One Night, Second Chance

And if her father had gone so far as to suggest this get-together, what else had Wynn and her dad discussed? Had Sam been mentioned at all? To what extent? If Wynn had spoken with her mother, the subject of her past boyfriend would definitely have come up. Suzanne Munroe had thought of Sam as a son—always would—and she took every opportunity to let others know it.

There’ll never be another Sam.

“Wynn, did my father put you up to this?” she asked.

Wynn’s chin kicked up a notch. “Brock did mention it might be nice for us to catch up again while you were in town.”

Grace sighed.

“I like to think of my father’s smile if he found out his plan here had worked, but—”

“Grace, I’m not here because your father suggested it.”

“It’s okay. Honest. I—”

He laughed. “Come on now. I’m here because I want to be.” When she hesitated, he went on. “We don’t have to go to the show. But you have to eat. I know a great place on Forty-second.”

She paused. “What place?”

He named a restaurant that she knew and loved.

“Great food,” he added.

She agreed. “I remember.”

“Their chocolate panna cotta is sensational.”

“The mushroom risotto, too.”

Wincing, he held his stomach. “Personally, I’m starved. I skipped lunch.”

“I grabbed an apple-pie melt off a truck.”

“I love apple-pie melts.”

When he sent her a slanted smile, her heart gave a kick and, next thing she knew, she was nodding.

“All right,” she said.

“So, that’s a yes? To dinner, or dinner and the show? It’s an opening night musical. The scores are supposed to be amazing.”

Then he mentioned the name of the lead actor. Who said no to that? Only she wasn’t exactly dressed for the theater.

“I need to go up and change first,” she said.

But then, his gaze sharpened—almost gleamed—and Grace took stock again. Was he debating whether or not to suggest a drink in her room before heading out? Given the conflagration the last time they’d been alone together, no matter how great the songs or the food, she guessed he wouldn’t complain if they ordered room service and bunked down in her bedroom for the night.

She was reconsidering the whole deal when his expression cleared and he waved the envelope toward a lounge adjoining the lobby.

“I’ll wait over there,” he said. “Take your time.”

As he headed off, Grace blinked and then eased into a smile. No inviting himself up or flirty innuendoes. Perfect. Except...

If Wynn wasn’t here at her father’s behest, or to test the air for some no-strings-attached sex, that made tonight about a mutually attracted couple who wanted to enjoy some time together. In other words, a date.

Her first in a year.

* * *

“Some like it steamy.” As he walked alongside her, Wynn gave her a puzzled look. Grace indicated a billboard across the street. “There,” she explained. “It’s the name of a new movie.”

Wynn grinned. “Sounds like something my brother would dream up.”

She and Wynn were heading back to the hotel. They’d enjoyed their meal and the show had been fantastic.

During dinner, she’d caught up on all the Hunter news. Apparently Cole and Dex had been at loggerheads for years. When their father had decided to split the company among the kids, workaholic Cole had expected more from Dex than he’d thought Mr. Casual could give. Dex had been happy to get away on his own to California to head Hunter Productions, which, after some challenges, was now doing well. Teagan had got out of the family business altogether. She’d followed brother Dex to the States and had forged a successful health and fitness business in Seattle. Grace decided she really ought to get in touch with her old friend again.

As for the show, the staging had been spectacular and singing amazing; more than once, Grace had had to swallow past the lump in her throat. And Wynn’s company had been as intoxicating as ever. Despite her reservations, she was glad he’d convinced her to go out.

“I know Cole’s getting married,” she said as her attention shifted from the billboard to take in Wynn’s classic profile. “But isn’t Dex engaged, too? I’m sure I saw an announcement somewhere.”

“I get to meet both Dex’s and Cole’s love interests in a couple of weeks. Cole’s wedding’s back home in Sydney.”

In Australia? She remembered wondering about his accent that first night; she’d thought possibly English but hadn’t wanted to get into backgrounds. “A Hunter wedding. Set to be the social event of the season, I bet.”

Grunting, he flipped his jacket’s hem back to slot both hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

The Hunters were wealthy, well connected. When Guthrie had remarried a few years ago, her parents had attended. Grace’s mother had come home gushing over the extravagance of the reception as well as the invitation list—sporting legends, business magnates, some of the biggest names in Hollywood today. But it sounded as if Cole and his bride-to-be might be planning a more private affair.

Grace was about to ask more when a raindrop landed on her nose. She checked out the sky. A second and third raindrop smacked her forehead and her chin. Then the starless sky seemed to split wide apart.

