Return of the Secret Heir (9 page)

“My recklessness killed our baby, JT. I won't let anything happen to this baby, and that means us keeping our emotional distance. I'll be a better mother this way. The mother our baby deserves.”

His veins filled with ice. They might have different perspectives on the past, but on this they could agree—her plan suited him just fine. The last thing he needed was Pia getting thoughts into her head about anything more than co-parenting. When they were young and had dreams of being a family, being together forever, he'd forgotten that nothing is permanent. And that was dangerous. Since then, he'd kept up the pattern from his early childhood of never settling anywhere, moving apartments regularly.

Never getting too comfortable, never thinking he had it made, was important to keep the edge in business.
Everything changes
—business and personal. It was
a lesson the woman beside him reinforced when she abandoned him the day after their first baby died.

But regardless of how things stood between them, one thing was for sure: He was no Warner Bramson. He hoped to God he'd inherited nothing beyond hair color from that poor excuse of a man, especially his idea of being a father, which had included sending his lover for an abortion and then abandoning her.

He would stand by Pia and their child no matter what it took.

Pia watched JT digest her words, praying she hadn't been too harsh but knowing she needed all her cards on the table. No misunderstandings, no cross-purposes.

Then he looked up. “If the baby survives the second trimester, we'll get married,” he said through a clenched jaw.

Emotion stung the back of her nose. He might be bad for her, but JT Hartley was a good man. He was doing the right thing, even as it tore him up inside.

“JT, I'm not marrying you,” she said gently but firmly. “I just explained why I can't.”

“I'm not talking about hearts and flowers and illusions this time.” His eyes were as hard as granite. “I'm talking about our baby having parents who are legally married.”

Imagining that torturous scenario, she stifled a shudder. To be this close to the man who set her body alight, every day and night for the rest of her life, but not having him? “My answer is still no.”

He nodded once, slowly, not meeting her eyes. “Okay, if the baby makes it to term, we'll discuss it again.”

A shaft of afternoon sunlight fell across his face, glinting in his dark hair, illuminating the green of his eyes. She wanted to smile at the majesty of JT. Then, replaying what he'd said, the word “if” jumped out—he'd used it
more than once…and understanding dawned. She might be worried about the baby and terrified she'd hurt the tiny person cradled in her womb, but JT didn't believe their baby would survive.

She laid a hand on his thigh, over the strong muscle that was as tense as the rest of him. “JT, you know this baby has a very good chance of making it, don't you? It won't be like the first time.”

He looked at her with eyes that held a world of pain. He'd taken her to the cross he'd carved to help with her grief, but he'd never had a chance to grieve properly himself. Parents should be able to turn to each other at a time like that, but she'd had to break away for her own sanity.

“What did you do when Brianna died?” she asked softly.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Tried to get in to see you mostly.”

The guilt of the pain she'd caused him stabbed into her chest like a hot knife. She swallowed once, twice, to make her voice work. “
After
that. After we spoke.”

“Went a little wild, I suppose.” He rubbed his chin and frowned. “When I left your hospital room, I got on my bike and rode till I ran out of gas. Then I filled up and rode some more.”

A vision of him then, so young, so vulnerable, flashed in her mind. “JT, I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice barely more than a rasp.

“You did me a favor. One thing I learned from growing up the way I did was that nothing's permanent,” he said, his tone flat. Emotionless. “Nothing lasts. When we were together, I forgot that for a little while.”

Her hand rose up to circle her throat. This man, who felt so familiar in some ways, was a complete stranger in others. “Do you really believe that?”

“Forever is a fairy tale told to kids.” His lips thinned to a tight line. “Maturity is knowing it's false and
nothing's
forever.”

She reached for his hand and laid it over her belly. “Not even this baby?”

His jaw clenched and he retracted his hand, obviously unwilling to share his dark fears any further. “We'll wait and see.”

Her heart bled. The world had done this to him. His father, the people who wouldn't accept the new boy whenever he changed towns. And worst of all was knowing the part she'd played in creating this darkness inside him.

