HERE TOMORROW 7 PM PST. NAN REINHARDT AUTHOR OF: MEANT TO BE (SEE NEW EXCERPTS)
Best friends since grade school, high-powered Chicago attorney, , and small-town mayor have always shared a special bond. When Sean is shot by a client’s angry ex, Megan rushes to his side, terrified she’s about to lose her long-time confidant.
Upon his return to River’s Edge to recuperate, Sean discovers that his feelings for his pal have taken an undeniable turn for the romantic. While Megan struggles with an unfamiliar longing for Sean, she worries that he may be mistaking a safe place to land for love.
Can Sean help her realize that they are truly meant to be so much more than friends?
Dear Lord, what was the matter with him?
Suddenly, it struck her like a thunderbolt why he wasn’t moving, why his hands were covering... oh, holy... Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks, but she couldn’t make herself look away from him, from his lap.
He raised one dark brow when he caught her staring, lifted his hands, looked down, and then back up at her with rueful smile. “Aye, and who knew, after all these years, you could have this kind of effect on me, Meggy Mackenzie.” The Irish lilt that always came out when he was particularly stressed turned the words into a caress.
For a brief second, she willed the floor to open up so she could fall into a deep dark hole and the whole nightmare evening would be over. “Sean, I-I... I’m...” Chagrined, she couldn’t seem to form an intelligent sentence. She simply stood there gaping at him, her hands sticky from the wine soaked into her sweater and her face hot with embarrassment. Her lips trembled and she blinked furiously to keep from completing her humiliation by bursting into tears.
Sean umphed himself up from the settee, got his balance with his cane, and with the other hand, swept the mess from her fingers and carried it to the kitchen sink. Dumping it all into one side, he yanked the magazine out and dropped it into the trash can beside the bar. He flipped the faucet on, letting cold water run over her sweater and the coasters as he washed his hands. “Meg, come here.” He crooked his finger at her.
His grin was the old Sean—the one who could charm her into doing his math homework because even though Sean Flaherty was the star of the debate team, he sucked at sophomore algebra. Hesitating, she finally crossed to the kitchen and put her hands under the cold water to rinse off the wine, staring in disgust at what she’d done to her new sweater.
Disheartened and adrift after being written out of a hit TV show, actor returns to his family’s historic winery, where he’s invested some of the fortunes he’s made. As the holidays approach, Aidan becomes intrigued with the old showboat that’s dry-docked just east of town… and even more intrigued with the daughter of his former mentor, who now owns it. He decides to buy the boat and restore it to its former glory.
Single mom is back in River’s Edge after her divorce and she is over men in general and actors in particular. If she could only get rid of her father’s old showboat, a source of fascination for her son, Mateo. She never expects her old crush to walk into her tea shop or the fireworks that happen every time they’re in the same room.
Can Aidan convince her that he is determined to restore their shared heritage on the showboat and that he’s home to stay?
“You have beautiful eyes.” Oh, good, God. The words were out before he could stop them. Immediately, he backpedaled. “I’m not coming on to you, I swear, it’s just this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone with violet eyes. I-I mean... in person.” Heat rose in his cheeks. Blushing! Holy crap. He didn’t blush anymore—hadn’t in years.
She punched in his purchases. “Come on, rock star. All those Hollywood starlets and groupies and not a single one had eyes the same color as mine?” Her voice dripped sarcasm as she held out her hand for his credit card. “It’s thirteen sixty with tax.”
He fumbled in his wallet for his Amex Black card. “Why do you keep calling me that? I’m an actor, not a rock star.”
“I’m using it generically.” She passed the card back to him with another eye roll. “We don’t take Amex. What else have you got?”
Biting his lip to keep from expelling a frustrated breath, he handed over his VISA, the one where two percent of the money he spent went to save the redwoods. If it impressed her at all, she hid it well as she tapped the card on the screen, thrust it back at him, and turned the screen around so he could sign it with his finger. He hated doing that. His signature always ended up looking like his six-year-old niece, Ali, had written it. “Thanks so much for opening up for me.”
“Don’t expect me to do it again.” She walked swiftly around the counter to the door, twisted the key in the lock, opened it, then stood glaring at him, one hand on her slim hip.
In that moment, Aidan could have sworn they’d met before. “You look really familiar. Do I know you?”
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