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Authors: Stephanie James
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of handling her. "Maybe you'll be in a better mood after breakfast," he tried lightly, sliding his hands sensuously down her arms and catching hold of her wrists. "Shall I feed you, little tabby?" he asked whimsically, turning his head to kiss the delicate inside of her wrist. His eyes gleamed. "Will that put you in a more loving mood?"
"What do you care?" she challenged icily. "You're not interested in love. Only a business transaction!"
"I'll bet," he hazarded sadly, "that if I made an apology for that remark this morning you wouldn't accept it, would you?"
"No, I would not! Nothing you can say now will wipe out your earlier words! I know better than to trust you, Yale Ransom. I've learned my lesson!"
He drew a deep breath, and Dara knew he was still undecided about how to deal with her mood. "Well, we might as well try the food first. If that doesn't work, I'm sure I'll think of something else. Go and get dressed, honey. We'll talk this out eventually...."
She tugged free of his hands, walking regally across the room to retrieve her clothes and then sweeping into the bath without a backward glance. Damn the barbarian! She would not give in to tears. Not over a man like that!
She tried vainly to plot revenge in the shower, using the washcloth savagely in an effort to remove all traces of him. The rush of water over her face made the desire to cry even stronger. But she stifled it, keeping her anger whipped up instead.
By the time she had stepped out and toweled briskly, Dara felt she had herself under control. She had sternly opted for a cold, austere manner in the hope it would help her get through the next few hours with some dignity. It was all a woman had at a time like this. Revenge was wishful thinking.
"Well, it's safe to say there won't be many women dressed like that at breakfast!" Yale quipped humorously as she stepped out of the bathroom.
She chose to ignore him, turning to the mirror to run a comb through her hair. His eyes met hers there and he smiled, trying to coax her into a better mood.
"But you do look good in green," he tried, studying the dress. He was wearing his jockey shorts now, his tanned body looking lean and powerful as he held the dark slacks and white shirt lightly clasped in one hand.
"Go to hell," she told him briefly and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow.
Without another word he stalked into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later he ushered her into the twenty-four-hour coffee shop next door to the motel, gallantly moving to put himself between her and the curious eyes which glanced up from early-morning coffee to blink at the sight of a woman in an emerald cocktail dress. Dara made no objection as Yale seated her in a far booth and slid in beside her.
He was wearing his glasses again this morning and his sleeves were neatly buttoned at the cuff. The honey-colored hair was tidy and there was a general air of restraint about him. Dara's lips quirked downward in disgust. Nothing Yale Ransom did now would fool her. She knew the kind of man he really was.
"What would you like?" he asked politely as the waitress appeared to take their order.
"Cold cereal, please," Dara said crisply, giving her order directly to the brunette woman holding the pad and pencil. "And coffee."
"You need more than that," Yale interrupted with a frown, scanning the menu. "Bring her a number three. And the same for me."
The woman dutifully scratched Dara's order from the pad and wrote the new one. With a casual nod, she left.
"That was a waste of food and money," Dara informed him coldly. "I'm not hungry."
"You need a nice, hot breakfast," he began in a lecturing tone.
"Forget it," she gritted in resignation, lifting her eyes heavenward in silent appeal. "I'll eat it if it will stop you from talking to me as if I were a child!"
"You're not a child, you're a woman scorned, remember?" he muttered grimly. "Except that you're not exactly being scorned. But those are petty details to a female in
"What do you care?" she challenged icily. "You're not interested in love. Only a business transaction!"
"I'll bet," he hazarded sadly, "that if I made an apology for that remark this morning you wouldn't accept it, would you?"
"No, I would not! Nothing you can say now will wipe out your earlier words! I know better than to trust you, Yale Ransom. I've learned my lesson!"
He drew a deep breath, and Dara knew he was still undecided about how to deal with her mood. "Well, we might as well try the food first. If that doesn't work, I'm sure I'll think of something else. Go and get dressed, honey. We'll talk this out eventually...."
She tugged free of his hands, walking regally across the room to retrieve her clothes and then sweeping into the bath without a backward glance. Damn the barbarian! She would not give in to tears. Not over a man like that!
She tried vainly to plot revenge in the shower, using the washcloth savagely in an effort to remove all traces of him. The rush of water over her face made the desire to cry even stronger. But she stifled it, keeping her anger whipped up instead.
By the time she had stepped out and toweled briskly, Dara felt she had herself under control. She had sternly opted for a cold, austere manner in the hope it would help her get through the next few hours with some dignity. It was all a woman had at a time like this. Revenge was wishful thinking.
"Well, it's safe to say there won't be many women dressed like that at breakfast!" Yale quipped humorously as she stepped out of the bathroom.
She chose to ignore him, turning to the mirror to run a comb through her hair. His eyes met hers there and he smiled, trying to coax her into a better mood.
"But you do look good in green," he tried, studying the dress. He was wearing his jockey shorts now, his tanned body looking lean and powerful as he held the dark slacks and white shirt lightly clasped in one hand.
"Go to hell," she told him briefly and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow.
Without another word he stalked into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later he ushered her into the twenty-four-hour coffee shop next door to the motel, gallantly moving to put himself between her and the curious eyes which glanced up from early-morning coffee to blink at the sight of a woman in an emerald cocktail dress. Dara made no objection as Yale seated her in a far booth and slid in beside her.
He was wearing his glasses again this morning and his sleeves were neatly buttoned at the cuff. The honey-colored hair was tidy and there was a general air of restraint about him. Dara's lips quirked downward in disgust. Nothing Yale Ransom did now would fool her. She knew the kind of man he really was.
"What would you like?" he asked politely as the waitress appeared to take their order.
"Cold cereal, please," Dara said crisply, giving her order directly to the brunette woman holding the pad and pencil. "And coffee."
"You need more than that," Yale interrupted with a frown, scanning the menu. "Bring her a number three. And the same for me."
The woman dutifully scratched Dara's order from the pad and wrote the new one. With a casual nod, she left.
"That was a waste of food and money," Dara informed him coldly. "I'm not hungry."
"You need a nice, hot breakfast," he began in a lecturing tone.
"Forget it," she gritted in resignation, lifting her eyes heavenward in silent appeal. "I'll eat it if it will stop you from talking to me as if I were a child!"
"You're not a child, you're a woman scorned, remember?" he muttered grimly. "Except that you're not exactly being scorned. But those are petty details to a female in
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