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Please, just let her keep her hands off of me.
But when he looked up, genuine surprise wiped all expression from his face and a good amount of cognitive function from his brain. Possibly because every early-morning fantasy of the last year exploded through his blood.
He did notice that Jillian Ashton-Bennedict was over-dressed…for both his fantasies and for the reality of a building site. She wore a dress the color of sandstone, a slender column of material that ended just shy of her knees. She wasn’t sashaying. Instead she picked her graceful way through the rubble, all long legs and high heels and cool female elegance.
No one did cool elegance like Jillian Ashton-Bennedict.
And nothing turned Seth on quicker or hotter than her particular brand of femininity.
With one hand she smoothed her hair—shorter than last time he’d seen her, curling around the elegant length of her throat in soft ash-brown layers—and he caught the glint of gold on her ring finger. Then she looked up and her eyes met his across the pile of century-old bricks and timber that separated 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.”
“What’s your schedule for the renovation?”
“I really need this to be quick and hassle-free. I don’t want to close tastings, so I’ll be setting up a temporary area in the cellar.” Which Eli was going to hate. “As for starting time—” She drew a breath and looked right at him. “That will depend on you.”
He stared back at her for a long minute, those dark eyes even harder to read than usual in the mottled pattern of light and shade. “I haven’t said I’ll do it, Jillian.”
“Are you saying you won’t?”
“Not won’t. Can’t. Not if you want it done in the next month or two.”
Jillian’s stomach plummeted. “You’re that busy?”
“Signed contracts on two new jobs last week, and that’s on top of a heavy schedule.”
All the emotional energy she’d spent worrying over coming to see him and asking for his help, and he couldn’t do it? Why hadn’t she considered this outcome? Why hadn’t she realized that his reputation would always keep him booked way ahead of time?
Well…blast!
Except right on the heels of that initial sense of anticlimax, came a subtle easing of tension in her shoulders and limbs. It felt almost like relief. She had identified Seth as number one on her best-builder list; she’d driven over here and done the asking; he’d said no.
Now she could carry on as before, not exactly avoiding him but not needing to seek him out. She wouldn’t have to deal with his macho intensity or her reaction to it. Truth be told, the man scared her, unsettled her, made her too aware of herself. And she neither liked nor trusted any of those reactions.
With her thumb she touched the back of the wedding band she still wore on her left hand, not to remember, but as a caution against repeating the mistakes of her past.
A caution to proceed slowly and with care, especially when it came to men.
Yet this man—this builder—had brought her out here, encouraged her to talk about her plans. What was that about? “If you weren’t interested,” she began slowly, frowning, “why didn’t you say so before, inside?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” Something shifted in his gaze, deep and dark, making her feel as breathlessly offkilter as when his hand had hovered at her back. “I said I can’t fit your time frame.”
Semantics. Jillian dismissed the whole conversation with a frustrated little shrug. She didn’t have time for this…for this bandying of words or for her body’s rogue responses.
Whatever the reason, he wasn’t interested in quoting for her tasting room renovation. Discussion closed.
Seth watched her press her lips together and straighten that long, elegant backbone. Gathering her poise and dignity after copping another blow on the chin. He’d seen her go through the same motions many times before, and knew she wouldn’t try and change his mind.
And, damn, just once he wished she would beg a favor of him.
Exasperated with himself—for wanting something that would never happen, something so out of character for Jillian—Seth straightened from his slouch against the tree and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.
“Just a minute.” He wasn’t going to change his answer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help in a smaller way. “I hear Terry Mancini’s finding retirement tough. He might be interested in a job like yours. Or I can call around and see who’s—”
“There’s no need to do that,” she interrupted. “I can manage to find someone else on my own.”
Posture straight and her shoulders all stiff with pride, she turned to leave. And wasn’t that just like Jillian, going all cool and haughty and knocking back his offer of assistance?
Once she had accepted his help, eventually, but not because she had wanted to. She’d had no choice. And oh how she’d resented that lack of choice, his intervention, and the inevitable slam to her dignity when the truth about Jason’s affairs unraveled.
Seth felt his own shoulder muscles bunch with tension. “I’m sure you can find any number of builders who’ll jump at the work, Jillian. But will they do a good job?”
She had already started to turn, preparing to leave, but she paused to look back across her shoulder. “I don’t know, Seth. That’s why I came to you first.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help.”
“So am I.” She looked right at him then, her gaze clear and direct. “I wanted the best.”
Well, damn.
Two
The sun was still sleeping when Jillian rose. She tiptoed from her second-story bedroom and down the winding staircase without missing a step in the near-dark. She’d taken the same path so many times she imagined she could do it blindfolded. This was her family home, where she’d grown up and lived into her twenties, and she’d moved back after Jason’s death.
She didn’t mind living with her parents. It wasn’t as if she had a social life—or, Lord help her, a sex life—to consider. Safe, secure and nonthreatening, her life at The Vines was everything she’d rushed to escape in her early twenties and everything she wanted in her future.
At the foot of the stairs, she swung toward the kitchen…and barreled right into her mother.
The solid impact drove a whoomph of breath from Caroline Sheppard’s lungs. Surprise startled a squeak from Jillian’s. With one hand flattened over her wildly thumping heart, she peered through the wan predawn light into her mother’s face.
“Good grief, Mom, you scared a year off my life! What are you doing skulking around at this hour?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“As it happens, I do have a reason.” Jillian held the riding boots she carried aloft. “I’m on stable duty this morning and I have to be finished before eight.”
“Another builder?”
