Joanne Rock - Claiming His Secret Heir

Talking about the good times with her last night had felt surreal, like the experiences had happened to someone else. He’d been trying so damn hard to forget her, and now? She’d forgotten all about him instead.

If that meant she forgot all about her bastard of a father, Damon didn’t mind the sacrifice one bit. He hoped the subject of Stephan Degraff wouldn’t surface between them today since Damon knew he wouldn’t be able to scrounge a single positive thing to say about the guy who was still fighting to take control of Transparent. Her father was on a mission to turn the rest of the investors against Damon so they could pull in a more experienced CEO to run the company.

Over his dead body.

“Are you sure you feel up to this?” Damon asked Caroline as he switched off the Land Rover. “We could always go for a Sunday drive instead.”

She was as beautiful as ever, but her pale skin and thinner frame made her seem frailer somehow. Or maybe it was simply because he knew she’d suffered a trauma that had given her amnesia. He didn’t want her to exhaust herself. He’d suggested she call a doctor first thing this morning, wanting to know what a professional had to say about her condition, but she’d been adamant she was well enough. When he hadn’t backed down, she’d conceded to a visit tomorrow if they could have one day together first.

He’d been hard pressed to argue. He was having a tough time just letting her out of his sight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

“I’ll be fine.” She gave him a smile that threw caution to the wind. He remembered it from when they’d climbed the bell tower in Florence and she’d challenged him to see who could scale the four-hundred-some steps faster. “The fresh air and exercise will be good for me.”

He still wanted to wrap her in cotton and keep watch over her for days, but he nodded.

Leaving the picnic basket in the back, he locked his door before stalking around to her side and helping her down. He only touched her briefly, putting his hand on her forearm to steady her while she hopped out, but it reminded him how long it had been since he’d touched a woman. Touched her. Even when he’d thought she was never coming back, he hadn’t consoled himself with someone else. In his mind, he’d still been married.

He watched Caroline take in the sights, her head turning as she studied the oak woodland and grassy knolls, the combination of forest and rolling hills scented with bay leaves and the cool, damp earth. The sun shone warmly enough for a southern California winter day, but little light penetrated the thickest patches of trees nearby.

Dressed in a dark blue running suit and a pink tee she’d found in her closet, she started toward the closest hiking trail, her new white sneakers fast on the well-worn path.

“Ready?” Her ponytail swung around her shoulder as she turned back to see him.

“Which way looks good?” he asked, curious if she had even a subconscious memory of the place.

“It seems sunniest in that direction.” She pointed toward the grassier path heading south.

He followed her, discreetly lifting branches out of her way when low boughs seemed too close to head height. For the most part, however, the trail was wide open and the preserve was quiet save for an older man taking his Dalmatian for a walk.

When they reached a high spot with a view of the Bay, Caroline dropped down to a flat rock and zipped her jacket up midway. Damon sat beside her, admiring the view from the peak, and all the time debating if he should ask her more about her ordeal or if he should focus on making new, happier memories. Before he could decide, she turned dark brown eyes his way.

“You said you searched everywhere for me.” Her voice was quiet. Serious. “Why didn’t you report me missing?”

The wind whistled through the tree branches overhead, a lonely sound that echoed through him.

Yesterday, when they’d touched on this subject, he’d been too stunned by the realization that she didn’t remember him to focus on the question. Now, he heard the hurt in her voice. The doubts underlying the question. She had hesitated to come back to him, thinking he might have “moved on.”

Which gave him no choice but to bring up her father.

He ground his teeth at the very thought of the man.

“Your father showed the police proof you’d been in touch with him. He said you’d left the marriage of your own volition and said I should respect your privacy.” He studied her expression, trying to interpret what she might be feeling at that news. “Do you remember much about him?”

“No. I’ve made progress since those first days where I didn’t recognize my own name. I can visualize my family, as well as college and the jobs I had after I graduated. But I don’t really remember anything about why I came out to Los Altos Hills. The last apartment I can recall clearly was in New York City.” She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I can remember that I worked for my father, and I have a few memories of my childhood, but not much about him personally.”

Just his luck, she hadn’t wiped out all memory of Stephan Degraff. Just of Damon.

“Then you might recall your close relationship with your father,” he ventured carefully. “How often the two of you spoke.” Stephan Degraff counted on Caroline’s business advice for his investments, calling on her anytime day or night if he had a question. The guy was relentless. Manipulative. And then, a disturbing thought occurred to Damon. “I’m surprised you didn’t go to him first if you didn’t recollect anything about me.”

“I—” She hesitated, a mixture of emotions evident in her eyes. Guilt. Worry.

“It doesn’t matter.” He covered her knee with one hand, not wishing to upset her. “I’m glad you came here.”

“But my father told the police that I left you? Was it you who called the police?”

“You texted me when your plane landed after you returned here from London.” He wasn’t going to mention the argument they’d had about the UK trip. “It didn’t make sense to me that you would contact me then, only to pack up and leave me.”

“Of course not.” She shook her head, ponytail swinging. “Unless we’d been unhappy?”

“Right after the honeymoon?” He removed his hand from her knee to withdraw his phone and tapped open the gallery of images he’d saved. “Scroll through a few of those and see if they look like pictures of unhappy people.”

She shifted positions, lowering her knees to glance over the photos of them on the Ponte Vecchio, seated at their favorite café for morning espressos, in front of the Uffizi Gallery, at the top of that bell tower they’d climbed. Most of the images were of her smiling and him kissing her cheek, but in a few of them, you could see them both grinning. Wildly in love.

Or so he thought.

“My God.” Her finger swiped faster, sending pictures spinning off the screen, one after another. “Did you show these to the police? To my father? What did they say?”

Her voice quavered. Her whole body seemed to tremble. Damn it.

“I’m sorry.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently slid the phone from her hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll figure it all out, okay? Just relax.”

She shook like a leaf. He couldn’t understand what, precisely, had her so troubled. But he didn’t want to rile her more.

“This is too important for me to relax.” Edging away from his touch, she shot to her feet and paced around the small lookout spot. “Would you be able to put me in touch with the officers you spoke to? The police who supposedly talked to my dad?”

“Supposedly?” Getting to his feet, he frowned. Defensive. “You don’t believe me?”