Tiffany had been crushed by Philip’s attitude but determined to bear this child and bring it into a loving world.

Eventually, after brooding and pouting for a week or two, Philip had come to terms with the prospect of diapers, formula and interrupted sleep. He’d come home with a bouquet of spring flowers and told her that another baby, though not in his plan for the future, might be the best thing that had ever happened to him—to them and their marriage. “It’ll either keep me young or make me old real fast,” he’d said.

Tiffany felt a pang of remorse for a man she’d thought she loved, then stepped out of the room as Christina yawned and sighed softly, her eyelids slowly lowering.

J.D. was waiting for her, his hips resting against the balustrade, arms folded across his chest, jaw set with determination. As she closed the door gently behind her, he cocked a thumb at the open door to the third floor. “You’ve got an empty room upstairs.”

Obviously, he’d already checked it out.

“That’s right. I’m hoping to rent it soon.”

His grin was slow-spreading and positively wicked. “Well, Ms. Santini, I guess this is your lucky day.”

No! She steeled herself. Surely he wasn’t suggesting . . .

“That’s right, Tiff,” he said, as if reading her expression. “It just so happens I need a place to stay while I’m in town.”

No way. She couldn’t have him this close. He was too intrusive, too damned sexy. But then, he always had been.

“Sorry, Jay, but I don’t rent week to week, or, uh, month to month for that matter. I, uh, always insist upon a six-month lease, first and last month’s rent, and both a cleaning deposit and a security deposit.”

“Do you?” One dark eyebrow lifted in mocking disbelief.

“Always.”

“Fine,” he said, his eyes gleaming as if he loved calling her bluff. “Just show me where to sign.”

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“This is crazy,” Tiffany muttered under her breath as she climbed the curved stairs to the top floor. J.D. followed after her, his steps uneven as he hauled his damned duffel bag and briefcase with him. As if he really intended to rent the place.

There was no way! He was the last man on earth, the last person to whom she would hand over a key to her house.

“A little crazy,” he conceded as he reached the top and tossed his bag onto the stripped mattress of the antique brass bed. She saw the white lines around the corners of his mouth and watched as he limped slightly to the French doors that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the backyard then set his battered briefcase on the floor.

“You should try to find something on the ground level.”