Rachel Bailey - Return of the Secret Heir

She swallowed to moisten her throat before she could speak. “JT.” Thankfully, her voice sounded normal, even professional.

“This is Christina,” he said. “She works in my marketing department.” He turned to the woman beside him. “This is Nell.”

Pia blinked then realized he was being discreet, just as she’d asked. Either that or he was making fun of her. She held her hand out to the other woman. “Nice to meet you.”

Christina took Pia’s hand and shook it, giving her a warm smile. “Lovely to meet you too, Nell. By the way, your hat is hands down the best here. I have a largish collection but that one’s something altogether different in style. Where did you buy it?”

“I made it,” she admitted. From the corner of her eye, she saw JT’s gaze sharpen.

“Really?” Christina asked, her eyes fixed above Pia’s crown. “It has such fabulous details on the brim. Are you a milliner?”

For a moment, Pia imagined her mother’s horrified expression if she’d overheard someone asking one of her daughters that question. The Baxter girls were not raised to make things. They were raised to earn exorbitant wages-or marry money-then pay others to make things for them.

“No,” she said, “a lawyer.”

“Do you ever sell your creations? Because I’d be first in line to buy one.”

Sell them? Pia almost laughed. Her job took practically every minute of her day, and once she made partner, it would only get busier. And this woman thought she’d have time to sit around and make hats for other people? That after a law degree from Yale and incalculable hours of overtime, she’d suddenly start spending her nights whipping up designs? A niggle of annoyance reared its head-solely to do with the conversation, not with the fact that this woman was on JT’s arm, of course.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said with a polite smile, “I don’t have the time.”

Christina was undeterred. “Well, if you ever change your mind, please make sure I’m the first person you call because-”

“Nell,” JT interrupted, “there’s something I wanted to discuss. Do you have a moment to take a walk with me?”

Thankful for the interruption, she turned to him. The offer of escape from Christina’s well-intentioned enthusiasm was hard to bypass, but there was a danger in being alone with this man. Although, they wouldn’t be alone-they were at an event, being held in a large park filled with people, in the middle of the day. It was nothing like being alone at their special beach in the moonlight.

JT offered his arm and after only a brief hesitation, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Christina, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and after they made goodbyes to Christina, they moved away.

“So you haven’t given up completely on your dream to be a fashion designer,” he said lightly, looking ahead. She sighed. So much for avoiding a discussion on the topic by leaving with him.

“I’m not designing hats. It’s just a pragmatic solution when I can’t find a suitable one.”

JT looked down into Pia’s serious expression as they walked and wondered if she truly believed that. Had she sublimated her creative nature that far, or was she spinning him a line? Her eyes didn’t flicker. She did believe it-she thought she was as straitlaced as her parents and sisters. Sure, he’d seen the signs when they’d met again-the conservative suits, the harshly pinned-back hair, the closed expression-but he’d thought it was a facade for her career’s sake. And for his sake. But now it was obvious she truly believed it.

She’d forgotten the shape of her soul.

He rubbed a finger across his forehead. How was that possible? Perhaps it’d been the aftermath of losing their baby, when she’d closed herself off to him. It’d been the worst time of his life-perhaps it’d also been enough to rupture her self-image, her belief in her true self?

He blew out a long breath. Whenever it’d happened, whatever it was that had changed her from a free-spirited, joyful person, it was wrong. Suddenly desperate to ruffle her feathers, to mess up that oh-so-controlled mask she was wearing, he guided them away from the crowd, to another part of the garden that was open to tourists but seemed to be empty.

“Pia,” he said, low, as they walked, “you’re not this person.”

Her gaze flew up to his, her violet eyes startled. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he waved a hand up and down her outfit, “is one of your sisters, not you.”

Her eyes hardened and her chin swung away as she spoke. “No, JT. I’ve grown up. Don’t presume you know anything about me anymore.”

People grew up, sure, but they didn’t change this much. There had to be the same person deep down inside her. “You’re wilder, more creative, more dangerous than this.”

She shivered but her step didn’t falter. “That was your influence. It was never the real me.”

His influence? It’d been part of what attracted him to the teenaged Pia when he’d spied her at school on his first day. She’d been so free, so beautiful, so unpredictable.

They came to a greenhouse and he guided her inside to the hothouse flowers that scented the air with their ripe sweetness. “I think you’re overestimating my ability to influence you. Sure I did some crazy things, but you were the one who had us both breaking curfew to watch the sunrise from the top of my apartment building. And it was your idea to make love in the rain on my birthday.” His blood heated at the memory of that wild afternoon- Pia’s hands all over him in a secluded part of her parents’ garden, the chill of raindrops on his back, the heat of her body beneath his.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, a faraway look in her eyes, and he wondered if she was having the same stream of visual memories as he was. He slowed his steps until he came to a halt amid lush, damp ferns, and turned her to face him. The pulse at the base of her throat was chaotic.

