by Lisa Jackson
“So you think you can grow grapes down here,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted, while a part of her was withering inside.
“Not just grapes. The best grapes.”
“Oh, right.” She couldn’t even summon a laugh. He was leaving. Leaving. A cold wind swept through her soul, and she suddenly felt empty and desolate inside.
“Well, Santini Brothers won’t be the first winery. There are quite a few vineyards between Bittersweet, Ashland and Jacksonville. We’ll just have to see if we can make our mark.”
“And grab your share of the market.”
“If Carlo has his way.”
“He always does, doesn’t he?” she said, and for a second he hesitated, as if he wanted to tell her something that hovered on the tip of his tongue. Clearing his throat, he looked away and lifted a shoulder. “Most of the time. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
He reached into the back seat and pulled out a backpack that he slung over one shoulder before getting out of his Jeep. “For the celebration,” he explained as they walked to the house, a stone cottage that was nestled in a grove of trees. A swing set that had seen better days was rusting by the side of the house, and an herb garden, now going to seed, had encroached upon a flagstone patio that overlooked the creek.
“It’s beautiful—well, it will be.” Forcing her thoughts away from the heart-wrenching fact that she’d have to patch her life back together without him, Tiffany tried to show some interest in her father-in-law’s next project. She looked past the obvious need for repairs to the house and grounds. On the far side of the cottage, away from the shade, a vegetable garden with an arbor flanked an orchard of fruit trees and a small raspberry patch. A breezeway separating the garage from the house was trimmed with lattice that stretched into a grape arbor.
“The first season’s harvest,” J.D. joked, lifting one of the hundreds of clusters of tiny green grapes. He grabbed her hand, linking their fingers and causing a silly little thrill to climb up her arm.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. For once, enjoy the moment. He’ll be gone soon, and then where will you be? Alone. Again. Hasn’t every man who ever was a part of your life left? First your father, then your husband, now J.D. Her throat turned to cotton, and a pain, needle sharp and hot, ripped through her heart.
She told herself that she was being a ninny, that he didn’t care for her, had never cared for her, and any feelings she was harboring for him were just silly, romantic whimsies.
Remember, Tiffany, you can’t love this man. You just can’t!
But she did. The simple, unalterable and painful fact was that she loved him. Wrong or right For better or worse. Cringing inside at the turn of her thoughts, she was just a step behind him as he showed her around the grounds, pointing out reasons this farm was better than the others he’d seen.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the few clouds hanging low over the western hills blazed brilliant orange and magenta as J.D. followed a path from the house to the barn. Swallows were nesting in the rafters and screeched their disapproval of anyone in the vicinity. A few frogs began to croak, and in the distance a coyote sent up a lonely howl.
“It’s peaceful out here,” she said. “Different from the city.”
“Just a tad.” The barn door was on rollers, and he shoved it open. It creaked and groaned, as if protesting their entrance before finally giving way.
“Needs a little oil,” she observed.
“A lot of oil. The whole place needs work. Obviously, but not more than I expected. Both the house and this barn are over a hundred years old, and even though they’ve been updated, the wiring’s shot, plumbing needs to be redone and the house reroofed. But with some time, money and effort I think the cottage could be restored and turned into a gift shop, and this place could be converted into a wine-tasting room.” He motioned to the musty interior with its time-darkened beams, wide stalls and hayloft. High overhead a round window let in the last shafts of daylight, and an owl, disturbed, fluttered in the rafters.
J.D.’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if he were already imagining what the converted farm would look like. He led her through a back door where the pasture dropped off steeply into a natural bowl. “This could be tiered and landscaped into a natural amphitheater that could be rented for parties, or summer concerts or weddings.”
“Just like the vineyard where you and I met,” she said automatically, then felt like a fool for mentioning something so personal.
“The same idea.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think you remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
He eyed her for a second, as if trying to read her mind. A small smile toyed at his lips. “You were catering the wedding and trying your best to look grown-up.”
“And you were doing your best I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-anything impression.”
“Did it work?”
“Oh, yeah. Big-time. Everyone who saw you thought you were the reason we’d hired security guards.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “That was a long time ago.”
“A lifetime,” she admitted, a trifle breathlessly. It was happening again, this feeling of closeness and intimacy that she wished didn’t exist.
“You weren’t married yet.”
“Neither were you,” she retorted.
“Never have been.”
“Why not?” she asked, but before he could answer, she added, “And don’t give me the line about not finding the right woman, Santini, because I wouldn’t believe it.”
He hesitated for a second, and when his gaze returned to hers it was dark, intense. The wind seemed to have died, and it was so quiet she heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. “Maybe I found her, but she was promised to someone else.”
Her breath caught in her throat
“In fact, she was engaged to my brother.”
Oh, God. There it was. So many times since Philip’s death she’d wondered. Had the one night she’d spent with J.D. been, as she’d told herself, just two people trying to console each other in their grief? Or had it been more? This was dangerous territory, very dangerous, and yet she couldn’t resist stepping over the imaginary line she’d drawn in her mind. “For me,” she said, swallowing against a lump in her throat, “commitments aren’t to be broken.”
