Return of the Secret Heir (10 page)

“That was one of Warner's sons,” she said needlessly as she looked at him.

His eyes were shuttered against her, his arms folded over his bare chest. “Can you tell me which one, or is that privileged information?”

“Ryder.” Being in the room with her during that call was probably as close as he'd ever come to either of his half brothers—to anyone on the paternal side of his family—so she waited patiently for him to process the information.

JT nodded. “The legitimate one.”

“Yes,” she said, wishing she could climb back into the
bed and hold him, to find what he needed in this moment and give it to him. But JT Hartley wasn't a man who appreciated any form of sympathy. Especially from her. He'd shared his body, but he hadn't shared even a sliver of his heart.

“Apparently,” he said, the bitterness only faint in his voice, “it was to protect Warner's engagement to Ryder's mother that my mother was chased out of town.”

“Warner's wife came from a rich family.” She didn't like to be cynical, but the media had speculated for years that the reason Warner hadn't divorced his wife and married his long-term mistress was the chance he'd lose too much money in the process—most of the money had come from her. A man like that wouldn't want his financially advantageous marriage jeopardized before it had started.

He cocked his head to the side. “What do you think of Ryder?”

She thought of the tall man with the rugged features. He was straight down the line and had been nothing but courteous to her. “I think he's a good man.”

“A good man who married to get more stock in his family company.” He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds a whole lot like his father to me.”

The media had gone crazy when Ryder's engagement to Macy Ashley had been leaked, and the implications for Bramson Holdings became apparent—he acquired her family company and its ten-percent stock in Bramson Holdings at their wedding. Perfect timing as he headed into a battle for control of the board with his other half brother, Seth Kentrell.

“I know it appeared that way, but I've seen Ryder with Macy and there's something special between them. They're in love.” Pia's insides had twisted tight when she met Macy
at a fundraising ball and seen her obvious affection for her husband, and his for her.

JT's eyes said he didn't believe it, but he didn't say the words aloud. “Have you met the other one?”

She nodded. “Seth Kentrell.” Dark hair, midnight blue eyes, always in perfect control of himself and situations around him.

“Seems he's recently engaged, too,” JT said with cynicism. “Again it had something to do with the family business.”

“Not in the way you think. He had some delicate negotiations with April Fairchild over the ownership of a hotel. It would have been difficult for him, so soon after losing Jesse.” Seth's brother—JT's third half brother—who'd recently died in a car accident. Her heart cramped as she remembered being the one to break the news to Ryder about a brother he'd never met. Such a sad, senseless loss of life.

“What was Jesse like?”

“Sweet.” She climbed farther onto the bed and rested against the headboard within touching distance of JT. “He didn't seem to want anything to do with the family business.”

“We had that in common,” he said harshly. And she knew behind the harshness were seven levels of pain that he would always hide and that thought made tears threaten at the back of her eyes.

Knowing all the brothers, she could see the perspective of each. She'd give almost anything for Ryder and Seth to just acknowledge JT—or at least allow the DNA test that would prove the connection, then acknowledge him—but it was hard to judge their choices without having walked in their shoes.

She tucked her feet up under herself and pulled the
sash of her robe tighter. “Ryder and Seth are both good men stuck in an awkward position by their father. Under different circumstances, you'd probably like them both.”

JT looked across at the woman he'd just made love to. A woman who seemed like a stranger in this moment. “You think I could like two men who actively work to keep their own biological brother from what should rightfully be his? To deny that he's even their brother?” He shook his head. “These don't sound like
good men
to me.”

Restless, he stood and reached for his trousers. As he zipped them up, he ran back over the conversation she'd had with Ryder Bramson and his hands gradually stilled.

“You've been taken off the Bramson estate,” he said without looking up. “Because of me.”

She climbed out of the bed and began to collect her clothes from the floor. “Not removed completely, simply moved to assisting another lawyer who's taken the lead.”

His gut clenched like a vise. Maybe he should have kept his distance. Her career could suffer because he'd involved her in his life again. Seemed he caused trouble for her no matter which decade they met in.

He rested his hands low on his hips. “They know you're pregnant and I'm the father.”

She nodded as she slipped into her dress. “I told my boss the morning after we saw the doctor. I couldn't keep something like that from him. It would have been unethical.”

She reached behind herself to do up her dress, but before she could find the zipper, he was there and pulled it up, holding her hair away from the teeth. “And he gave the case to someone else.”