“JT, I hate that—”

“Princess,” he cut her off, cynicism lacing his words, “the last thing I want or need is your sympathy.”

Of course he wouldn't want her sympathy. She flinched. He wanted nothing from her anymore.

Except one thing.

There was one thing he wanted from her. And it was the only thing she could give him. After everything she'd robbed him of in the past—his child, their relationship, his belief in forever—she had to give him something in this moment. To take away the bleak loss from his eyes.

Heart in her mouth, she stood and gently pushed him back farther into the couch. He allowed the move, but watched her with wary eyes. Then she sank into his lap and rested her hands on his chest.

“What are you doing, Pia?” he asked wearily.

Truth be told, she wasn't exactly sure—it was the only plan that had come to mind. And now she was so close, enveloped by his scent, feeling his skin's heat through the fabric of his shirt, she didn't want to leave. Her pulse picked up, warming her skin, her body.

“We may not make a good couple—” she skimmed her
hands across his broad shoulders “—but there's something we do together that's magic.”

“And that is?” he said, his voice forbidding, yet strained at the edges.

Nerves across her skin tingled in anticipation. She might have started this to bring the light back to his eyes, but JT filled every thought, every sense, until reasons blurred in her mind and she simply wanted.

Leaning down, her mouth a whisper from his, she said, “Kiss me, JT.”

He didn't move, didn't bring his mouth closer, but his heart thumped hard under her hands and hers raced in a matching rhythm. Heaviness suffused her limbs and she wanted to melt into him.

“Why?” he asked, his features hardening.

His breath feathered over her face—coffee and pure JT—and her need beat louder. “Because we can,” she whispered.

Eyes cold and remote, he picked her up and deposited her beside him on the couch. “I don't want pity sex, Pia.”

Robbed of his warmth, of the intimacy of touch, she struggled to make her brain work. “You,” she began weakly, then stopped. “You don't want me?”

Coughing out a humorless laugh, he stood and stalked to the other side of the room. “I'd have to be dead to not want you.”

She blinked rapidly, focusing on JT's words over the sound of her still-racing heart. He wanted her but was rejecting her because he'd somehow picked up on what had been going on in her mind earlier. She may have been feeling sympathetic ten minutes ago, but that had morphed into something else the moment she'd touched him. Which always seemed to happen with this man.

“The way I feel in this moment isn't pity, I promise you,” she said as she stood from her place on the sofa.

Long fingers speared through his hair as he gripped on to a handful of dark waves by the roots. “When you want me,” he said, dropping his arm, his eyes intense, “purely for the sake of making love with me, then say the word. Tell me that and I'll be here.”

For a whole week of having him in her apartment, she'd managed to keep her distance, to not walk to his makeshift bed in the middle of the night and crawl under the blankets with him. But that ended now. Her skin tightened unbearably. One more minute without him touching her was beyond endurance.

She followed and stood before him, heart thudding an uneven rhythm.

“JT, what's the word?” she asked quietly.

A muscle worked on the side of his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“The word I can say—” on shaking legs, she took a small step forward, to within touching distance “—if I want you. Just for the sake of making love with you.”

His eyes half closed, masking his expression. “You want that word now?”

“You said you'd be here if I say it.” She moistened her dry lips and he watched the motion. “I want to know what it is.”

A battle raged inside him, she could feel it pulling him in two directions at once, his body held rigid as the war thundered on.

“My name,” he finally said as if the words were ripped from his throat. “All you ever have to do is say my name and mean it.”

“JT,” she said and reached for his hand with trembling fingers. She could feel the beat of his heart in her blood.

As he interlaced his fingers with hers, his other hand tucked wayward strands of her hair behind her ears. “You really want this?”

Need for him clawed inside her, stole her breath, and she had to be honest. “I've been trying to deny it for fourteen years, but I've never wanted any other man the way I wanted—still want—you. Every moment of every day. With everything inside me.”

