Married To The Boss (11 page)

“I knew you'd think so.”

Was he laughing at her? Had her relief been so obvious? She frowned as she asked, “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Are you offering to cook for me? Is that one of those wifely duties you don't mind fulfilling?”

She'd spoiled him, she decided. He felt free to bait her because she'd always allowed him to as her boss. She'd waited on him, been the best secretary she could, because she loved him and wanted to make herself indispensable to him. But if they were going to get along during the duration of their bogus marriage, there would need to be some new ground rules.

Explaining things to R.J. wouldn't work. He'd instinctively balk at having rules laid out for him. So instead she'd have to show him by example. She went to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I'll do breakfast,” she said casually “but then you have to do lunch. There's fresh fruit in here, and bagels. We can have that for breakfast.”

R.J. was again watching her when she pulled the cantaloupe and fat strawberries from the fridge. He eyed her loaded hands and nodded. “I can toast the bagels. Do you like cream cheese on yours?”

He stepped close, then reached past her into the refrigerator and retrieved the bagels and cream cheese. His arm brushed her breasts, and his broad
chest was teasingly close. Dana held her breath, wanting to move away but unable to get her feet to cooperate.

As he started to step past her, he dropped a hard, quick smooch on her open mouth and grinned. Dana stared up him.

“Dana?”

“Hmm?”

“Cream cheese?”

As if coming out of a daze, she shook her head and glared at him. “Yes, please.”

R.J. chuckled and sauntered away. He thought he had it all figured out, she knew. And she'd just made it embarrassingly easy for him. Well, no more. She wouldn't get that close to him again.

This evening she'd start a campaign for improving his public image. That ought to keep them both busy enough to forget about last night.

Or at least to pretend to forget.

 

“I
'M SUPPOSEDLY
an excellent lover, you know.”

Dana choked on her melon, nearly spitting it out on the table. It took her several gasping breaths and two sips of tepid coffee to clear her throat.

Damn him, he'd taken her completely off guard.

They were out on the enclosed patio, the beautiful sunshine reaching in through the open windows, the hot tub bubbling warmly at the far end. Birds flew around the yard, providing entertainment, while the flowers within the room itself continually drew her attention. They'd spent the past hour chatting about
those flowers, and a dozen other innocuous topics. She'd started to relax, to let down her guard. But then he'd made that outrageous comment.

R.J. didn't smile at her shocked reaction. He simply continued to watch her as she wiped her mouth with a napkin and glowered at him.

When she made no reply, he pressed her. “You
do
know that, don't you, Dana?”

He wasn't going to let it go, so she shrugged, pretending an indifference she was far from feeling. “I'll take your word for it.”

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit.

She decided she needed to change the subject again, and quickly.

“Shouldn't you be getting dressed, R.J.?” No sooner had she spoken the words than she inwardly groaned. She couldn't have picked a worse thing to comment on. But then, his half-naked body was all she could really focus on. She'd made appropriate enough responses as he'd enthused over his flowers, telling her which ones did best indoors, which needed shade and which needed sunlight.

And she truly was interested—but not when R.J. Maitland was within touching distance and wearing only a pair of faded worn jeans that fit his lean body like a second skin.

She wasn't used to such close proximity to any man; breakfast after a night together was an aberration. But for that man to be R.J. was enough to keep her totally flustered.

R.J. leaned back in his wrought-iron chair and
stretched. “Why should I pile on the clothes? There's only me and my wife present. And it's a weekend. After suffering suits all week, I prefer to relax on the weekend.” He leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial tone admitted, “I actually hate suits. I prefer jeans any day.”

Trying to maintain her dignity, Dana smiled. “No one would ever know. You wear your suits well.”

“As well as I wear my jeans?”

The thought of throwing the rest of her coffee at him appealed to her greatly. However, she considered herself above such childish acts. “Actually, the jeans suit you better.”

He settled back in his chair and tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “How so?”

Dana shrugged. If he insisted on playing this game, she'd do her damnedest to match him. But then, it had always been that way. R.J. would roar and stomp, and she simply kept pace with him. That was one of the reasons she had succeeded as his employee when others had failed. “You're a barbarian at heart, R.J. That much is obvious. The suits may hide it from some people, but not from me.”

