October, Los Angeles
SEAN HENNESSY POPPED the top off a bottle of Guinness and beelined for his new sofa. New? He’d bought the damn thing in January hoping to impress the woman who’d become his wife before she’d come for her first—and only one of two—visit.
And the sofa had come in quite handy since it had provided a soft, horizontal surface.
He swigged back a quarter of the bottle in an effort to not think about that—or her. It was just good to be home after the long production in Europe. As if that was a better subject to ponder.
The television project, a limited series following American expats as they relocated to Europe, had gone over budget and exceeded the schedule. He was relieved he still had a job, never mind that none of the disasters that had befallen the production had been within his control. How could he have predicted the flooding that had put the entire production on hiatus for five days? Or the loss of a truckload of equipment after the driver had been T-boned by another truck? Or the horrific stomach bug that had taken down half the crew for the better part of a week? The high point should have been visiting his folks and friends in the UK for a long weekend, but he hadn’t even been able to do that—something his parents didn’t understand and were still disappointed about.
Taking another long pull from his beer, Sean closed his eyes and put his feet up on the leather ottoman. At least he was home now, back in the City of Angels, with a weekend of relaxation ahead of him.
His cell phone rang over on the kitchen counter. That had to be Mike. Part of Sean—hell, most of him—wanted to ignore the call, but he knew he couldn’t. He ought to be glad his boss wasn’t camped out on his doorstep. He’d e-mailed Sean at least three times in the past twenty-four hours saying they needed to meet as soon as Sean got back. Sean was a fool to think he’d get a weekend off given the way things had gone.
Pushing himself up from the couch, he scuffed over to the counter and picked up the phone. Not Mike, but his mother calling from England.
Sean answered, “Hi, Mum.”
“Sean, are you home now?” she asked.
“Yes, just got in a bit ago.”
Her heavy sigh carried through the phone and made it seem like she was right next to him instead of half a world away. “We were really hoping you’d be able to swing by for a visit before you went back to LA.”
“I know; I was, too. But Christmas is only a couple of months off, and I’ll be home then.”
“What about your father’s surgery? That’s next month, in case you forgot.”
How could he? Sean subsidized his parents’ medical care, paying for supplemental insurance that allowed Dad to undergo hip replacement surgery at the time and facility of his choice instead of waiting potentially years for the procedure under the national program. “I haven’t forgotten. If there’s any way I can get home for that, I will. I’ll be there for Christmas for sure—that I can promise.”
He really hoped he didn’t eat those words.
“Oh good.” He heard the smile in her voice and relaxed. Until she spoke again. “It’s a shame you and your wife couldn’t join us for our Scotland jaunt next week. You’ll bring her for Christmas, though. We can’t wait to meet her.”
Ha, not bloody likely. His mother was going to be heartbroken when he told her the marriage was a crashing failure.
His gaze strayed to the picture on the table next to the couch. It was of Tori on New Year’s Eve, a tropical flower tucked into her hair. He’d met her at a swanky party in Kuala Lumpur. It was hard to believe how hard and fast he’d fallen for her; he’d married her just five weeks later.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it away from his ear to glance at the text on the screen.
Mike: I just got here; I’m coming up.
Shit. “Mum, I have to go. Can I call you back in a bit?” He glanced at the clock—he had absolutely no concept of time after traveling the past day. It was late in England. “Or tomorrow?” He got up and buzzed the door to let Mike in.
“You’re always so busy, but that’s a good thing, I suppose. We’re so proud of you, even though we wish you hadn’t moved so far away.”
Five years ago, he’d taken an internship with a production company in LA. It had been just what he needed to get his foot in the door in the television capital of the world. “Mom, you know I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”
Another sigh. “Of course I do. I just hoped you would’ve come home by now.” She laughed, and he knew she wasn’t really upset. She missed him, but she understood why he’d decided to pursue his producing dreams in Hollywood—there was no better place to be in this industry. “Call tomorrow—but in the afternoon, I have my garden club meeting in the morning.” He’d still be sleeping during her morning. In fact, he hoped he’d be sleeping during her afternoon, too.
“Will do,” he said. “Say hi to Dad.”
“I will, sweetheart. Love you!”
“Love you, too.” He ended the call as a rap sounded on the door.
Sean didn’t bother summoning a smile as he opened the door. Mike wouldn’t have noticed anyway. He pushed inside with a “Hey.” No “welcome home” or “how was your trip?”—just “hey.”
