Married To The Boss

by Lori Foster

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She looked appalled at the mere suggestion.

  “—and I don’t want you to be nervous. I want you to trust me.”

  Very softly, she whispered, “I do trust you, R.J. That’s not what this is about. It’s…it’s a lot more complicated than that.”

  R.J. felt a lick of dread go down his spine. He stiffened, feeling the tension gather in his neck. “You want me to have a paternity test done?”

  Dana looked at him blankly. “What?”

  He gently smoothed his hand over her hair, though he felt anything but gentle. “You’re still wondering if maybe I’m the father of the baby, aren’t you?”

  He braced himself for her reply, but wasn’t ready for her burst of anger. She shoved him, almost throwing him to the side. He caught her shoulders and held her still. “Dana?”

  Hands pressed flat on his chest, she lifted her head and shouted an inch from his nose, “No! I do not think you’re the baby’s father. That’s a stupid thing for you to say. For the last time, R.J., anyone who knows you knows it’s an utterly ridiculous accusation.”

  The emotions that hit him then were too confusing to sort out. Her belief in him meant a lot, and he was grateful for it. But if the paternity issue wasn’t the problem, then he’d been right all along.

  He’d been a failure in the sack. He felt the heat of his embarrassment climb up his neck. She didn’t want to sleep with him again not because she doubted his honor, but because he’d been such a disappointment. His expertise in pleasing a woman had never been questioned before now.

  Of course, he’d never gone deaf, dumb and blind over a woman before, either.

  He clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to defend himself once again. Dana was simply too inexperienced and too unsure of her own appeal to understand that it was his hunger for her that had driven him wild. All she knew was that he’d come after her with the finesse of a rutting bulldog, and she hadn’t found any satisfaction at all.

  That thought made his muscles twitch. He couldn’t wait to bring Miss Dana Maitland—his wife—to completion, to show her in explicit detail just how appealing she really was. Once she found out what sex was all about, things would be different between them.

  But in the meantime, he needed to work at shoring up her confidence. He had no doubt her mother had played a real number on her, repressing Dana’s natural sensuality as something evil. After all, it was the sensuality of some other woman that had taken her husband away.

  It was ironic that Dana’s father had abandoned her because he didn’t care about his wife, while R.J.’s father had walked away because his wife had died, leaving him a man incapable of caring about anyone or anything else.

  He held her head between his hands, keeping her gaze locked with his. He enjoyed looking at her, and his fascination with her emerald eyes hadn’t diminished one bit. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheekbones, seemingly unable to stop touching her. His sweet, efficient, orderly Dana.

  She was by far the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

  “I’ve never in my adult life,” he whispered, “treated a woman the way I did you last night. But it was your fault too, honey. You shocked the hell out of me. I didn’t expect you to be so…”

  “So what?” Her antagonistic tone proved she was going to fight him every inch of the way. “I’m just me, R.J. The same woman you’ve known for years, the woman you recognized for her secretarial skills. Not for anything else.”

  She was so defensive, he thought. He had his work cut out for him. R.J. rolled to the side and then hauled her up in the bed so they were lying against the pillows. “Let’s look at this logically.” He lifted a long strand of her hair and examined it. “You have beautiful hair, soft and pale. Not at all washed out. That’s just plain stupid. Look at it, Dana, how the light catches it. It’s the type of hair a man imagines spread out over his pillow while his woman smiles up at him.”

  “I already told you flattery doesn’t affect me.”

  He hid a grin. Her voice had shaken just the tiniest bit as she made that statement. R.J. propped himself up on one elbow. Without moving a single inch, Dana looked at him. She had the appearance of a frightened doe, too wary to move but too cautious not to keep a close eye on him. Her body was rigid.

  “What color was your mother’s hair?”

  “She had very thick, dark brown hair.”

  “I see.” And he did. He could imagine her mother making all kinds of comparisons, but he held his anger in check. Dana didn’t need his anger now.

  Once again, he settled his palm over her breast. “Mmm. So soft. Those suits you wear make it impossible for a man to see what’s beneath. But now I’ve felt you, and I’ve tasted you, and I know.” He met her wide, unblinking gaze. “I won’t ever forget, babe.”

  As he continued to touch her, her lips parted on a shuddering breath. He didn’t want to overly arouse her, because he wanted her to know he’d wait for her. Until she told him she wanted him, until she began to believe in herself, he’d settle for giving her all the compliments she hadn’t gotten from him so far.

  “Do you want me, Dana?”

  Her lashes fluttered as if she was trying to regain her wits. “You didn’t marry me for this.”

  He rested his hand on her silky thigh and wanted to shout out how much he wanted her. But that sure as hell wouldn’t reassure her. “We could consider it an added benefit.”

  He said it like a question, leaving the ball in her court. Part of him was so turned on he felt as if he could come with just a touch. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so badly or denying himself so completely.

  But another part of him, the natural protector, wanted to hold her close and dispel whatever ridiculous myth her mother had perpetrated. Why would any mother make her daughter believe such nonsense?

  Dana shyly reached up and put her small palm on his chest. Just that, such a simple touch, and his guts tightened in reaction. She looked at him, her eyes dark and soft, her lashes leaving shadows on her cheekbones. He kissed her nose.

  “R.J., I like my job.”

  “I’m glad.” He was distracted by her small ears, tracing the gentle whorls with a fingertip.

