep of her hair whipped about her neck as she snapped her head around to fix him with accusing gray-green eyes.
He met her gaze for an instant, and she swallowed unconsciously when she thought she saw a flash of the other Yale in his level stare. And then he looked away.
"Dara," he finally said quietly, absently shredding a blade of grass as he propped himself on one elbow and focused on the middle distance. "Are you sure you're not trying to punish both of us for what happened last weekend?"
"Of course I'm sure!"
"You said that first morning you would have your revenge," he reminded her.
"I was in a temper," she returned carelessly. "I didn't mean it." And it was true. Caution, fear, wariness, despair, all of those emotions had played a part in her subsequent actions, but not revenge. "I...I let myself wind up in bed with you again the next night, didn't I? If I had been bent on revenge that would hardly have happened!"
"I'm not so sure about that. You may not have been able to resist..."
"That's ridiculous. Pure male ego talking!"
"We have something special together, honey," he murmured. "It wasn't until the second morning we woke up in each other's arms that you erected the wall. Practically your first words were to withdraw your marriage demand, and then you kicked me out of the apartment."
"But I wasn't in a flaming rage," she reminded him virtuously. "That time I reacted in a rational, clearheaded fashion. No dire threats. That's when I'm at my most dangerous, Yale, when I'm thinking!"
"I see," he drawled, a trace of humor lacing his words. "And what you were thinking was that by the second time around you still hadn't felt this mysterious click, right? You still weren't sure of your feelings for me, so you decided to institute a trial period of getting to know each other."
"We need that time, Yale," she replied steadily.
"I don't think so," he returned almost casually. "I think you felt the magic in my arms and then tried to deny it in the morning. Maybe you're as much two different people right now as I am!"
"Nonsense!"
It was time to put an end to this threatening discussion, Dara decided firmly. She began picking up the sandwich wrappers and paper cups with a determined air.
"Time to get going," she told him lightly. "There's a long ride ahead of us before we get home!"
"Are you trying to exhaust me?" he demanded, the amusement in him telling her he was accepting the end of the picnic with good grace.
"That doesn't sound like a bad tactic. Maybe it would keep your alter ego from making late-night appearances in my bedroom!"
"Don't count on it. He's got a lot of stamina where you're concerned." He helped her with the trash, stowing part of it in his bike pouch until they could find a waste can.
It wasn't until they arrived at her apartment that he issued the invitation.
"Dara, will you have dinner with me tonight? At my place?" he asked politely as they braked to a halt in her drive.
She hopped off the bike and glanced at him warily. "Who's issuing the invitation?"
"A gentleman and an accountant," he intoned righteously. "The Yale you seem to trust."
"Oh, I trust both Yales." She grinned rashly. "It's just that the other one is a little harder to handle! But I can always predict how he'll act, so, in a way, he's perfectly trustworthy!"
"But you wouldn't accept a dinner date with him?"
"Nope. But I will with the Southern gentleman. What time?"
"I'll pick you up at six."
"I can take my own car," she protested automatically.
"I wouldn't think of it. I'm issuing the invitation and I'll pick you up."
"A gentleman to the fingertips." She chuckled admiringly.
Eleven
Dara dressed with absent care for the evening, her mind on Yale. It was not the first time she had been to his modern, multiwindowed condominium near the river. She had teased him that first time, telling him it was exactly the proper setting for a bachelor accountant.
The visit had occurred earlier in the week and had been surprisingly short. Yale had taken her home for an after-dinner drink. She could still remember how he'd stood in the living room, a glass in each hand, and watched broodingly as she wandered around with undisguised curiosity. The liqueur had been rushed down her throat and she had then been politely rushed home. No explanations.
Yale's home had reflected the image he seemed intent on projecting. As she adjusted the zipper of the black, knee-length dress, Dara thought of the carefully modern leather furniture, the too-appropriate accessories and paintings and the expensive quality throughout.
It had all been very masculine and in very good taste. Nothing jabbed the eye or seemed obtrusive. Compared to her own rather eclectic decor, Yale's home was like a study out of a conservative home-and-garden magazine. He wanted it clear he had left the hills far behind. Dara smiled to herself. After they were married, she'd shake the place up a bit. It needed it!
Married! She scolded herself. She shouldn't be counting her chickens before they were hatched, damn it! A lot of time was still needed and a lot could still happen....
She broke off the chiding thought, the narrow, kicky pleats in her skirt floating around her knees as she went to answer the doorbell.
"Hello, Yale." She smiled, the impact of him hitting her senses with the usual force. Did a woman always react this way to the mere sight of the man she loved on her doorstep?
"Ready?" He grinned, the gold flashing briefly. "You look lovely."
Behind the polite barrier of his glasses the hazel eyes skimmed the scoop-necked dress approvingly and then lifted to the sleekness of her simply styled hair. It was all very subtly done, but the message was clear. He liked what he saw. Dara warmed under the quiet caress.
"Thank you," she said softly, thinking that he seemed incredibly attractive to her no matter what he wore. Tonight the dark slacks emphasized the lean power of his build and the properly buttoned white shirt was accented with a sober tie but no jacket. Amber hair still damp from a shower was neatly combed and the black shoes polished to a rich gloss. He looked every inch the quietly successful professional, and she still would have known there was a hidden side to him even if she'd never met him until now.
"Why the secret little smile?" he demanded easily, ushering her into the car before turning to lift a casual hand in greeting to Dara's inquisitive elderly neighbor. Mrs. Jenkins dropped her curtains at once.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Dara muttered feelingly as Yale slid in beside her.