A shiver ran through his body and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Pia, I can't promise—”

“I don't want promises. That route doesn't work for us, but
this
,” she said as she brought his hand to her waist. “This,” she said as she kissed the roughness of his chin. “This is something I want more than I can say.”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then he lifted her chin with gentle fingers and his sensual lips touched hers.

P
ia parted her lips as JT's mouth captured hers, needing his kiss more than she could ever imagine needing another thing on this earth. Heat bloomed under her skin as his lips moved slowly, deliciously across hers.

And with that one kiss, the fire between them exploded to life, blazing as hot as ever. This was the passion that had been missing in other relationships. Only JT had ever inspired anything close to this level of flammability. She bit gently at his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth and he groaned low in his throat. The sound reverberated through her body, all the way down to a spot below her navel that pulled tight with need.

His arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer, and wanting
more,
she scraped her nails over the fabric covering his back, wanting
everything
. There was something wild and wanton about making love with JT. His teeth scraped at the hollow of her shoulder and a jolt of searing pleasure
washed through her. With other lovers, it'd been more like sex-by-numbers, pleasurable but predictable. With JT, it was as if anything were possible—exhilarating, but a little scary for the tenuous thread she held on her self-control. Which was why she'd been wary of seeing him again—he brought out the bad side of her. The wanton, obsessive,
crazy
side of her. But—she stroked her thumbs along his biceps—the time for second-guessing and backtracking was gone. She needed him here and now. Any fallout could be dealt with later.

Fingers jittery, desperate, she pulled the tails of his shirt from his trousers and ran her hands up his chest. His skin was smooth and scorching and when she met the smattering of hair in the middle of his chest, she traced the pads of her fingers across it, reveling in the crisp sensation.

“There's no one in the world like you,” he said close to her ear, his breath warm and fast, and she melted a little more. He kissed her again, tongue sliding in an erotic, wet caress inside her mouth and she closed her eyes, drunk on the dark male flavor of him. She couldn't bear to end the kiss, wanting to stay connected to him forever, until finally she broke away to drag air into her burning lungs.

He walked her backward, toward her bedroom door, and she let him guide her steps, pulling his tie loose on the way. The tie landed on the back of a chair and her fingers set to unbuttoning his shirt.

As she worked, his hands slid over the sides of her breasts and she shivered. Simple touches—all he had to do was
touch
her and she was his for the taking. All he'd ever had to do was touch her…

As his shirt fell on the floor, she tugged his belt loose and discarded it, and he walked her backward again until the backs of her legs met the side of her bed. With nowhere left to go, she was pinned to the edge of the high mattress
as he pressed along her, the jut of his erection pushing against her belly. She swayed side to side—small, slow movements—to better feel the shape of him.

Eyes dark with need, he reached around to unzip her dress and pushed it down over her shoulders. The rush of cool air on her sensitized skin was like a caress. JT's eyes swept over her before he groaned and sank to his knees, pressing his head against her stomach, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“JT,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his thick hair, unable to verbalize everything she felt. No one but him had ever looked at her body as if it were a gift.

He pressed kisses to her abdomen, to her hip, to where the lacy panties met her leg, then he pulled the fabric aside and kissed the apex of her thighs. A delicious haze descended and her fingers in his hair pulled tight. The erotic motion of his tongue was almost too much to bear, but his broad palms held her in place. Her skin was too tight for her body, as if she was expanding, growing…

When he stood, she was vibrating with need. She unzipped his trousers and let them slide away before catching the sides of his deep blue boxers and pushing them down along the same path. She circled his bare erection with a hand and air hissed out from between his teeth. The hot-satin feel of him against her palm was everything she remembered. When they'd made love on the beach again, they'd moved too fast for her to appreciate the sensations like this, and she'd regretted it when she'd lain awake in the weeks afterward. This time, she was taking her time, gathering as many memories as she could.