“Hey,” Sean replied. “I just got home.”
Mike walked over to the granite-topped bar, nodded toward the beer, and said, “You got another one of those?”
“Sure.” Sean, his nerves on edge, went to the fridge and grabbed another from the six-pack he’d bought on the way home. He popped the cap off and slid it over to Mike. “You couldn’t have just called?”
Mike lifted his bottle. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Like hell. Sean’s apartment in West Hollywood was nice enough for a guy starting out in LA, but it was a good half hour from Mike’s house in Brentwood.
“Anyway, I needed to see you in person. The shoot in Europe—”
“Was a disaster.” Sean swallowed. “Are you here to fire me?”
“No.” He took another drink of beer. “Not yet, anyway.”
Sean’s gut clenched. He needed this job, much as he might dislike Dale, the owner of the company. It was a necessary step to gaining experience and saving enough money to start his own production company. But that was still a long way off.
Mike clanked his bottle down on the counter and pressed his lips together. “Dale doesn’t love what you came back with.”
“It’s rough,” Sean said, trying not to be defensive. They’d done the best they could, given all the problems they’d encountered. “There’s a lot of footage. I’m sure we’ll come up with something Dale will like.” Dale was a giant prick who didn’t seem to know what he wanted. He changed his mind during projects, demanded impossible results, and never seemed to be satisfied.
“Heh, unlikely, but I’ll let him know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have something else I need you to do. I need you to go to Oregon.”
Bollocks. Sean would rather jump right back on a plane to Europe and the shitfest he’d just left than go to Oregon. But maybe, just maybe, Mike didn’t mean what Sean thought he meant. Portland had a rousing film and television scene. There could be any number of projects in need of his services. “Why?”
Mike readjusted his sunglasses atop his dark blond head. “Dale came up with an idea he’s completely in love with, and you’re the man to make it happen. He wants a ‘Where Are They Now?’ special about the Archers. Following up on the sextuplets America fell in love with fifteen years ago is a great angle, but since one of them committed suicide, he thinks it’s ratings gold.”
Sean’s stomach dropped into his feet. “I am not the man to make this happen, Mike.” In fact, he was about the last man who could make it happen.
Mike leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “Why not? You’re married to one of the sisters. You have the perfect in.”
Yeah, they were married, but for how long? The last time he’d talked to his wife—via e-mail, of course—she’d mentioned the D word. Sean hadn’t responded. He’d hoped they’d find a way to make it work, but after so many months apart, piss-poor communication, and then her suggestion that they just call it quits, he wasn’t sure he had any fight left in him.
“It’s not been much of a marriage. In fact, we’re probably splitting up.” Hell, they’d been split up since their wedding day. He’d seen her once, visiting her in San Francisco before he’d left for Europe, only to have her shut him out cold.
“If it’s not much of a marriage, why is her picture on your fridge?” Mike nodded toward a photo of Tori at the wedding chapel in Vegas. God, she was beautiful. Her auburn hair hung to her breasts in gentle waves that she’d painstakingly curled before the ceremony, and her blue-green eyes shone with anticipation. Getting married had been a lark, but they’d both agreed it had felt right. And it had. Until the next morning . . .
“Because I’ve been in Europe the last six months.” Sean pulled the picture down and shoved it in a drawer. “Look, I know you think I can make this show happen with Tori, but I’ve got no advantage there.”
Their marriage had been over before it had even started. Her brother had killed himself the morning after their wedding, and she’d been understandably devastated. Her grief had completely eclipsed their joy and robbed her of any desire to make their marriage work. Fast forward eight months, and it was time to call it what it was: a mistake.
Mike uncrossed his arms and took another drink of beer. “I’m sorry things aren’t working out with you guys, but Dale won’t give a shit. He’s got a hard-on for this special. You know how he is when he’s got his mind set on something.”
Yeah, he did. Dale was an utterly immovable object. As well as a massive wanker. “What happens if I don’t deliver?” When, not if.
Mike glanced out the window, and when his gaze returned to Sean’s, it held a glimmer of regret. “I’ll have to let you go. As it is, I have to let someone go, and it’s between you and Hollis.”
“Hey, I’ve got seniority,” Sean said. Hollis had been with the company only a little over a year. “Just let her go. It’s a no-brainer, right?” She was a bundle of ideas and energy, fairly fresh out of school, and absolutely bonkers.
“It is for me—I’d choose you in a heartbeat. She’s a micromanaging nightmare. But it isn’t up to me. You’re both getting projects that are do or die. Whoever delivers first or best gets to keep their job.”
