Bewitched (20 page)

“I noticed the other day that you never wear jewelry,” R.J. told her quietly. “Then I saw the necklace, and the emerald
is almost the exact shade of your eyes. It's not so fancy that you'd need a special occasion to wear it, and it's delicate—like you.”

She stood frozen, her body vibrating with the force of her pounding heart. “It's too much.”

He chuckled, pleased—or amused—by her. “Nonsense. I thought it was just right, and I have good taste. Ask anyone.”

“Your good taste will be…wasted on me.”

R.J. frowned. “What's that supposed to mean, Dana?” When she didn't answer right away, he touched her cheek. “Dana, trust me. The necklace will look perfect on you.”

She did trust him, there was no denying that. She gave a small laugh of her own. “I have absolutely no idea what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything. Let's put it on you, okay?”

Before she could begin to protest, R.J. had lifted the necklace from where it nestled in the velvet box. He opened the clasp with a sure flick of his fingers, proof positive that he was no stranger to women's jewelry.

He didn't look at her as he reached around her throat to hook it into place, but Dana was painfully aware of his nearness, of his rich, musky male scent, of the heat that seemed to pulse off him in waves, washing over her and making her skin tingle. If she leaned only a scant inch forward, her breasts would brush his hard chest. The knowledge teased and tantalized her.

Remaining still was very, very difficult.

His fingertips brushed her sensitive nape more than she thought should have been necessary as he hooked the necklace. Her eyes closed, and she struggled to regulate her breathing. After spending years dreaming of a moment like this, she had no idea what to think or do.

R.J. lowered his arms and she opened her eyes again. He
didn't look at her face, but rather at the small emerald, which lay just below the hollow of her throat. With infinite care he brushed aside the collar of her taupe blouse so that he could view the necklace more clearly. His hands touched her heated skin. One fingertip stroked there, smoothing the gift into place with a tender, almost tentative touch, making her pulse leap. Then his gaze met hers. His gentle breath brushed her temple as he whispered, “It looks beautiful on you.”

Beautiful.
That was a word that had never been associated with her in any way. Emotions swelled, exploded. Driven by a blind need she'd never experienced before, Dana slid her arms around his neck and hugged herself close to his big body. The sensation of hard muscle against giving softness, male to female, was enough to make her groan out loud. Her belly drew tight, as did her nipples.

She'd meant to thank him, to show her gratitude with a friendly hug. But she made the mistake of raising her face, and she saw his mouth so close to her own.

She kissed him.

R.J.
CAUGHT
his breath as Dana's mouth lifted to his with an innocent, instinctive curiosity. She was a very soft, feminine weight in his arms, her scent sweet and warm, unique. His eyes never closed; instead he watched her, saw the excitement on her features, the flush in her cheeks. He was acutely aware of her heartbeat drumming against his chest.

And he was aware of the fullness in his groin.

He couldn't believe Dana Dillinger had given him a hard-on, but there was no denying the truth. He wanted her, and it was only the novelty of the moment, his own enthralled disbelief, that kept him from carrying her to the desk and laying her across it to finish what she had unknowingly started.

Yet all she'd done was give him a chaste schoolgirl's kiss.

Her eyes were closed, and her breath came in ragged pants. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his, and her small hands tangled in the hair at his nape. She gave a soft, hungry groan, a low vibration of sound that proved she was as turned on as he.

The rush of unexpected lust threw him off balance—a feeling he didn't like and wouldn't accept. R.J. gripped her upper arms and moved her a few inches away, putting necessary space between their bodies. He could feel her trembling, and he could feel the pulsing excitement in his groin. “Dana.”

Her lashes slowly lifted at the sound of her name. Almost immediately, she dropped her hands away from his neck with
a gasp. Red hot color washed over her pale cheekbones, and she struggled to turn away.

He held tight, refusing to let her hide herself until she explained what had happened—though his body understood very well.

“I…I'm sorry!” She looked mortified, an expression he'd never seen on her face before. Dana was always cool and poised. His hands tightened in automatic reflex, making her wince.
“R.J.”

With a curse, he released her and paced away. Never in his adult life had he felt awkward with a woman. He had a very neatly prescribed place for the women in his life; they were either family, and therefore given his loyalty and protection without qualification, or they were lovers, kept at a distance, meant to share his bed but little else.

And then there was Dana.

He turned back to her, his confusion well hidden. He eyed her averted face. “Dana, are you all right?”

She was rubbing her arms, but stopped the telling motion the second he looked at her. Right before his eyes, her poise appeared like a velvet curtain, masking her dismay. He realized with sudden clarity that her coolness was as much a deliberate facade as his calm, and it enraged him that she could so easily deceive him.

He didn't give a damn how she presented herself to the rest of the world. But for him, he wanted honesty, and nothing held back.

