Bewitched (31 page)

The difference this time, of course, was that Dana had
engineered the entire thing so he'd come off looking like a saint. There were photos of him holding babies at the clinic. Photos of him speaking with women from the shelter. Candid shots of him writing out a check to the One Way Farm for children, checks that were usually taken care of by his accountant.

And in fact, they
had
been taken care of already, not that he minded donating twice. He'd chosen the charities himself and wanted to do whatever he could to support them. It amused as well as irritated him that Dana wouldn't accept a single cent from him, but she had no problem giving his money away.

Dana had worked things perfectly, and now Austin society didn't know what to think. Was R. J. Maitland a man capable of abandoning his own child, or was he the great philanthropist?

R.J. didn't know what to think, either.

At that moment, Dana bustled in—there was no other word for her irritatingly cheery disposition in the face of his disgruntled frustration—and refilled his coffee cup. She wouldn't serve him at home, and in fact seemed to take exceptional glee in refusing him even the most minor gratuities, but at the office, nothing had changed.

The confounded woman knew he couldn't strip her naked at the office.

Though the thought had singular appeal.

After the cup was full, she perched her hip on the side of his desk, making his pulse quicken, and said, “R.J., Chelsea Markum just called. She wants to interview you.”

He made a rude sound. “That conniving little bitch. What's she hoping to do? Negate all the headway you're making?”

Dana lifted a brow. “The headway
you're making.”

He eyed the length of her legs, one bent at the knee and the other outstretched. Damn, but she had long legs. Killer legs. Why the hell had it taken him so long to notice?

Because the long, sturdy skirts she wore and the flat, ugly
shoes on her feet conspired to hide that fact from everyone, including him.

He imagined her in a short, snug skirt—or better yet, no skirt at all. He took a deep, calming breath. “No one would have paid me the least attention these last few days if it hadn't been for you.”

“Only because you're a private man and you consider your philanthropic tendencies no one's business but your own.”

He leaned forward with a negligent lack of haste, his forearms flat on the desk, his hands close to her hip. One inch, he thought, and he'd be touching the soft curves of her behind.

She slipped off the desk to pace away. R.J. swallowed his frustration. “My
tendencies
aren't anyone's business,” he groused, “and if it hadn't been for Chelsea and her cutthroat newscast, things could have stayed that way.”

Dana's gaze was suddenly solemn as she turned to him. “Oh, R.J.” She searched his face. “Have I convinced you to do something you didn't want to do?”

After the miracles she'd performed, he felt like a cad. He left his seat and strode toward her. “Do you really think that's possible, babe?”

She blinked at the pet name he'd started to use and took one step back before halting and squaring her shoulders. “What?”

“For you to get me to do things I don't want to do?”

“Oh. Well, no, not really.”

R.J. stood only three inches from her. Sunlight from the large window behind his desk poured over her, making her fair hair glint and gilding her eyelashes. Her skin, he found, was incredible. Not a single flaw, just soft and silky and smooth. He wanted to explore that skin everywhere, on her belly, her upper thighs, the small of her back.

He made a low sound and took her shoulders in his hands.
But as he lowered his head she ducked away, needlessly smoothing her hair as if he'd somehow mussed it.

“R.J., please,” she whispered, glancing around, though they were alone in the big office. “We can't do that…here.”

Evidently they couldn't do it anywhere. At least, not the
it
he wanted, which was everything. She let him kiss her occasionally and seemed to enjoy his attention. She even accepted the limited caress: a pat on the behind, a cuddle of her breast. The adolescent touches were enough to make him crazed. But if it went beyond that, if he started to breathe hard—which he seemed to do the second she responded to him—he'd see the haunting uncertainty cloud her big eyes.

His vow to wait until she was ready was wearing real thin.

She'd gone to his desk to straighten his papers, and he couldn't help himself. He stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her narrow waist, resting his jaw at the part of her hair on her crown. “Do you know what I've been thinking?” he murmured.

She was very still. “No.”

“About you. And this damn enormous desk. And how easy it would be to bend you over it.” Her gasp was loud, but he was learning to read her, just barely, and he recognized the sound as mingled excitement and persistent reserve. “Like this.”

