Rachel Bailey - Return of the Secret Heir

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.