As the deluge hit, Grace yelped. Wynn caught her hand, hauling her out of the downpour and into the cozy alcove of a handy shopfront.

“It’ll pass soon,” he said with an authoritative voice that sounded as if he could command the weather rather than predict it.

With his hair dripping and features cast in soft-edged shadows, he looked so assured. So handsome. Was it possible for a man to be too masculine? Too take-me-now sexy?

As he flicked water from his hands, his focus shifted from the rain onto her. As if he’d read her thoughts, his gaze searched hers before he carefully reached for her cheek. But he only swept away the wet hair that was plastered over her nose, around her chin.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She thought for a moment then feigned a shiver and nodded.

He maneuvered her to stand with her back to him. He held open his silk-lined, wool-blend jacket and cocooned her against a wall of muscle and heat. Heavenly. Then his strong arms folded across her and tugged her in super close.

Surrendering, Grace let her eyes drift shut. She might not want to get involved, but she was human and, damn, this felt good.

His stubble grazed her temple. “Warm now?”

Grinning, she wiggled back against him. “Not yet.”

When his palms flattened against her belly, slowly ironing up before skimming back down, she bit her lip to contain the sigh. Then his hug tightened at the same time his fingers fanned and gradually spread lower. She let her head rock back and rest against his shoulder.

“Better?” he asked against her ear.

“Not yet,” she lied.

“If we keep it up,” he murmured, “we might need to explain ourselves to the police in that patrol car over there.”

“We’re not exactly causing a scene.”

“Not yet.”

He nuzzled down beneath her scarf and dropped a lingering kiss on the side of her throat as one hand coasted higher, over her ribs, coming to rest beneath the slope of her breast. When his thumb brushed her nipple, back and forth three times, she quivered all over.

She felt his chest expand before he turned her around. In the shadows, she caught a certain glimmer in his eyes. Then his gaze zeroed in on her mouth as his grip tightened on her shoulders.

“Grace, precisely how much do you want to heat up?”

Her heartbeat began to race. No denying—they shared a chemistry, a connection, like two magnets meant to lock whenever they crossed paths. She’d had fun this evening. She knew he had, too. And the way he was looking at her now—as if he could eat her...

On a purely primal level, she wanted the flames turned up to high. But if she weakened and slept with Wynn again tonight, how would she feel about herself in the morning? Perhaps simply satisfied. Or would she wish that she’d remembered her earlier stand?

She liked Wynn. She adored the delicious way he made her feel. Still, it was best to put on the brakes.

Sometimes when she thought about Sam, the years they’d spent together, the night that he had died—it all seemed like a lifetime ago and yet still so “now.” Before she could truly move forward and think about starting something new, she needed to make sense of what had come before.

The loss.

Her guilt.

Lowering her gaze, Grace turned to face the street. The display featured in the shop window next to them caught her eye. They were sheltering from the rain in a bookshop doorway. The perfect in for a change of subject.

“Does Hunter Publishing own bookstores?” she asked.

Wynn combed long fingers back through his hair then shook out the moisture as if trying to shake off his steamier thoughts.

“We handle magazines and newspapers,” he told her, “not novels.”

“Everyone’s supposed to have at least one story in them,” she murmured, thinking aloud.

She certainly had one. Nothing she wanted professionally published, of course. But she knew that committing unresolved feelings to paper could be therapeutic.

“Have you got a flight booked back home?” he asked as the rain continued to fall.

“Actually I was thinking of taking a little more time off.”

Hands in his pockets, Wynn leaned back against the shop door. “How much time?”

“A couple of weeks.” Another experienced therapist had just started with the practice. Grace’s boss had said, although she was relatively new, if she needed a bit more time off, it shouldn’t be a problem.

His eyes narrowed as he gave her a cryptic grin. “You should come to Cole’s wedding with me.”

She blinked twice. “You’re not serious.”

“I am serious.”

“You want me to jump on a plane and travel halfway around the world with you, just like that?” She pulled a face. “That’s crazy.”

“Not crazy. You know all the old crowd. I already told my brothers that we caught up.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Exactly how much had he told them? “What did they say?” she asked.

“They said you had a crush on me when you were six.”

“When you were such a dweeb?”

“I was focused.”

She teased, “Focused, but clumsy.”

She could attest to the fact that he’d outgrown the clumsy phase.

“Cole suggested it earlier today. I brushed it off, but after tonight...” He pushed off from the door and stood up straight. “It’ll be fun.”

