Leanne Banks - Ridge - The Avenger

“Right. So what are you going to do?”

Wavering on her inclination to be mature and responsible, Dara smiled slowly. “That’s a good question.”

Ridge folded the last section of the newspaper, glanced at his watch, then at the door to Dara’s bedroom. She’d mentioned something about sleeping in, but she’d never slept past eight-thirty before. He wondered if those margaritas were slowing her down this morning.

The phone rang, and since she had insisted, he waited for her to pick it up. He waited six rings and frowned. Why wasn’t she answering? Was she sick? He’d put off checking on her because he didn’t think the sight of Dara in bed would do a hell of a lot for his resolve to maintain a professional distance from her. Brushing that thought aside, he crossed the living room and was lifting his hand to tap on her bedroom door when he heard a knock on the suite door. Ridge turned away to answer it.

Newspapers clutched in both hands, Clarence Merriman burst in full of excitement. “How’s our girl this morning? She must have been tired if she canceled our breakfast appointment. Have you seen these papers?” Clarence waved them in front of Ridge. “Drew Forrester is beside himself with joy. Said he tried to call Dara a few minutes ago and couldn’t reach her. He told me to get her on the phone immediately, so he can congratulate her.” Clarence winked knowingly. “I think he’s got his eye on our Dara. Is she in the shower?”

Ridge’s frown deepened. Drew Forrester was starting to get on his nerves, and he hadn’t even met the man. “She’s not in the shower.” He shoved away from the doorway. “I was just getting ready to check on her.”

Surprise crossed Clarence’s face. “She’s not up yet. That’s not like Dara. I hope she’s not sick.”

Ridge tapped lightly on her door and waited a moment. Then he knocked a little more firmly. “Dara,” he called. “Open up. Clarence is here.”

He opened the door a crack, then pushed it the rest of the way open. Surveying her room in a one-second glance, he swore out loud. His chest squeezed tight.

Dara was gone.

His mind racing at the different possibilities, he dashed into the room and snatched up the note on her bed. As he read it, Ridge’s alarm quickly shifted to anger. Clarence was talking a mile a minute. To halt the older man’s panic attack, he shoved the note in his face, then immediately picked up the phone.

And while he dialed, Ridge thought about wringing Darlin’ Dara’s pretty little neck.

Anticipation shimmered throughout Dara. Five minutes to go. She adjusted her sunglasses and tugged the bill of her cap forward. The huge sunglasses were her own; the cap, one of the treasures she’d picked up at the flea market this morning. Her two hours of freedom had left her feeling more intoxicated than the margaritas from the night before.

It wasn’t as if she’d done anything that bad—no illicit sex, no gambling, no criminal activities. She’d just spent the morning by herself shopping. Her final stop was the only ice-cream parlor in town that opened at 9:00 a.m. Dara wanted to eat two scoops of ice cream without being watched by Ridge.

The desire was becoming an obsession. Dara was dealing with a constant craving…which she had decided was Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

If the image of his nearly bare chest was branded on her brain, she conceded that it was just because, physically, Ridge was an incredible male specimen. And if her mind wandered too often to the question of just what it would be like to kiss his mouth and feel the passion rise within him, well, that was just one of the side effects of the stress from the campaign.

Dara smiled as the bell over the door announced the opening of the ice-cream parlor. The short, bald man wearing a wide, cheerful smile welcomed her. “Someone’s been shopping at the flea market and decided she wanted ice cream for breakfast. What can I get for you?”

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