“I handed it over,” she said as she turned around, tucking her hair behind her ears. “It was the right thing to do, if maybe a little later than I should have.”

He remembered when they'd first discussed this, the night he'd come to her apartment on his bike, full of confidence and wanting to lay ghosts to rest.

“You badly want this case, don't you?”

“More than any other I've handled.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said you'd be up for a promotion if you handled the case well.”

Her mouth twisted in a bad impersonation of a smile. “Turns out, becoming pregnant by a claimant to the will isn't anyone's idea of handling the case well.”

Wincing, he let loose an oath. “I'm sorry, Pia.”

“Don't sweat it.” She shrugged and walked through to the living room. “He said that if I didn't make any more mistakes and handled the rest of my caseload flawlessly, I'd still be in the running.”

Following her out, he rested a hip on the kitchen counter. “He must think highly of you.” She shrugged self-effacingly, and his brain raced ahead. “Working from home during your first trimester, is that something that would put you out of the running?”

“He wouldn't say so officially,” she said slowly, as she collected the bags of supplies he'd bought her, “but maybe. I've become less reliable to the firm in the last couple of months.”

“Since I showed up,” he said and blew out a breath, wishing he could kick himself.

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

He'd compromised her career and there was no denying it. In fact, the paperwork for his claim on Warner Bramson's will was prepared and ready to be lodged, and that would cause things to heat up even more for her at work.

His eyes dropped to her belly, where their little boy or girl was safely nestled, and felt a twinge deep in his
chest. They were in too far for him to walk away, but this wasn't fair for her. She'd told him to stay away the day he'd ambushed her at her office and he hadn't listened.

The one thing he
could
do for her was hold off on lodging the claim. He'd call his attorney, Hendricks, and tell him to put it in a drawer until Pia was back at work and able to fend for herself with her bosses. It was the least he should do.

A
s JT took her hand in his and they stepped out onto the bustling street from the downtown car park, Pia allowed herself to relax. Less than an hour ago, Dr. Crosby had given the all clear for Pia to return to work—now that her blood pressure was back in the normal range and she was into her second trimester. JT had suggested going out to dinner to celebrate. After being cooped up for so long, the idea had appealed. And because it had been an early evening appointment, they'd driven straight over to an Italian restaurant JT knew for an early meal.

Dusk was falling, the streetlights were casting shadows across the pavement, her baby was fine, and JT's hand was warm encircling hers—her heart sighed with the perfection of the moment.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you for suggesting this.”

“You're welcome.” His expression turned thoughtful as he guided her through a well-lit doorway into a brightly
decorated but cozy restaurant. “I hadn't thought about you wanting to get out—I should have done it sooner.”

A flamboyant waiter seated them and took their drinks orders, leaving them with menus. There were only two other tables occupied, but it was still too early for the dinner rush.

“The risotto is good here,” JT said as he perused the list.

Unobserved, she looked at him over the top of her foldout menu, at where the strong column of his throat met the crisp white collar of his shirt, at his sensual bottom lip, at the dark hair that fell over his forehead as he looked down. A delicious shiver raced across her skin. Risotto wasn't the only good thing here.

“Thanks for the tip,” she said a little unevenly, “but I'm dying for a big bowl of pasta.”

He glanced up, vibrant green eyes trained on her face. “You should have said. I can make pasta.”

She shrugged and broke the eye contact. “The craving only started when you chose Italian.”

The waiter arrived back with a flourish and took their order. Once they were alone, Pia looked out to the darkening street, brightness streaming down from streetlamps and from the headlights of passing cars. Two spindly trees on the sidewalk were covered in fairy lights that matched those on the front of the restaurant, creating a magical atmosphere. Her skin tingled. Anything seemed possible on this night that she and JT were joined in celebrating.

Since she'd invited him into her bed, he'd stayed, spending each night making glorious love to her. There had been no point playing coy and banishing him after she'd given her body to him once more. And in some ways, it had been inevitable that he'd ended up in her bed after
he'd moved in—seeing him emerge from her bathroom in the mornings, chest bare, hair damp, had kept her on the very edge of temptation.

But it was for a short time, no routines, no dependence. That was what they'd agreed on.

Now that the doctor had given her a clean bill of health, indicating that her fainting risk was no higher than for any other pregnant woman, JT would be leaving again—they'd return to simply being parents of an unborn child. And if her chest hollowed a little at the thought, then it was lucky they weren't continuing the arrangement any longer than they had. Their bond was via their baby.

