Bewitched (27 page)

Her breaths came in short, harsh pants, as if she were experiencing discomfort. Or worse. And he knew why.

She'd been a virgin.

Never in his life had he felt a woman so acutely. He'd been sexually active since his mid teens, but the tightness he felt now, squeezing him, nearly turning his mind to mush, was unique. He strained to hold himself perfectly still while his mind tried to assimilate all the facts. Her shallow, rapid breaths fanned his throat. Her small hands were hot against his chest. Her soft thighs encased his hips. And her body held him as if she'd never let him go.

“Dana?”

Several seconds passed in silence. He heard her swallow. “I…I'm sorry.”

He couldn't begin to understand what she was apologizing for. “You're a virgin?”

She moved, shifting beneath him, and instinctively he used his hips to pin her down again, grinding into her softness in reaction.

“R.J….”
She moved again, lifting her legs so that her feet pressed flat against the mattress.

The position brought him deeper still, and his gut tightened painfully. He didn't know if she was trying to escape him or seduce him. All he knew for certain was that he was so deep, and the pleasure so keen, he was ready to explode.

His arms wrapped snug around her, his face pressed into her neck, he thrust hard, two times, three. He growled like a savage, thoroughly shattered, drained of all rational thought, his body balanced on an edge of pleasure so keen he'd never known anything like it.

Afterward he couldn't seem to do more than breathe—and even that required strenuous effort. They were still hanging half over the bed, Dana's legs now limp beside his. When they started to slip to the floor, he hefted himself onto his back beside her with a groan.

Like a shot, Dana was off the bed.

R.J., trying to regain normal breathing, watched as she hustled into the bathroom, her white nightgown a bright beacon as she dashed across the dark room.

He wanted to call her back, but he remained silent, listening to water run in the bathroom, trying to imagine what she was thinking while his heartbeat gradually slowed and his brain cleared of the fog that had taken over rational thought.

She hadn't found a bit of pleasure.

No, that wasn't true. She'd been every bit as turned on as he before he'd lost control and more or less attacked her. Shame washed over him. Damn, he'd been like a rutting animal.

He squeezed his eyes shut and silently called himself ten times a fool. Hell, he'd wanted to explore her entire silken body, yet he'd spent less than ten minutes on that particular pleasure, and had touched her only in the ways necessary to have her, without all the tenderness and detail he knew women wanted and needed.

He'd wanted to taste her everywhere, yet he'd barely kissed her, and certainly not in the ways and places he'd intended. She'd discovered the start of pleasure, the tip of the iceberg, but not the explosive conclusion.

And once he'd gotten inside her, he'd lost all claim to control.

It had never happened to him before and made no sense. She was Dana, for God's sake, not some femme fatale who'd deliberately seduced him. She'd done no more than stand there in her prim gown with her hair braided like a schoolgirl's, and he'd been as aroused as if he'd been indulging in hours of foreplay.

Hell, even when he
had
indulged in hours of foreplay, he'd never been that turned on.

Dropping an arm over his eyes, he groaned. There was still a pleasant buzz in his body, a sexual repletion that echoed. His muscles felt like mush.

And his bride was in the bathroom, hiding, maybe crying.

He couldn't stand it. He forced himself to his feet and staggered to the closed door. “Dana?”

The water shut off. Silence throbbed in the dark bedroom.

“Dana?” he repeated.

“Yes?”

Her voice was too high, too light. Very forced. He moaned low in his throat, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He felt like a defiler of innocents, and he didn't like the feeling at all. He hadn't lost control like that…ever. Spreading one hand on the wall, he propped himself up, still unsure of his shaky legs. “Honey, are you all right?”

A short, twittering laugh. “Yes, yes, of course. I'm fine.”

His free hand curled into a fist, and his eyes narrowed in speculation. He wanted to see her, to judge for himself. She'd been in the bathroom a long time. “What are you doing in there?”

“Oh, nothing. Tidying up.”

Tidying up what? Was she torturing her hair back into that twist? Or braiding it again? Surely it didn't take this long.

Another thought occurred to him, making him scowl. Her body had been so incredibly tight, had he hurt her? Would she tell him if he had? The answer to that was a resounding no. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never heard Dana complain, so he knew damn good and well she wouldn't start now, and certainly not over this.

R.J. rubbed his face and leaned against the wall beside the door, waiting. He liked to think he would have been more gentle if he'd known she was a virgin, but he couldn't force himself into that lie. He'd known. Not right away, of course, but the second he'd gotten inside her, realization had walloped him with the force of a sledgehammer. It made sense in so many ways. She'd always been reserved, dedicated to work. He'd never heard a single rumor of her dating.

But she was nearly thirty years old, and very, very special;
caring, comforting, intelligent. Surely some man somewhere had appreciated those qualities and given it his best shot?

