Robyn Grady - One Night, Second Chance

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 and Dex, Guthrie’s second-oldest son, had labeled their father’s second wife a gold digger, and worse. Wynn’s motto had always been Right Is Right. But not everything about Eloise Hunter was black or white. Eloise was, after all, his youngest brother Tate’s mom. With his father’s stalker still on the loose, little Tate didn’t need one ounce more trouble in his life, particularly not nasty gossip concerning one of his parents running around.

Out of all his siblings, Wynn loved Tate the best. There was a time when he’d imagined having a kid just like him one day.

Not anymore.

Wynn felt a tap on his shoulder. A shorter man stood waiting, straightening his bow tie, wearing a stupid grin.

“Mind if I cut in?” the man asked.

Wynn gave a curt smile. “Yeah, I do.”

With pinpricks of light falling over the dance floor in slow motion, Grace tsked as he moved them along. “That wasn’t polite.”

Wynn only smiled.

“He’s a friend,” she explained.

What could he say? Too bad.

She looked at him more closely. “I’m confused. From what I’ve heard, Cole was the workaholic, Dex, the playboy. Aren’t you supposed to be the Hunter brother with a conscience?”

“I grew up.”

“Hardened up.”

“And yet you’re captivated by my charm.”

Her lips twitched. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“So I dreamed that you came home with me three nights ago?”

She didn’t blush. Not even close.

“I was feeling self-indulgent. Guess we connected.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” his head angled closer, “we still do.”

Her hand on his shoulder tightened even as she averted her gaze. “I’ve never been in that kind of situation before.”

He admitted, “Neither have I.”

“I can’t regret the other night.” She let out a breath. “But, I’m not interested in pursuing anything...rekindling any flames. It’s not a good time.”

He felt his smile waver before firming back up.

“I don’t recall asking.”

“So, that hand sliding toward my behind, pressing me in against the ridge in your pants... I kind of took that as a hint.” Her smile was thin. “I’m not after a relationship, Wynn. Not right now. Not of any kind.”

He’d asked her to dance to prove, well, something. Now he wasn’t sure what. Three nights ago, he’d been attracted by her looks. Intrigued by her wit. Drawn by her touch. Frankly, she was right. The way he felt this minute wasn’t a whole lot different from that.

However, Grace Munroe had made her wishes known. On a less primal level, he agreed. At the edge of the dance floor, he released her and stepped away.

“I’ll let you get back to your party.”

A look—was it respect?—faded up in her eyes. “Say hi to Teagan and your brothers for me.”

“Will do.”

Although these days the siblings rarely saw each other. But Cole was set to tie the knot soon with Australian television producer Taryn Quinn, which meant a family gathering complete with wily stepmother, stalked father and, inevitably, questions surrounding the altered state of Wynn’s own personal life.

Until recently, he—not Cole or Dex—had been the brother destined for marriage. Of course, that was before the former love of his life, Heather Matthews, had informed the world that actually, she’d made other plans. When the bomb had hit, he’d slogged through the devastated stage, the angry phase. Now, he was comfortable just cruising along. So comfortable, in fact, he had no desire to ever lay open his heart to anyone again for any reason, sexy Grace Munroe included.

Wynn found the bride and groom, did the right thing and wished them nothing but happiness. On his way out of the room, which was thumping with music now, he bumped into Brock again. Wynn had a feeling it wasn’t by accident.