Past the leafy branches of the trees in the backyard, he spied a few stars that were bright enough to defy the lights of the town. Low in the sky was the moon, or half of it. He stretched and glanced down to the lawn where Tiffany was watering a few potted plants.

Her gauzy white dress caught in a breeze that teased at the hem, giving him a few glimpses of her bare legs. Unaware that she was being observed, she bent over each terra-cotta container and sprinkled the showy petunias, pansies and geraniums placed strategically around the drying grass. Her slinky cat wound about her bare feet, rubbing against her calves.

God, she was beautiful. Her black hair was wound into a knot pinned to the back of her head, but strands of hair had escaped to frame her face and nape. Thoughtfully she bit her lower lip, showing off a hint of pearly teeth as she plucked dead blossoms from the plants.

He couldn’t resist. Knowing he was about to step over an invisible but very definite line that he might not ever be able to recross, he set his papers and coffee cup aside and grabbed the neck of a bottle of wine he’d bought earlier in the day. The Cabernet was local and J.D. had decided to check out the competition. Quickly he headed downstairs.

The steps creaked a little but the second level was quiet with only a nightlight in the bathroom offering partial illumination. He hurried down the final staircase to the first floor. A radio was playing softly in the kitchen but the only light was a glass-encased candle flickering on the table.

Quietly he opened several cupboards before finding the glassware, then plucked two wineglasses from a shelf and didn’t bother to question his motives. The corkscrew was in a drawer with odds and ends of kitchen utensils.

He slipped noiselessly through the screen door and stood on the porch for a second. Tiffany was near the carriage house, refilling her plastic sprinkler at a faucet and he watched as she watered the planter boxes of impatiens.

Only when she’d turned and faced him, did he step out of the shadows of the porch.

“Oh.” She froze, then recognized him. “For the love of Pete, Jay, you scared me.” Wiping drips of water from her hands, she approached and he tried not to notice the way her dress hugged her breasts or the slight bit of cleavage that was visible at the neckline. Nor did he concentrate on the way her hips moved beneath the thin fabric.

He lifted up the bottle. “I brought this as a peace offering.”

She stopped only inches from him and lifted a dark, suspicious brow. “Because—”

“Of our disagreement.”

She shook her head and laughed. The sound was musical and vital. “If you buy a bottle of wine every time we disagree, you’re going to go broke fast.”