R.J. shook his head in wonder, because he'd known her forever and he'd never even considered such a thing himself. He and Dana had a special relationship, and not once had he thought of risking that by introducing a sexual involvement. He could have sex with other women, but what he had with Dana couldn't be found anywhere else.

He turned his head and stared toward the closed bathroom door. Damn, but he'd blundered badly. The knowledge of being the first, the
only
one, obliterated everything else.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and he clutched the door-knob, rattling it once. He wasn't surprised to find it was locked. “Come on out, Dana. I want to talk to you.”

Another lengthy silence, then finally, “I, uh, I'll be out in a bit. Why don't you go on to bed? You've had a long day.”

He'd had a long day?

“We can talk in the morning,” she added, sounding desperate.

R.J. started to insist, then caught himself. At this moment she wasn't his secretary, and he wasn't her boss. She was his wife, and due some courtesy, belated as it might be.

He couldn't really blame her for not wanting to talk to him. And he wasn't at all certain that now was the best time, anyway. She wanted to be alone.

Hell, he had wanted to retreat to his room, had planned to do just that. He'd wanted to maintain his privacy and stay detached. Now she obviously wanted the same thing. Here was his opportunity, yet he felt oddly reluctant to leave her this way.

“Dana, I think we should—”

The water came back on, drowning out his words. He didn't feel like shouting to be heard, damn it. So he'd goofed? He could explain things to her in the morning. He'd convince her he was a good lover and promise he'd make certain she found
her own satisfaction next time. He'd tell her that she'd taken him by complete and utter surprise.

And he'd make damn sure she explained a few things, as well. Like how the hell an attractive twenty-nine-year-old woman had remained a virgin.

They could both use a good night's sleep to regroup. Then they'd talk, just as she suggested.

R.J. turned away, but he was followed by a feeling of foreboding. He glanced at the bed as he passed it, noticing how a shaft of moonlight danced just beyond the reach of the mattress, spreading out over the floor.

He'd made love to Dana, but she hadn't enjoyed it. He'd touched her intimately, yet he hadn't seen so much as that glimpse of an ankle he'd imagined earlier.

He'd had sex with his wife, but he hadn't even had the courtesy to undress her. Her nightgown had been bunched up under her arms, and her breasts had remained covered.

His eyes squeezed shut in disgust and self-loathing. He'd taken his wife with all the finesse and consideration of a sailor on one-day shore leave.

But he had seen her hair loose, he reminded himself, and that alone was enough to keep him tossing and turning for the rest of the night.

D
ANA HAD NEVER
been accused of being a coward, but she felt very cowardly at the moment. She wanted nothing more than to stay in her room and hide all day, yet she'd heard R.J. go downstairs some time ago. He'd be wondering where she was, thinking he'd cowed her with his detached, emotionless brand of sex.

What had she been thinking when she'd made that horrendous bargain? She wasn't a woman who could indulge in meaningless sex. Especially not when it was with a man she'd loved for so many years.

She sat at her dressing table and brushed her hair, then expertly twisted it up at the back of her head. A few pins, and she felt more like herself.

Except that she had a hickey on her neck.

She stared at the small mark with appalled fascination, remembering R.J.'s mouth there, the heat of it, the nip of his teeth. He'd made a low, guttural sound of intense satisfaction as he'd come inside her, his whole body rigid, shaking, hot. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.

Dana Dillinger, plain Jane extraordinaire, had a hickey from the most eligible bachelor in Austin, Texas!

She almost giggled. Then she remembered her name wasn't Dillinger anymore, and she groaned.

Her whole body bore signs of his lust—lust for
her.
Though they'd been covered by her nightgown, her breasts were tender from his hands and mouth and the press of his heavy chest
after he'd climaxed. The insides of her thighs felt achy from the strain of opening wide for him, gripping him, and later, from trying to push away from him.

He hadn't hurt her, not really. In fact, for the most part she'd felt a pleasure beyond any she'd ever imagined. But the depth of his response had left her shaken.

Because it had only been physical for him.

Last night, all pretenses of the civilized businessman had vanished, replaced with ruthless determination and unrestrained desire. He'd shown no inhibitions, no reserve. She knew R.J. well enough to understand he could be that way, but she hadn't expected him to be that way with her.

And she knew she couldn't deal with it.

If he'd been suave and practiced and gentle, she could have held back her emotions and taken what he offered. But R.J. had been sensually intrusive, touching her in ways she hadn't been prepared for, ways that should have been about love, not just sex.

Knowing she'd had only part of him had left her feeling more alone than ever.

She shook her head at her fanciful, old-fashioned conclusions. No, it would be better if they went back to his original plan. Last night as she'd lain in her new bed, painfully aware of R.J. sleeping only a short distance away, she considered everything with new eyes. She loved R.J. enough to do anything in her power to help repair his reputation—anything except pretend she didn't love him while they were intimately joined. That was asking too much.

