Return of the Secret Heir

“Your mother told you?” Genuine interest and concern filled her eyes. Pia and his mother had been close—she said she’d been able to talk to his mother in a way she never could with her own. And his mother, who’d always wanted a daughter, had been thrilled when she’d thought she was getting Pia for a daughter-in-law. From the little his mother told him, they still met occasionally for lunch, but details had been kept from him; he knew it was to protect him and had left it at that.

He dipped his chin in a short nod. “She’d been scared of him.”

Pia flinched. “She was hiding?”

He clenched his fists in his pockets. As a child, he’d thought his mother liked moving around, but in his teens he’d begun to suspect she was running from someone or something. Seemed he’d been right. “She was in the Bramson Holdings secretarial pool. They had an affair. He thought it was merely convenient. She was in love.”

“Oh, poor Theresa.” Pia’s eyes glistened with the sympathy his mother deserved. This was the first time he’d repeated what his mother had told him—besides the few dry details to his attorney—and it felt good to have someone react the same way.

“She fell pregnant, and when she told him, he said he was already engaged and nothing would get in the way of that wedding.” His jaw hardened, making it difficult to get the words out. “He told her to get an abortion.”

Her face paled. “She didn’t want one?”

“Apparently not, but Warner told her there would be consequences if she didn’t.” His throat was suddenly dry, and Pia pressed his glass of water into his hands. He frowned—he hadn’t noticed her pick it up—but took the glass and drank deeply.

When he handed the empty glass back, Pia asked gently, “Did she talk to Warner?”

He shook his head. “She went home, packed and ran.”

“That’s why you were always changing schools.” Pia moved closer, laid a hand on his arm, bringing all her softness and warmth to him. And without thinking, he took what she offered, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“You know, she never let on that she was scared—she made it feel like we were exploring new places all the time.” He still couldn’t believe his mother had been able to keep up that cover story to her own son for so long. He absently ran his thumb in circles on Pia’s hip.

“So why were you so close to Manhattan when we met?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. “You’d lived all over the country—why come close to Warner again?”

He shrugged. “She said she thought I was old enough to be safe. But I think she might have been homesick, and a small town in New Jersey was as close as she dared come.” He looked down at her beside him, looked into her eyes.

She interlaced their fingers. “I truly hope for the sake of your challenge that he didn’t know you were his son, JT.”

He stilled. That was the information he’d wanted. Bramson’s heirs had no evidence that Warner knew he had another son—if they’d been able to prove Warner knew about him and deliberately left him out of the will, JT’s case would never even make it to court. His only chance was to claim that Warner was unaware of his existence and so leaving him out had been an accident of fate.

He should leave—he had Pia’s vow that she wouldn’t work against him, and he had the information he’d wanted. There was no other reason to stay. Yet his feet stayed firmly planted on her kitchen floor.

They stood in silence for long moments, JT’s thoughts drifting from his father to the warm body pressed against him. He’d know the feel of her blindfolded.

“Assuming Warner was your father,” she said carefully, and he almost smiled at her attempt to stay in her impartial role, “it’s impossible to justify that all the time your mother was struggling, your father was a billionaire.”

He’d spent several weeks being consumed by anger over that exact point. His mother had worked a succession of menial jobs to pay the rent, to ensure he had clothes to wear to school, never having new things herself, never feeling safe. All while Warner Bramson’s wife and his long-term mistress lived the high life, not needing to work, yet having jewels, the latest fashions, luxuries beyond belief. The injustice of it ate into his gut.

He set his shoulders. “That’s why I have to challenge. For her.”

“But you’re doing well now? Surely she’s stable?”

Of course she was stable now. It’d been soon after Pia had abandoned him that he and his mother’s boss had bought a rundown house together—because he was in real estate, Old Jack had been the eyes and the money, and JT had been the brawn and the spare time. He’d fixed up the place under Old Jack’s directions and they’d given it to his mother. He’d always suspected Old Jack was sweet on his mother, but being an employee, she’d been off limits.

Then they’d bought another run-down house and sold the finished product, then another. They’d avoided the real estate crash through Old Jack’s foresight and continued. He’d ended up in property development more by a random chain of events than design, but it was a good career built on solid, secure investments.

