One Night, Second Chance. Robyn Grady

sleeve and craned to brush a kiss on his cheek. Then she turned her attention toward Wynn. With her head at an angle, her wheat-gold hair cascaded to one side. Wynn recalled the feel of that hair beneath his fingers. The firm slide of his skin over hers.

      “I see you’ve found a friend,” she said loud enough to be heard over the music.

      Brock gave a cryptic smile. “You’ve met before.”

      Her focus on Wynn now, Grace’s let’s-keep-a-secret mask held up. “Really?”

      “This is Wynn,” her father said. “Guthrie Hunter’s third boy.”

      Her entrancing eyes—a similar hue to her hair—blinked twice.

      “Wynn?” she croaked. “Wynn Hunter?”

      “We were reminiscing,” Brock said, setting his empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “Remembering the time we all spent Christmas together in Colorado.”

      “That was a long time ago.” Gathering herself, Grace pegged out one shapely leg and arched a teasing brow. “I don’t suppose you build snowmen anymore?”

      Wynn deadpanned. “Way too dangerous.”

      “Dangerous...” Her puzzled look cleared up after a moment. “Oh, I remember. You were out in the yard with your brothers that Christmas morning. You hit your head.”

      He rubbed the ridge near his temple. “Never did thank you for the scar.”

      “Why would you do that?”

      Seriously?

      “You tripped me.”

      “The way I recall it, you fell over your laces. You were always doing that.”

      When Wynn opened his mouth to disagree—six-year-old Grace had stuck out her boot, plain and simple—Brock stepped in.

      “Grace has been friends with the bride since grade school,” the older man offered.

      “Jason and I were at university together in Sydney,” Wynn replied, still wanting to set straight that other point.

      “Linley and Jason have been a couple for three years,” Grace said. “I’ve never heard either one mention you.”

      “We lost touch.” Wynn added, “I didn’t expect an invitation.”

      “Seems the world is full of surprises.”

      While Wynn held Grace’s wry look, Brock picked up a less complicated thread.

      “Wynn runs the print arm of Hunter Enterprises here in New York now.” He asked Wynn, “Is Cole still in charge of your broadcasting wing in Australia?”

      Wynn nodded. “Although he stepped back a bit. He’s getting married.”

      “Cole was always so committed to the company. A workaholic, like his dad.” Brock chuckled fondly. “Glad he’s settling down. Just goes to show—there’s someone for everyone.”

      It seemed that before he could catch himself, Brock slid a hesitant look his daughter’s way. Grace’s gaze immediately dropped. He made a point of evaluating the room before sending a friendly salute over to a circle of friends nearby.

      “I see the Dilshans. Should go catch up.” Brock kissed his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted.”

      As Brock left, Wynn decided to let them both off the hook. As much as this meeting was awkward, their interactions three nights ago had felt remarkably right. Details of that time had also been private and, as far as he was concerned, would remain that way.

      “Don’t worry,” he said, tipping a fraction closer. “I won’t let on that you and I were already reintroduced.”

      She looked amused. “I didn’t think you’d blurt out the fact that we picked each other up at a bar.”

      She really didn’t pull any punches.

      “Still don’t want to get into each other’s stories?” he asked.

      “As it turns out, we already know each other, remember?”

      “I didn’t mean twenty years ago. I’m talking about now.”

      Her grin froze before she lifted her chin and replied. “Probably best that we don’t.”

      He remembered her father’s comment about there being a person for everyone and Grace’s reaction. He recalled how she’d wanted to keep their conversation superficial that night. His bet? Grace Munroe had secrets.

      None of his business. Hell, he had enough crap of his own going down in his life. Still, before they parted again, he was determined to clear something up.

      “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Did you have any idea who I was that night?”

      She laughed. “There, see? You do have a sense of humor.”

      As she turned away, he reached and caught her wrist. An electric bolt shot up his arm as her hair flared out and her focus snapped back around. She almost looked frightened. Not his intention at all.

      “Dance with me,” he said.

      Those honeyed eyes widened before she tilted her chin again. “I don’t think so.”

      “You don’t want the chance to trip me up again?”

      She grinned. “Admit it. You were a clumsy kid.”

      “You were a brat.”

      “Be careful.” She eyed the fingers circling her wrist. “You’ll catch girl germs.”

      “I’m immune.”

      “Don’t be so sure.”

      “Trust me. I’m sure.”

      He shepherded her toward the dance floor. A moment later, when he took her in his arms, Wynn had to admit that though he’d never liked little Gracie Munroe, he sure approved of the way this older version fit so well against him. Surrounded by other couples, he studied her exquisite but indolent face before pressing his palm firmly against the small of her back.

      Dancing her around in a tight, intimate circle, he asked, “How you holding up?”

      “Not nauseous...yet.”

      “No driving desire to curl your ankle around the back of mine and push?”

      “I’ll keep you informed.”

      He surrendered a grin. He just bet she would.

      “Where’s your mother tonight?”

      Her cheeky smile faded. “Staying with my grandmother. She hasn’t been well.”

      “Nothing serious, I hope.”

      “Pining. My grandfather passed away not long ago. He was Nan’s rock.” Her look softened more. “I remember my parents going to your mother’s funeral a few years back.”

      His stomach gave a kick. Even now, memories of his father failing due to lack of sleep from his immeasurable loss left a lump in Wynn’s throat the size of an egg. The word saint had been tailor-made for his mom. She would never be forgotten. Would always be missed.

      But life had gone on.

      “My father married again.”

      She nodded, and he remembered her parents had attended the wedding. “Is he happy?”

      “I suppose.”

      A frown pinched her brow as she searched his eyes. “You’re not convinced.”

      “My stepmother was one of my mother’s best friend’s daughters.”

      “Wow. Sounds complicated.”

      That was one way to put it.

      Cole