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