Return of the Chauffeur’s Son, Tara Lain’s homage to Sabrina, is Back!

Hi! As an extra holiday treat, I decided to re-release Return of the Chauffeur’s Son, my love triangle homage to the classic film, Sabrina. This book is a favorite of so many readers, light and airy as a champagne cocktail.

It’s on Amazon and in KU for the first time! 

Excerpt from Return of the Chauffeur’s Son

The door from the bottling rooms opened, and a man backed his way through with two other men behind him. He was gesturing and saying something about profit margins. The two in back were older, one kind of distinguished and the other artsy as hell. But the man in front? Wow. Just wow. What shoulders. What an ass. And the legs look like they could squeeze the life out of you and make you happy about it.

The guy backed a little farther, until Luca took two steps so he didn’t get in the way of the dissertation on return on investment and cost-cutting measures not impacting quality.

As Mr. Cute Ass continued to hold forth, one of the older men looked up at Luca, gave him a quick, appreciative once-over, and then grinned as the lead guy kept crowding his space. Finally the older man reached out and grabbed the cute ass’s arm, nodding toward Luca. The guy stopped talking and turned his head, and his body followed.

Holy freaking hell! “Dylan?”

Dylan Armstrong cocked his head and frowned; then the creases in his forehead smoothed. “Luca? Oh my God, I knew theoretically you’d change, but—well, I guess I just didn’t think far enough.” He stepped in and gave Luca a hug—slightly one-armed, guyish and awkward, but a hug nonetheless.

When Dylan stepped back, Luca smiled. “You’ve changed too. I didn’t recognize you either for a minute.”

“It’s been—what? Five years?”

“Seven.”

Dylan shook his head, those pale green eyes that had always seemed to see more than they should exploring Luca like a microscope. Suddenly he seemed to remember where he was. “Forgive me. Winslow, Anson, this is Luca McGrath—”

“Of course.” The distinguished one who appeared to be Winslow stuck out his hand. “Francis’s son. How wonderful.”

The other one—Anson?—said, “I don’t know how you looked when Dylan last saw you, but I’d call you more than memorable now.” He shook fingertips. Oh yeah, these two are definitely gay. Wonder who they are?

Winslow chuckled. “Anson, you naughty boy.”

Dylan looked around at the crowd. “How did you get here? Rental car?”

“No. The rental companies were pretty much sold out. I hitched a ride on a tour bus.” Luca’s new friends, who’d been on the bus with him, all glanced his way with interest.

“You’re kidding?”

Anson laughed. “How very resourceful of you.”

“They were kind enough to invite me along.” He grinned. “We even stopped at Krug before coming here.”

Dylan laughed. “That’s one way to get reacclimated.”

“So have you seen my dad? I was—”

The front door of the tasting room opened. Luca’s heart forgot its job. Sweet Jesus. Can’t breathe.

Looking like Apollo descending from Olympus, James Armstrong burst through the door laughing, then held it for his mom, who laughed also.

Just like I remember—but better. Sandy blond hair, wide brown eyes, tall, lean body, dimples for miles, and sass to spare—the manifestation of Luca’s dreams, waking and sleeping, since the day he’d realized he liked boys thirteen years earlier. Maybe even before that.