“Was he?” Anger shot through her. “You know, Jay, of all the things I would have expected from you, it wouldn’t be that you’d end up as some kind of gopher . . . or . . .or what do they call spies these days? Moles? I can’t believe you’d come down here to be a mole, or whatever you want to call it, for your father.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you down here?” she demanded, poking a finger at his chest. “ Why are you in a room in my house? Why didn’t your father send someone else—someone with more experience—down here to check out possible vineyard sites? You know, this whole thing has been bogus from the start!”

“Have you ever thought that I might be here because I couldn’t stay away?”

“From what? Me?” She shook her head and reached for the handle of the door again. “Oh, come on, Jay, it’s been months since Philip died. Months. If you really cared, you would have—Ooh!” He pulled her close and kissed her so hard she couldn’t breathe for a second, couldn’t think. Strong arms wrapped around her, preventing her escape.

Fire screamed through her blood. Desire shot through her insides, turning her liquid. Oh, why was it always like this with him? He groaned as his kiss deepened and erotic images flashed through her mind.

“Tiffany,” he said and his voice cracked a bit. He lifted his head and she saw in his eyes a raw pain she didn’t understand. “I do care, Tiffany,” he admitted, though he seemed to hate the words. His arms, strong and warm, were still wrapped around her. “I care too much. Way too much.”

Her heart pounded for a small second. Oh, God, how she wanted to believe him, to drown in his words, to trust in the concern in his eyes; but she couldn’t. This was J.D. Santini, her brother-in-law, a man who felt some kind of obligation, a duty to his dead brother’s memory and widow. “Then don’t, Jay,” she said, tamping down that stupid little romantic part of her heart that cried out to give him a chance. “Just don’t care. I . . . we . . . The kids and I are doing fine.” She kept her voice devoid of emotion. “We don’t need you.”

The lie hovered between them for a second. He stared deep into her eyes as if in so doing he could search her soul. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to tell him that she loved him—Dear God, she loved him?

That thought scared her to the bone, turning her blood to ice. Of all the men in the world, she couldn’t fall in love with J.D. Santini.

Never.