One Night, Second Chance
“Grace was engaged?”
“As good as. The accident happened a year ago last week here in New York.”
Wynn had believed Grace when she’d said that their night was a one-off—that she’d never gone home with a man before on a whim. Now the pieces fit. On that unfortunate anniversary, Grace had drowned out those memories by losing herself in Wynn’s company. He wasn’t upset by her actions; he understood them better than most. Hadn’t he found solace—oblivion—in someone else’s arms, too?
“She puts on a brave face.” Brock threw a weary glance around the room. “But being here at one of her best friends’ weddings, in front of so many others who know... She should have been married herself by now.” Brock squared his heavy shoulders. “No one likes to be pitied. No one wants to be alone.”
Brock wished Wynn the best with his make-believe meeting in the morning. Wynn was almost at the door when the music stopped and the DJ announced, “Calling all eligible ladies. Gather round. The bride is ready to throw her bouquet!”
Wynn cast a final glance back. He was interested to see that Grace hadn’t positioned herself for the toss; she stood apart and well back from the rest.
A drumroll echoed out through the sound system. In her fluffy white gown, the beaming bride spun around. With an arm that belonged in the majors, she lobbed the weighty bunch well over her head. A collective gasp went up as the bouquet hurtled through the air, high over the outstretched arms of the nearest hopefuls. Over outliers’ arms, as well. It kept flying and flying.
Straight toward Grace.
As the bouquet dropped from the ceiling, Grace realized at the last moment that she was in the direct line of fire. Rather than catch it, however, she stepped aside and petals smacked the polished floor near her feet. Then, as if wrenched by an invisible cord, the bouquet continued to slide. It stopped dead an inch from Wynn’s shoes. The room stilled before all eyes shot from the flowers to Grace.
The romantically minded might have seen this curious event as an omen. Might have thought that the trajectory of the bouquet as it slid along the floor from Grace to Wynn meant they ought to get together. Only most guests here would know. Grace didn’t want a fiancé.
She was still grieving the one she had lost.
As he and Grace stared at each other, anticipation vibrated off the walls and Wynn felt a stubborn something creak deep inside him. An awareness that had lain frozen and unfeeling these past months thawed a degree, and then a single icicle snapped and fell away from his soul.
Hunkering down, he collected the flowers. With their audience hushed and waiting, he headed back to Grace.
When he stopped less than an arm’s distance away, he inspected the flowers—red and white roses with iridescent fern in between. But he didn’t hand over the bouquet. Rather, he circled his arm around Grace’s back and, in front of the spellbound crowd, slowly—deliberately—lowered his head over hers.
Two
As he drew her near, two things flashed through Grace’s mind.
What in God’s name is Wynn Hunter doing?
The other thought evaporated into a deep, drugging haze when the remembered heat of his mouth captured hers. At the same instant her limbs turned to rubber, her fingertips automatically wound into his lapels. Her toes curled and her core contracted, squeezing around a kernel of mindless want.
This man’s kiss was spun from dreams. The hot, strong feel of him, the taste...his scent...
From the time she’d left his suite that night, she had wondered. The hours she’d spent in his bed had seemed so magical, perhaps she’d only dreamed them up. But this moment was real, and now she only wanted to experience it all again—his lips drifting over her breasts, his hands stroking, hips rocking.
When his lips gradually left hers, the burning feel of him remained. With her eyes closed, she focused on the hard press of his chest against her bodice...her need to have him kiss her again. Then, from the depths of her kiss-induced fog, Grace heard a collective sigh go up in the room. With her head still whirling, she dragged open heavy eyes. Wynn’s face was slanted over hers. He was smiling softly.
In a matter of seconds, he had made her forget about everything other than this. But the encounter three nights ago had been a mutually agreed upon, ultraprivate affair. This scene had been played out in front of an audience. Friends, and friends of friends, who knew what had happened last year.
Or thought that they knew.
Grace kept her unsteady voice hushed. “What are you doing?”
“Saying goodbye properly.” With his arm still a strong band around her, he took a step back. “Are you all right to stand?”
She shook off more of her stupor. “Of course I can stand.” But as she moved to disengage herself, she almost teetered.
