Return of the Secret Heir. Rachel Bailey
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of a perceived conflict of interest.”
It was her big chance. The partners at her firm had been so impressed when she landed the account in the first place that they’d promised she’d likely make partner when it was all concluded. She might have been initially interested in the case for Theresa, but now it had dovetailed into her primary career goal—make partner.
He arched an eyebrow, the trace of a smile lurking on his lips. “You’ve got yourself a carrot and a stick on the one case.”
Was he taking this seriously? “JT, if you—”
The intensity in his eyes turned serious. “It’s okay, I get it. You followed your family into law and now you’re committed to making a success of it. Fair enough. We definitely need some ground rules to survive. Are you going to invite me to sit down?”
“No, you won’t be here that long.” She didn’t want him settling in—this had to be as quick as she could make it. If she’d been thinking straight, she wouldn’t have taken his jacket either. “What sorts of rules are you thinking?”
“We start with your agreeing you won’t be biased against me, or influence others to be.”
“I already told you I won’t—” she held up her hand to stop whatever protest his open mouth was about to voice “—but for the sake of these negotiations, I swear I won’t.”
He gave a satisfied nod. “I appreciate it.”
“In return, you’ll agree not to set foot in my firm’s offices or my apartment again.”
He looked at her from under heavy eyelids. “What if you invite me?”
He was flirting with her now? That’s where he thought their relationship was headed?
“I won’t,” she said firmly despite the heat creeping up her neck.
“But if you do?” He folded his arms across his broad chest and the action made his biceps strain against the sleeves of his T-shirt. Her mouth dried. His body had always been strong because he’d been active, but those arms were beautiful. She blinked. What were they talking about?
Invitations. She swallowed. “Okay, you agree not to set foot on the premises of my work or home without an invitation. And I want you to agree that in any contact we have—which should be minimal—we have no mention of the past.”
She knew he must have questions about their breakup—she hadn’t explained it well at sixteen. She probably couldn’t explain it well even now. And the guilt for hurting him then still lived in her gut like heavy, sticky molasses. Delving into that wouldn’t help anyone; it would only make things messier.
“Anything before this moment?” He arched an eyebrow. “What if it’s relevant to my claim?”
“No mention of our shared past. Our relationship.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, mirroring his pose, and his eyes followed the action, resting too intimately for her comfort level.
“Fair enough, princess,” he said with a rasp in his voice.
Her heart missed a beat. “Don’t call me princess.”
“Is that a rule or a request?”
“A ground rule, JT.”
“Sure,” he said too casually. “If you stop saying my name like that.”
She did a quick mental scan of how she’d been saying it, but couldn’t see anything to give offence. “Like what?”
“Say it,” he commanded in a low, seductive voice.
“JT,” she said.
A lazy smile spread across his face. “Yeah, like that.”
Pia stared at him, perplexed, but he didn’t explain why simply saying his name could be a problem.
“And while we’re at it,” he said, “that chain has to go.”
She glanced down at her necklace. A simple gold chain with a P that hung low. “I’ve always worn it.”
“I know, and it’s always driven me crazy. If you want our past off the table, then you need to remove it.” He blinked slowly. “It sits in your cleavage and you don’t want my mind going there any more than I can help.”
His gaze locked on hers and didn’t waver. Her pulse raced erratically. He’d cornered her with a few words and he knew it. If she refused, she’d be inviting his flirting and she was so close to doing that already that she couldn’t take the risk of sending the wrong signals. With trembling fingers she slipped off the chain. As soon as he left, she could put it back on—he’d never know because she shouldn’t be seeing him again. She dropped it on the coffee table.
“And,” he said, seeming to warm to his subject, “you need to keep your feet covered.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You’re not the Pia I remember. You’re buttoned down and covered up. The only hint of my Pia is those brightly painted toe nails.”
A delicious shiver zipped across her skin at the way he said my Pia, but she ignored it as she looked down at the hot pink she’d painted on yesterday while she’d been home sick. “It’s just nail polish. Lots of women wear it.”
“But they wear it somewhere people can see. I’m guessing you never wear it on your fingers. Only on your toes, and then you always wear closed-toe shoes at work. No one sees your polish, do they, Pia?” he said, voice low.
She lifted her chin, not happy with his assessment—or its accuracy. “It’s not professional.”
“Then don’t flash your toes at me either.”
She moistened her lips. This was becoming ridiculous.
“You won’t be in my house again to see,” she said, but her voice wavered.
“Even so.” He left the thought hanging and her pulse hammered with the tension in the air.
“Then you keep your biceps covered,” she blurted.
“My biceps?” he said, his eyes widening.
She waved a hand in the general direction of his arms, trying not to look. “You swagger in here in a T-shirt that stretches tight over your arms, and then have the gall to tell me to have my toes covered and take off a chain.”
“My biceps?” he asked again, slowly, as if realizing that meant she’d noticed them. Awareness flashed in his eyes. “It sits better under the jacket if it’s firm,” he said absently.
Feeling edgy, she closed her teeth over a long index fingernail and watched him follow the move with his eyes.
He swallowed hard, then swallowed again. “And don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she whispered.
He took a step closer. “Touch your mouth.”
She lost her breath. He was so close.
“Why?” she said, heart racing, knowing to ask was playing with fire, but nonetheless helpless not to say the word.
JT looked down at that lush mouth and was tempted beyond endurance. He closed the last inches that separated them and brought his mouth down, groaning when he could feel the moist softness of her lips. His arms reached out and snared her waist, pulling her sumptuous curves against his body. No woman had ever felt like Pia against him.
He touched his tongue to her lips and she hesitated for a moment, then he felt her throw caution to the wind and part them, granting him access to the heated depths. A tremor ran through her body and he held her tighter, feeling her hands reach to twine behind his neck, holding him in place. There was no need—he wasn’t going anywhere. He hadn’t planned on kissing her, but there was nothing he wanted