He held her gaze, and as she caressed him with her fingertips she began to lose herself in the clear green depths of his eyes. Somewhere inside her, the girl she'd once been was clawing her way to the surface, responding
to the younger JT who still lurked in those eyes. Her JT. She stilled and whispered, “I've missed you.”

His eyes drifted closed for a long moment and he squeezed them tight, his entire face clenching, growing hard. When he opened them again, any trace of the boy was gone, and he was pure man, filled with nothing but desire. He grabbed both her hands, turning her so he could sink down onto the bed, gently pulling her on top of him. The feel of his body pressed against hers, the slide of their skin was nirvana itself. He grasped her bottom and positioned her to increase the friction, and she shimmied up a little to help, her breaths coming faster. Their bodies matched each other, as if his had been created to lie alongside hers, and together they became more than they could ever be apart.

With near-frenzied need, her hands stroked over his skin, touching everywhere she could reach, and in a synchronized rhythm, his hands moved in a similar pattern, caressing her sides, her hips, her back. His hands had more roughness than a businessman's should, and the sensation pushed her closer to the edge.

Smoothly, he rolled her over and hovered in the air, hands resting near her shoulders. The absence of his touch was almost painful. “Come back to me,” she urged, grasping at him.

A slow, devilish smile spread across his face and he leaned down to kiss her hungrily, harder, deeper. The fire inside erupted into a roaring bonfire, the flames threatening to consume her as she grasped at him, pulling him to her, as he positioned himself between her knees. When he entered her, it was with a thrust too gentle. She arched beneath him, urging, wanting, needing. Heeding her call, or perhaps the demands of his own body, he
moved faster, harder and she gripped his shoulders and moved with him.

The hedonistic pleasure of the slick slide of their bodies was the beginning of the end, the pressure building down deep inside, until he tipped them both over the edge in a release more intense, more explosive than anything they'd shared before, leaving her gasping for air, her limbs helplessly slumped back on the bedcovers. JT slid to the side to lay in her arms, pressed against her, his breathing labored, not moving any other muscles than those needed to fill his lungs.

She glanced over at him, and a secret smile filled her chest as she took in his sensual form sprawled across her bed. She'd never invited a man into her own bed before, even when she'd been engaged—it was something far too intimate—but JT was different. He'd always been different. Despite their having no future as a couple, at this moment he somehow belonged in her bed. She snuggled into his solid warmth.

As her body began to return to some sense of normality and the air turned cold on her skin, JT pulled her comforter from the end of the bed and wrapped it around them, gathering her close beneath it. She sighed and laid her head on his chest.

“Pia,” he said, his voice rumbling beneath her cheek, “about what I said before. No promises—”

She turned and laid a finger over his lips. “I don't need them, JT. Neither of us wants to go there again.”

He stretched and tucked the arm that wasn't holding her behind his head. “The problem with that is you're pregnant.”

A powerful mix of apprehension and excitement filled her chest at his reminder of the tiny life in her womb. But she knew that wasn't what would be going
through JT's mind. It'd be all about doing the right thing. Responsibilities and obligations.

“Actually, there's one promise you need to make me,” she said, lifting herself to lean on an elbow and looking down at him.

His eyes were immediately wary. “What's that?”

“I don't want you doing the ‘right thing' or what you think the right thing is. If we're going to get through this, we need to be honest with each other.” She stroked a finger down his cheek. “You don't want to marry me, JT, so please don't ask again.”

There was a long minute of silence, when the only sounds she could hear were the cars on her street and JT's still-heavy breathing. She bit down on the side of her lip and waited. They couldn't waste their energy arguing over details when they needed to be on the same side.

Then he nodded. “I'll see what I can do,” he said and pulled her against him again, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. She relaxed into the embrace, glad they were at least on the same page about marriage.

Her cell rang and she groped for her handbag beside the bed and fumbled for the phone. Ryder Bramson's name appeared on the screen. She flinched but years of conditioning meant she could never let a client's call go. “I have to take this,” she said to JT. “It's work.”