With a knowing grin, he handed over the bouquet, which she mechanically accepted at the same time the DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“How about that, folks! What do you say? Is that our next bride-to-be?”
The applause was hesitant at first before the show of support went through the roof. Grace cringed at the attention. On another level, it also gave a measure of relief. Anything—including a huge misunderstanding—was better than the sea of pitying faces she’d had to endure that day.
“If you want,” Wynn murmured, “I can stay longer.”
With her free hand, she smoothed down her skirt—and gathered the rest of her wits. “I’m sure you’ve done enough.”
His gaze filtered over her face, lingering on her lips, still moist and buzzing from his kiss. Then, looking as hot as any Hollywood hunk, he turned and sauntered away.
A heartbeat later, the lights faded, music blared again and Amy Calhoun caught ahold of Grace’s hand. As Amy dragged her to a relatively quiet corner, out of general view, her red ringlets looked set to combust with excitement.
“Who was that?” she cried.
Still lightheaded, Grace leaned back against the wall. “You don’t want to know.”
“I saw you two dancing. Did you only meet tonight? I mean, you don’t have to say a word. I’m just curious, like friends are.” Amy squeezed Grace’s hand. “It’s so good to see you happy.”
“I look happy?” She felt spacey. Agitated.
In need of a cold shower.
“If you want to know, you look swept off your feet.” The plump lips covering Amy’s overbite twitched. “I actually thought that’s what he’d do. Lift you up into his arms and carry you away.”
Amy was an only child. She and Grace had grown up tight, spending practically every weekend at each other’s places on Long Island—dressing up as princesses, enjoying the latest Disney films. Amy still lived and espoused a Cinderella mentality; a happily-ever-after would surely come if only a girl believed. An optimistic mindset was never a bad thing. However, with regard to this situation, Amy’s sentimental nature was a bust.
“Wynn and I had met before tonight. It happened.” Grace tossed the flowers aside on a table. “It’s over.”
“Okay.” Amy’s pearl chocker bobbed as she swallowed. “So, when you say it happened, you mean it as in...”
“As in intercourse. One night of amazing, mind-blowing, unforgettable sex.” Grace groaned out a breath. God, it felt good to get that off her chest.
“Wow.” Amy held her brow as if her head might be spinning. “Mind-blowing, huh? That’s great. Fantastic. I’m just a little—”
“Shocked?”
“In a good way,” Amy gave her a sympathetic look. “We’ve all been so worried.”
As that familiar sick feeling welled up inside her, Grace flinched. “No one needs to be.”
“I’m sure everyone knows that now. Sam was a great guy...a decorated firefighter from an awesome family. We all loved him. And he loved you—so much. But you needed something to push you to move on.”
Those last words pulled Grace up.
But Wynn’s invitation to this wedding was based on a lapsed friendship with the groom. He wasn’t in the loop, and it was a stretch to think that someone had mentioned a bridesmaid’s tragic personal situation over coffee and wedding cake.
Unless her father had said something.
Except the bouquet sliding from her feet across to his had been pure fluke. If not for that, he would never have had the opportunity to... How had he put it? Say goodbye properly. No way had he kissed her to simply show them all that she wasn’t as fragile and alone as they might think.
And Wynn certainly wouldn’t have swooped in to play superhero if he’d had any inkling of what had transpired the night of that accident a year ago. But the truth had to come out sometime. She only needed to find the right time.
Puzzle it out the right way.
* * *
Three days later, as his workday drew to a close, Wynn answered a conference call from his brothers on Skype.
“Bad time?”
Wynn smiled at Dex’s laid-back expression and smooth voice. He was the epitome of a Hollywood producer ever since he’d taken over the family’s movie unit in L.A.
“I have an easy four o’clock then I’m out of here,” Wynn said.
“Off early, mate.”
Skyping in from Sydney, Cole looked particularly tan after his sojourn with his fiancée Taryn Quinn on their yacht in the Pacific.
“Good to hear, bro,” Dex said. “We all need time to chill.”
“How’s Dad?” Standing behind his chair, Wynn slipped one arm then the other into his jacket sleeves. That interview with Christopher Riggs—a job interview, and likely placement, based on a recommendation from Wynn’s father—shouldn’t take long. He’d get ready now to zip out the door as soon as he was done.
