safe.
The amber lashes flicked open immediately and hazel eyes gleamed in warning. "You really don't know when to stop, do you? Your curiosity must have gotten you into a lot of trouble over the years!"
"Not really. I've never been quite this curious about another person before!' she confessed.
He stared at her for a moment and then growled a soft command. "Go to sleep, Dara ."
A little belatedly, perhaps, Dara acknowledged that it was time to stop. Without another word, she pulled away from the inviting proximity of his body, her hand brushing awkwardly against the material of his jockey shorts. Curling on her side with her back to him, Dara forced herself to stare at the wall until her eyes finally closed in sleep.
But her dreams were filled with fleeting promises of a happiness she craved, a happiness connected with a hazel-eyed man with honey-amber hair. In sleep her body remembered the feel of his hands, the strength of his chest and thighs and the laughter which sparked to life occasionally in the hazel gaze. There had never been a man like this one in her life, and he had even managed to invade her dreams.
It wasn't the morning sun which called Dara out of a warm sleep some time later. The shabby little motel room was still quite dark. It was a dream which was
moving her into a drowsy, languid state of awareness. A dream which had followed her back into real life.
Half asleep, Dara's body reacted luxuriously to the warmth of a hand on her thigh. She knew that hand. She would know its touch anywhere, and her body accepted it instinctively.
Blissfully she turned toward the source of the gentle, insistent demand, her legs parting of their own volition. The half-conscious feminine invitation was accepted immediately. The hand on her leg began lazy designs which led to the soft inside of her thigh and simultaneously her mouth was warmly, tenderly invaded.
It was like drinking hot spiced wine, she thought dazedly, her arms moving to pull closer the source of this smooth, heated seduction. Her fingers closed first on the hard thrust of a shoulder and then they twined themselves into short, thick hair. Hair that she knew intuitively was the color of dark honey. The perfect shade.
"Oh..." The moan was from her own throat, thick with a growing urgency. It was as if her dream was merging with reality.
The masculine groan which echoed her soft cry was low and hoarse with undisguised male need. She responded to it, offering herself in an age-old desire to please.
There were no words. Somehow, far back in her foggy mind, Dara knew words would have destroyed the dreamlike quality of the moment, and nothing on earth must be allowed to do that.
There was a curious floating sensation as the material which seemed to interfere with the searching movements of the demanding hands was slipped away. When it was gone, Dara felt the glowing sensation increase a hundredfold. This was what she wanted; this was where she wished to be tonight and every night.
Eyes closed, she let the accumulating impressions pile up on her senses. Gently rough fingertips glided along the inside of her thigh until they closed on the heart of her throbbing desire. The electricity coursed through her veins, causing her nails to bite deeply into a taut male shoulder and score their way down to a lean waist.
Silently she called his name over and over, and then the word was a low, audible moan on her lips. It was the only word allowed in that moment out of time.
"Yale, oh, my darling, Yale!"
" Dara , sweet womanly Dara . I knew you were dangerous the instant I met you! And now it's too late. Much too late..."
The husky confession pleased her enormously and Dara curled closer, her hips arching into the touch of his possessive hand, trading her feminine secrets for the satisfaction Yale could provide.
"Yes, sweetheart," he growled, his lips moving down her throat, pausing to caress her breasts and then trailing down even farther to bury themselves in her