“Good.” He wondered what the kid knew. What was eating at him. Sipping from his cup, J.D. opened one of the windows near the kitchen table and tried to ignore the scent of Tiffany’s skin. Ringlets, still wet from her shower, framed her face and straggled invitingly at her nape. Again his groin tightened. His blood stirred as it always did when he thought about Tiffany and what sweet pleasure it was to make love to her. There were so many barriers between them—most of his own making, but barriers that needed to be scaled. “About last night—”

“Last night?” She froze, one hand holding the spatula.

“In the backyard.”

“Oh.” The back of her neck turned a vibrant shade of red. “I, uh, I don’t think we should talk about it.” She waved her spatula in the air as if she could physically block the train of conversation.

“Why not?”

“Because . . . Because . . . Oh, I don’t know.” Because you confuse me. Everything about you makes me challenge my own convictions. “Let’s just chalk it up to bad timing, okay?”

“It was more than that.”

Was it? Oh, Jay, part of me wants to believe you, but I just can’t. “I don’t want to hear this.” She scraped the pancakes from her griddle and tossed them expertly onto a platter.

“We can’t run away from it.”

“Sure we can.” She poured more batter onto the griddle and as the pancakes started to cook, turned to face him. “I’ve got a lot to deal with, Jay. A helluva lot. I don’t need or want any man—even you, believe it or not—complicating things.”

He smiled and she rolled her eyes, grabbed another handful of berries and tossed them onto the cakes.

“I’m not trying to complicate anything.”

“Oh, right.” She shook her head and sighed theatrically. “Maybe you can’t help it,” she said. “Maybe it’s a part of your makeup, in your genes.” She smiled a little. Goodness, he was handsome, even in the early morning. Unshaven, his black hair a little too long and shaggy to be fashionable, he looked rugged and hard and unbending. A man to avoid at all costs.

“I just thought we should discuss what happened.”

“What happened was a mistake. Period. You’re my brother-in-law. Nothing more. Even though Philip’s dead and your family already despises me. My kids are dealing with the loss of their father in their own ways and I don’t think that I have any right, or . . . or . . . desire—” He lifted one eyebrow, silently calling her a liar, and she sighed. “Okay, bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. I’m not ready to, well, you know, make things more difficult for anyone. Including myself.”

Smothering a smile, he took a sip from his cup, then set it on the counter. “You’re kidding yourself, Tiff.”