One Night, Second Chance. Robyn Grady
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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