"It's the highlight of her day. I always wave."
"Oh, Lord!"
"Relax! At your age, what can they say?" he offered cheerfully.
"The same thing neighbors always say in such situations, regardless of the ages of the people involved. And I'm not exactly ancient!" she tacked on, ruffled.
"Of course you aren't, honey," he soothed. "You're exactly the right age."
"For what?" she retorted challengingly.
He ignored that, his hand going to the gearshift with practiced ease as they pulled away from the curb. "You didn't answer my question."
"The smile? I was just thinking how much more relaxing a date is with the gentleman than the...other Yale."
"Relaxed, are you? Good. I shall endeavor to be the perfect host," he responded, eyes warm with promise as he slanted her a speculative glance.
And he was. It was predictable, perhaps, that he'd prepared steaks, baked potatoes and a salad, given his culinary taste, but Dara loved every mouthful. His repertoire might be limited, but he did it to perfection.
"I enjoyed that ride today," he said reflectively some time later as he settled her into the deep, dark leather cushions of the couch and sat down beside her. "We must do it again, and soon. How about helping me pick out a bike next weekend? I can't keep sponging off the paperboy."
"It's a deal," she returned, resting her head against his shoulder as he put an arm around her and stretched out his legs with an air of replete satisfaction.
Two snifters of brandy sat on the low table in front of them, a selection of Mozart Divertimenti flowed from the expensive stereo and Yale had casually loosened his tie. He looked contented, possibly a bit sleepy and totally unmenacing. Quite the opposite of bis alter ego, Dara thought with a hidden chuckle.
"Did you think about what we discussed at lunch, honey?" he asked after a moment, his eyes closed behind his glasses as he leaned his head against the sofa. The fingers of his hand were making absent, lazy movements on her bare arm.
"Yes," she admitted, curling her legs under her pleated skirt and giving herself up to the enjoyment of his warm, unthreatening embrace. "I thought about it."
"And?" he prompted almost neutrally.
"And what?" she murmured, eyes half shut as she burrowed into his shoulder.
"And how long" do you think it will take before you're sure of us?"
"You can't put a time limit on things like this, Yale," she protested gently. "There are too many unknowns. Too many variables. Matters simply have to take their own course."
"I see," he said quietly after a moment. "You won't even give me a clue?"
How can I, she thought despairingly, when everything hinges on you?
"I'm not going to let myself be rushed into an affair, Yale," she finally said in a soft, firm little voice. "I'm going to be sure, and I want you to be sure."
"I am sure."
"No," she contradicted huskily. "You can't be. Not yet. You may be sure you want to sleep with me, but that's all."
He said nothing for a moment and then he leaned forward and deliberately set his glasses on the table beside the brandy snifters. He settled back into the couch, turning her slightly in his arms and lifting her chin with his free hand. The hazel eyes glittered down into her gray-green ones, and Dara had the first prickles of warning.
"You are a stubborn little thing," he mused, searching her face and lowering his head with lazy intent.
"Everyone's allowed one virtue," she teased, the warning twinges dying out as his mouth covered hers with warmth and masculine longing.
She sighed, twining her arms around his neck. This was the Yale she could handle. The one who would make passionate but gentlemanly love to her and then take her home when she insisted.
"You know this side of me very well now, don't you?" he whispered thickly, his fingers threading through the deep, lustrous red of her hair. Before Dara could answer he had fastened his lips on hers again, moving to deepen the kiss with his tongue.
She felt the gentle probing at her lips and parted them for him with a blissful little moan. After a week of his lovemaking, Dara knew exactly when to call a halt. But the time wasn't yet. For now she could i
ndulge herself.
Her hands moved over his back, investigating the sleek musculature with hunger and the growing passion he elicited so easily. Someday, perhaps soon, he would once again be all hers. But for the moment she would take what she could, that which was safe....
"Dara!"
Her name was a hoarse groan deep in his chest as his fingers found the rising thrust of her breasts.
"I want you," he grated softly, finding her nipples and stroking them through the wispy softness of the dress and lacy bra. "You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, oh, yes, Yale," she breathed, arching into his hands and shivering with pleasure as he lowered the zipper.
It seemed to her that things were moving faster tonight than they usually did. All too soon she would be forced to gently break them off again. She wanted him to slow down so that the end needn't come too quickly. She didn't want to go home to a lonely bed. Not yet.
She closed her eyes as the bodice of the dress was lowered and then drew in her breath as the snap of the lacy bra was freed.
"I love the feel of you," Yale muttered achingly as he cupped her breasts and lowered his head to kiss the rising mounds in his hands. "Full and womanly and so very, very soft...."
"Yale," she began shakily as she was pushed gently backward beneath the weight of his slowly descending body. "Yale, it's getting late. I should be going home."
"Not yet, sweetheart. Not quite yet."
The vague sense of warning rippied to life along her nerve endings. There was a hardness in his words that was unfamiliar. A hardness which belonged to the other Yale.
He stretched out on top of her, his mouth beginning to rain hot, possessive little kisses across her breasts and the smooth skin beneath them, then up along her shoulders. She gasped as his teeth occasionally nipped at her sensitized flesh and her fingers dug into the muscles of his neck and back.
"Tell me you want me," he urged on a groan. "At least give me that much!"
"You know I want you."
"You've wanted me from the first, haven't you? Just as I wanted you!"
"Yale, I think we'd better call a halt," Dara moaned, supremely aware of the weight of his lower body as he thrust it against her in a surging, intimate movement.
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