To her surprise, his mouth tightened. “Last night was no example of my character.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn't been thinking of last night! Good grief, did he really think she'd deliberately bring it up? “As far as I'm concerned, last night is best forgotten.”

That didn't appear to appease him at all, so she tried again. “I was referring to your controlling
ways—at the office, with your family. You like to sit back and observe people, then force them to do your bidding without them even knowing it.”

His face went blank with surprise. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You think I haven't noticed?”

“I think you're damn well imagining things!”

“R.J.” She made a tsking sound. “You do it all the time. You manipulate. Not in a mean-spirited way, because you're not a mean or petty man. You're just a man who likes things his own way. And you have very set ideas on what's best, for yourself and for everyone else. So you control things. You keep yourself apart from others so you can maintain that control.”

His eyes were diamond hard, his jaw set. “I don't seem to have a hell of a lot of control over you.”

“I have the advantage of being wise to your ways.” A variety of expressions flickered through his hazel eyes, but mostly disgruntled resentment. He didn't like it that she had pegged him so neatly. Still, there was also a touch of admiration, and she basked in it. R.J. had told her many times that he greatly respected her intelligence. She'd valued the compliment each time he'd given it.

He chewed his upper lip a moment, deep in thought, then he smiled. It wasn't a smile to put her at ease. Just the opposite.

“So tell me, smarty-pants. If you're so attuned to me, what am I thinking right now?”

“Probably about some way to get the upper hand.”

He slowly shook his head. “Wrong. But I'll tell you anyway.”

She started to stand, using the excuse of carrying in their dishes. She didn't trust the iron determination in his voice and thought a strategic retreat was in order.

Before she could get completely out of her seat, though, he'd taken her arm and held her in place. “I'm thinking about how different you look in these clothes. Do you know I can see the shape of your behind? Well, almost. The top is too long and loose for me to get a good look, but it beats the hell out of those tailored suits you wear that reveal all the feminine curves of an army tank.”

Appalled, Dana again tried to pull free. R.J. let her, but then stood to block her way. He wasn't being subtle in his domination, but then R.J. seldom used subtlety once he was set on his course. He walked his own path, and people generally got out of his way.

Dana stiffened her spine.

He stood very close to her, watching her intently, and she managed a smile, refusing to let him see how awkward she felt. “My behind is hardly worthy of all this discussion.”

The tender touch of his hand on her cheek was shattering. “You forget,” he whispered, “I may not have seen all of you last night, thanks to the darkness, but I sure as hell touched on all the important
parts.” He tipped up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I'm going crazy now wondering if you look as good as you feel. And let me tell you, your backside felt damn near perfect. Soft, round, just right for a man to hold on to.”

If her face got any hotter she'd go up in a puff of smoke. “R.J.…” His name was spoken as a soft plea, barely heard—and R.J. answered by tilting his head and pressing his mouth to hers.

This isn't what you want,
her mind screamed, but minds were easy things to ignore when the pleasure was so sharp. She'd been exceedingly preoccupied with R.J.'s chest and was now acutely aware of being pressed to it, of the steady, comforting thump of his heart, the silky-smooth hardness of his shoulders. Her hands crept over his biceps, thrilling at the thickness of iron muscle, before giving in and moving over his chest, exploring him as she'd so often thought of doing.

R.J. gave a deep groan of encouragement, his own hands idly coasting up and down her back, stopping just before cupping her bottom. Dana felt the crispness of his chest hair, the heat of his skin beneath. And the scents—R.J.'s scent was indescribably potent. She opened her mouth, wanting more of him, and his hot tongue slowly licked inside.

Oh…this was so different from last night. Now, with the sunshine bright in the cozy room, he could clearly see her. And though he didn't seem bothered by her unmistakable plainness, neither did he seem
as carried away. He was moving too slowly, too…
methodically.

Dana jerked away with a low gasp, knowing her eyes were round with distress. “We can't do this,” she croaked.

He kept his arms around her, and she saw the fire in his eyes, the denial. “The hell we can't. We're married, remember?”

“No.” She shook her head, and when she pushed against him, his arms fell to his sides. “You're doing it again—carefully figuring out how to get the upper hand. Doing whatever you need to do to keep it.”

“That's what you think this is about?” His shoulder muscles were rigid, and his fierce frown carved deep grooves over his brow. “Control?”

