ONE NIGHT, SECOND CHANCE

by Robyn Grady

  The strokes grew deeper, stronger, until each time he filled her, she pushed back and told herself never in her lifetime would she ever feel this good again. She’d never felt so connected, had never felt closer to anyone, to anything—

  Her climax hit at the same time Wynn groaned and dragged her off him. Her fingers and toes were still curling when, out of breath, he gathered her close and buried his face in her hair. He ground out the words.

  “I forgot.”

  Forgot what?

  Then her eyes sprang open. She’d forgotten, too. They hadn’t used protection. But he hadn’t spilled inside of her.

  “You pulled away in time,” she said.

  Which didn’t mean a whole lot. Even with contraception, no one was a hundred percent safe. Every freshman knew a couple should never rely on withdrawal.

  “We both got carried away,” he said, urging her closer.

  So true. But, no matter how carried away they’d both gotten, this was inexcusable.

  “Wynn, that can never happen again.”

  He pressed a kiss to her brow. “You read my mind.”

  Which ought to have been the right response. No thinking person wanted an unplanned pregnancy, particularly between two people who had zero intention of spending their lifetimes together. And yet there was a part of her that felt—disappointment? Or, more simply, a sense of sadness.

  One day she would find Mr. Right. Have a family. But she wasn’t so sure about Wynn anymore. He was fun to be around. On so many levels he was caring, thoughtful. He was a good brother. An excellent lover.

  But, deep at his core, Wynn could be cynical. Even bitter. He didn’t believe in love—not for himself, in any case.

  And it wasn’t her place to convince him.

  * * *

  “In Greek mythology, Prometheus had returned the gift of fire to mankind. As far as Zeus was concerned, he’d overreached. The immortal was sentenced to an eternity of torment. A lifetime in hell.”

  Hunching into her winter coat, Grace listened in as a local explained the story behind the famous Rockefeller Center statue to his tourist friend. Then he related how an engineer from Cleveland was contracted in the winter of 1936 to build a temporary ice-skating rink that had become a permanent fixture. Sometimes a bold idea panned out.

  Sometimes it didn’t.

  Beside her, Wynn was on a call. Each time he spoke, vaporous clouds puffed out from his mouth. His black wool overcoat made his tall, muscular frame look even more enticing. When his gaze jumped across to her and he sent her a slanted smile, heat swam all the way through to her bones.

  This afternoon, they’d strolled along Fifth Avenue, checking out the window displays at Saks, listening to carolers; Wynn’s favorite Christmas song was “Winter Wonderland,” and hers was “Silver Bells.” No pressure. And yet, oftentimes Grace caught herself wondering where the two of them would be next holiday season—or five seasons from now.

  Wynn finished the call and, with an apology, pulled her close.

  “I’m taking you home, out of the cold,” he said. “We can wrap presents.” His lips grazed her cheek. “Do some unwrapping, too.” His mouth grazed hers again. “I’ll call Daphne and tell her I’m not coming back into the office.”

  “But you have a meeting about the merger this afternoon.”

  “That was Lumos. He postponed.” He stole another feathery kiss. “I’m all yours.”

  Hand in hand, they headed down the Channel Gardens, a pedestrian street that linked to Fifth Avenue.

  “Did you ever hear back from Christopher Riggs?” she asked, as the sound of carolers and the smell of roasting chestnuts wafted around them.

  She’d been floored when Wynn had explained how Guthrie had employed Riggs as a plant to feed back information regarding the possibility of a merger.

  “Not a word,” he said. “I figure, since he hasn’t shown up at the office since I got back to town, my father must have gotten in touch and told him that his services were no longer needed.”

  “But you’re going ahead with the merger. What if your father won’t agree?”

  “Then I’ll have to reconsider my position here.” He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Times have changed. Are still changing, and fast. Business needs to keep ahead. I know a merger is the right way to go, and I can’t twiddle my thumbs about it. I have to act now. If Hunter Publishing ever goes down, it won’t be because I was a coward and didn’t push forward.”

  So, he was willing to step down from his role at Hunter Publishing? She hoped this stalemate between father and son wouldn’t come to that. And yet she saw in Wynn’s expression now something that told her he wouldn’t back down. Not because he was being stubborn but because he thought he was right. Typical Wynn.

  But what was the alternative? He was convinced his company needed to evolve in order to survive and, hopefully, grow. If he couldn’t make this deal happen—if a drastic change wasn’t made—to his mind, he’d be knowingly committing corporate suicide.

  She shunted those thoughts aside as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

  “So,” he leaned in toward her, “about that unwrapping...”

  Her stomach swooped. He knew very well what day it was. Their agreement had been for her to stay at his place five nights. She’d made plans and, however much it cut her up inside, she needed to stick to them.

  “I’m staying at Rochelle and April’s tonight. We’re putting a new star on their tree.” Her heart squeezed for her sister and niece’s situation. “Trey’s not coming home for Christmas.”