Do or die. No ambiguity there.
He swigged his beer and then set the bottle on the counter. “So you’ll get your butt up to Oregon tomorrow.”
“I don’t even get the weekend to recover from jet lag?”
“Dale wants a Christmas special. There’s no time to lose.”
Christmas? It was already the first week of October. That was cutting it way too close. Sean wanted to protest but knew it was futile. “Sure.” If there was sarcasm or frustration in his voice, he couldn’t help it.
Mike turned and went toward the front door. “I want this locked down as soon as possible. We need to get this sucker into production.”
“Right.” Sean supposed he could live on his savings when he was inevitably fired, but that would only put his dream of starting his own production company off even further, and the money wouldn’t last forever.
And what about his parents? They lived on a fixed income since Dad had retired early from plumbing due to his arthritis. Sean not only paid for supplemental health care, he sent them money so that they could stay in his childhood home, where his mother had cultivated her pride and joy—a magnificent, award-winning garden. Dad had worked so hard to provide for them, and it was important to Sean that they enjoy their retirement.
“I’ll do my best.” He’d worked his way from intern to production assistant and then to producer when Mike had hired him a couple of years ago. He’d come too far to get knocked down now.
Mike paused when he reached the entryway. “I know you’ll do your best, Sean; you always do. For what it’s worth, I realize the Europe shoot was a total clusterfuck. You took lemons and made lemonade. Watered-down Kool-Aid lemonade, but still.”
Sean tried not to groan at the backhanded compliment. “Thanks.”
“But this time I need you to deliver champagne. Or the best Oregon pinot. Aren’t they winemakers?”
“They own and operate brewpubs, actually.”
Mike nodded, his eyes reflecting his total disinterest. “That’s right. Well, whatever it is, make this the best thing you’ve ever done. Do whatever you have to.” He lowered his voice and leaned close. “Seduce her, buy her stuff, romance her—she’s your wife. If I have to lose you and keep Sunny Nutcase, I’ll be pretty pissed.”
Romance her. Sean’s blood stirred at the thought. He’d missed her like crazy. But the intimacy they had shared seemed like nothing more than a dream now.
“I want daily updates,” Mike said as he stepped outside.
Sean moved around him and held the doorknob. “It’d be great if you could work on Dale . . . you know, temper his expectations a bit?”
Mike turned after he crossed the threshold, a smile curving his thin lips. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” His chuckle said what Sean already knew: fat chance of that happening. “Talk to you soon.”
Sean closed the door and locked the deadbolt with a flick of his wrist. Going back to the kitchen, he poured Mike’s half-full beer down the drain, bemoaning the waste of perfectly good Guinness.
Crying over beer was the least of his worries. His livelihood—hell, the entire life he’d built in LA—currently rested on his ability to persuade Tori to work with him on a Christmas special highlighting the family she’d worked so hard to keep him from meeting. In other words, he was completely buggered.
Ribbon Ridge, Oregon
TORI ARCHER SIPPED her Nocktoberfest, Dad’s signature beer for the annual Ribbon Ridge Oktoberfest, which was currently in full swing. She clung to the corner of the huge tent, defensively watching for her “date” or one of her annoying siblings who had forced her to go on this “date.”
It wasn’t really a date. He was a professional colleague, and the Archers had invited him to their signature event. For nine years, the family had sponsored the town’s Oktoberfest. It featured Archer beer and this year, for the first time, a German feast overseen by her brother Kyle, who was an even more amazing chef than they’d all realized. Today was day three of the festival, and she still wasn’t tired of the fondue. But really, could one ever tire of cheese?
“Boo!”
Tori jumped, splashing a few drops of beer from her plastic mug onto her fingers. She turned her head and glared at Kyle. “Did you sneak through the flap in the corner behind me?”
“Guilty.” He wore an apron tied around his waist and a custom Archer shirt, which read CHEF below the bow and arrow A-shaped logo. “How else was I supposed to talk to you? You’ve been avoiding everyone for the past hour and a half. Where’s Cade?” He scanned the crowd looking for her not-date, the engineer they’d hired to work on The Alex, the hotel and restaurant venue they’d been renovating since last spring. With a special events space already completed, they’d turned their focus to the restaurant and would tackle the hotel next.
Tori took a drink of the dark amber Nocktoberfest and relished the hoppy flavor. “Don’t know.”
Kyle gave her a sidelong glance. “Didn’t you come together?”