His obvious anger didn't faze her. It never had. “Isn't it, R.J.?”

Moving too fast for her to avoid him, he snatched her wrist, holding her tightly but with careful restraint. His gaze locked on hers, he carried her hand to his groin and pressed it there. Beneath the denim she felt every masculine inch of him.

Her breath caught and held. Shock rushed through her, making her knees shaky, her chest tight. She'd never touched a man this way, and she couldn't help but react to it. Her palm tingled, her skin heated and her heart began to race.

R.J.'s chest lifted and fell with a deep, shuddering breath, and for a single moment, his eyes closed. Then he pulled her hand away. Rather than let her
go, he slid his hand from her wrist and laced their fingers together.

His voice was little more than a rasping rumble, his eyes narrowed dangerously, when he explained, “Just so you know.”

She blinked at him as he turned, then tugged her toward the house. Like a sleepwalker, she followed his lead. Their hands were pressed together, trapping the male heat of him against her palm.

He didn't look at her as they walked. “You may not know a hell of a lot about men, honey, but you've got to know enough to understand an erection. I want you, plain and simple. Remember that the next time you accuse me of something.”

“I'm…I'm sorry.” She didn't know what else she could say. She was still reeling from the realization that he'd wanted her and that he'd given up—at least for the moment.

R.J. groaned, then his muscles relaxed. He flashed her a crooked grin over his shoulder. “Don't be. Your first assumption was right, too. I
do
want control, and by God, I'll have it.”

T
HEY FOUGHT
all day long.

R.J. couldn't remember a time when he'd had this much trouble making someone—especially a woman—see things his way. Everyone tended to agree with him. Eventually. He had been raised, and was accepted, as the oldest son of the Maitland family. He was the president of Maitland Maternity, a world-renowned center. He was sought after by debutantes from miles around. Clout was his middle name, and he used it without thought whenever he deemed it necessary.

But Dana had spent the day defying him on even the simplest requests, which marked a complete turnaround for her.

She was usually so obliging with him, handling even the most monumental tasks with extra care just to please him. It was what he was used to from her. It was what he expected. Now she seemed to have developed an uncommon use of the word
no.
And it didn't matter what he did, she held firm.

Between wanting her and being flatly denied, and having everything he offered thrown back in his face, his normally healthy ego was badly battered. Women
seldom told him no, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd had a gift refused.

He glanced at Dana's profile as he pulled the Mercedes into the drive and strove for a calm he was far from feeling. Dana, as usual, looked cool as an arctic blast. It was an expression he once appreciated but now resented. “You're being unreasonable.”

She didn't look at him, just stared straight ahead at the house. “Because I don't want you to give me a credit card when I already have two of my own?”

Her look clearly said he was the one being unreasonable. Not that he cared. “That's hardly the point, Dana.”

She pressed on, her tone irritatingly clipped and formal. “Because I don't want a joint savings account when we each already have our own?” She cast him a quick look. “And R.J., you pay me well. My accounts are not in need of padding.”

She was being deliberately obtuse, but he didn't say so. A joint account would allow him to supply her with some of his own money, money he could well afford to spare. He needed to do
something
for her, to reciprocate her generosity in some way, but she turned him down every damn time he tried.

“Stop squeezing the steering wheel, R.J. You're going to break it in two.”

R.J. glared at her and saw she was glaring right back. The cool detachment was gone. Her green eyes looked as if they were lit from within, something he'd never witnessed in Dana. There were a lot of
things about her he'd never noticed before—mule-headed stubbornness, for one.

He'd thought the long ride would have given her time to think, but she hadn't calmed down at all. She was prepared to reject him on every level.

He took some measure of satisfaction in seeing the chain around her neck and the ring on her finger. She wore the bracelet, too, though he couldn't detect it beneath her sleeve.

She'd accepted precious little from him, but the possessive part of him was mollified to see that in at least some small way, he'd been able to please her.

He pulled into the garage and shoved the car into park. Now, if he could just get her to agree on a few more things…. “Having an account in both our names—”

“Will make you feel like you're paying me for marrying you.” Her words rang with outrage, which appeared to have shocked her as well as him. After a moment, she gave a melodramatic sigh and dropped her head back against the seat. “R.J., I've already told you it wasn't necessary to buy my help. I don't want your credit cards. I don't want your money.”

