you a much clearer insight into my character."
"Who is supposed to be seducing whom?" Dara's laughing eyes hardened a fraction.
"You're right," Yale said, instantly apologetic. "I'm being much too aggressive, aren't I?"
"I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment," Dara said kindly, sitting back slightly as the English beer arrived. She watched him pay the cocktail waitress and then continued charmingly, "I don't seduce potential clients—physically, that is. I prefer the intellectual approach. Makes for a better long-term working relationship."
"The intellectual approach?" He looked skeptical as he poured the foaming beer into a tall glass. "You're going to wow me with your brilliant market strategy?"
"Something like that. After all, if I bring my taxes to you to prepare I'm going to want some assurance you can at least use a calculator."
"Meaning it wouldn't matter how good I am in bed?" he said wistfully, sipping his beer.
Dara gave him a haughty look, torn between laughter and the need to put him in his place. Already the polite, conservative image was slipping away. She had been right to force him gently out of his adopted element in an effort to discover what lay below the surface, but it suddenly occurred to her that what she uncovered might not be quite so manageable. At least in the guise of conservative accountant, Yale Ransom could be easily dealt with.
"Meaning you ought to have some interest in my ability as a stockbroker!"
"I'll find out soon enough, won't I?" he countered.
"You're going to give Edison, Stanford and Zane your account?" she pressed.
"Probably. This is a small town. It's not as if I had a great deal of choice," he said smoothly.
"True." She grinned wickedly.
"What remains to be seen is whether or not I get you for my personal broker."
"Surely you're not going to tell me that will depend on how agreeable I am tonight?'' Dara said loftily, daring him to come right out and proposition her.
As she had expected, Yale backed down from a direct confrontation on the subject. Something flickered and was gone in the hazel eyes, and she nodded to herself, satisfied.
"I didn't think so," she said sweetly. "Now, are you going to dance with me?"
"I already feel rather out of place just sitting here,'' he complained ruefully, glancing over at the packed dance floor . " I'd feel an absolute idiot out there!"
"Give it a try, Yale. Please?"
"Where did you learn to pout so endearingly?" he inquired wryly.
"I'm not pouting, I'm being persuasive!" Dara snapped, slightly miffed at the comment.
"I beg your pardon," he said quickly, laughter in the hazel eyes. "I didn't mean to imply you were one of those annoying females who gets her way by threatening to sulk."
"Yes, you did, but I'm going to ignore it. I'm too anxious to get you out onto the dance floor."
"Why?" Yale tossed her an unexpectedly stark look which vanished almost immediately.
"Because I like to dance, of course. Why do you think I brought you here?" Dara smiled dazzlingly.
"You wanted to make me feel uncomfortable? Out of my element?" he guessed coolly.
"No!" But there was a trace of guilt behind the word, and Dara was afraid she might not have hidden it with complete success. She did want to jar him a little, watch him react to a situation where he could not hide behind his image. She felt an almost reckless urge to find out what lay behind that conservative, Southern-gentleman exterior.
"You're a little old to be playing games like this, aren't you?" Yale asked after a moment's thought.
"Games! I'm not playing games! You asked me to leave the party with you and then you asked me where I wanted to go dancing. I've been nothing but straight-forward about the whole thing!"
He favored her with a narrow stare for a moment and then set down his beer abruptly. "All right. We'll dance."
"Now? But they've just changed to a slow number. I wanted—"
"You wanted to dance. I'm offering this one. Take it or leave it."
Dara got to her
"Who is supposed to be seducing whom?" Dara's laughing eyes hardened a fraction.
"You're right," Yale said, instantly apologetic. "I'm being much too aggressive, aren't I?"
"I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment," Dara said kindly, sitting back slightly as the English beer arrived. She watched him pay the cocktail waitress and then continued charmingly, "I don't seduce potential clients—physically, that is. I prefer the intellectual approach. Makes for a better long-term working relationship."
"The intellectual approach?" He looked skeptical as he poured the foaming beer into a tall glass. "You're going to wow me with your brilliant market strategy?"
"Something like that. After all, if I bring my taxes to you to prepare I'm going to want some assurance you can at least use a calculator."
"Meaning it wouldn't matter how good I am in bed?" he said wistfully, sipping his beer.
Dara gave him a haughty look, torn between laughter and the need to put him in his place. Already the polite, conservative image was slipping away. She had been right to force him gently out of his adopted element in an effort to discover what lay below the surface, but it suddenly occurred to her that what she uncovered might not be quite so manageable. At least in the guise of conservative accountant, Yale Ransom could be easily dealt with.
"Meaning you ought to have some interest in my ability as a stockbroker!"
"I'll find out soon enough, won't I?" he countered.
"You're going to give Edison, Stanford and Zane your account?" she pressed.
"Probably. This is a small town. It's not as if I had a great deal of choice," he said smoothly.
"True." She grinned wickedly.
"What remains to be seen is whether or not I get you for my personal broker."
"Surely you're not going to tell me that will depend on how agreeable I am tonight?'' Dara said loftily, daring him to come right out and proposition her.
As she had expected, Yale backed down from a direct confrontation on the subject. Something flickered and was gone in the hazel eyes, and she nodded to herself, satisfied.
"I didn't think so," she said sweetly. "Now, are you going to dance with me?"
"I already feel rather out of place just sitting here,'' he complained ruefully, glancing over at the packed dance floor . " I'd feel an absolute idiot out there!"
"Give it a try, Yale. Please?"
"Where did you learn to pout so endearingly?" he inquired wryly.
"I'm not pouting, I'm being persuasive!" Dara snapped, slightly miffed at the comment.
"I beg your pardon," he said quickly, laughter in the hazel eyes. "I didn't mean to imply you were one of those annoying females who gets her way by threatening to sulk."
"Yes, you did, but I'm going to ignore it. I'm too anxious to get you out onto the dance floor."
"Why?" Yale tossed her an unexpectedly stark look which vanished almost immediately.
"Because I like to dance, of course. Why do you think I brought you here?" Dara smiled dazzlingly.
"You wanted to make me feel uncomfortable? Out of my element?" he guessed coolly.
"No!" But there was a trace of guilt behind the word, and Dara was afraid she might not have hidden it with complete success. She did want to jar him a little, watch him react to a situation where he could not hide behind his image. She felt an almost reckless urge to find out what lay behind that conservative, Southern-gentleman exterior.
"You're a little old to be playing games like this, aren't you?" Yale asked after a moment's thought.
"Games! I'm not playing games! You asked me to leave the party with you and then you asked me where I wanted to go dancing. I've been nothing but straight-forward about the whole thing!"
He favored her with a narrow stare for a moment and then set down his beer abruptly. "All right. We'll dance."
"Now? But they've just changed to a slow number. I wanted—"
"You wanted to dance. I'm offering this one. Take it or leave it."
Dara got to her
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