The idea of catching up with his family was certainly tempting. After that Christmas, she and Teagan had been pen pals for a long while. Then Tea had that accident and was in and out of hospital with a string of surgeries. Tea’s letters had dwindled to the point where they’d finally lost touch.

But foremost a trip to Australia would mean spending loads of time with Wynn, which didn’t add up to slowing things down or giving herself the time she still needed to work through and accept her past with Sam.

She waved the suggestion off. “You don’t need me.”

“That’s right. I want you.”

Such a simple yet complicated statement—it took her aback.

She tried to make light. “You must have a mile-long list of women to choose from.”

His brows knitted. “You have that wrong. Dex was the playboy. Never me.”

When a group of boisterous women walked by the alcove, he stepped forward to gauge the prewinter night sky.

“Rain’s stopped,” he said. “Let’s go before we get caught again.”

* * *

As they walked side by side past puddles shimmering with light from the neon signs and streetlamps, Wynn thought back.

By age ten, he’d had a handle on the concept of delayed gratification. If he needed the blue ribbon in swim squad, he put in time at the pool. If he wanted to win his father’s approval, he studied until he excelled. Reward for effort was the motto upon which he’d built his life, professional as well as private.

Then Heather had walked away and that particular view on life had changed.

On the night he and Grace had met again, Wynn had seen what he’d wanted and decided simply to take it. A few minutes ago, with her bundled against him in those shadows, the same thousand-volt arc had crackled between them. For however long it lasted, he wanted to enjoy it. More than gut said Grace wanted that, too, even if she seemed conflicted.

Hell, if she had time off, why not come to Australia? He could show her some sights. They could share a few laughs. No one needed to get all heavy and “forever” about it. He wasn’t out to replace her ex. He understood certain scars didn’t heal.

Maybe it would make a difference if he let her know that.

“Should we have a nightcap?” he asked as they entered the relative quiet of her hotel lobby a few minutes later. “I found a nice spot in that lounge earlier. No piano though.”

She continued on, heading for the elevators. “I have to get up early.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Wynn adjusted his plan. He’d say his piece when he said good-night at her door. At the elevators, however, she cut down that idea, too.

“It’s been a great night,” she said, after he’d hit the Up key. “But I think I’ll say good-night here.”

He was forming words to reply when he heard a woman’s laugh—throaty, familiar. All the muscles in his stomach clenched tight a second before he tracked down the source. Engaged in conversation with a jet-set rock’n’roll type, Heather Matthews was strolling across a nearby stretch of marble tiles.

Wynn’s heart dropped.

Over eight million people and New York could still be a freaking small world.

At the same time his ex glanced in his direction, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. He shepherded Grace inside and stabbed a button. As the doors closed, the ice in his blood began to thaw and the space between collar and neck started to steam. It took a moment before he realized Grace was studying him.

“Inviting yourself up?” she drawled.

“I’ll say good-night at the door.”

“Because of that woman you want to avoid?” She hit a floor key. “Want to tell me who she is?”

His jaw clenched. “Not particularly.”

She didn’t probe, which he appreciated. Except, maybe it would help if Grace knew that he’d recently lost someone, too, though in a different way.

He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot that was pressing on his throat. “That woman and I...we were together for a few years. There was a time I thought we’d get married,” he added. “Have a family. She didn’t see it that way.”

Her eyes rounded then filled with sympathy. The kind of pity Wynn abhorred and, he thought, Grace knew well.

“Wynn...I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.” Drawing himself up to his full height, he shrugged. “I’m happy for Cole. For Dex, too. But I’m steering clear of that kind of—” heartache? “—commitment.”

A bell pinged and the elevator doors opened. She stepped out, and then, with a look, let him know he could follow. She stopped outside a door midway down the corridor, flipped her key card over the sensor. When the light blinked on, she clicked open the door and, after an uncertain moment, faced him again. They were both damp from the rain. Drops still glistened in her hair.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I think your ex missed out.”

Then she stepped forward and craned up on her toes. When her lips brushed his cheek, time seemed to wind down. She lingered there. If she was going to step away, she wasn’t in too much of a hurry. She had to get up early. Had wanted to say good-night. But if he wasn’t mistaken, this was his cue.

His hands cupped her shoulders. As her face angled up, his head dropped down. When his mouth claimed hers, he held off a beat before winding one arm around her back. He felt more than heard the whimper in her throat. A heartbeat later, she relaxed and then melted.

As his tongue pushed past her lips, a thick molten stream coursed through his veins. The delicious surge...that visceral tug... And then her arms coiled around his neck and the connection started to sizzle.

