When Love Happens

by Darcy Burke

  He appreciated that she was trying to think of him. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ve been patient for eight months, so what’s another week or two? I meant it when I said I wanted a chance to see if we could make this work.”

  “But you only decided that after you came here to convince my family to do a show.” She tipped her head to the side. “How long have you been planning this? Is this why you approached me at that party on New Year’s Eve? Was I always a ‘get’?”

  Anger kindled in his gut. She couldn’t possibly think he’d married her just to snag some TV show. “Whoa. That was a mutual thing. Wasn’t it?” He’d gone over to her near the infinity pool and offered to buy her a drink. She’d admitted to watching him from afar.

  He took a deep breath and clung to what he hoped was the truth of the memory. “I approached the most beautiful woman at that party and spent an incredible night with her. I have zero regrets.”

  Her eyes flickered with something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Yeah, well, I have plenty for both of us.”

  Her words spiked through him like furious little daggers aimed to inflict maximum pain. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” His tone turned crisp. If he didn’t make this about business, he was going to completely lose his cool. “Will you think about doing the special?”

  Her nostrils flared with renewed ire. “No. Like I said, I want to move on, and I can’t do that with you in the picture.”

  She really didn’t want him. He’d had fun with her last night and thought she might’ve, too. There was definitely an attraction still simmering there. But if she hadn’t worked through her grief enough to let him back into her life, what could he do? Regardless of any of that and as cold as it sounded, he still had a job to do. “I’m sorry you don’t like the idea, but it’s not up to just you.” He gestured toward the monastery. “Some of your family seemed interested.”

  “I doubt Sara will agree, and good luck getting Evan, Liam, or Hayden to engage, since they aren’t even here. What, are you going to do a show just about Kyle?”

  Actually, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. With a cooking angle, it could be pretty terrific . . . But would Dale go for it? It was certainly a backup plan, and just having that gave him a small measure of relief.

  “I’d rather do a show about all of you. There’s a beautiful story here—of your family and the love you have for each other. If your primary objection is because of my involvement, I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible. Can you trust me to do that at least?”

  Could she trust him? She hadn’t trusted him enough to be her husband, to support her and be there for her during what had to have been the most difficult time of her life. She hadn’t trusted their feelings enough to tell her family about him. He was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question, and his stomach curled with disappointment.

  “You paint a pretty picture.” She looked at him sadly. “But no, I don’t think I can.”

  TORI SAW THE hurt etched into the hard lines around his mouth and wished she hadn’t inflicted it. As much as she wanted their marriage to go away, it really wasn’t about him personally.

  His eyes narrowed, their irises cooling to an arctic blue. “Well that’s just brilliant. My own wife can’t trust me. I guess that explains a lot.”

  “I’m barely your wife. Even you have to admit that.”

  “Sure, and whose fault is that? It’s not like I haven’t tried. I visited you in San Francisco. When I was in Europe, I e-mailed, I texted—I even tried to Skype with you. You froze me out cold. If anyone ought to have trust issues here, it’s me.” He stabbed himself in the chest, his eyes dark with a fury she’d never seen in him before.

  “You’ve been incredibly patient,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, stop it. Just please do us both a favor and knock off the act. You created this pity party, and I’m over it. You’re a shadow of the woman I met. The Tori I knew would fight through this tragedy and come out stronger on the other side.”

  God, she was so sick of people comparing her to her old self. “‘The Tori you knew’—if I have to hear that one more time, I might scream. You barely knew me, Sean! Five weeks living in different cities doesn’t establish a lasting relationship.”

  “Tell that to Chloe and Derek, who were engaged in less time than that. They seem to be doing just great.”

  “That’s a stupid argument. I’m not Chloe, and you’re not Derek.”

  “No, but it demonstrates that five weeks is ample time to do just that—if you’re invested.” He took a few steps toward her desk. “We may not have been together every day, but with every text, every phone call, every sexy Skype we shared, I’d never felt more together with anyone in my life. And I was damned sure you felt the same.”

  His words stirred old emotions, reminding her that yeah, she’d felt exactly the same. She swallowed, unable to refute what he’d said.

  “You can’t dispute that, can you?” He moved closer, coming behind the desk, and she turned. “Imagine how things could’ve been if Alex hadn’t died. Do you really think we’d be here?” He gestured between them.

  It was no use to think about what might have been. “But Alex did die. And you went off to Europe for six months. We were doomed before we even had a chance.”

  “That’s your opinion,” he said softly. “I think about how it could’ve played out much differently.” His lids lowered, giving him that unbearably attractive look that always preceded him kissing her.

  Anticipation swirled in her belly. She stared at his mouth, remembering how soft his lips were, how expert his tongue could be.

  But he didn’t kiss her, nor did he retreat.

  He took his time looking at her, taking in her hair and moving down to her face, her chest, and below. When he brought his gaze back up to hers—lazily—she saw appreciation and desire, and she had to press her thighs together against the throbbing that had taken up residence in her core.