He pressed his chest against her back and she automatically braced her hands flat, supporting her weight while bending forward. The position put her buttocks at a very interesting angle. He slid his hands down her rib cage until they were holding her hips, then let her feel how aroused he'd become already.

The insanity of need almost claimed him as he felt the soft, firm cushioning of her derriere against his hard flesh. His fingers contracted, and only by force of will did he make himself go slowly. With a more experienced woman, he'd already be driving deep, easing the hot need for them both.

Feather light, he kissed along the nape of her neck, which he'd learned was ultimately sensitive to his every touch. She shivered and made a small sound of surprised pleasure—a sound guaranteed to make him throb.

“Just a few buttons undone at your jacket and blouse, and I could be holding your naked breasts right now. Are your nipples hard, Dana?” The words and accompanying image affected him as much, if not more, than her. He groaned, then found out for himself that indeed they were. She was ripe, aching.

She pushed back against him in an instinctive search for relief when he lightly tugged at her pointed nipples. His heart slammed against his rib cage. “Damn, but I love touching you, Dana.”

She made a small sound, but R.J. couldn't be sure it was acceptance. He nipped her ear.

“If I pushed your skirt up high,” he groaned against the side of her throat, “I could slide my hands between your soft thighs and—”

Straightening abruptly, she almost hit him in the head. She scrambled from between him and the desk. Chest heaving, eyes wide, face flushed, she stared up at him and blurted, “You have a meeting!”

“What?” Somehow that wasn't at all what he'd expected to hear. It took his sluggish brain a moment to assimilate the words.

Still panting, she closed her eyes as if that were the only way she could concentrate enough to speak coherently. Forming the words with care, she said, “You had a lunch meeting with Drake, remember?” She bit her lip, then opened her eyes. “He's…he's probably waiting for you right now.”

R.J. stared at her, nonplussed, until the truth sank in.

Good God, he'd forgotten a meeting. The meeting had been penciled in on his calendar for over a week.

He remembered Dana putting the reminder note in front of
him—and he'd watched the gentle sway of her shapely rump as she'd left.

He even remembered confirming with Drake earlier that very day—but his mind had been on Dana sitting primly at her desk, a sight visible through the open office doors.

In fact, he thought in numb horror as he looked at his desk piled with files he hadn't touched, he hadn't done a damn thing all day except think of her and let his imagination go wild. To be honest, the entire week had been pretty much a write-off. A sick tightening of his throat made it difficult to breathe, and he swallowed hard, then met Dana's nervous gaze.

His hands curled into fists. He was responsible, reputable, a self-professed workaholic, and that was how he liked it, damn it. Unlike his father, he didn't take his duties lightly. And as president of Maitland Maternity, a lot of people relied on him.

Something had to change.

He stepped around Dana and snatched his jacket from the desk chair. “Get on the phone with the restaurant. Have them tell Drake I was detained but I'm on my way.”

She didn't answer, and at the moment, he didn't care. He hunted through the stack of ignored files until he found what he was looking for, then shoved the papers into his briefcase and snapped the case shut.

He didn't look at Dana, didn't acknowledge her in any way. She'd become a weakness in his blood, and he'd have to deal with that.
Later.
Right now, he had business to take care of.

Dana rushed alongside him as he headed for the door. “What about Ms. Markum and ‘Tattle Today TV'?”

“You can tell Ms. Markum to take a flying leap—”

“R.J.!”

They were in the hallway, almost to the elevators. He gave an impatient look at his watch and wondered what Drake would have to say about being kept waiting. A first and, most definitely, a last. “Tell her whatever the hell you want, as
long as it's no. I don't want a damn thing to do with that woman.”

“It might be good publicity—”

He stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. “I said no, Dana. And regardless of anything else, I'm still your damn boss.”

She stiffened and her soft mouth firmed into a straight line. Just before the elevator doors shut, she gave him a sharp salute and chimed, “Yes, sir!”

