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“In Bittersweet?” She shoved a lock of blue-black hair from her eyes. “Don’t tell me you chased an ambulance all the way from Portland down here.”
That stung. “I left the firm.”
“No way.” She cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “But I thought you were a partner.”
“I was. Sold out.”
“So,” she encouraged, suddenly wary, “why?”
“Dad offered me a job with his company.”
She laughed without a drop of mirth. “Come on. Don’t give me that worn-out line about an offer you ‘couldn’t refuse,’ Jay.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, this is rich. You with Santini Brothers. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Neither did I.” He stretched his bad leg and rubbed at the pain in his knee through his jeans. “Since I was down here on business anyway, I thought I’d check up on you and the kids.”
“Ah. As I suspected.” Her shoulders slumped a bit, and she looked at her nails. “Since when do you care?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
She always had been forthright. Nearly to the point of being rude. Well, two could play that game. “I’ve always cared.”
Her eyes darkened for a second. A shadow flickered in their whiskey-colored depths, and the pulse in the hollow of her throat, above the deep V of her blouse, beat a fraction more rapidly. Hell, she was beautiful. No wonder his brother hadn’t been able to resist her. Neither had he.
“So how have you and the kids been doing?”
“I already told you. We’re fine.”
“No problems?”
Her jaw tensed a bit. “None that we can’t deal with, Jay,” she said and wished he’d just disappear. She glanced out the window and spied Christina drawing stick figures on the walk. “You can tell your dad that we’re doing fine. No, change that.” She waved expansively. “Tell him we’re great. Not a care in the world.” She’d never gotten along with Philip’s father, Carlo, nor with his mother, for that matter. As his second wife, so many years younger than her husband, Tiffany had been looked upon as a bimbo, a fraud, a little girl who didn’t know her own mind and worst of all, as someone who was after all the Santini family’s wealth. Considering the circumstances, all those thoughts were nothing but a cruel, ironic joke.
And what did J.D. care? When had he ever? Her heart pumped a little at the sight of him, and she silently called herself an idiot. He was just as ruggedly male as she remembered him, with his long, jeans-clad legs, black hair in need of a trim and penetrating silver-gray eyes.
“What about the juvenile authorities?”
Her fingers tightened into fists. “Don’t worry about it.”
His smile was cynical and downright sexy. If a woman noticed. Tiffany told herself she didn’t. She’d known J.D.—James Dean Santini—too many years to trust him. She’d let down her guard a couple of times, and in both instances she’d gotten herself into trouble—the worst kind of jeopardy. It wouldn’t happen again. Too much was at stake.
“You know, Tiff, you’re still a member of the family.”
“Since when?” she retorted, skewering him with a look that, she was certain,
could kill. She pointed a long finger at him. “I’ve never been considered a part of the family. Over fourteen years of marriage and neither one of your parents accepted me.” Nor did you, she silently seethed, but held her tongue. There had been enough pain borne on both sides. She had always longed to be part of a real family, one with a father and mother and siblings, unlike her own small group of relatives. Shivering inwardly, she pushed those thoughts aside and stubbornly refused to think of them, even though, at the end of this very week, her father—her biological father, for that was all he really was, a man who had donated his share of genes to her DNA—was marrying his longtime mistress.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she walked to the window that overlooked the backyard. A smile teased her lips as she watched her daughter.
Right now, the little girl was chasing after the cat, Charcoal, as he darted between the shrubs.
“What kind of trouble is Stephen getting himself into?” J.D. persisted. She’d forgotten how determined and maddeningly single-minded her brother-in-law could be.
“Nothing that serious.”
“Just serious enough that you had to talk with the authorities.”
Silently counting to ten, she rotated her neck and worked out the kinks. “You know, J.D., the last thing I need right now is to be grilled or given some kind of lecture by you. I don’t know why you’ve decided to come to visit right now, but I’m sure it wasn’t just to harass me.”
He snorted. “Just a simple question.”
“Don’t give me that. Nothing you’ve ever done is simple or without a purpose.”