  “Think of how different things could have been.” His soft tone caressed her. “I would have held you, comforted you, and then when I had to go away, we would’ve done what we did before. Despite the time difference, I would’ve found creative ways to ensure you knew how much I missed you. And when I think of the Skype sex we could’ve had . . . ” He closed his eyes and made a sound in his throat that pulled directly at the need in her belly. She swayed toward him, unable to help herself.

  His eyes opened, and the heat in their depths blistered her soul.

  She slid her hands around his neck and pulled herself against him, not caring that she was supposed to be angry or that she’d told him she regretted being with him. She only knew that if she didn’t touch him in this moment, she would lose all faith in everything.

  And if he pushed her away . . .

  He didn’t.

  He wrapped his arms around her—one cradling the back of her neck and the other pressing against her ass—and took her mouth in a bruising kiss.

  Good. Yes. Don’t be gentle. I don’t deserve it.

  His fingers dug into the back of her scalp as he slanted his lips over hers. He licked his way inside and thrust his tongue deep. She clutched at his neck, pulling at the ends of his dark, thick hair as memories of past kisses filled her senses. Every single time he touched her, she felt desperate, weak, hungry. And with every kiss, every caress, every stroke, he filled her and banished everything but a bliss she’d never known before and hadn’t felt since.

  He held her tight, but she wouldn’t have gone anywhere. Everything she needed was right here.

  He gripped her hip, bunching her dress and hiking it partway up her thigh. She slipped her hands inside his leather jacket and splayed her palms against his upper back, feeling his warmth through the cotton of his shirt. The kiss was hot, sending spikes of lust rioting through her. She thrust against him, bringing their hips flush. He rotated against her, and she moaned into his mouth.

  He wound his hand in her ponytail and tugged, elongating her neck. Th
en his mouth was gone from hers, moving across her jaw and to the underside of her ear, where he nipped and licked a path to the neckline of her dress.

  The creak of the door opening cracked the air, and he pulled away, turning his back toward the door. She glanced down at his erection, the outline clearly visible through his jeans.

  Smoothing her dress down into place, she tried to effect a calm, serene expression, but her heart was racing and her insides were on fire.

  “Hey, sorry.” Dylan ducked inside and grabbed something off his desk. “Forgot my tape measure.” He left as quickly as he’d entered, clearly uncomfortable and clearly realizing he’d walked in on something.

  Though her body was still singing with desire, Tori let her shoulders sag with relief that they’d been interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

  Sean took a deep breath and turned back toward her. “I’m not, but I think we’ve established our disparate views. Except for when it comes to the physical. Seems we’re both on the same page there.”

  Yes, surprisingly so. The ferocity of her reaction to him was a bit frightening. She hadn’t felt anything that strongly in months. It had felt good. But to what end? She couldn’t see herself investing the time and energy necessary to make this marriage viable, not when its inception would forever remind her of how she’d failed her brother when he’d needed her most. If not for their marriage, if not for Sean, she might have saved Alex.

  “The what-ifs don’t change anything,” she said.

  “You think what just happened is a what-if?” His eyes, so clear and hot moments before, clouded with anger. “That’s real, Tori.”

  “It’s not reality.” She took a deep breath, and her heart finally slowed. Retreating behind the safety of her wall, she summoned the courage to say the words that needed to be said: “I want a divorce.”

  He sucked in a breath.

  “You can’t be surprised. I said as much when you first got here the other night.”

  “I’d hoped that you’d begun to see that we’re worth fighting for. But I guess not.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly.” And she was. None of this was really his fault. It was just shittastically bad timing.

  “Yeah, I can see that. The least you could do is agree to this show. It’s really important to me.”

  Her stomach felt as if she’d eaten a pound of rocks. “That’s all this was really ever about, the show.”

  “That’s not all it’s ever been about, and if you think that, you’re deluding yourself. Think about the show, Tori. I doubt any of you need the compensation, but it would be quite decent, and consider the publicity it’ll bring for The Alex. You’d be a fool to say no. I’ll be in touch.”

  The door slammed behind him as he left the trailer. He’d be in touch . . . Did that mean he was leaving—as in going back to LA? She wanted to text him and ask but didn’t dare. Not right now. He needed time to cool off. And so did she, though perhaps not for the same reason. She was outraged by his TV-show pitch but even more unsettled by the kiss—and where it could’ve gone had they not been interrupted.

  She sank down into her chair and drifted into a mindless haze.

  The trailer door opening jarred her back to awareness. Sara stepped inside, her face a crease of concern. “You okay? I see Sean left. Dylan said things were tense when he came back.”

  Tori looked up at her sister with a wry smile. “Is that really what he said?”

  Sara shrugged as she sat in a chair angled near the desk. “He thought he might’ve interrupted something. But don’t be mad at him; I pressed him for information to the point that he yelled at me and stalked off.”

  Tori scoffed and shook her head. “Men.”

  “So what happened?”

  Tori smoothed her hand over her hair, realized it was loose, and used both hands to pull the ponytail tight again. She turned in her chair to face Sara. “I asked him for a divorce.”

