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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.