“No, though it wasn’t for your lack of trying. I met him here. We chatted. He saw someone he knew. I excused myself to get a beer.” An hour ago.
Kyle turned toward her and frowned. “I don’t get it. Lurking in corners isn’t your style. You’re typically the life of the party. You work a room better than anyone I know, except maybe Liam.”
Tori narrowed her eyes. “I’m better at it than he is.” Their brother Liam, a successful real estate magnate in Denver, possessed many of the same qualities she did: ambition, drive, and an absolute hatred of failure. Then again, who wanted to fail? But it was more than that for them. Failure was never an option.
Which didn’t mean that it didn’t occasionally come up and take a piece out of you when you were already down for the count.
Kyle snorted. “Yeah, whatever. You two can duke it out at Christmas or whenever Liam decides to deign us with his presence.”
Tori touched his arm. “Hey, don’t take his absence personally. He keeps his visits pretty few and far between, even before you moved back home. Which is more than I can say for you when you were in Florida.”
Kyle’s eyes clouded briefly with regret, and he looked away. “Yeah, I know. And hopefully someday you’ll stop giving me shit about it.”
She laughed. “Too soon? I’m not mad at you for leaving anymore. I get why you had to go, but I’m your sister. I will always flip you shit about stuff like that. It’s my job.”
He returned his attention to her, his blue-green eyes—nearly identical to her own—narrowing. “Then it’s my duty to harass you about Cade. He’s totally into you. Why are you dogging him?”
It seemed that since Kyle and their sister, Sara, had both found their soul mates this year, they expected everyone else to do the same. Granted, their adopted brother, Derek, had also found his true love, and they’d gotten married in August. What none of them knew, however, was that Tori was already spoken for—at least on paper.
“I’m not dogging him. I’m just not interested, okay?”
Kyle set his hands on his hips. “We don’t get it.” His use of “we” signified an informal Archer family committee. The kind that organized on a whim to solve another family member’s “problem” that wasn’t really a problem at all. “He’s smart, good-looking, wicked successful. And you have tons of stuff in common. He even runs marathons, for Christ’s sake.”
Tori sipped her beer and turned her attention to the crowd so she could stop looking at Kyle’s well-meaning face. She’d carved out a nice little pity party for herself over the past eight months, and she wasn’t ready to call it quits. And why was that? Because then she’d have to face the music. She suppressed a tremor of unease. “I’ll go ahead and order Save the Date cards. Will you leave me alone now?”
Kyle blew out a breath and threw his hands up. “Fine. You’re weirding us all out, you know. Even Mom and Dad are worried about you.”
Mom and Dad had taken Alex’s death even harder than Tori had, which was to be expected, of course. Their marriage had suffered, but after spending a few months with Tori’s youngest brother, Hayden, in France, Mom had returned for Derek’s wedding, and things between her and Dad had seemed to improve.
“Did they talk to you about me?” she asked softly, dreading the answer. Worst-case scenario, they’d had a family meeting.
“Individually. They still aren’t quite simpatico.” He tossed her a look tinged with sorrow. They all wanted their parents to get back to their happy place, but none of them was sure it was even possible. “They know you’re still struggling with Alex’s suicide.”
“Aren’t we all?”
His lips curved down. “Don’t be obnoxious. You’re having a tough time, so don’t bother hiding it.” Yes, she was, but it wasn’t Alex’s death alone. Not that any of them knew that.
“Do I need to worry about an intervention?” Then she’d have to come clean about her secret. Or would she? If she could get this divorce going, maybe they’d never have to know about her Giant Failure. Monday she’d get right on that. But first she had to find out when Sean was due back in the States.
Kyle chuckled. “Not quite yet.” He sobered. “Listen, if you really aren’t into Cade, I’ll drop it. Maggie’s already told me to lay off—that you’ll get back to your old self in time. Or find your new self. Whatever.” He shook his head. His girlfriend was a former therapist and had become a close friend to Tori over the last few months. If she could tell anyone the truth, it would probably be Maggie.
“I’d appreciate you doing that. And getting everyone else to do the same. Cade’s great. Just not for me. At least, not right now.”
Kyle nodded. “We only want you to be happy. You carry such a dark cloud.” He grazed his fingertips across her forehead.
She looked up at him from her five feet nine inches and allowed herself to smile. “It’s lightening. Slowly. But it is. You being here helps a lot. I’m so glad you’re home.”