His mother now lived in the most expensive house he could talk her into, and had a regular monthly income that saw her well taken care of. But that wasn’t the point.

“This isn’t about the money,” he said, wanting Pia to understand this if nothing else. “The injustice of her life needs to be redressed. She lost so much for me to have life, the least I can do is see her receive what she deserves.” She needed to be acknowledged by the family whose patriarch had dismissed her like a dirty rag.

Pia disentangled herself from him, leaned back on the opposite counter and trained her steady analytical gaze on him. “You need to understand that just because you think you have the high moral ground here doesn’t mean you can win.”

Oh, he’d win. He may be illegitimate, but he was the eldest of Warner Bramson’s sons. The only time he’d ever lost a fight was when Pia had left him. And soon he’d rectify that, too. Now he’d seen her again, tasted her, he’d have her back in his bed one final time before this was over.

Three

Pia watched JT leaning back against a countertop in her kitchen and her heart ached for him. She didn’t doubt the story—she’d wanted Warner Bramson’s account because she’d suspected as much. But she hadn’t heard the details before, hadn’t known Theresa had been told to get an abortion. She shuddered.

JT had never had much of a family—he was an only child with a single mother. Now he’d discovered who his biological father was and had two newfound half brothers, but they didn’t want him. Were actually working to keep him locked out. He wouldn’t have expected to be welcomed into the family fold, but still the rejection had to hurt the lost boy deep inside him.

Once upon a time, they’d almost made a family together—JT and her, and their baby. They’d had such magnificent plans for their future, but she and JT had been apart for the fourteen years since then, and their baby had never drawn breath. The heavy emptiness of grief for that little life descended over her shoulders, pressing down.

“Do you ever think about our baby?” she whispered, leaning back against the kitchen counter across from him.

His eyes widened for a second and dark pain swam in their depths. She guessed this wasn’t a topic he usually talked about either. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it up—it was too intimate, they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

He cleared his throat and jerked his head in a nod. “All the time.”

A little part of the wall she’d erected around her heart crumbled at his admission. That wall had been protecting her from the unbearable feelings of loss since the terrible day their baby died when she’d fallen from her bedroom window on her way to meet JT.

She’d been twenty weeks pregnant and had just told her parents. Their solution was to move her away for the rest of the pregnancy and then adopt the baby out. Frantic, she’d rung JT and they’d made a rushed plan to run far away that night. She’d packed a few things together, and on the climb out the second-story window—a climb she’d done hundreds of times before—she fell. Her parents rushed her to the hospital, but no one had been able to save her baby.

Afterward she’d pushed JT away—she’d had no choice. But having him here, their both feeling the same loss, made it a little safer to say the words she couldn’t say to anyone else.

“I’ve often wondered if I think about her so much because there was no closure. No body, no grave.” Her gaze drifted to her bedroom door, where her memory box was concealed at the back of the cupboard. “There was never a chance to grieve properly. My parents wanted the whole episode swept under the carpet.”

His eyes flashed fire at the mention of her parents. “They shouldn’t have done that,” he said, then his voice softened. “There might not have been a body or grave, but there is something.”

Something? Her heart missed a beat. “What do you mean?”

JT opened his mouth, then hesitated, as if engaging in an internal debate. Then, holding her gaze, he nodded, decision made. “Grab a coat. I’ll show you.”

“On your bike?” she said skeptically, looking out the window at the silver machine he’d ridden over.

He followed her line of vision and frowned. “Good point. I don’t have a second helmet. We’ll take your car.”

As he took a step toward the door, she held up a hand. This was going too fast; she couldn’t think straight. “Hang on. I haven’t agreed to go anywhere with you.”

With an alluring blend of sincerity in his eyes and a commanding set to his mouth, he reached out and took her hand, holding it loosely in his. “It’s something you’ll want to see, Pia.”

Her hand warmed from his and she sighed. After that kiss, her ground rule of keeping their distance was pretty much blown out of the water. And if he knew of something that related to their baby, then she wanted to see it.

She withdrew her hand and folded her arms under her breasts—keeping the temptation to touch him again at bay. “Where are we going?”

“I think it’d be better if I just show you.”

The JT she’d known was always teasing and playing games like this, but his expression was earnest, so she let it go. “Okay.”