“No more attempts on his life since we spoke last,” Cole replied, “and thank God for that.”
“He’s wondering if Tate should come home,” Dex said.
“But Brandon thinks it’s best to keep him out of harm’s way,” Cole explained, “at least until he can chase up some leads on that van.”
Months back, during the stalker’s last attack, Tate had almost been abducted along with his dad. Until the situation was sorted out and guilty parties thrown behind bars, the family had decided to place the youngest Hunter in a safer environment. Tate had spent time with the sweetheart/renegade of the family, Teagan, who lived in Seattle. And right now he was bunking down in Los Angeles with Dex. Tate had been happy with his movie-boss brother, and Dex had been happy with the boy’s babysitter, Shelby Scott—in fact, she had recently become Dex’s fiancée.
But now that there were leads on the van that had been involved in that last assault, they might have a break in the case. Tate might soon be able to go home. Excellent.
“Brandon pinned down some snaps taken by a speed camera,” Cole went on, “the same day Dad was attacked.”
“Don’t tell me after all this time he discovered the license plates were legit?” That they’d tracked down the assailant as easily as through a registration number.
Dex groaned. “Unfortunately, this creep isn’t that stupid.”
“But the traffic shots show the driver pulled over with a flat,” Cole added.
“You have a description?” Wynn asked.
“Dark glasses, fake beard,” Cole said. “Other than general height and weight, no help. But Brandon did a thorough survey of the area. A woman walking her Pomeranian remembers the van and the man. She also recalls him dropping his keys.”
Dex took over. “She scooped them up. Before handing them back, she took note of the rental tag.”
Leaning toward the screen, Wynn set both palms flat on the desk. “Weren’t all the rental companies checked out?”
“The company concerned is a fly-by-nighter from another state,” Dex explained.
“Brandon found the guy who ran it,” Cole added. “Other than simply hiring out the car, he doesn’t appear to be involved. But getting corresponding records was like pulling teeth.”
“Until Brandon threatened to bring in the authorities, criminal as well as tax,” Dex said. “The guy’s got until tomorrow to cough up.”
“Great work. So, Tate’s staying with you in the meantime, Dex?”
“He and Shelby are as thick as thieves. He loves her cooking. I do, too. You should taste her cupcakes.” Sitting back, ex-playboy Dex rested his hands on his stomach and licked his chops. “We’re looking at taking the plunge sometime in the New Year. The wedding will most likely be in Mountain Ridge, Oklahoma, her hometown.”
“Oh, I can see you now, riding up to the minister on matching steeds like something out of a ’40s Western.”
Wynn grinned at Cole’s ribbing.
“Laugh if you dare,” Dex said. “I bought a property that used to belong to Shelby’s dad.” Dex’s tawny-colored gaze grew reflective. “One day we might settle out there for good.”
“Away from the hype and glitter of Hollywood?” Wynn found that hard to believe.
“If it means being with Shelby,” Dex assured them both, “I’d live in a tar shack.”
Wynn was pleased for both brothers’ happiness, even if he no longer possessed a romantic thought or inclination in his body.
Barring the other night.
He felt for Grace and her situation. Covert glances and well-intentioned pity over past relationships that hadn’t ended well... Painful to endure. Far better to give people something to really talk about. And so, with the entire room’s eyes upon them, he’d kissed her—no half measures. After the shock had cleared, however, she’d looked ready to slap his face rather than thank him. It was a shame, because after another taste of Grace Munroe’s lips, he’d only wanted more.
Remembering that interview with Riggs, Wynn checked the time. “Guys, I need to sign off. Dad rang a couple of weeks back about giving a guy a job. Background in publishing. Apparently great credentials and, quote, ‘a finger on the pulse of solutions for challenges in this digital age.’ Dad thought I could use him.”
“Sounds great,” Dex said. “Should help take some pressure off.”
Wynn frowned. “I’m not under pressure.” Or wouldn’t be half so much when the merger deal he’d been working on was in the bag. For now, however, that arrangement was tightly under wraps—he hadn’t even told his father about the merger plans.
“Well, it’ll be strictly fun and games when you guys come out for the wedding.” Pride shone from Cole’s face. “You and Dex are my best men.”