R.J. found himself cursing violently to an empty elevator. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he felt totally dispossessed of every value he held near and dear. His work ethic had always been uppermost in his mind. Not once since he'd been old enough to be responsible for himself had he shirked his duties. But now, having Dana in the office had become a distraction he couldn't deal with. One look at her, and all he could think about was how wonderful her body had felt beneath his. He'd been given to daydreaming, when all his life he'd disdained the fools who wasted their time doing just that.

Marrying Dana had done as he'd hoped. With all her efforts, his reputation was in repair.

But was it a reputation he was worthy of anymore?

D
ANA HURRIED IN
through the garage, noticing as she parked that R.J.'s car was there, also. She had hoped to beat him home. Home. What a strange word to use in connection with a house that wasn't hers and never would be. But she did feel at ease here. And she absolutely loved the grounds. Each morning she and R.J. took their coffee to the cozy back patio. The scent of flowers combined with gurgling water from the pond fountain nearby and the chirping of birds in the yard had worked to make her feel very relaxed and peaceful. She loved it.

Of course she'd kept her apartment. For now, she could enjoy his home as her own, but she'd be going back to her place once R.J. decided the marriage had served its purpose and was no longer needed.

He'd tried to argue about that, too, she remembered, as she retrieved her packages from the trunk. He'd been so unreasonable about so many things, but to even think she'd give up her apartment and all her furnishings when the marriage wasn't the forever kind…. Never mind that he'd tried telling her he'd get her another apartment—even a house if she wanted it—when the time came. You'd think the man would know her better than that.

R.J. must have been listening for her, because before she could juggle her keys to unlock the door from the garage into the house, he was there. He still had on his dress slacks, but he was in his socks and his hair was disheveled. His shirt was
completely unbuttoned, hanging from his broad shoulders and displaying more than it concealed.

As usual, the sight of him did funny things to her stomach.

“R.J.,” she said by way of a greeting.

He reached out and lazily relieved her of the bags, balancing them all in one arm. “Where've you been to?”

His tone had a slightly edgy sound to it, and she looked at him warily. “I went shopping.”

He didn't reply, but waited until she'd stepped into the house then closed the door behind her. He followed her through the dining area to the kitchen. Dana pulled off her lightweight jacket and laid it over a chair. “What's wrong?”

“Wrong? I've been home for over an hour. The house was empty. No wife, not even a housekeeper.”

“I thought your meeting might keep you longer.”

His eyes narrowed. “After lunch, I got back on schedule.” He lifted a glass from the counter and took a healthy swallow. Ice cubes chinked as he finished it off. “One blunder a day is enough. Besides, there was no way I could have been late for my last meeting. As it was, half my family was there and they gave me hell for not telling them about the wedding.”

Dana eyed the drink in his hand. R.J.'s sister Abby was Maitland Maternity's finest obstetrician and one of Dana's closest friends. His sister Ellie was the hospital administrator and Beth, Ellie's twin, managed the day-care center. Dana had known they would all be at the meeting, with Megan, of course. Maitland Maternity was, for the most part, a very family-oriented business. Dana had wondered how R.J. would explain away their marriage.

But at the moment the reasoning he'd given for their marriage didn't matter. She remembered that Abby had confessed her concern over R.J.'s drinking habits of late. But to Dana's knowledge, he hadn't drunk at all since the wedding.

R.J. saw the direction of her gaze and shook his head.
“Don't start. Abby already gave me a earful. You'd think I'd turned into a damn lush the way she fretted.”

“She loves you, so she worries.”

“She has no reason. And as long as you're going to be the nosy wife, you might as well know it's only cola. I want to talk to you, and I intend to be dead sober while I do so.”

That sounded far too ominous to Dana's ears. She tried for a lighthearted smile, though judging by R.J.'s frown, it wasn't effective. “Fine. Can you talk while I fix dinner?”

R.J. crossed his arms over his bare chest and scowled at her. “Why the hell are you cooking? I have a perfectly good housekeeper to do that sort of thing. Speaking of which, where the hell is Betty? She's usually here until after I get home.”

Dana kept her back to R.J. as she pulled vegetables and pasta from the grocery bag then put a pot of water on the stove to boil. “I gave Betty the day off.”

A beat of silence, then, “You did what?”