After four years of living in Florida, he’d returned last spring to help with The Alex, which had been Alex’s intent. He’d established a trust for the remaining six of them, including Derek, and a plan for them to renovate an old monastery into a premier Archer event space. His primary goal was for all the siblings to come back home to find their family and their roots again—and, most importantly, to appreciate them. Tori had done her part, acting as architect for the space and spending as much time here as her real job would allow. She had to travel back and forth to San Francisco regularly, but her boss had been great about adjusting her workload. Unfortunately that meant smaller, lower-profile projects when she’d gotten used to working on international jobs that had put her firmly in the limelight, a place she loved to be. Or had loved until her life had been turned upside down. Would she ever go back to that? Did she even want to?
Kyle smiled down at her and took off into the crowd. Tori finished her beer. Time for another. Or, she could just escape and go home. Home being her parents’ house, where they’d all grown up.
She’d made her appearance, which pleased Dad, and now she could take off without guilt. Right after she told him she was leaving. Picking her way through the crowd, she nodded at people she knew but realized there were increasingly more she didn’t. The festival was attracting quite a range of people, a lot of non-Ribbon Ridgers who delighted in the small town nestled in the Willamette Valley with its wineries, shops, art galleries, and picturesque landscape. It was close enough to the big city to be accessible, but far enough out to feel like a destination. They were counting on that to sell The Alex as the premier destination property in the northern Willamette Valley.
“Tori!” Sara, the only other girl besides Mom in their crazy family, waved her over to where she stood with Kyle’s girlfriend, Maggie, and Derek’s wife, Chloe. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Here I am.” Again, she forced a smile she didn’t really feel. She held up her empty mug. “Just heading to refill my beer.” Not really, but if she told them she was leaving, they’d do everything in their power to stop her, just shy of tying her to a chair. On second thought, Archers could be ruthless, even the women. Maybe they would tie her to a chair. Or a tent pole, since the tent lacked chairs.
“No need,” Chloe said, reaching to the tall table just behind her and picking up a half-empty pitcher. “You drinking Nocktoberfest?”
“Yes,” she said, holding out her mug for Chloe to fill. Glancing at their mugs, Tori noted that Sara’s was empty enough that she couldn’t tell what it held. “I’m surprised Sara is.”
Sara made a face, sticking out her tongue. “Not a chance. You know me and beer. This is hard cider. Dad’s finally caved to my demands to make a special batch for the holidays. Can’t wait!”
They chatted about cider versus beer for a few minutes, during which Tori became more and more impatient to leave. While it was true she once adored functions like this, they’d become painful to endure since Alex’s death. She hadn’t even been able to enjoy Derek and Chloe’s wedding in August. The combination of marrying Sean and losing Alex the very next morning had ensured weddings in particular were difficult, but she had to admit that all social events had become a challenge for her. And why was that? Because she was depressed? Because she felt guilty? Yes and yes.
“What’s up, Tori? You look unsettled.” Sara sidled close and spoke softly so that Chloe and Maggie couldn’t hear.
“Nothing. I’m just tired. I took a particularly long run this morning,” she lied. Ten miles was her standard Saturday or Sunday morning run.
Sara glanced around. “Where’s Cade? Maybe you guys should take off and go somewhere more private.”
Tori gritted her teeth. “Sara, I’m not into Cade. I wish you all would stop trying to hook me up.”
Sara’s eyes flashed with defensiveness but then settled into remorse. “Okay. We’re just trying to shake you out of your funk. I think it might be time for you to see a therapist.”
Tori glanced toward Kyle’s girlfriend, still engaged in conversation with Chloe. “I talk to Maggie.”
“That’s not the same. She’s not even practicing anymore.”
Tori rolled her eyes. “It’s not like she forgot how to be a therapist now that she’s the groundskeeper at The Alex.”
“You know what I mean.” Sara fidgeted with the leather bracelet doubled around her wrist. It was a slight action but was so necessary to her sensory processing disorder. Was she becoming agitated? No, she wasn’t pulling on her arms yet or otherwise tensing her muscles.
Tori touched Sara’s shoulder and summoned a weak smile despite the turmoil running through her. “I appreciate you worrying about me, really, but don’t. You have your own life to live, and I have mine.”
Sara’s gaze remained clouded with concern. “You’re different since Alex died. More serious. I didn’t realize it before. We’ve all been so focused on Mom and Dad, and then Kyle came back. You can tell me not to worry, but I will until I see the old Tori come back.”