She doesn't want me.
He shook that thought off just as quickly as he realized it. He didn't particularly
want
her to want him; the marriage was temporary, and once it was over, he hoped things could go back—to some degree—to the way they'd been before.

He knew deep in his gut they'd never be exactly
the same again. Not after he'd kissed her. And touched her. Not after he'd been buried deep inside her and found out he was the only one.

Not after he'd given her the impression he was a totally uncontrolled, bumbling fool in the sack. He felt disgustingly embarrassed every time he thought of it, and that made him angry, too.

He didn't really blame Dana for not wanting to give him a second chance. It had been her first time, and he'd totally lost control. He hadn't gently seduced her as he'd originally planned. He hadn't left her utterly sated when he walked away to go to his own room.

No, he'd left her hiding out in the bathroom after giving her nothing but a taste of how a wild man might behave.

Dana was controlled, always poised, always elegant. Sweaty, gritty sex likely repulsed her—especially since he'd been in such a frenzy to have her, she hadn't even gotten to climax.

R.J. swore softly, then threw open his door. Dana climbed out on her own, refusing to let him open her door the way a gentleman should, the way he wanted to.
Damn woman.

The whole day was frustrating, and getting more so by the minute. After they'd tidied up the breakfast dishes together, he'd taken her on a tour of the house. She'd been woefully unimpressed, though she'd made appropriate noises of appreciation. But he knew her better than that. It was the plants, and especially the pond, that she found fascinating. They'd
spent several hours outside, just walking and talking. Even in her enthusiasm, Dana had tried to remain impersonal. But he'd now met the woman beneath the suit. He knew what she tasted like, the way she sounded when she was sexually aroused. He knew the heated scents of her body.

Damn, if only he'd taken his time. She'd been satisfyingly close for a while there—until he'd botched it.

Dana headed into the house, oblivious to his heated thoughts, and R.J. made note of the gentle sway of her hips. Trailing behind her would become a new hardship, given she wanted a hands-off relationship. He was only too aware of how wonderfully touchable she was. He swallowed hard. “Where are you off to?”

“I'm going to make a few calls.”

She kept walking, not bothering to look back. R.J. reached out and snagged the back of her shirt, pulling her up short. “What kind of calls?”

Looking over her shoulder, she glanced first at his face, then the fist holding her in place. One brow rose in the same imperious manner Megan often used. It was a command, plain and simple.

It wasn't easy, but R.J. managed to loosen his fingers and let her go. He shoved his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to grab her again.

“First I'm going to have my car driven over here.”

That brought him up short. He hadn't even considered her car. “Why?”

“We have work tomorrow, remember?”

He remembered only too well. His mother had given him grief for not taking Dana on a honeymoon. She hadn't been impressed with his explanation of sudden decisions, bad timing and set schedules. Megan knew he could rearrange things if he chose to, just as she knew he'd damn well take a honeymoon if that was what he wanted to do.

But a honeymoon had never been the purpose of the marriage.

“I can drive you to work. We're going to the same place.”

“I'd rather have my own car.”

“Then we can get it later in the week.”

She gave him a pensive frown. “Our schedules seldom mesh, R.J., other than arriving close to the same time. But I generally like to get there before you—”

“You don't need to do that now.”

She shook her head. “Work is work, and I won't let our pretend marriage change that. Besides, you often stay later than I do and have meetings after hours when I go home. You're what we normal people call a workaholic. If you had to chauffeur me around, you'd resent it.”

She had a point, not that he'd admit it. “I hardly think driving my wife somewhere could be called chauffeuring.”

“Your
pretend
wife.”

“To the world it's real.”

“And to the real world, it makes sense for us to
drive separate cars.” Irritation edged into her tone. “I know for a fact you have meetings planned for lunch most of this week, while I usually meet one of my friends. We need two cars, so I might as well get mine here tonight. Besides, I've already made arrangements with my neighbor to have it dropped off. All I need to do is let him know.”

R.J. ran a hand through his hair. Frustration gnawed at him, but he couldn't say exactly why. Two days ago, he'd have been insistent that she have her own car, because that would have guaranteed his freedom. Now he saw it as another tactic on her part to put distance between them. She wanted as little to do with him as possible, and his ego naturally rebelled. He'd expected to be the one fending her off, not the other way around.