“It was only when I was with you,” she denied. “That’s not the real me.”

“Then why do you want to kiss me right now?” He stroked a fingertip lightly down the edge of her cheek, and a flush spread from her neck up to bloom across her face. “There might be no one around, but it’s a public place. And you told me I’m off limits. The good girl you claim to be wouldn’t be craving that forbidden fruit the way you are this very second.”

“I’m not craving you, JT,” she said. Her voice was resolute, but her mouth told a different story-her lips were parted, her breaths coming too fast. Oh, yeah. She was no good girl.

His heart thudded in his chest. “You want me so bad that you’d let me take you here if I tried.”

Her eyes flicked around their semiprivate enclosure and back to his mouth. “I wouldn’t,” she said, her voice heavy with desire.

“Yeah, you would. Without a second thought.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “And God help me, I want you as much.”

He dipped his head beneath the brim of her hat and cradling her face in his palms, pressed his mouth to her soft lips. Without hesitation, her mouth opened to him as he’d known it would, her tongue met his, sliding decadently. A delicious shiver raced down his spine. As her hat slipped to the ground, her arms wound around his back, holding him tight, just where he wanted to be.

The heat of her mouth made all the blood in his body head south. The scent of her skin filled his head, her name resounded in his mind. Everything was Pia. And Pia was everything. Her hips swayed infinitesimally from side to side, setting every inch of him alight.

He couldn’t get enough. He’d thought after making love to her three weeks ago that she’d be out of his system by now, but instead she’d been on his mind every waking moment. Thoughts of her lush curves in his hands-the same curves that were pressed against him now. There were too many clothes in the way.

As he reached for her shoulder strap, her kisses became gradually lighter. He groaned his protest, then she pressed a hand to his chest. His head began to clear from the fog of desire and he was thankful for her presence of mind-he’d been in danger of forgetting they were in a public place and someone could walk into the greenhouse at any time. Taking his cue from her, he moved to kiss the edge of her jaw, then he leaned his forehead on hers, breathing heavily.

“JT,” she murmured.

He loved the way she said his name. “Yeah, princess?”

“I’m not feeling that well,” she said, voice weak.

It might not be the best reaction he’d ever had to his kiss, but he was suddenly alert. Lifting her chin, he peered into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, although that was probably from her arousal. He stroked her back, trying to bring some comfort, then almost as if in slow motion, her face was leached of its color and she went limp in his arms. He caught her as alarm flared in his chest.

Sweeping her up, he carried her to a nearby bench before laying her carefully along its length. He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled it for a pillow. Her skin was so pale normally that now it was almost translucent. He could see the tiny blue veins beneath the surface, and a fine sheen of perspiration beginning to coat her forehead. His gut clenched tight and twisted.

“Pia, wake up,” he said urgently, stroking the sides of her face.

Her eyelids fluttered for agonizing seconds, then they opened revealing darkened eyes looking up at him. He said a silent prayer of thanks and let out a long breath.

“JT.” Her voice was dreamy and trembled a little, but it was enough to show him she was fine. Then her eyes drifted shut once more.

No, not again. “Pia, open your eyes,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Just give me a moment.”

He sat back on his haunches, his pulse slowing to its normal speed.

Any minute now, she was going to be embarrassed and probably come out swinging-he’d witnessed a momentary lapse of control. The decent thing to do would be to give her a target to swing at.

Her eyes slowly opened and she looked around before her unfocused gaze landed on him.

“You know,” he said with a smile, “it’s not every day I have a woman swoon in my arms.”

She blinked up at him, then frowned. “I didn’t swoon.”

Under other circumstances he might have laughed. Even before Pia had become oh-so-proper, she would have hated seeing herself as the swooning type-he’d chosen the word purposefully. He pushed a little further, wanting to see her fighting spirit back. “Do you prefer faint, perhaps?”

She scowled and put her hands to her temples as she swung her legs down and gingerly sat up.

“Then what word would you use to describe kissing me one moment like your life depended on it, and then next you’re limp and unconscious in my arms?”

She tucked the strands of fire-red hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ears. “I had a bit too much sun. It’s called sunstroke.”

“Of course. That’s it.” He inclined his head, attempting an expression of reasonableness. “Except for that one minor detail-we’re not in the sun.”

“We were earlier.” She waved a hand in the air. “Delayed sunstroke.”

“Is that an actual condition?” He bent to pick up her bright blue hat and handed it to her.

She took the hat and shoved it on her head with a little too much force. “You think it was your kiss, JT?” she accused, eyes flashing.

There. Her fighting spirit, her passion, was back. His chest released the tension that had been cramping it tight. He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, happy to tease her now for its own sake.