Wynn straightened. That was the first he’d heard of it. “I’m honored.” Then his thoughts doubled back. “Can a groom have two best men?”
“It’s the 21st century.” Dex laughed. “You can do any damn thing you want.”
“So, Wynn,” Cole went on, “you’re definitely coming?”
Dex’s voice lowered. “You’re okay after that breakup now, right?”
Wynn wanted to roll his eyes. He’d really hoped he’d get through this conversation without anyone bringing that up.
“The breakup...” He forced a grin. “Sounds like the title of some soppy book.”
“Movie, actually,” Dex countered.
“Well, you’ll all be relieved to know that I’ve moved on.”
“Mentally or physically?” Dex asked.
“Both.”
“Really?” Cole said at the same time Dex asked, “Anyone we know?”
“As a matter of fact...remember Grace Munroe?”
Cole blinked twice. “You don’t mean Brock Munroe’s girl?”
“Whoa. I remember,” Dex said. “The little horror who crushed on you that Christmas in Colorado when we were all kids.”
“That’s back to front.” Wynn set them straight. “I wanted to crush her—under my heel.”
“And now?” Dex asked.
“We caught up.”
“So, we can put her name down beside yours for the wedding?” Cole prodded.
“I said I’ve moved on.” Lifting his chin, Wynn adjusted his tie’s Windsor knot. “No one’s moving in.”
In the past, these two had nudged each other, grinning over Wynn’s plans to settle down sooner rather than later. Now Cole and Dex were the ones jabbed by Cupid’s arrow and falling over themselves to commit while Wynn had welcomed the role of dedicated bachelor. Once bit and twice shy. He didn’t need the aggravation.
The men signed off. Wynn could see his personal assistant Daphne Cranks down the hall trying to get his attention. She pushed her large-framed glasses up her nose before flicking her gaze toward a guest. A man dressed in an impeccable dark gray suit got up from his chair with an easy smile. Christopher Riggs was almost as tall as Wynn. He had a barrel chest like a buff character from a comic strip. When Wynn joined him, they shook hands, introduced themselves and headed for the boardroom.
“My father seems impressed by your credentials,” Wynn said, pulling in his chair.
“He’s a fascinating man.”
“He worked hard to build Hunter Enterprises into the force it is today.”
“I believe it was very much a local Australian concern when Guthrie took over from your grandfather.”
“My father ran the company with my uncle for a short while. Two strong wills. Different ideas of how the place ought to run. I’m afraid it didn’t work out.” Wynn unbuttoned his jacket and sat back. “That was decades ago.”
“Hopefully I’ll have the chance to contribute something positive moving forward.”
They discussed where the company was positioned at the moment, and went on to speak about publishing in general. Christopher handed over his résumé and then volunteered information about his background. Guthrie had already mentioned that, until recently, Christopher’s family had owned a notable magazine in Australia. Like so many businesses, the magazine had suffered in these harsh economic times. The Riggses had found a business partner who had buoyed the cash flow for a time before pulling the plug. The magazine had gone into receivership.
Christopher had a degree, a background in reporting and good references in marketing. Alongside that, he could talk rings around Wynn with regard to web presence statistics and methods, as well as social media strategies aimed at optimizing potential market share.
While they spoke, Wynn tried to look beyond the smooth exterior, deep into the man’s clear mint-green eyes. No bad vibes. Christopher Riggs was the epitome of a composed professional. Even in his later years, Guthrie Hunter possessed an uncanny ability to sniff out true talent. Wynn could see Christopher well-placed in his marketing and tech team.
They discussed and then agreed on remuneration and benefits.
“Come in tomorrow.” Wynn pushed to his feet. “Daphne can set you up in an office.”
The men shook again and, with a bounce in his step, Christopher Riggs headed out.
After collecting his briefcase, Wynn came back into his private reception area. When he said good-night, Daphne held him up.
“These tickets arrived a few minutes ago.” She gave him an embossed envelope. “A gift from the producer.”
He was about to say that he wasn’t interested in Broadway tonight—she was welcome to the tickets—but then he reconsidered.