She couldn't feign an emotionless, loveless physical attraction that would allow them to sleep together. It simply wasn't in her.

And he hadn't even wanted her to. She'd been the one to insist.

Well, he'd be relieved when he found out she'd changed her mind.

Dressed in comfortable beige drawstring cotton slacks and a matching long-sleeved tunic, she left the seclusion of her room.

The house was eerily silent as she made her way downstairs. Surprisingly, the air conditioner wasn't on; instead, R.J. had opened all the windows. In mid-November, the air was cooler, refreshingly so, and she welcomed the breeze that lifted the curtains and filled the house with the scents of the flowers outdoors.

Hoping for coffee to clear the cobwebs, she found her way to the kitchen, glancing at the house as she went. It was cozy and well decorated, and it looked like R.J. If he'd had it done by an interior designer, she was certain he'd had a lot of input.

Smiling, she stepped into the kitchen—and stopped dead.

R.J. stood there sipping steaming coffee from a bright red mug. He was leaning against the counter next to the coffee-maker, ankles crossed, pose negligent.

He was wearing only a pair of well-worn jeans.

Her breath caught and held. Her heartbeat doubled. R.J. looked up at her entrance, the coffee mug almost to his mouth, and his hazel eyes pinned her, gleaming with intent. “Good morning.”

Though she didn't intend it to, her gaze moved over him. God, he was incredibly gorgeous, all hard bone and smooth muscle and visible strength. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, combed back from his forehead so that his angular face seemed more pronounced, more male than ever. His jaw was freshly shaved, and beneath the strong smell of coffee she could detect a spicy cologne. Her skin tingled with awareness.

He had one hand braced on the counter at his hip, and the other held the mug, which he used to salute her. Still she stared. His chest was broad, and she remembered feeling the
crisp hair and hard muscle beneath her open palms last night. She wondered what it might have felt like on her naked breasts, tantalizing her nipples.

A rush of heat rose inside her and quickly spread outward until she knew she was blushing furiously.

R.J. chuckled. “Cat got your tongue this morning?”

She forced her gaze away from her fascinated study of his hard abdomen and reached for the empty mug he'd left sitting on the counter. The movement brought her close to him, and she did her best not to react to his scent, to his warmth, which she could feel enveloping her. “Good morning, R.J.”

She turned her back to pour the coffee—a tactical error. R.J.'s mug clattered down beside her own, and his arms came around her from behind, his hands flattening on the counter, caging her in. She stiffened, the coffee carafe clutched tightly in her hand.

He nuzzled her nape. “Mmm. I've been waiting down here for you, hoping you weren't a slugabed.”

“I…I never sleep late.” Oh, my God, it felt so wonderful to have him kissing her neck that way, little kisses that were barely there, a soft brushing of his lips. It made her skin tingle and her insides curl. His thighs touched the backs of her own, teasing then moving away again. She caught her breath and held it.

He lifted his right hand from the counter and flattened it on her middle, making her gasp. His long, rough fingers moved idly. “I like what you're wearing. Do you realize I've never seen you out of a suit?”

“R.J….”

“Last night,” he whispered, his tone husky, “it was so dark, I could barely see you at all.”

Thank God! She'd wanted it dark because she knew she wasn't the type of woman he was used to—sexy, self-assured, knowledgeable in how to please a man in bed.

His mouth paused, and he moved a slight distance away. He
drew his hand from her stomach, which gave her the chance to breathe in a huge lungful of air, and then he reached up to the neckline of her tunic. He found the chain on the necklace he'd given her.

“You're wearing it.”

She hadn't taken it off, not once. She didn't ever want to forget the moment he'd given it to her, so gallantly telling her it matched her eyes. Those were the sweetest, most romantic, most meaningful words she'd ever heard, and she'd cherish them always.

“Dana?”

“Shouldn't I wear it?” She'd kept the necklace hidden beneath her tunic, and the bracelet was concealed by the long sleeves. But suddenly she had the feeling she'd made a mistake. She knew so little about jewelry, and even less about gifts from men. “I mean, I know it's not exactly appropriate with casual clothes…”

“Dana, it's appropriate for you all the time. I told you, you look incredible in emeralds.” His hands clasped her waist and he turned her to face him. Bending his knees slightly so he could look her straight in the eyes, he asked in a low voice, “Were you wearing it last night?” His eyes were bright, intent. His breath touched her lips as he spoke, and his fingers bit into her waist. “And the bracelet?”

He was so close, his eyes searching. His bare chest beckoned her, and she wanted badly to touch him, to tangle her fingers in the dark hair, to search out his nipples. Her heartbeat raced and she swallowed hard. Trying desperately to control the aberrant urges, she kept her hands firmly at her sides and tightened them into fists. “Yes.”