He reached for a magazine from a bedside table, obviously planning to give her some privacy. It wouldn't be enough, but it would be something—she would just need to be careful with what she said.

Straightening her shoulders and slipping into professional mode, she clicked the talk button. “Hello, Mr. Bramson.”

She felt JT stiffen beside her and heard the magazine
being dropped back on the table as he moved up to sit against the headboard.

Ryder Bramson's deep, commanding voice came down the line. “Good afternoon, Ms. Baxter. I've had a call from a woman named Linda Adams who tells me she's taken the lead on administering my father's estate.”

Her heart bumped around in her chest as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “That's true.”

“Why the change? I was happy with you.”

She lifted a hand to circle her throat. This wouldn't be an easy conversation to have in front of JT and not give anything away, but her apartment was small enough that wherever she went, he'd overhear. She could tell Ryder that it was a bad time and ring him when JT wasn't around, but when would that be? Tomorrow? Ryder Bramson would want answers before then. Running out of options, she crossed the room and leaned against the window frame. If anything confidential came up, she'd refer him back to Linda Adams.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Bramson,” she said, using a calm, controlled voice, “but it's no longer possible for me to head up that case.”

“I'd like to know why,” he repeated.

Pressing a hand to her temple, she gripped the phone tightly. How much could she reasonably say with JT in the room? She concentrated, trying to get her post-lovemaking brain to function, and knew the answer—the information his lawyer could find by ringing her firm.

Glad to have a line in the sand for the phone call, she expelled a breath. “A conflict of interest has arisen and it's better that I step back. Linda has taken the lead and I'm assisting her.”

“A conflict of interest? Tell me,” Ryder said, voice suddenly like steel.

Her heart stuttered like a jackhammer. “It would be better—”

“Pia, we've been working with you for some time on this, and been happy with your work. But if you have a conflict of interest, then I think I deserve to know what that is.” His voice lightened. “You've found you're another of Warner's long-lost children?”

She glanced at JT, sitting up against the headboard, hair rumpled, comforter strewn around his thighs, not even pretending to not listen in. Despite the seriousness of the phone call, a quivering began down low in her belly.

“No,” she said slowly, turning away, “but I have an unacceptable link to someone who claims to be one of those children.”

There was a sharply inhaled breath down the line. “You've met Hartley?”

She looked back at the gloriously naked man in her bed. “Yes.”

“To have handed over the case, it must be serious. You're somehow involved, I take it?”

Involved? Try pregnant with the man's child.
“You could say that,” she said, trying not to let the irony come through in her voice.

“Then I can see why you need to step back.” He sighed with what sounded like disappointment.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hating that she'd let everyone down—the firm, Ryder Bramson, herself. It reminded her too much of her childhood where she was constantly facing her parents' disappointment.

Then she made herself put it all behind her and stood taller against the bedroom wall. All she could do from here was ensure she didn't make one more mistake—even a spelling mistake, as Ted Howard had helpfully pointed
out—and to reassure Ryder that things weren't as bad as he might be imagining, for the firm's sake as well as hers.

“I promise you, Mr. Bramson,” she said, injecting her words with confidence, “the firm's integrity has never been, nor will it be, compromised. As soon as I realized I couldn't work with the necessary detachment, I excused myself from the case.”

There was silence for a moment before he let out a breath. “I appreciate that. Tell me something, off the record. Since you've come to know him, do you personally believe his claim to be Warner's son?”

She looked at JT while she had his half brother on the phone, acutely aware she was trapped between two powerful men. All she could do was tell the truth. “Yes, I believe him. But that won't affect the way I carry out my duties assisting Linda Adams.”

“Okay, good to know. Thanks for your work on the case and your honesty.”

She thumbed the off button and dropped the cell on her bedside table, moving slowly to give herself the extra few moments to compose herself before facing JT. She pulled a white silky robe from her cupboard and slipped her arms through the sleeves, then sat on the side of the bed.