“I know.”
“I...I loved your brother.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“I know your family thought I married him for his part of the Santini estate, or for the fact that I never knew my own father and was searching for a replacement, but the truth is I fell in love with Philip. It might not have been the wild passion people expect to find, and it certainly changed and became…more difficult as the years went by, but I loved him nonetheless.”
J.D. snorted. “So did I.” His lips flattened into a thin, self-deprecating line. “Why do you think I stayed away for so long?”
“I…I didn’t know.”
“Why do you think I’m leaving now?”
“Oh, God, don’t say it—”
“Because I can’t stand the thought that I want my brother’s wife.” His expression was grave. “I saw your marriage falling apart,” he admitted. “I know that Philip became...less enchanted, and I beat myself up because a part of me wanted it to fail.”
“No. Please, Jay.” Somewhere deep in her being there was a rendering, painful and filled with remorse. Her heart was pounding so loudly he could surely hear its erratic cadence. “I…I don’t think we should be talking like this,” she said in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
“You asked.”
“But...” Somehow it seemed wrong, such a betrayal of Philip’s memory. “It’s just that what happened between you and me was…was…”
“Not supposed to,” he finished for her, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring slightly. A muscle worked in the corner of his jaw, and his hands balled into fists of frustration as he gazed upon the still wa
ters of the pond and saw past its clear depths to the bottom of his own soul, his private hell. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
“I had no intention—”
“Neither did I,” he said crisply, as if to dismiss the subject. They walked down the natural bowl in the hill to the pond and a thicket of cottonwood, pine and oak that guarded one bank. The sky was turning a deep shade of lavender, and a soft breeze raced across the pond.
Guilt, never far away, nudged even closer. She’d been faithful to Philip, never so much as touched another man. Her heart had been with her husband. Always. Except for a few lonely moments when she’d thought of J.D., of his kiss, or what might have been. But she’d never said a word, never lifted the phone to call him, never uttered his name in the middle of the night when Philip, off on business or a gambling junket, hadn’t been around. She rubbed her arms to ward off a chill before she realized how warm the evening was.
A hawk flew overhead, lazily circling in the dusky sky, but Tiffany hardly noticed because of the man beside her. Rebel. Black sheep. Hellion. Names she’d heard Philip call his younger brother. Foolish names that weren’t true.
“On to better things,” he said, as if he’d chased the ghosts of his past away. From the backpack he withdrew a bottle of wine. “I thought we should christen this place.”
“And how did you want to do that?” she asked, her stupid heart racing at the prospect.
“I’ll show you.” He pulled a jackknife from the pocket of his jeans and flipped out the corkscrew. “Santini Brothers’ award-winning private reserve.” With an exaggerated flourish, he uncorked the bottle. “Want to sniff the cork?”
“I’ll trust you,” she said, then saw the stiffening of his spine. “I mean—”
“I know what you meant.” He set the bottle on a flat rock near the edge of the pond to let it breathe, but he was tense, his muscles flexed. “And the fact of the matter is you don’t trust me.” He looked at her with eyes that flashed a silver gray. “You never have.”
“I think that goes both ways, Jay. From the moment you laid eyes on me, you went out of your way to let me know that I wasn’t good enough to marry your brother.”
“It wasn’t a matter of being good enough.”
“No?” She didn’t believe him. “Then what?”
“I thought you were too young for Philip.”
“It really wasn’t any of your business, was it?” she demanded, stepping closer to him, elevating her chin and skewering him with a stare meant to melt steel.
He didn’t so much as flinch. “I guess I made it my business.”
“But you had no right,” she said, all the years of pent-up frustration surfacing. “Just like you have no right to come down here and force yourself into my life.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes! You seem to think that you…you can do anything you please and damn the consequences.”
“Not true, Tiffany. If it were, then things would be different between us.”
“Would they? How? Oooh!”
He grabbed her. Strong arms surrounded her, and his mouth, hard and unyielding, pressed firmly over hers. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and she couldn’t breathe, could barely think as he pushed the tip of his tongue to the seam of her lips.
A thrill swept through her, and she opened her mouth willingly. A thousand reasons to push him away slid into her mind. A thousand-and-one reasons to hold him close chased them away. His tongue explored her mouth, touching, tasting, tickling, and her knees turned liquid.
Large, callused hands massaged her back, moving sensuously over the light cotton of her T-shirt. Fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, and heat invaded her blood.
Her resistance fled.
Common sense failed her.
His weight pulled them to the ground, and he trembled as he kissed the patch of skin exposed by the neckline of her shirt. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she refused to pay attention to any lingering doubts still clouding her mind. She didn’t protest when he lifted her T-shirt over her head, didn’t offer any objections as he kissed the top of each breast so sensually that she ached for more.