With a patently false smile, she quipped, “I'm fine. Other than being a little embarrassed by my…overenthusiastic show of gratitude. I'm sorry about that.”

He narrowed his eyes, watching her every nuance while looking for a chink in the armor. “Why did you kiss me, Dana?”

She looked him straight in the eye and said, “Because you've been so frustrated and withdrawn lately. I only meant
to offer a little comfort, but I got carried away.” He stared at her, trying to judge the truth of her words, and she waved a dismissive hand. “For heaven's sake, R.J., it was only a tiny kiss, hardly anything to get riled over. I realize I overstepped myself. It won't happen again.”

A little kiss? Didn't she realize he was still hard? Her
little
kiss had hit him with incredible impact, and he instinctively rebelled against it. No woman affected him so easily, and certainly not with a chaste peck.

She stood there now, mild as a spring breeze, seemingly unruffled by the experience, and he just didn't know.

But he sure as hell intended to find out.

He stepped toward her, his gaze hard and intent. Her eyes opened, and she started to back up. Just then the phone on her desk rang, giving her a reprieve.

With an apologetic shrug, she turned away. He could have sworn he saw genuine relief in her eyes as she pushed the button on the conference phone. “R.J. Maitland's office. Dana speaking.”

“Dana, it's Megan. Put me through to R.J.”

R.J. stepped to the desk. “I'm here, Mother.”

“I need you to come to my office, R.J. You, too, Dana.”

R.J. saw that Dana was still holding herself stiffly, and there was an unnatural bloom of color in her cheeks, proving she wasn't as unaffected by the small kiss as she'd like him to believe. He frowned at the phone. “Now?” The last thing he wanted was to walk away from this situation without resolving things first.
What
things, he wasn't certain, but something had just happened, and he didn't like it worth a damn.

Megan's tone was half amusement, half command. “Are you too busy, son, to spare me a few minutes?”

R.J. glanced at Dana. She returned his look with one of polite inquiry, and he supposed there was little enough left to be said. Whatever reasons she had for kissing him, she had
no intention of discussing them now. His interrogation would have to wait. “I can be there in two minutes.”

“Excellent.” The phone went dead, and both R.J. and Dana continued to stare at each other.

Dana cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. “Any idea what that's all about?”

Slowly he shook his head, still watching her. “Not a clue, but I guess we're going to find out.”

He reached for her arm, and Dana quickly grabbed a steno pad and pencil. Since Megan's office was also on the second floor, they reached it only moments later. R.J. drew up short as he saw Chelsea Markum standing impatiently just inside his mother's door. She glanced at him as he entered, and her smile was saccharine sweet.

R.J. noticed Chelsea's eyes were a dark green, but not the clear, guileless green of Dana's. No, Ms. Markum looked devious, and he kept his own expression enigmatic.

Megan Maitland stepped forward with a smile. “We're all meeting in the reception hall.”

“We?” He felt Dana standing stiffly beside him, but he had no idea how to reassure her since he hadn't a clue what was going on.

His mother, tall and slender, gave an imperious nod of her head. “I've allowed one reporter, Ms. Markum, and our own press staff to be present.” As they started out of the room, R.J. holding her arm and leading the way, Megan added, “Oh, and, dear, Tanya will also be there.”

He damn near missed a step. Staring at the top of his mother's regal white head, he wondered what the hell she was up to. Not once had he been able to reach Tanya, yet his mother had somehow gotten her to attend this impromptu meeting?

With an effort, he kept his tone merely curious. “Care to tell me why, or is this supposed to be some kind of surprise?”

She slanted him a look with her sharp blue eyes. “Oh, you'll be surprised, all right.” Tilting her head over her shoulder to
see the flagging Ms. Markum, she added, “You, as well, I think.”

R.J.'s gaze briefly met Dana's. She was walking beside the reporter, and even now he felt her unerring support, her confidence in him. With a brief shake of his head, he pushed open the reception hall doors and met his ex-lover's startled gaze. Reining in his anger wasn't easy, but he had no doubt that if he displayed his true feelings for Tanya, Ms. Markum would have a field day with it. He wanted his private life to remain as private as possible, which meant he had to conceal his anger behind cold contempt. Tanya received no more than a brief, dismissive glance.

Looking restless and wary, she stood by the end of a long table. She caught her breath as he entered, panic washing over her features until she resembled a cornered animal. With feigned bravado, her gaze left R.J. and focused on Megan. “What's going on here? If you intend to try intimidating me—”

“Not at all,” Megan said, her mouth tilted in a small smile. One of the hospital guards stood at the doors, blocking the way. Tanya couldn't have gotten far without causing a real ruckus. “I've decided we should get this entire situation dealt with, one way or another.”

Tanya stared at her in wary defiance. “What does that mean? Are you going to try buying me off? Do you plan to offer more for me to walk away than ‘Tattle Today TV' offered for me to come forward?”