Tori dropped her hand. “I am who I am, Sara. If it’s not good enough for you, then I can’t help it.”
Sara blinked and then crossed her arms, which generally indicated she was tensing up and needed to regulate. Tori felt instantly contrite but couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She was tired of everyone bugging her. No, she was actually tired of feeling like she was trapped. Trapped by Alex’s suicide, by her guilt, by . . .
Chloe let out a low whistle that sounded like it belonged on a construction site, coming out of the mouth of a brawny foreman. “Yeah, that one’s hot.”
Sara turned to look at her and Maggie, who were perusing the crowd. “Are you checking out men who aren’t your husband or boyfriend?”
“Yeah, you want to join us?” Maggie said, sipping her beer. “Ten o’clock, hottie with brown hair and stubble.”
“Nice,” Sara said, dropping her hands from her arms.
Tori exhaled, feeling better that Sara’s senses weren’t spun up. And since they were all occupied, she could finally excuse herself.
“I like that one better,” Sara said. “Two o’clock, near the bar. Dark, wavy hair, great outfit.”
“Are those tailored jeans?” Maggie asked, leaning forward and squinting for comic effect. Both Sara and Chloe laughed.
Tori turned her head to check this guy out for herself. And nearly dropped her beer.
“Hey, I met that guy earlier,” Chloe said. “At the fondue table. He’s British. Drop-dead sexy accent.”
“Oh. My. God.” Maggie sucked in a breath. “British accents are my Achilles’ heel. Don’t tell Kyle.”
“I’m totally telling Kyle, and you can thank me,” Sara said. “He does a great Scottish accent.”
Maggie grinned. “Yes. Yes, on second thought, please tell Kyle.”
They all laughed while Tori’s insides curled into a nausea-inducing mass. She had to get out of here pronto. “I’ll leave you to your browsing.” She turned to go and stopped short as the man they were discussing wove toward them. Move, Tori. Pick up your feet and move. But she couldn’t. It was as if she’d rooted to the floor.
“Oh crap, he’s coming this way!” Sara giggled.
“He must’ve seen us staring.” Chloe laughed, her eyes dancing. “Oops. Guess we’ll have to blame it on Tori, since she’s the only single one of us. Don’t want him thinking we’re interested!”
“No, don’t do that,” Sara said, flicking a nervous glance at Tori. “Tori isn’t interested either.”
Tori stifled a ridiculous urge to laugh. She’d been more than interested. Once. God, that felt like a lifetime ago. She braced herself as he came to stand before them.
And stared directly at her, his deep blue eyes seeming to bore straight to her soul.
“Hi, ladies.” Was he going to pretend they didn’t know each other?
“See?” Chloe said sotto voce before clearing her throat. “Hi. Welcome to Ribbon Ridge.”
“Thank you. It reminds me of villages back home—quite lovely.” His gaze was glued to Tori as he said lovely. His English accent flowed over Tori, eliciting the same visceral response she’d had when she’d met him more than nine months ago. Maggie might dig British accents, but for Tori, they were auditory aphrodisiacs. Especially when paired with lush cobalt eyes and a smile that could melt a glacier. She was annoyed to find she hadn’t become immune during the months they’d been apart.
“Hi, I’m Maggie, and this is Chloe, Sara, and Tori.” She gestured toward each of them as she spoke. “Are you here for Oktoberfest or something else?”
“Something else.” The corner of his mouth lifted in the barest hint of that sexy smile Tori had fallen in lust with. And damn it if her knees didn’t wobble. “I wonder if I might borrow Tori for a bit?”
Tori resisted the urge to gauge the others’ reactions. Let them draw their own conclusions—she knew she’d have to explain later. But right now she wanted to know what in the hell her husband was doing here.
She forced a tight smile that was more for her sister and the others than for Sean. He might still stir her desire, but seeing him dredged up a whole host of other feelings she preferred to bury—regret, self-disgust, guilt. “Sure.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it, lightly curling her fingers around his forearm. She could feel his muscles and tendons through the cotton of his white button-down shirt. And his heat. Touching him, she decided, had been a lousy idea.
“See you later,” he said to the others, allowing his mouth to curve into that full devastating grin.
Tori had almost forgotten how gorgeous he was. Almost.
She glanced at her sister, who watched her with surprise and mouthed, “Who is he?”
Tori said nothing, just shook her head. Her stomach tossed as she realized she’d finally have to come clean. First, however, she had to deal with Sean, find out what he was doing here, and then tell him to go away—for good.