He dropped his hands. “Fine. You want to drive yourself, you can use my Mercedes. I'll drive the Explorer—”

She stared at him. “You have an Explorer?”

“I use it when I travel or when I go to the lake.”

“Oh.” Then she shook her head. “R.J, I have my
own
car, thank you. I don't need yours.”

A smart man always knew when to retreat, which meant he was losing his edge because he should have stopped ten minutes ago. “All right. Is that all you have to do now?”

“No. I'm going to set up some damage control. That's why we got married in the first place, remember?”

If he threw her over his shoulder and hauled her
upstairs, would she fight him? Probably. Dana didn't appear to have an amicable bone left in her entire body—at least not where he was concerned. “It's Sunday. How much organizing can you do today?”

“Plenty. This is the best time to start because everyone will be home. I'm going to get the ball rolling on our public announcement, just in case the papers haven't gotten wind of it yet. And this coming week we're going to make the rounds visiting some of the places you regularly donate to. Like the One Way Farm for kids, the women's shelter, the various medical research facilities. You're very generous with your time and money, but no one reports on that.”

He eyed her mutinous, disgruntled expression and knew she was feeling defensive on his behalf again. It was a unique experience having someone champion him, though he realized now that Dana had always done exactly that, so subtly that he'd barely noticed. He didn't like knowing that he'd taken her for granted, that he'd appreciated only part of the woman she was. “Don't get riled, honey. I doubt anyone even knows what I donate or to whom.”

“Exactly.” She raised a small fist. “But if the press wants to hound you this week, well, they can just follow us around and give some added publicity to the charities that need it. In fact, that'll be your stand, okay?”

Besides making him hot, she amused the hell out of him. “My stand?”

She began pacing as she pulled her thoughts to
gether. “You want to turn all the bad publicity into some good. You don't mind being in the limelight if it will help someone. In fact, you welcome the press!” She nodded in satisfaction at her own conclusions, then turned away. “I'm going to get started on this right now.”

R.J. stood there, speechless. Dana was in full work mode, so there was no point getting in her way. She went into
his
den and shut the door with a click, firmly closing him out.

Muttering a muffled oath, R.J. went down the hall. The night would arrive soon enough, and he'd try reasoning with her again.

It was a strange reaction on his part, because making love with a virgin had never appealed to him before. The few inexperienced women he'd known hadn't been very satisfactory lovers. They hadn't been virgins, but neither had they known enough to fully reciprocate his sensual advances. He'd done all the work, gotten little enough in the way of response, and there'd been no giving, no real sharing.

With Dana, it had been different. Her response had been first shyly open, then blindly feverish. She'd been more than willing to give and take, holding nothing back from him—until he'd lost control.

R.J. bit the side of his mouth, remembering the hot, tight clasp of her body as he'd pushed his way into her, the wetness, the seductive scent of her arousal. He got hard just thinking about it.

Damn, would he ever be given a second chance?

He thumped his fist against his thigh, cursing low
and making a silent vow. Tonight, he'd get started on wearing her down. He'd be honest with her, telling her that she'd turned him on, explaining why he'd lost control and promising it wouldn't happen again. No woman could resist a well-phrased compliment, especially when it was true. And just maybe she'd appreciate the fact that he'd found her so desirable he'd been pushed over the edge when no other woman had had that effect on him.

No, he decided abruptly, he'd keep that part to himself. No reason to leave himself so open or to make her think she had more influence on him than she did. Their marriage was temporary, after all, and he didn't want her to start imagining things that could never be.

All he really had to do was show her that he was no slacker in bed, that the rumors of him being a good lover hadn't been false, contrary to what she'd witnessed. He had to prove to her that her first plan hadn't been a bad one after all. And he had to make her understand that she could have incredible pleasure with him.

He had to have her, period.

 

D
ANA WAS SATISFIED
with all she'd accomplished. She'd spoken to many of R.J.'s relatives, as well as some family acquaintances and closer friends. She'd given her humble apologies for not inviting them to the wedding, but claimed that under the circumstances, she and R.J. had wanted as little publicity as possible. Everyone had been gracious enough to say
they understood, though she knew his sisters were hurt, especially Anna.