by Robyn Grady
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 m
oved 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?
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.