  Sara gasped. “You didn’t. Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to be married to him. It was a stupid idea in the first place—we hardly knew each other. And please, don’t compare us to Derek and Chloe. They’re a total aberration. Freaks, really.” She picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it on and off. “When you combine that with the timing, things were doomed.”

  Sara opened her mouth but then closed it again. She looked away, and Tori could tell she was taking time to process what she wanted to say. She’d had to do that a lot in her youth, but with maturity and practice, she’d become quicker in organizing her thoughts. Sometimes, however, she had to revert to her old habits, especially when the conversation was tense or emotional.

  When she faced Tori again, her expression was serene, though she worried the edges of her long-sleeved shirt with her fingertips. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. You’re in a funk. Maybe even depressed. You really need to get help.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “No, but then again, I don’t walk around like I’m in a coma half the time.”

  Tori dropped the pen onto the desk. “Ouch, I’m not that bad.”

  “Actually, you really are. I think you have no idea how you seem. If I was meeting you for the first time, I wouldn’t like you. You’re cold, detached, sort of bland.”

  Super ouch. “I’m not depressed, at least not clinically.”

  “How do you know? It’s not like you have to be suicidal, like Alex was. Lots of people deal with depression every day without thinking they’re sad and without thinking they want to end their lives.”

  Tori picked the pen back up, growing agitated. “What makes you an expert?”

  “I did a lot of reading after Alex died. That’s how I figure things out—you know that. Especially with how Mom was acting.”

  Mom had been incredibly depressed. She’d also seen a therapist and had even tried taking antidepressants, though she’d ended up forgoing them because Alex had used them as part of his drug cocktail when he’d killed himself.

  Tori leaned her head against the chair, which dug the gathered part of her ponytail into the back of her skull. Thinking and talking about Alex so much had dredged up a ton of emotions. Her chest constricted.

  Though she hadn’t been living in Ribbon Ridge, she’d still worked hard to maintain relationships with her siblings—at least those who reciprocated. She and Alex had shared a prolific electronic relationship: texts, e-mails, instant messages. She’d read so many of them a hundred times since he’d died. Especially the text in which she’d told him about marrying Sean and asked him to keep it secret—she’d sent it minutes after the ceremony—and Alex’s response . . .

  She shoved the thought away and blinked before Sara could see evidence of her emotion. Damn, she was right. She was cold and detached. On purpose.

  Maybe she could embrace another emotion; she could be angry. And she could direct the anger toward Sean for using her family to advance his career via a television show.

  “What did you think of him asking about the show?” she asked tentatively, hoping Sara wouldn’t want to do it.

  “You know me, I never loved doing it in the first place. I guess I did at first, until I realized how many people watched it. Then it scared the crap out of me.”

  Tori had actually thrilled to that part of it. She’d loved knowing millions of people were watching them. It had made her feel special. She knew otherwise now—that fame and notoriety meant nothing. Everything she’d thought was important had seemed silly after Alex had died. Money, success, friendship, love . . .

  “Tori?” Sara prompted, drawing Tori out of her daydream.

  “Sorry. Brain’s on overload. But it sounds like we agree the show’s a bad idea.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Sara said slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be good—a celebration of Alex, even.”

  Tori gaped at her sister. “How can you possibly think that? Everyone’s still trying to work through losing him, especially Mom and Dad. It’s a terrible idea.”

&
nbsp; Sara pulled at the edges of her sleeves. “You’re probably right.” She stood up but paused before leaving. “What did he say about the divorce?”

  Nothing. “We’re going to talk about it later.” That was exaggerating things a tad, particularly when she had no plan to discuss anything. She’d made up her mind—about him and his stupid show.

  Sara offered a sad smile that further stirred the emotions Tori was trying to rebury. “I just want you to be happy. So if a divorce will do that, I support you. Promise me you’ll think about what I said. You need to get back to living your life.”

  Here we go again—the old Tori argument. Tori braced her hands on the armrests of her chair.

  “You have to be able to find joy again. Mom’s doing it. Dad’s trying, I think. If you don’t, I can’t imagine what sort of life that will be.” She turned and left.

  Not the old Tori argument. And damn it, she was right again. Mom had said the same thing this morning about having to figure out how to navigate this new Alex-less territory.

  Dread curled up her spine. She felt paralyzed—all because of that unanswered phone call. Why had Alex called her that night? Did the letter he’d written to her explain it at all? She’d been so pissed when Aubrey had told them that they’d all get their letters from Alex—he’d written to each of them—at a time predetermined by him. Well, when the hell was her time? When was she going to be able to escape this emotional prison? A terrorizing thought struck her: What if his letter said nothing? What if she would never know what he’d wanted?

  Maybe she was doomed to languish in the hell of grief and guilt forever.

  Chapter Eight

  SEAN PULLED INTO the parking lot at the offices of Deacon Street Productions. The breeze rustled the palm trees as he stepped out of his Acura. He saw Mike’s Mercedes next to the building and made a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to be fired.