She reached for her bag and found a folded piece of note paper. “I've been thinking about names.” She'd thumbed through the baby name book they'd used to choose Brianna's name yesterday while JT was at work. “I made a few notes as a starting point. Some for a boy and some for a girl.”

Within an instant, his face hardened, a sharp contrast to the relaxed charm of only a minute ago. “It's too soon for names.”

Her heart stuttered and dipped. He'd said he didn't want to plan too far ahead in case something happened to the baby, but she'd hoped that after today's clearance from the doctor, he'd be willing to look a little further into the future. To have some optimism about their baby.

“Dr. Crosby said everything looked fine,” she said, finding a smile with effort. “And I'm into the second trimester now.”

The waiter swooped past, depositing two glasses of sparkling water on their table. JT sipped from his, gripping it in a white-knuckled hold. “You were into the second trimester last time.”

“I fell out a window last time,” she pointed out. “I don't
plan on scaling any buildings, falling from any trees or climbing out any windows in the next few months.”

He didn't even crack a smile at her attempt at humor. “Dr. Crosby said there was a ten-percent chance of a placental abruption reoccurring. I just don't want us to put the cart before the horse.”

That figure of ten percent had haunted her dreams, but she refused to let the ice-cold fear crawl into her waking hours. Positivity was the only option—this baby would survive and be born healthy. And if JT accepted that too, it would be easier for her to keep the fears at bay.

“We haven't bought a crib,” she began, speaking slowly, gently, “haven't decorated a nursery. I understand you want to play it safe and wait before doing big things, but there's nothing to lose in choosing some options for names.”

The skin across his face pulled taut. “There's something to lose,” he said and the pain in his eyes tore at her soul.

Opening their hearts to a new baby after such grief wasn't something covered in the baby books, but they had to find a way through it, for their child's sake.

Her hand strayed to her belly. “JT, things are going to constantly crop up from here on that will involve thinking about the future. How do you want to handle that?”

“One day at a time,” he said in a tone that ended the discussion.

Their meals arrived and she watched him pick up his cutlery, his body still tense. The restaurant was slowly filling up but there was no one at the tables adjacent to theirs, so they had a modicum of privacy. She picked at her fettuccine—only minutes before she'd been craving this meal but now, instead of tasting the flavors, she could only think about JT's grief and inability to believe in this baby. They talked about the weather and topics that didn't hit any buttons—with Pia using a tone of artificial brightness to
try and lift the mood—and when they finished, JT ordered them both another drink and finally the atmosphere at the table relaxed again.

“You were right about the food here,” she said. “The pasta was delicious. How did you find this place?”

“I own the building,” he said simply and reached for his glass.

His answer was so unexpected that she couldn't prevent a short laugh from escaping. “Of course you do.”

He grinned crookedly back at her and more of the tension from earlier dissipated. “I haven't been here in a year, maybe two, and I was hoping the meals were as good as I remembered.”

She sat back in her chair, wondering at his life. The restaurant wasn't that far from his office or apartment, and he liked the food. And yet he hadn't been for a year or two. Curious.

She fingered the edge of the red napkin. “Why don't you come more often?”

“I don't know.” Frowning, he glanced from the brightly painted walls to the Italian flag behind the counter, as if he hadn't considered the question before. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I never seem to get a chance. I work until late and if I don't want to cook for myself, I order in.”

“You don't bring dates here?” she asked, then held her breath, wondering if she'd pressed too far into his personal life. But he didn't seem bothered.

“I don't date much. And when I do, I prefer something bigger and flashier.” He meant to imply he was a big spender for his dates, it was in the glint in his eyes, but she didn't believe it. He was avoiding the intimacy a small place like this would bring.

He'd always been something of a lone wolf—which had
been part of his appeal to her sixteen-year-old self—and it seemed he was even more so now.

“You don't let women get close, do you, JT?”

For a split second, his eyes flashed fire, then it was gone. “I prefer to keep women and dates uncomplicated.”

She'd seen into his soul in that split second. The raw pain that still lived there, the blame he held. That she deserved. She swallowed and faced the consequences of her actions. “Uncomplicated, meaning not letting anyone close enough to hurt you the way I did.”

He stared at her with a fervent intensity for a long moment before lifting his glass and looking around the restaurant again.

“I'm sorry, JT,” she whispered.

He flinched but didn't look back at her, his gaze fixed out the window, on the street's passing traffic. “Nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was light. Too light. “You ended it early enough to save us both a lot of pain. Much better you did it when we were kids than a few years down the track when our lives were too integrated.”