  “If you and I…if we had sex…”

  “Yes.” Hell yes.

  “…it would change everything.”

  R.J. stalled in the middle of licking her ear. Damn. That had been his argument from the first, but he no longer cared. Somewhere along the way his common sense had been sidelined by other emotions, and they were totally different from the physical wanting that had exploded inside him. There was tenderness and curiosity and a deep caring. He’d known Dana for many years and naturally felt a unique fondness for her, built on in part by her loyalty and commitment to the job. That fondness had suddenly altered into something else, though, something he wasn’t entirely certain of. All he knew was that he wanted her to be aware of her feminine charms, to know that he wanted her because of the woman she was, not because of a duty he felt from her initial demands or an enforced closeness.

  Lifting his head to look at her, he asked carefully, “What if I promise you I won’t let it interfere with your job?”

  She snorted. “That’d be impossible, even for you.”

  He rubbed her thigh and felt her shift subtly against him. Damn, he wanted to rip that awful, baggy tunic off her and kiss her whole luscious body. He sucked in a lungful of air and said, “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.” He took her hand and carried it to his erection, holding her fingers tight against him while watching her eyes widen. “I’m afraid a man’s libido sometimes leaves no room for scruples. We’ll say anything to convince a desirable female to see things our way, especially when in a state like the one I’m in now.”

  Her gaze remained glued to his face, and her fingers didn’t move. She licked her lips. “Maybe…maybe it’s that…um, state, that makes you think you want me.”

  He laughed, then groaned when her fingers tight
ened. “Sweetheart, you’re the one who put me in this state, and I want you, not anyone else. Do you think I walk around like this all the time?”

  “I don’t know.” Her expression turned serious, and her fingers started moving, gently squeezing him through his slacks, sliding the tiniest bit up and down his length, exploring. “I don’t know much about this part of men.”

  He could barely talk. More than anything he wanted his pants off and her small hand on his naked flesh. His erection strained into her palm, and her eyes opened even wider.

  “You moved.”

  R.J. choked. A fine beading of sweat touched his forehead. It took him a minute, but he managed to hold on to his control. He’d sooner become celibate than rush her again, and there was no way he’d stifle her curiosity. “You have your hand on me, sweetheart. It’s driving me crazy. I moved.”

  “Oh.” She started to pull away, but he caught her wrist.

  “Crazy in an excruciatingly wonderful way.” He saw the awareness dawn in her eyes, saw her eyes darken, the pupils expand.

  “Like this?” She stroked him with a tentative touch.

  R.J. bit back a moan at the pleasure of it. “Yes.” Then he added, “Harder.”

  Dana levered herself up on one arm, her reluctance forgotten. Rather than meet his eyes, she looked down at her hand, which curved around him through his slacks. She clenched her fingers, and when he jerked, she let him go. “Did I hurt you?”

  “God, no,” he rasped. “But I think we’d better stop right here or I’m a goner. I can’t take much more.”

  “You can’t?”

  He shook his head. “No, absolutely not. That is, unless you want to carry things to the natural conclusion.”

  She stared at him, then scrambled to sit up. Before she turned her back to him, he saw her expression of dazed amazement. “I…no. I don’t want us to…”

  “Have sex.” R.J. sat up, too, though more slowly. He took advantage of her distraction to straighten himself, then sighed with minimum relief. “That’s where we were headed, you know.”

  She rubbed her forehead in confusion. “I don’t know what got into me. I hadn’t intended any of that.”

  R.J. looked at her straight, proud shoulders, her mussed hair, and grinned despite his painful arousal. “You’re a woman and I’m a man and we want each other. Things are bound to get out of hand now and then.” Because he felt secure that she wouldn’t be able to hold out against him for long, not with her natural sensuality, he said, “But don’t worry. Until you make it clear that you want me, I won’t pressure you.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression one of complete disbelief.

  Laughing, he flicked the tip of her nose. “I promise.” But in the meantime, he’d also take advantage of his time with her to wear her down gently. He was thirty-nine years old; he knew women, and he knew how to get what he wanted. Before the week was out, Dana would be sleeping in his bed—where she belonged.

  He gave her a swift, hard kiss good-night and forced himself to his feet. At the door, he stopped and faced her. “Good night, sweetheart. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  She still looked dazed by all that had transpired, but she managed a nod, and a polite, “Good night, R.J. Sleep well.”

  Ha. He’d be lucky if he slept at all with his body still on fire and the tempting knowledge that Dana, and relief, were only a few feet away. But while he lay awake, he’d have plenty to think on—like anticipating her surrender. He was a pro at getting what he wanted. Dana and all her silly hang-ups didn’t stand a chance.

  SHE WAS THE PRO—at sexual torment.

  By Thursday, R.J. was wondering how much longer he’d be able to survive. He sat at his desk, ignoring the files Dana had just set before him. He wondered if it was his imagination or if she was deliberately teasing him. Lately, nothing with Dana was clear-cut. Oh, she still did the work of two people. More so than ever, in fact.

  His mother had called just that afternoon to tell him he was once again in the papers. It had been that way every day, his face, his every word splashed across a multitude of papers from around the state. What wasn’t a direct quote from a lucky source who’d been on the scene was taken from other reliable sources, because no one wanted to miss the story. He was big news.

  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 her 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 lower
ed 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.