  “Poor kid.” His mouth tightened. “Another marriage bites the dust.”

  Grace understood the attitude, but his tone made her wince. He’d had his heart broken. Hell, Grace had broken someone’s heart, too. But a man and a woman could build a happy life together. If they met at the right time, if they shared similar values, were prepared to commit—if they believed in their love, in their future, marriage could absolutely work out.

  “So, you’re staying at your sister’s place tonight.”

  She nodded. “Flying to Florida tomorrow.”

  To formally resign and make arrangements to sublet her apartment there. In the New Year she would be back in New York and find a new door to hang her speech therapist sign on.

  “But you’ll be spending Christmas with your family, won’t you?” he said as they turned onto Fifth Avenue.

  “I thought I’d fly back up a couple of days beforehand.” And stay—at her parents’ home initially—until she found a place of her own.

  “An invitation came through this morning,” he said. “A Christmas Eve masquerade ball. All monies raised go to the Robin Hood Foundation.”

  Grace knew the charity. She supported their work helping all kinds of people in need. But she couldn’t accept Wynn’s invitation.

  “You go.” He would be generous with his donation either way. “I’ve already let my family know. I’m staying in with them Christmas Eve.”

  “You can change your mind.”

  “No, Wynn. I can’t.”

  He didn’t respond other than to tighten his grip on her hand.

  When they passed a window display featuring a well-dressed snowman, she tried to edge the uneasiness aside. She wanted to enjoy what little time they had left together.

  “Whenever I see a snowman,” she said, “I think of that Christmas in Colorado.”

  When he didn’t reply, she glanced across at him. Preoccupied, he was looking dead ahead. Fitting a smile into her voice, she tried again.

  “You were the snottiest boy I’d ever met. You were always so serious.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “This doesn’t have to end. You and me. Not completely. I could fly down to Florida. You’ll be up here to see family
. And we can always get away again. Maybe to the Bahamas next time.”

  Grace hung her head.

  She’d anticipated this moment. Wynn didn’t want to say goodbye. Not completely. But she didn’t want to risk this affair going on any longer. Every day she felt herself drawn all the more. Breaking off now, for good, was hard. One of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do.

  But how much more difficult would it be if they went on and on until she had to admit to herself, and to Wynn, she wanted more. It might not have started out that way but, ultimately, she would be after a commitment that he couldn’t give.

  He thought they could get away again sometime...

  She tried to keep her tone light. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

  His frown was quickly interrupted by a persuasive smile. “Sure it can.”

  “No, Wynn.” I’m sorry. “It can’t.”

  When he stopped walking, she stopped, too. His gaze had narrowed on hers, as if he were contemplating the best way to convince her. To win. Finally, his chin kicked up and he took her other hand, too.

  “Let’s go home and we’ll talk—”

  “Your apartment isn’t my home, Wynn, it’s yours. I was only a guest.” She hadn’t even unpacked her bags properly.

  “You can come and stay any time you like,” he said.

  “For how long? One month? One year? As long as it’s not permanent, right?”

  Her heart was thumping against her ribs. As she drew her hand from his, his brow creased even more.

  “Where did all that come from?”

  “We had an agreement. We extended it. Now it’s over.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Tell me the alternative.”

  He shrugged. “We go on seeing each other.”

  “When we can. Until it ends.”

  Her throat was aching. She didn’t want to have this discussion. Wynn had been burned—now he was staying the hell away from those flames. His choice. But she had to do what was best for her. She had to protect her heart. She had to get on with her life.

  Her phone rang. Needing a time out, Grace drew her cell from her bag and answered.

  “I wanted you to know,” Rochelle began, sounding concise but also breathy. “It was scary at the time, but everything’s fine now.”

  Grace pushed a finger against her ear to block the noise of nearby traffic as Wynn, hands back in pockets, frowned off into the distance.

  “What was scary?” she asked.

  “April was admitted to the hospital this morning.”

  Grace’s heart dropped. She pressed the phone harder to her ear.

  “What for? What happened?”

  “She was on a play date,” Rochelle said. “Cindy’s mother knew about the allergies. No nuts. Not a hint. Apparently an older sister had a friend over who’d brought some cookies...”

  Rochelle explained that when April had begun to wheeze and complain of a stomachache, the mother had called Rochelle right away. April’s knapsack always carried an epinephrine auto-injector in case of just this kind of emergency. Her niece had spent the next few hours in the E.R. of a local hospital under observation. Sometimes there was a second reaction hours later. Not this time, thank God.

  “We’re at Mom and Dad’s now,” Rochelle finished.

  “I’ll come straight over.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I just wanted you to know.” Rochelle paused. “But if you can make it, I know April would love to see you. Me, too.”

  When Grace disconnected, Wynn’s expression had eased into mild concern. He cupped her cheek.

  “Everything okay?”

  Grace passed on Rochelle’s news. “I need to go and give them both a big hug.”

  Wynn strode to the curb and hailed a cab in record time. But when he opened the back passenger-side door, Grace set a hand on his chest.

