When she’d invited herself to talk to him earlier she hadn’t made him laugh once – not like Hannah had with that outrageous comment about orgasms. He still had a few specks of red wine down his shirt as a result of overhearing that.

Hannah. That’s who he wanted to search out again. When he and Loren had married, the bridesmaids had been togged out in ruffled blue dresses that reminded him of Disney shepherdesses. He preferred the sleeker, shorter style Hannah wore. Particularly when the zip stuck. He’d enjoyed helping with that, though his fingers had fumbled as Hannah held her long hair aside, showing him her smooth back bisected by a lacy peach bra strap.

Nan Heather had told him Hannah’s straight, glossy sheet of hair was ‘tortoiseshell’. It wasn’t an English word he was acquainted with so he’d looked on his phone and seen cats in a mixture of colours from dark to gingery brown. He could see what Nan Heather meant. The streaky hair went startlingly well with Hannah’s knowing, intelligent eyes. ‘Aquamarine’ Nan Heather had said. He hadn’t needed to look that up.

The blue-green eyes had been fixed on his face as he’d told her about poor Jan Frick and he’d read only horrified sympathy until … suddenly her gaze had contained something quite other. Something heated and intent, as if she were a cat herself and had spied something to hunt. Desire had rocketed through him. His life hadn’t allowed him much freedom for sexual adventures since Loren. He’d hooked up a couple of times, of course, because what self-respecting man wouldn’t when going through a divorce, but they’d been mechanical encounters.

This felt … different. Rich. Pulsing. Hot.

A voice in his ear disturbed his thoughts. ‘Having a good time?’ Rob demanded, lifting his voice over the music booming through the open doors.

Nico hadn’t noticed that his and Rob’s paths had converged as they crossed the hotel’s grand lobby from different directions.

‘Great,’ he said truthfully.

They reached the doors to the reception room together, which gave Nico hope he’d be able to get past Amanda Louise through being deep in conversation and pretending to be blinded by the strobing lights. Rob checked his progress. ‘Remember when we were in the Peterborough Plunderers together? That rule we had against going out with each other’s sisters or exes?’

Caught unawares, Nico stiffened. ‘I’d forgotten till this moment.’ A weight formed in his guts.

Rob went on, ‘Well, aside from Hannah living with Albin—’

All the saliva in Nico’s mouth dried as the words sank in. ‘Hannah has a sambo?’ The Swedish word for live-in partner came out in his shock. ‘I mean, she lives with her boyfriend?’