Return of the Secret Heir. Rachel Bailey
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more like the young JT as his green eyes took on a twinkle.
She watched him from the corner of her eye as he expertly handled her car, his powerful arms turning the wheel to hug the corners. There was something about his profile, the shadow of the day’s beard on his cheeks, that screamed “danger.” And she knew exactly what that danger was—not him; no, he would never hurt her. It was in what he unleashed in her. All the bad traits, all the selfish, worst aspects of herself were magnified and harder to resist when he was nearby. It wasn’t how she wanted to live. It wasn’t the person she wanted to be.
When they were young, all he had to do was hold out an apple and she’d reach for the forbidden fruit, no questions, no self-control. Her parents had warned her that she was out of control, but she hadn’t listened. Her teachers had told her that her grades were dropping, but she’d much rather dream about JT than listen in class.
It had only been when her recklessness had cost her baby the ultimate price that she’d finally taken stock. The sole method available to pull back from the brink of self-destruction was to cut herself off from JT—to tear from her heart the almost-physical connection they had. Added to the grief of losing her daughter, she’d thought at the time the pain might kill her.
Over the years she’d found it grew easier to bury her wayward side. She’d gone to law school as her parents wanted and become a responsible adult. She dated several men—even became engaged to two—but there had always been something missing, so she’d ultimately broken things off with them. She might not be willing to touch the fire of a man like JT again, but she couldn’t live a lie and marry a man she felt nothing for beyond affection and friendship.
One day she’d find the perfect man—one about whom she could feel passionate, but who brought out the good aspects in her. Surely such a man existed?
Suddenly a familiar sign on the roadside caught her attention and she blinked and looked through the window at the scenery, her heart quickening with a strange mixture of dread and lightness. They were in New Jersey. In fact, they were on the outskirts of their hometown.
She turned in her seat to face JT. “We’re going to Pine Shores?”
“Yes,” he said, giving nothing else away.
They drove through the town, past the school where they’d met, past the road to his old house, past the diner where he’d taken her on dates, and then out the other side. He slowed at a turnoff to the secluded stretch of beach the locals called Bride’s Beach where the two of them had spent a lot of time together. Where they’d first made love.
He pulled up in the empty, unlit car park and switched off the engine. The silence was heavy as they both looked out through the windscreen at the dark trees that separated them from the beach. A tight band pressed around her chest, making it difficult for her lungs to draw air.
Then he disengaged his seat belt. “Come on,” he said.
She climbed out of the car and followed him as he walked down the path that led to the water, then turned left onto a barely visible track winding through the trees. Moonlight shone through trees with leaves that fluttered in the light breeze. The way was as familiar now as it had been then—indelibly etched into her consciousness. She used to sneak out her window at night and meet JT around the block, and he’d bring her down here on the back of his bike. They’d lie together, nestled in the trees that met the sand, looking out over the beach and water, sometimes talking, sometimes making love, always holding each other. In colder months, they’d bring blankets.
It was the spot where they’d conceived their baby.
Digging her nails into her palms, she looked out to see the view of the moonlight on the water, the shadows of the trees over the sand. The same haunting view that regularly featured in her dreams.
Ahead, JT crouched down and began clearing away a buildup of leaves and twigs from something, so she crouched beside him for a better look.
Her heart leaped into her throat. It was a beautifully carved wooden cross. “You made this?” she asked.
“I had to do something,” he said, voice rough. He cleared the last bit of debris and sat back on his haunches. “I usually bring flowers when I come.” He looked around as if hoping some of the trees would magically sprout flowers he could use.
She reached over to touch the cross and realized there were words carved on the front. She looked closer and saw “Brianna Hartley, Beloved.”
Her eyes filled with tears and JT reached for her hand, squeezing tight.
“Thank you,” she whispered, searching his eyes. And she saw something there that rocked her to her core. Fourteen years ago she’d been so grief-stricken, so young that she simply hadn’t had the emotional capacity to understand JT’s grief.
She’d known he loved their unborn daughter, but stupidly, she’d seen something different between mother-love—having the physical connection to their baby—and JT’s father-love.
Yet she could see now, in the depths of his haunted green eyes, that he’d suffered a grief as powerful as her own, that Brianna had been as much his baby as hers, that the pain of losing her was his as well.
And while her family had been pushing her to move on, to pretend it hadn’t happened, JT had made this simple, beautiful memorial. The craftsmanship was exquisite—made from one piece of wood, carved and polished with love.
Even after the way she’d shut him out, he’d shown her this, shared it with her as a gift, his solace to her. Her vision blurred and she was helpless to stop hot tears spilling down her face.
Silently, gently, JT wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, whispering soothing sounds and words, which only made her cry more. His arms came around her, wrapping her in his safe embrace and she leaned into his strength, needing it now more than anything. His black jacket was rough beneath her grip, his scent familiar, his body warm.
After endless minutes, her tears eased, but she couldn’t let him go. The comfort of the only other person who understood her pain was something she couldn’t yet step away from. His hands made long, reassuring strokes down her back, his breath warm near her ear.
She looked up, seeking his gaze and whispered, “I wish—”
“I know,” he said, placing a finger over her lips to silence the futile yearnings, then pressed his lips to her cheek. The touch of his mouth was so soft that she leaned further into him, needing the human contact, his living touch. She turned her face and sought his lips, and his hands cupped her face as he kissed her tenderly, no more than butterfly kisses that made her ache inside.
As his mouth moved to her jaw, her throat, she wound her arms around his waist, surrendering herself to him, needing to block out all else.
Yet, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t block it out. It was too much—seeing JT again this morning, opening the memory box for the first time in years, the cross for Briana, being with JT in the same place they used to come as teenagers. Too much to all happen in half a day. She didn’t have anything left to give, any defenses remaining.
JT slowed the trail of kisses, then looked down at her. “Is something wrong?”
“We’ve been here before, JT,” she said, laying a staying hand on his chest. “This isn’t good for either of us—”
“Pia,” he said softly. “You’re overthinking. If you want to stop, we’ll stop. But all that’s happening here is two people who have gone through a harrowing experience together, reaching out to each other for what comfort they can find.” He placed an exquisite kiss on her lips. “Let me comfort you, princess.”
If he’d tried to convince her with sensuality, she could have resisted. But the tenderness in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes once more.
“Yes,” she whispered.
All she needed in this moment was to escape in his arms. Moonbeams danced around them as she let him