“I'm still sorry. I was so engulfed in my own grief that I handled everything badly. I should have explained more. Or something.”

“I'll buy some pasta tomorrow,” he said, blatantly changing the subject. “Now you have a craving for it, I'll make you some during the week.”

Her heart flipped over in her chest. He was planning to stay? The only reason she'd let her guard down and allowed him to share her bed was they'd understood it was time-limited. A very short time frame. If he stayed longer, she wasn't sure if her defenses would last, and then she'd be back in the middle of loving him again. Unthinkable. Besides, she'd kept him from his own life for too long while he played nursemaid.

She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “You were only staying for the first trimester. I'm over the danger now. You're free to leave.”

“It would be safer if I stay.”

“It would be safer if I admitted myself to hospital and was under constant surveillance from a medical team, but that would be overkill. I'll be fine on my own. I want to do this on my own.”

His eyes narrowed, their green becoming darker, more intense. “I can't approve that plan.”

“I promise I'll let you know if I have any problems, but I think you need to move back to your own place, don't you? We need to get things working…I don't know…working the way we're going to be working in the future.”

He rubbed his hand over his shadowed chin, considering, and she wondered if he'd insist. And how could she possibly counter JT when he insisted?

He sipped his drink and watched her over the rim, his eyes heating. “I'd miss your bed too much to leave just yet.”

Her skin prickled with awareness; her blood heated. She would miss him in her bed, too. The ache of his absence was already beginning to bloom throughout her body. But that was even more reason to make the break now—she couldn't fall into a false relationship with him, something based on sex and their shared baby. Lines had been too blurred, but going forward, they needed to be as clear as possible to protect everyone.

“We knew that your living with me would be temporary. And I appreciated your putting yourself out by staying with me.”

“It's no hardship,” he said, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Her heart skipped a beat. The pull of him was as powerful as ever and she had to call on all her reserves of
strength not to snake her hand across the table just to feel his skin. They were playing with fire—why was she the only one to recognize that?

She arched an eyebrow and pinned him with a look. “Tell me, JT, do you want to be in a relationship with me? A future with all the trimmings? Vows and promises?”

A grimace passed across his face, as if he'd eaten something distasteful.

“No.” The word was said softly, but with conviction and despite it being the answer she'd expected, the rejection nonetheless stung deep inside.

She stuffed the reaction away from her awareness and met his gaze. “Then don't let us fall into a relationship by default. If you stay, sleeping in my bed, preparing for our baby, we'll end up playing happy families and you'll be stuck in a simulated marriage without ever having chosen it.”

His eyes widened as he took in her meaning, and seemed to finally understand how thin the ice they were skating on had become.

“I'll be gone tomorrow,” he said, and called for their bill.

She watched him settle the account and then pull the chair out for her. He guided her from the restaurant, holding himself more distant than he had only minutes before. Her chest twisted as she acknowledged something between them had changed forever.

 

The next morning, JT was sliding scrambled eggs onto plates when Pia came into the kitchen tying a scarf around her neck. He paused and watched her make the loose knot. She was wearing the same cappuccino skirt and button-down jacket that she'd worn the day he'd first seen her again in her office. But this time she had a soft
scarf in emerald and jade greens, her flame-bright hair falling about her shoulders instead of pinned back, and—his gaze dipped—open-toed shoes that exposed rose pink toenails. His pulse spiked. He'd always had a thing for painted toenails. But Pia had been right last night—he needed to keep his emotional distance and not fall into the trap of forming a faux relationship.

Co-parenting was one thing. But he would never again entrust his heart to her unreliable hands.

“Nice scarf,” he said, pulling his gaze away and reaching for the pan of fried mushrooms.

She fingered the fabric. “Is it too much? I had some silk left after I made the trim on a straw hat the other day and thought it would match this suit.”

Seeing her reclaiming some of who she was made him feel a little lighter, despite the way things were between them. “It's perfect. Orange juice is on the table, and breakfast is coming.”

“I'll miss your cooking,” she said casually as she looked around the kitchen. “Is that baked tomatoes I smell?”

He hesitated. Perhaps he should stay longer? Ensure she was eating properly for their baby. His resolve of the night before began to waver. No, she wanted him to go, it was the right thing for him to do, and she was an adult, more than capable of preparing healthy food for herself. He took the tomatoes from the oven and slid them onto the plates before carrying them out and setting them on the table.