Daphne was the most efficient personal assistant he’d ever had. Always on top of things, constantly on his heels...a bit of a puppy, he’d sometimes thought. Behind the Mr. Magoo glasses and dull hairdo, she was probably attractive; however, from what he could gather, she was very much single. He wasn’t certain she even had friends. If he left those tickets behind, chances were they’d be dropped in the trash when five o’clock rolled around.
So he took the envelope as his thoughts swung to another woman who was his assistant’s opposite in every sense of the word—except for the being single part.
Brock had mentioned Grace was in town for a few days. Her hotel was around the corner. As he entered the elevator, Wynn thought it over. Perhaps Grace had left New York by now. And hadn’t she made herself clear? She didn’t regret that night spent in his bed but she wasn’t after an encore. Grace didn’t want to see him again.
As he slid the envelope into his inside breast pocket and the elevator doors closed, Wynn hesitated, and then, remembering their last kiss, slowly grinned.
What the hell. He had nothing on tonight. Maybe he could change her mind.
Three
Exiting the hotel elevator, Grace headed across the foyer and then pulled up with a start. Cutting a dynamite figure in a dark, tailored suit, Wynn Hunter stood at the reception counter, waiting to speak with someone behind the desk.
No need to assume he’d come to see her. There were a thousand other reasons he might be here tonight. Business. Friends. Another woman. An attractive, successful, single male like Wynn... Members of the opposite sex would flock to spend time with him.
She’d been on her way out to mull over a decision—whether or not to spend more time in New York before getting back to her job. Late last year she’d left New York to join a private practice in Florida as a speech-language pathologist. Providing tools to help both adults and children with communication disabilities was rewarding work. Just the other week, she’d got an update from a young mom who had needed additional support and advice on feeding her baby who’d been born with a cleft palate. The woman had wanted to let Grace know that the baby’s first surgery, which included ear tubes to help with fluid buildup, had been a great success.
Grace had made good friends in Florida, too. Had a nice apartment in a great neighborhood. But she missed so much about New York—minus the memories surrounding Sam and his accident, of course, which seemed to pop up everywhere, constantly.
Except during that time she’d spent with Wynn.
Her lips still hummed and her body sang whenever she thought of the way they had kissed. She wasn’t certain that, if she strolled over and started up a conversation with him now, one thing wouldn’t lead to another. However, while the sex would be better than great, she’d already decided that their one-night stand should be left in the past. She wasn’t ready to invite a man, and associated complications, into her life.
Best just to keep going without saying hi.
He seemed to wait until she was out in the open before rapping his knuckles on the counter and then absently turning around. In that instant, she felt his focus narrow and lock her in its sights. No choice now. She pulled up again.
He crossed over to her at a leisurely pace. People in his path naturally made way for him. In the three days since they’d spoken last, his raven’s-wing hair had grown enough to lick his collar. The shadow on his jaw looked rougher, too. And his eyes seemed even darker—their message more tempting.
She remembered his raspy cheek grazing her flesh...the magic of his mouth on her thigh...his muscular frame bearing down again and again to meet her hips. And then he was standing in front of her and speaking in that deep, dreamy voice.
“You’re on your way out?”
Willing her thumping heartbeat to slow, Grace nodded. “And you? Here on business?”
“Your father mentioned you were staying here for a few days.” He waved an envelope. “I have tickets for a show. We could catch a bite first.”
He was here to see her?
“Wynn, I’d really like to, but—”
“You have another date?”
She shook her head.
“You’ve already eaten?”
No, but suddenly she could taste the rich fudge ice-cream they’d devoured, eating off the same spoon that night when they had both needed to cool down.
Grace pushed the image aside. “I’m sorry. This doesn’t work for me.”
“Because it’s not a good time.”
For a relationship of any kind. She nodded. “That’s right.”
He seemed to weigh that up before asking, “When are you leaving New York?”
“I’m not sure. Soon.”
“So, worst case scenario—we have a dog-awful time tonight and you won’t need to bump into me again for another twenty years.”
It sounded so harmless. And maybe it was.
Brock Munroe was a devoted father to all three of his daughters. He’d always been there, watching out for their best interests—doing what he could to help. Did that include organizing some male company to help divert her from unpleasant memories while she was back in town?