She pulled his shirt over his head, mussing his hair, then touched the thick mat of hair covering his chest. She traced the indentations of his muscles, and she felt his abdomen contract when she toyed with the rim of his navel.
“You’re asking for trouble,” he whispered.
“I know. I just hope I’m going to get it.”
“Oh, yeah, lady.” He unhooked her bra and stripped it away. “Oh, yeah.” His breath was hot and seductive, his fingers pure magic as they skimmed over her.
She arched upward as he kissed and licked her breast, teasing and toying as she writhed beneath him. Like a slumbering animal, desire awoke, stretching and yawning deep inside her, aching to be filled.
“Jay,” she whispered, his name floating on the evening breeze.
“Right here, love,” he assured her as his fingers found her zipper and it opened with a hiss. She sucked in her abdomen as her shorts were pulled over her hips, and she was suddenly naked, aside for the scrap of lace between her legs.
“You are beautiful,” he said, kissing her belly button, his breath and tongue tantalizingly close to the apex of her thighs. “So beautiful.” Lowering himself, he pulled on her panties with his teeth, deftly removing them before inching back up her legs with his mouth.
Her throat was as dry as a desert, her blood on fire. She arched as he discovered her most intimate recesses and caught her buttocks in his hands.
“Jay, oh, Jay,” she moaned, her eyes closed, her body glistening with perspiration.
Somehow he kicked off his jeans and parted her legs with his knees. “Stop me now,” he said through gritted teeth, and she shook her head.
“Don’t ever stop.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, but lost control. Arms surrounding her, he thrust deep, fusing his body with hers only to retract and push forward again. Tiffany moved with him, her body catching his rhythm, her mind closed to all thoughts but the powerful pulsing need that he alone could fill.
She dug her fingers into the muscles of his upper arms, pressed her heels into his calves. Hot desire swirled through her. Her breath was suddenly far too shallow, her lungs too tight. The world tilted on its axis, and somewhere in the heavens a star burst into a billion sparks of light.
He cried out with a sound as primitive as the night, and Tiffany lost herself, body and soul, in J.D. Santini—the one man who had no right to her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So who’s the new renter?” Katie asked as she dunked a French fry in her tiny cup of catsup and bit off the end. The three half sisters were seated at an outside table in the garden of the restaurant, a large umbrella offering shade from the summer heat, flower boxes spilling blooms in profusion.
“You don’t miss much, do you?” Tiffany asked, not entirely comfortable with Bliss and Katie, who seemed to have hit it off already.
“I’m a reporter, remember?” Katie grinned and dabbed at her lips. Perspiration dotted her smooth forehead.
“His name is Luke Gates. He’s from a small town in west Texas. Other than that, I don’t know much about him. He pretty much keeps to himself.”
Katie wrinkled her nose as if she smelled a story. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”
“You’re always looking for a mystery,” Bliss said.
“Not a mystery. A scoop. There’s a difference.” She took a sip of iced tea and settled back in her chair. The umbrella wasn’t big enough to shade the entire table, and Katie had to squint a bit, even though she was wearing wire-rimmed sunglasses. “I’d really like to crack the Isaac Wells case, let me tell you. Now, there’s a mystery and a scoop.”
Tiffany froze. The topic was too sensitive.
Bliss cleared her throat “I wish it were over, too.”
Katie thought aloud. “The old man,
for no apparent reason, just up and vanishes. Some people, including the police, think he might have met with foul play. They have suspects, but they’re reaching for straws. I’ve been trying to come up with a reason why anyone would do the old guy in. He wasn’t very friendly and made his share of enemies, but none who would want to kill or kidnap him. And if he was kidnapped, why no contract or ransom demands? Gosh, I don’t get it.”
“No one does,” Tiffany said and picked up her glass of cola. Beads of sweat slid down the outside of the glass, and she swirled the melting ice cubes. She thought of her son and knew in her heart that he wasn’t involved. He was only thirteen, for crying out loud, and yet she was worried. Worried sick.
“So, Tiffany,” Katie said, holding one hand over her glasses to shade her eyes, “what’s the deal with you and J.D.?”
Tiffany was taking a sip from her drink and nearly choked. “What deal?”
“You tell me. I saw you at the wedding reception, dancing with him. The man’s in love with you.”
“Love?” Tiffany shook her head despite the soaring of her heart. If only she could believe that J.D. really cared. “He’s just here on business.”
Bliss and Katie shared a knowing look. “Right.”
“It’s true. He’s buying a farm for his father’s new vineyard and winery.”
“I know all about the Zalinski farm being sold,” Katie said. “And I’ve heard the rumors about the Santini Brothers Winery expanding to southern Oregon, but that doesn’t explain why the guy couldn’t keep his hands off you last Sunday.”
Tiffany felt heat steal up the back of her neck. She remembered all too vividly J.D.’s lovemaking, but she didn’t want to attach any emotions to it. Not yet. “J.D. and I are—”
“Don’t say it.” Katie shook her head. “If you tell me you’re just good friends, I think I’ll scream.”