Over my dead body,
R.J. thought, but he didn't need to speak the words. Megan, looking highly insulted, said, “Never,” in a tone that had Tanya backing up a step.

Chelsea Markum spoke for the first time. Her voice was shrill with excitement. “I think I should have a cameraman in here if you're—”

“You can either stay or leave, Ms. Markum, but I've had enough of cameras.” Megan's voice remained quiet and calm,
but there was an underlying steel in her words, and not for the first time R.J. admired this woman who'd overcome a very humble beginning and was now the matriarch of one of Austin's finest families.

Chelsea visibly suppressed her complaints, and instead pulled out a small tape recorder.

“Now then,” Megan continued, scanning the audience, “as you are all aware, I've been given temporary custody of the baby. After spending so much time with him, it occurred to me that there's one positive way to identify the baby's mother.”

“But
I'm
the baby's mother!” Tanya blustered.

“So you've said. And you've also named R.J. as the father, but I admit I have my doubts. You see, R.J. simply isn't the kind of man who could have done as you've claimed.”

“Everyone knows we were lovers!”

Dana's hand settled on R.J.'s biceps. She didn't try to restrain him, which would have been a foolish effort, but her soft touch offered a measure of calm and helped him to maintain his control. He didn't acknowledge her in any way, fearful of the moment being misconstrued. He didn't want Dana drawn into this small war. But he did regain his casual stance, and that reassured her enough that she removed her hand.

“Very well,” Megan said, unaware of R.J.'s fury, or else able to completely ignore it. “Since I've had the baby in my home, I've noticed one very obvious clue to his true identity. As his mother, you would immediately know what I'm speaking about, wouldn't you, Tanya? It's hardly something a mother would miss.”

R.J., having no idea what his mother was getting at, watched Tanya's face blanch. Knowing Tanya and her conspiring ways, he could tell she was struggling, trying to come up with an answer that would appease everyone. Chelsea Markum hovered nearby, her tape recorder whirring away, her expression rapt.

“This is ridiculous!”

“Not at all, Tanya.” Megan began to pace the room, but her gaze never left Tanya. “I think we all agree it's imperative for the baby's sake that we find the truth.”

Tanya turned away, her hands fisted. She strode the length of the table, then turned. Finally she cleared her throat. “You're probably referring to the…tiny scratch the baby had on his arm.”

Megan smiled, and the look was almost predatory. R.J. felt the first stirrings of satisfaction as he watched his mother in action. Beside him, Dana let out a shaky breath, and he knew she was feeling the same relief. He suddenly wanted to hold her, to take her hand. The idea disquieted him. He didn't need comfort from anyone.

And even if he did, he wouldn't dare touch Dana. The last thing he wanted was to give Chelsea new fodder for her audience, or to accidentally pull Dana into the scandal.

“No,” Megan said, “there was no scratch.”

“Then you're talking about the baby's…cowlick.”

Megan merely shook her head.

Tanya's eyes narrowed as she tried furiously to think of something else, and R.J. made a sound of disgust. “Give it up, Tanya. You know damn well the baby isn't yours—
or mine.
”

She flared at him, her chin shooting into the air. “Blue socks. The baby was wearing embroidered blue socks.”

Megan's voice sounded almost gentle. “No, Tanya, he wasn't.”

Dana gave a loud sigh of relief, moving infinitesimally closer to R.J. Deliberately, he let his arm brush hers, accepting her support. “The world knows you're a liar, Tanya.” Then he glared at Chelsea Markum. “Of course, with that damn reward being thrown out there, it was almost a given that someone would crawl out of the woodwork, trying to lay claim.”

Chelsea raised an auburn brow. “You're blaming me for this mess?”

“You've played your part in it.”

“You know, it occurs to me, Mr. Maitland, that just because Tanya isn't the mother doesn't mean you're not the father.”

Every muscle in his body bunched. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

“There was a letter claiming the baby to be a Maitland, don't forget. Everyone saw it, so you're not off the hook yet. As far as I'm concerned, until the real father owns up to his obligations, all the Maitland men are still suspect.”

Tanya used the distraction to stalk out of the room. When R.J. noticed her, Megan put a hand on his arm. “She's gone, and good riddance.” Then she turned toward Chelsea. “You'll print the truth?”

Chelsea shrugged. “That Tanya was a fraud? Of course. It's a great story. Even though I have to take your word about the so-called identifying clue.”

Megan reached over and snapped off the tape recorder. With a glitter in her eyes that spoke volumes, she added, “If you want to continue to have first rights on this story, you'll make certain you print the
exact
truth.”

Chelsea bristled. “Are you threatening me?” R.J. thought she looked titillated by the possibility. He shared a quick, conspiratorial glance with Dana and almost smiled. They both knew Chelsea was no match for Megan, not when Megan was protecting her own.

Megan shook her head. “Of course not. I'm merely making my position on the matter clear.”