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came forward reluctantly.
    "Can I help you?" he asked, not looking particularly anxious to do so.
    "Two rooms, Yale," Dara remembered to hiss belatedly in his ear as he loosened his arm and started toward the desk. He ignored her, but the desk clerk didn't.
    “Only got one. A double. Take it or leave it, and you pay in advance," the thin man growled with an owlish glance at Dara .
    "We'll take it," Yale said quickly, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. Swiftly he counted out the money and collected the key. He had signed the register and hustled Dara out the door before she fully realized what had happened.
    "I told you to get two rooms!" she gritted as the office door slammed shut behind them.
    "You heard the man. He only had one!"
    "Hah!"
    "Don't take that tone with me," Yale instructed, sounding aggrieved. "Our being in this situation is all your fault!"
    "My fault! Of all the nerve! It wasn't me who got involved in a fight in a sleazy bar, and it wasn't my idea to hitch a ride with a long-distance trucker and not get out of the truck for two solid hours! If we'd stayed at that nice country-western place I took you to earlier this evening, none of this would have happened!"
    "Don't act the innocent victim," Yale muttered, sliding the motel key into the lock of number 53. "You had to keep pushing at me, trying to find out what was under my nice accountant image. You have only yourself to blame!"
    "Oh, my God!" Dara breathed in grim resignation as the door swung open to reveal a stark but clean room. "There's only one bed. Where are you going to sleep?"
    "On my side, naturally," Yale growled, closing the door behind them and switching on the light.
    Since she had guessed the answer to the question before she'd even asked it, Dara squelched a retort. There wasn't much else she could do under the circumstances, and in spite of his almost blatant love-making on the dance floor earlier in the evening, Yale didn't look particularly amorous at the moment. And there was absolutely nothing romantic about the cheap, poorly furnished motel room.
    "I'll use the bathroom first." She sighed gloomily.
    Inside the spartan bath, Dara studied herself wryly in the mirror. She looked a little the worse for wear, she was forced to conclude, raking her fingers through her hair. Sleepy gray-green eyes gleamed back at her and she frowned as she realized there was a tiny hint of excitement in her own reflection.
    Things hadn't developed quite the way she had imagined, but there was no denying she had found herself in an interesting situation. She grabbed a washcloth and began scrubbing her face while she considered that. Yale Ransom was turning out to have several fascinating layers. Surely after their shared experiences this evening he would feel a degree of friendship for her.
    Perhaps enough friendship to give her his securities account. That would provide the excuse she needed to cement the relationship along business lines, and from there...
    Dara broke off her hopeful thoughts and told herself not to get carried away. There was still a lot she didn't know about Yale. She wasn't even sure how he felt about her at the moment, although, judging from his reaction on the dance floor, she didn't leave him cold. Well, that was something, at least.
    Hanging the threadbare white towel back on the rack, Dara unzipped the emerald-green dress and removed her lacy bra. Rolling the undergarment into a Little bundle, she stuffed it into her purse and then rezipped the dress. It would be more comfortable trying to sleep without the bra, she told herself, wishing she could take off the dress, too. But that, of course, was impossible.
    Yale was sitting on the side of the bed, his weight putting an alarming sag in the old mattress as he leaned over to untie his shoes. He had removed the white shirt and was wearing only his slacks.
    "Your turn," Dara said cheerfully, determined to act with the casual comradeship the situation demanded. Damned if she would let