  “You don’t need to come,” she said.

  “Of course I’ll come.”

  An avalanche of emotion swelled, poised to crash over the edge. She shook her head. “Please. Don’t.”

  As traffic streamed by one side of them and pedestrians pushed past on the other, Wynn’s gaze probed hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to insist and then she would have to find even more strength to stay firm when all she really wanted to do was surrender and let him comfort her. But that was only delaying the inevitable.

  His look eventually faded beneath a glint of understanding. She could almost feel awareness melt over him, and see the consequences of “what comes next” pop into his head. In his heart, Wynn knew this was best.

  “What about your bags?” he asked.

  “I’ll arrange to have them picked up.”

  “No. I’ll send them on. I’ve got your father’s address.”

  Leaning in through the passenger doorway, he spoke to the driver. “The lady’s in a hurry,” he said before stepping back.

  On suddenly shaky legs, she slid into the cab. Before Wynn could close the door, she angled to peer up at him.

  “I really did have the best time,” she said.

  His jaw flexed and nostrils flared before his shoulders came down and he nodded. “Me, too.”

  And then it was done. The door closed. The cab pulled away from the curb and she rode out of Wynn Hunter’s life for good.

  Fourteen

  The next day, Wynn sat in his office, staring blankly at an email message his father had sent. He’d read it countless times.

  Son, you have my blessing.

  His eyes stinging, Wynn’s focus shifted to the final merger document waiting on his desk. All the i’s were dotted. Every t crossed. Bean counters were happy and public-relations folks were beaming over the positive spin they could generate. In an hour, signatures would be down and the deal would be done.

  Thank God.

  He had his father’s consent, but did he really have his approval? Did Guthrie understand that his son had acted only in the best interests of Hunter Publishing? Of the family? Which brought to mind that other predicament. The issue surrounding his father’s marriage. The question of infidelity. Of trust. And desire.

  He glared at his cell phone and finally broke. A moment later, he was waiting for Grace to pick up. When the phone continued to ring, he thought back and analyzed the situation.

  There was no reason for her to be upset with him. After her niece’s allergic reaction scare, Grace had been told that the little girl was home and fully recovered. Nevertheless, naturally he’d wanted to jump in that cab and keep her company—offer his support.

  Yes, he’d wanted her to come to that charity ball Christmas Eve. If at all possible, he’d wanted her to stay a few more nights. Sure, the vacation was over but he wanted to see her again. Way more than he could have ever imagined. He cared for Grace a great deal.

  Enough to continue to push the point?

  He hadn’t changed his mind about relationships, particularly after pondering the future of his father’s second marriage. And it seemed Grace hadn’t changed her mind about not wanting a serious relationship, either. Yesterday she’d been blunt. They’d had an arrangement. Now it was over. She didn’t want the tie.

  The line connected. Grace said hello.

  “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “Just making sure your niece is okay.”

  “April’s fine. Thank God.”

  He closed his eyes. Just her voice... The withdrawal factor after only twenty-four hours was even worse than he’d thought.

  “Did your bags get to your parents’ address?”

  “Yes. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  A few seconds of silence passed before he asked the question. “So, you’re leaving for Florida today?”

  “On my wa
y to the airport now.”

  Wynn paused to indulge in a vision: him jumping in a cab and cutting her off at the pass. Crazy-ass stuff. Better to simply let her know his thoughts. His—feelings.

  “Wynn, you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I need to pay the driver. I’m at the airport.”

  “Oh. When’s your flight?”

  “Soon.”

  He heard a muffled voice—the driver, Wynn presumed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I really have to go.”

  The line went dead. Wynn dropped the phone from his ear and rewound the brief conversation in his head. Then he stared at that merger contract again. He was about to sit back, rub his brow, when his cell phone chimed. Jerking forward, he snatched it up.

  “Grace?”

  A familiar voice came down the line. “Hey, buddy.”

  Wynn slumped. “Hey, Cole.”

  “Before I start, I want you to know that no one, including Dad, blames you for the fallout from your slip last week.”

  Cold comfort.

  “Where is he with it?” Wynn grunted. “Filing for divorce?”

  “No. He and Eloise have spoken. Are speaking.”

  Well, that was something.

  “I’ll keep you up to date,” Cole said.

  If only he could take it back. Of course, he didn’t condone Eloise’s behavior. He simply hadn’t wanted to be the unwitting messenger, particularly when things in Sydney were crap enough for his father as it was.

  “How’s the investigation going?” Wynn asked.

  “No one’s easing up. Surveillance footage hasn’t turned up any leads. Crime investigation is still tracking down possible links with the device’s components. They’re looking into DNA.”

  “And Brandon?”

  “Everyone’s in his sights, even his own men.”

  Off the job, Brandon Powell exuded a laid-back air, but beneath the cool sat a steely nerve. With his black belt in martial arts, a man would have to be nuts to pick a fight with that guy.