His pupils flared and he drew in a quick breath. His gaze lowered, and she knew he was looking at her breasts. She looked down, too, and was appalled to see her nipples were puckered tight, pressing against the soft fabric of the tunic, clearly visible even through her bra. Her gaze shot back up
to R.J.'s, and she found him watching her with a calculating intensity.

He's trying to decide how to handle me,
she thought. She'd seen him do it so many times in his business dealings, assessing the situation, planning his maneuver. She took several slow, calming breaths, sorting her thoughts. Probably he was as embarrassed about last night as she was, and searching for the gentlest way to handle things. Maybe he assumed the deal was still on. Just the thought made her shudder.

She should let him off the hook right now, before things got out of control.

R.J. tugged her slightly closer. “About last night…”

With a short laugh meant to hide her nervousness, Dana twisted away from him. “Last night was a mistake.”

“What?”

“A total failure.” The only place to go was to the other side of the small kitchen table, so she did, moving behind a chair and holding on to the back of it. R.J. tracked her every movement with his eyes, as if waiting for her to bolt, or to attack. She realized that for once, he had no idea what she was doing or thinking.

He turned to the coffeepot and poured her a cup, then reached across the table to place it close to her. A tray with sugar and cream was already there, but she couldn't quite deal with it.

He retrieved his own cup and sipped, and she could tell by his expression he was carefully gauging his next words, judging them for effect. Once again he took up his casual pose. “I'll admit last night didn't go quite as I'd planned—”

“I take full blame.”

Both of his brows shot up at her blurted interruption, as if she'd said the unexpected. He watched her a moment, but when she only chewed on her bottom lip, he asked, “You do?”

“Absolutely. It was my idea, after all.”

That caused one side of his mouth to twitch, and she knew if he laughed at her she'd throw the coffee at his head. But of course he didn't laugh. He was more calculating than that.

“What I recall,” he said, his gaze probing, “is that you were a virgin, so any planning beyond the very basics seems pretty far-fetched.”

She hadn't been R.J. Maitland's secretary all this time without learning a tactic or two of her own. She had no intention of discussing her virginity with him—there was no way to explain it, anyway—so she skipped it entirely. To give herself something to do, she began dumping sugar in her coffee.

“R.J., I was the one who thought up the ridiculous plan of…sleeping together in the first place.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Absolutely.” She gave a resolute nod and stirred her coffee so quickly some sloshed out. She snatched up a napkin and dabbed at it. “I thought I might enjoy a casual…fling.” She nearly choked and picked up her coffee to take a sip. It tasted like syrup! “But last night,” she continued, looking him in the eye, “proved me wrong. I think we should go back to your original plan.”

“My original plan?”

She frowned at him. It wasn't like R.J. to parrot words or stand there looking dumbstruck. The man generally had something to say on everything. “Yes. During the day, I'll be the best wife to you that I can be. I have several plans that might shore up your reputation—though I'm still not convinced it's necessary—and I'm more than ready and willing to implement them. But at night…”

“Lovemaking isn't limited to the evening, you know.”

His harsh statement took her by surprise. He looked annoyed, maybe even bordering on anger. Why? She was offering him what he'd wanted all along. Heaven knew he'd fought hard enough for it before giving in.

“I beg your pardon?”

Very slowly, he rounded the table. “Married people have sex whenever they want, or are you too much the puritan to realize it?”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“In fact,” he continued, coming closer still, “I'd intended to make love with you right here, right now, on the kitchen table.”

“R.J.!”

“It's sturdy enough. That's not exactly why I chose the style in the first place, but as I was making the coffee, it occurred to me it was strong enough to support us, and it's just about the right height for all kinds of
interesting
things.”

He was too close to her now, and she could see the dangerous glint in his hazel gaze. Curiously, she eyed the small table. It was heavy oak with a slab top. And…it did look sturdy.

“R.J., you're being ridiculous.” But she felt flushed and anxious—and very hurt. She didn't want to be a mere body to him. She'd thought she could, but she'd been so wrong.

“Don't you want to know what those interesting things are, Dana?”

“No.”
More interesting than what he'd already done?
She didn't think she could stand it.

“I want to tell you, anyway.” He reached for her, and she ducked away.

“Well, I'd like that tour of the yard you promised. It's a beautiful day for it.” She stopped and faced him when she was again on the opposite side of the table from him.

R.J. gave her a speculative glance, his long fingers rubbing his chin. She saw the exact moment he came up with a plan.

“All right, Dana. Why don't we get some breakfast together and eat out on the patio? I can show you all the plant specimens I've brought in.”

Relief flooded her. “That'd be wonderful.”