The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte: Just a Taste / Awaken the Senses / Estate Affair. Bronwyn Jameson
them.
Debris of the past. How appropriate.
It never changed, this first stilted moment born of their shared history. The hurt to her pride because he’d witnessed her lowest point. His forced restraint, hiding the fact that she turned him on just by walking into a room.
And underlying both, the knowledge of what bound them together—the accident that had killed both their spouses.
“Stay there,” he said, more sharply than he intended or wanted. Damn. And she still wore his dead brother’s wedding band. “Tony shouldn’t have let you in here without a hard hat.”
“I told him I wouldn’t be long.”
“Which doesn’t change a blessed thing. He knows the rules.”
“Don’t blame Tony,” she said quickly. “I sort of lied.”
Seth peeled off his gloves as he started toward her. After five years with Jason, he knew how highly she valued honesty. Knew her bending of the truth would barely register on any fib-o-meter. He stopped in front of her. Waited for her explanation.
“I said you were expecting me.”
Which, while no whopper, did qualify as extremely untrue. He hadn’t seen her since a few days before Christmas, and on that occasion only by chance. She’d brought a present for Rachel and hadn’t expected to find him home.
Seth stopped in front of her. “I haven’t seen you in over three months. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
“No.” She shook her head in denial, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his.
“I’m surprised Tony believed you. Since you’re such a lousy liar.”
“Oh.”
Oh, indeed.
The whisper of a sigh escaped her lips. “You’re right, I am, and I suspect Tony thought the same. He said he was only letting me in here because it’s your birthday.”
“Did he think you might have brought me some sort of birthday surprise?”
She met his gaze then, a momentary connection before she blinked and looked away. Seth didn’t blame her, since he imagined his eyes burned with all kinds of erotic birthday surprises.
Most of them included her. Naked and gift-wrapped.
“Sorry.” And, dammit, she really did look sorry. “I should have remembered.”
Seth tried but he couldn’t stop himself asking, “And if you had?”
“I’d have at least brought you a card. Or maybe even a cake.”
“With candles?”
“Wouldn’t that constitute a fire hazard?”
Only to Seth’s imagination.
Somewhere during their birthday-cake banter, he’d started to picture Jillian wearing nothing but teeny tassels and those sexy high heels, bursting from the top of a tacky surprise cake. The kind his buddy Lou might have arranged had he not been out sick. The kind he had no right placing in the same fantasy as Jillian, the sister-in-law he had no right lusting after. But since he’d done so from the first moment he laid eyes on her, and since she’d never shown any sign of being anything other than uncomfortable in his company, he figured he’d keep right on lusting from afar.
Part of the ongoing penance for coveting his brother’s wife.
She looked uncomfortable now, no doubt because he couldn’t help staring—yeah, and lusting—and because the silence between them had stretched into the realms of long and awkward.
“I called in at your office,” she said, bridging that conversational gap while casually widening the gap between them. “Mel told me you were working out here. She didn’t say you were destroying Villa Firenze.”
To indicate the scene of carnage, she did this little gesture thing with her hands. They were elegant and eloquent, Jillian’s hands, and one of the many, many things he’d noticed that first time he met her as Jason’s new bride.
One of the many, many things that turned him on.
“The Maldinis are converting the ground floor into a restaurant.”
“Ahh.” Pivoting on her high heels, she took in the whole scene through thoughtfully narrowed eyes, as if picturing the completed renovation. “It looks like a big job.”
“A satisfying one.”
And not only because he’d lucked out and gotten the chance to wield tools today. He followed her gaze around the Italian-style villa, solid and structurally sound, yet with the soul of its century-long history alive in the cellars and gardens and kitchens.
“I hope they’ll go with Tuscan food,” she said.
“They will.”
Jillian nodded, satisfied with his assurance. Seth Bennedict had that way about him. He said; you believed. And she grabbed at the perfect segue into her reason for being here. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Seth.”
One thick dark brow lifted in surprise. “You’re starting a restaurant?”
“No. Oh, no.” She loved good food, which meant someone else needed to cook it. “But I am extending and remodeling our tasting room. I’d like you to quote.”
There, that hadn’t been so difficult. Not once she’d gotten past the unsettling sight of Seth looking so rough and, well, uncivilized. Although she wished she’d known about his birthday. A card, a cake, a gift of wine would not have been inappropriate.
Staring at the tiny snagged tear in his T-shirt, at the teeny sliver of dark skin and darker chest hair…now that was inappropriate.
“Is this not a good time?” she said, looking away. Rattled because she’d been staring, and just a bit giddy with a sense of airless heat. “To talk about this?”
“You’re here now. We can talk, but let’s take it outside.”
He wore a hard hat. He’d already mentioned the fact that she didn’t. “I guess I’m breaking all kinds of safety regulations.”
“Yeah.” He met her eyes, his as dark and intense and disquieting as always. “You are.”
“So. How extensive is this job of yours?”
This question she could answer, now that Seth had removed himself from her breathing space. With an extremely disconcerting hand at her back—not quite touching, but hovering thereabouts—he’d shepherded her away from the curious sidelong glances of Tony and his coworkers and into a stand of olive trees beside the villa.
Leaning against the gnarled trunk of one old tree, arms crossed over his chest, he looked relaxed and receptive.
Reassured, Jillian waved a hand toward the villa. “Not very extensive compared with your present job. A lot of the work is remodeling and refitting, but there is a storage room that has to go so I can expand the tasting room space.”
“Business is good, then?”
“Busier than ever. Easter weekend was complete madness and we’re anticipating even more traffic over the summer, since we’re doing a national marketing push.”
His brows rose a little. “I thought boutique wineries like yours were all about word of mouth and competition medals.”
“Yes, but we’re releasing our first chardonnay. Plus with the economy tight the gap between premium wines like ours and the average bottle is narrowing.”
“You’re losing market share?”
With Cole at the helm? Oh, no, her brother would so not allow any market to get away from him! “Our sales are still growing, but we’re not resting on our laurels.”