The low disbelief in his voice wasn't promising. Forcing a bright smile, Dana turned to head to the refrigerator. “I gave her the day off. I wanted to cook today, so I saw no reason for her to hang around.”

“The reason for her to hang around is that I pay her damn well to do just that.”

Dana tried to hang on to her own temper, but it wasn't easy. She'd so wanted tonight to be…special. R.J. had been so sweet all week. He touched her constantly and gave her outrageous compliments that she couldn't begin to believe but felt wonderful to hear all the same. She no longer felt so self-conscious about her looks around him. She'd even started to subtly change her appearance a bit. It wasn't much, because she'd never been the daring type, but she'd loosened her hair just a little, and had even gone so far as to let a few long strands hang free. Twice R.J. had gently smoothed them behind her ears, and she so loved having him touch her that she'd vowed to keep her hair a little less neat from now on.

And because he'd made such a fuss about her legs, she'd taken Hope's advice and bought a pair of shoes with a slight heel. They were far from being sexy, but they didn't look like orthopedic shoes, either.

She hid a smile, remembering the attention her legs had gotten at the office all day. R.J. had even forgotten his meeting, which was an absolute first.

She waved a hand at him. “Settle down, R.J. You're a big boy. I'm sure you can get your own drink.”

R.J. caught her wrist and pulled her around to face him. His expression looked as if it had been carved from flint. “I can get my own drink. But I had laundry to go to the cleaners, as well, and I like to eat when I get home, not hours later. So don't ever presume to dismiss
my
housekeeper again.”

He was ruining everything with his surly temper, and Dana didn't appreciate it one bit. She jerked her wrist free and poked him in the chest. Hard. “It won't be hours if you'll get out of my way and let me cook. Pasta takes all of about twenty minutes. And if we're going to be married, even for a little while, you better learn that once I leave the office, I stop taking orders from you.”

She finished that sentence with another poke, and he grabbed her hand. He looked livid, though why, she couldn't guess. She met his gaze with as much bravado as she could muster, not giving an inch. Slowly, the look in his eyes changed to one of heat, but still he didn't release her.

“You won't let me give you a damn thing, and now you want to cook, too?”

Dana rolled her eyes. “R.J., is that what this is about? I keep telling you, I don't need you to give me anything, and I enjoy cooking.” She glanced down at his large hand, which was wrapped around her much smaller one. “I wanted to cook—for you.”

He took a slow, shuddering breath, then released her. Turning away, he ran one hand through his hair and cursed low.

“R.J.?”

“I'm sorry,” he said abruptly. “I screwed up today and I'm taking it out on you.”

“Screwed up?”

He turned to face her so fast, she jumped. “I almost missed my goddamned meeting.”

It was starting to sink in just how much that had upset him. Dana knew R.J. was a workaholic, that he took incredible pride in the job he did. As long as she'd been with him, he'd never missed work, and he seldom worked less than fifty-hour weeks. It wasn't that it was expected of him; R.J. demanded it of himself.

Dana pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and pushed R.J. toward it. “Sit. You can talk to me while I get your dinner ready.”

He sprawled into the chair. Dana thought he looked exhausted, but he asked, “Do you want me to do anything to help?”

Just to keep his mind busy, she handed him the package of prewashed romaine lettuce, along with a block of cheese and the shredder. “Tear the lettuce, and shred the cheese over it. Then toss on some croutons. You can put it all in this bowl.”

Obediently he began tearing. As Dana began mixing up the creamy sauce for the pasta, R.J. said, “I can't be late for another meeting, Dana.”

She glanced at him, worried at his tone. “I'll make sure you aren't, R.J.”

“You didn't make sure today.”

He wasn't casting blame so much as simply pointing out an irrefutable fact. He was in such a strange, almost dangerous mood, Dana chose her words with care. “You distracted me today. I'll be more careful from now on.” He glanced up at her, and she added, “You don't have to worry about it.”

He went back to shredding the lettuce. Dana didn't bother
to tell him he'd already prepared enough for the two of them. She threw in the angel hair pasta, then stirred it gently.

“Actually, I do.”

She kept one eye on the boiling water, one on R.J. “You do what?”

