“Ah. As I suspected.” Her shoulders slumped a bit and she looked at her nails. “Since when do you care?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

She always had been forthright. Nearly to the point of being rude. Well, two could play that game. “I’ve always cared.”

Her eyes darkened for a second. A shadow flickered in their whiskey-colored depths and the pulse in the hollow of her throat, above the deep V of her blouse, beat a fraction more rapidly. Hell, she was beautiful. No wonder his brother hadn’t been able to resist her. Neither had he.

“So how have you and the kids been doing?”

“I already told you. We’re fine.”

“No problems?”

Her jaw tensed a bit. “None that we can’t deal with, Jay,” she said and wished he’d just disappear. She glanced out the window and spied Christina drawing stick figures on the walk. “You can tell your dad that we’re doing fine. No, change that.” She waved expansively. “Tell him we’re great. Not a care in the world.” She’d never gotten along with Philip’s father, Carlo, nor with his mother, for that matter. As his second wife, so many years younger than her husband, Tiffany had been looked upon as a bimbo, a fraud, a little girl who didn’t know her own mind and worst of all, as someone who was after all the Santini family’s wealth. Considering the circumstances, all those thoughts were nothing but a cruel, ironic joke.

And what did J.D. care? When had he ever? Her heart pumped a little at the sight of him and she silently called herself an idiot. He was just as ruggedly male as she remembered him, with his long, jeans-clad legs, black hair in need of a trim and penetrating silver-gray eyes.

“What about the juvenile authorities?”

Her fingers tightened into fists. “Don’t worry about it.”

His smile was cynical and downright sexy. If a woman noticed. Tiffany told herself she didn’t. She’d known J.D.—James Dean Santini—too many years to trust him. She’d let down her guard a couple of times and in both instances she’d gotten herself into trouble—the worst kind of jeopardy. It wouldn’t happen again. Too much was at stake.

“You know, Tiff, you’re still a member of the family.”