He hadn’t planned on taking Grace to bed tonight. He knew she hadn’t planned this, either. But what could he say? Plans changed.

A muttering at his back seeped through the fog.

“For pity’s sake, get a room.”

Grace stiffened, and then pried herself away. Down the hall, a middle-aged couple were shaking their heads as they disappeared into a neighboring suite. Coming close again, Wynn slid a hand down her side.

Get a room.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he murmured against her brow.

When she didn’t respond, he drew back. A pulse was popping in her throat, but reason had returned to her eyes.

“Good night, Wynn.”

“What about Sydney?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Soon.” He handed over a business card with his numbers.

Before her soft smile disappeared behind the crack in the door, she agreed. “Yes, Wynn. Soon.”

Four

The next morning, Wynn arrived at the office early.

By seven, he was downstairs, speaking with his editor-in-chief about a plagiarism claim that was causing the legal department major grief. An hour and a half later, he was heading back upstairs and thinking about Grace. They had parted amicably, to say the least. He thought there was a chance she might even take him up on the invitation to accompany him to Cole’s wedding.

He’d give her a day, and then try her at the hotel. Or he could get her cell number from Brock. Even if she decided not to go to Sydney, he wanted to take her out again. By the time he got back to the States, she would have left New York and gone back to her life in Florida.

Wynn made his way past Daphne’s vacant desk; his assistant was running a little late. A moment later, when he swung open his office door, he was called back—but not by Daphne. Christopher Riggs was striding up behind him, looking as enthusiastic as he had the previous day at his interview.

“Hey, Wynn.” Christopher ran a hand through his hair, pushing a dark wave off his brow. “Daphne wasn’t at her desk. I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were in.”

Wynn flicked a glance at his watch. His next meeting—an important one—wasn’t far off. But he could spare a few minutes.

As they moved inside his office, Christopher’s expression sharpened when something on Wynn’s desk caught his eye—the interconnecting silver L and T of a publishing logo. “La Trobes,” he said.

Leaning back against the edge of the desk, Wynn crossed his arms. “Impress me with your knowledge.”

“I know La Trobes’s publications have a respectable share of the marketplace.”

“Keeping in mind that print share is shrinking.”

“But there are other, even greater opportunities outside of print, if they’re harnessed properly. I’ve given a lot of thought to out-of-the-box strategies and the implementation of facilities for digital readers to be compatible with innovative applications.”

For the next few minutes, Wynn listened to an extended analysis of the digital marketplace. Obviously this guy knew his stuff. But now wasn’t the time to get into a full-blown discussion.

After a few more minutes of Christopher sharing his ideas, Wynn got up from the desk and interrupted. “I have a meeting. We’ll talk later.”

A muscle in Christopher’s jaw jumped twice. He was pumped, ready to let loose with a thousand initiatives. But he quickly reined himself in.

“Of course,” he said, backing up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Christopher was headed out when Daphne appeared at the open door.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” Daphne said. “I didn’t realize—”

As she backed up, her elbow smacked the jamb. When her trusty gold-plated pen jumped from her hand, Christopher swooped to rescue it. As he returned the pen, Wynn didn’t miss the wink he sent its owner. He also noted Daphne’s blush and her preoccupation as Christopher vacated the room.

Rousing herself, she nudged those glasses back up her nose and, in the navy blue dress reserved for Thursdays, moved forward. As Wynn dragged in his seat, Daphne lowered into her regular chair on the other side of his desk. So—head back in the game. First up, before that meeting, he needed to make some arrangements.

“I’m flying to Sydney Monday.”

Daphne crossed her legs and scribbled on her pad. “Returning when?”

“Keep it open.”

“I’ll organize a car to the airport.” She scrunched her pert nose. “Will you need accommodation?”

“We’re all staying at the family home. Guthrie wants us all in one place leading up to the big day.”

If Grace decided to join him, he’d make additional arrangements. Lots of them.

As Daphne took notes, her owlish, violet-blue eyes sparkled behind their lenses. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected his assistant was a romantic. She liked the thought of a wedding. Not so long ago, she had really liked Heather.

The two women had met several times. Daphne had commented on how carefree, beautiful and friendly his partner was. The morning after Heather had left him sitting alone in that restaurant, he’d returned to his apartment and had lain like a fallen redwood on his couch. He’d let his phone ring and ring. He didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. When an urgent knocking had forced him to his feet, he’d found Daphne standing, fretting in his doorway. Looking pale, she’d announced, “I’ve been calling all day.” For the first time in their history, her tone had been heated. Concerned.

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