“Have to worry. I've always had to be aware of the possibility that I was more like my father than I'd like to admit.”

Dana closed her eyes a brief moment as the magnitude of what he was feeling sank in. She pulled the pasta from the stove and dumped it in a colander, then rinsed it with cold water. She moved automatically, her thoughts not on preparing the meal, but on R.J. “Your father…”

“Was the blot on the family name. He left his two children without a backward glance and hasn't shown his face since.” He put the lettuce aside and rubbed his forehead. “I don't want anything in common with the man, Dana, do you understand that? There'll be no comparisons. I won't forget my responsibilities.”

Without really thinking about it, Dana went to the back of his chair and wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders. He lifted his hands to hold her forearms and turned his face into her. She kissed his temple. “R.J., you're the most rock steady, dependable man I've ever known.”

She moved her palm to his chest and caressed him, thrilling at the feel of his warmth, of the smooth flesh over hard bone and muscle. She kissed him again, then hugged him as tight as she could.

R.J. caught her and pulled her around to his lap. His large hand turned her face up, and he said against her mouth, “I don't want you to be hurt or angry.”

Confused, she whispered, “I'm not.” She kissed his chin, then tucked her face against his throat. “I'm so proud of you, R.J. And I know Megan and the rest of your family are, too.”

His laugh was hoarse. “They weren't proud today. They
were ready to string me up for not telling them about our secret
torrid affair.
”

“Oh.” She leaned back to blink at him.

“They all assume we must have been carrying on behind their backs since we up and married so suddenly.”

Her face flamed. “Oh, God. What must they think of me?”

“I believe Beth said something along the lines of you being a saint, since you could tolerate me and my mercurial temper. And Ellie wondered if you'd be a good influence on me.”

Dana chewed her lower lip as that sank in. “Will they be disappointed when we separate?”

His thumb smoothed over her cheek. “I don't intend to disappoint anyone. That's why I made a decision today.”

Dana felt awkward now that he'd gotten so serious. It looked as if it was time for that talk he'd mentioned, but she was perched on his lap and she wasn't at all oblivious to the hard evidence of his arousal beneath her. The last thing she wanted was a lecture. “Maybe we should eat first.”

R.J. pulled her head to his chest, held her tight and said, “I'm firing you.”

“What!”

Easily subduing her struggles, he wouldn't let her up. “Shh. You can call it quitting if you like, but the fact of the matter is, I can't have you in the office all the time. It's too distracting.”

Again she struggled, and again he tightened his hold.

“Just listen, babe, okay? I did something today that I've never done before, because all I could think about was making love to you.”

Dana stilled. It shouldn't matter to her, but she liked the sound of that. Maybe R.J. was starting to care for her. Maybe, just maybe, she meant more to him than a secretary or a temporary wife.

“I watched you sitting at your desk,” he murmured, “and
tried to imagine you there naked. You carried my papers and all I could think about was pulling you down on the carpet and opening your legs.”

His words, which bordered on obscene, sounded incredibly sexy to her. Without meaning to, she knotted her hands in his loose shirt, pulling herself closer.

“I wanted you on my desk, or, hell, under my desk. Or standing up against the wall. I want you so bad, Dana. And I can't work because of it.”

So she had to go. Dana hid a small smile of inconceivable joy. He wasn't manipulating her now. He had missed a meeting, and he had been distracted by her all day. Firing her wasn't just a ploy on his part to get her into his bed. He could have had her there at any point this week if he'd pushed her. But instead, he'd held back and he'd given her the most wonderful week—like a courtship.

No one would ever have accused Dana of being brazen, and now was no exception, regardless of what she was about to do. Keeping her face safely tucked against his body where he couldn't look at her, she whispered, “Then have me.”

R.J. turned to stone. Dana wasn't even sure he was breathing. “Dana?”

It was a gamble, because the likelihood that R.J. would ever really care about her was remote. He'd had beautiful, sophisticated women after him his entire life, so why would he fall in love with her? But she wanted him too much to keep resisting. At least she knew his feelings, whatever they might be, were sincere. And she assumed once his frustration was taken care of, there'd be no reason for him to fire her.