Robyn Grady - One Night, Second Chance

From what I’ve heard,” Grace went on, “Cole was the workaholic, Dex, the playboy. Aren’t you supposed to be the Hunter brother with a conscience?”

“I grew up,” Wynn replied.

“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?”

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

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we still do.”

“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.”

Wynn felt his smile waver before firming back up. “I don’t recall asking.”

“So, that hand sliding toward my behind, pressing me against you … I kind of took that as a hint.”

* * *

One Night, Second Chanceis part of The Hunter Pact series: One powerful family, countless dark secrets

One Night,

Second Chance

Robyn Grady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ROBYN GRADYwas first contracted by Mills & Boon in 2006. Her books feature regularly on bestsellers lists and at award ceremonies, including the National Readers’ Choice Awards, the Booksellers’ Best Awards, CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Awards and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year.

Robyn lives on Australia’s gorgeous Sunshine Coast where she met and married her real-life hero. When she’s not tapping out her next story, she enjoys the challenges of raising three very different daughters, going to the theater, reading on the beach and dreaming about bumping into Stephen King during a month-long Mediterranean cruise.

Robyn knows that writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers! You can keep up with news on her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com.

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This book is dedicated to Holly Brooke.

I’m so very proud of you, baby. Aim for the stars!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Prologue

Turning her back on the wall-to-wall mirror, Grace Munroe unzipped and stepped out of her dress. She slipped off her heels—matching bra and briefs, too—before wrapping herself in a soft, scented towel. But when she reached the bathroom door, a chill rippled through her, pulling her up with a start.

She sucked down a breath—tried to get enough air.

I’m an adult. I want this.

So relax.

Let it go.

A moment later, she entered a room that was awash with the glow from a tall corner lamp. She crossed to the bed, drew back the covers and let the towel drop to her feet. She was slipping between the sheets when a silhouette filled the doorway and a different sensation took hold. She hadn’t been in this kind of situation before—and never would be again. But right now, how she wanted this.

How she wanted him.

Moving forward, he shucked off his shirt, undid his belt. When he curled over her, the tip of his tongue rimmed one nipple and her senses flew into a spin.

His stubble grazed her as he murmured, “I’d like to know your name.”

She didn’t wince—only smiled.

“And I’d like us under this sheet.”

This evening had begun with a walk to clear her thoughts; since returning to New York, she’d been plagued by memories and regrets.

Passing a piano bar, she was drawn by the strains of a baby grand and wandered in to take a seat. A man stopped beside her. Distinctly handsome, he filled out his tailored jacket in a way that turned women’s heads. Still, Grace was ready to flick him off. She hadn’t wanted company tonight.

To her surprise, he only shared an interesting detail about the tune being played before sipping his drink and moving on. But something curious about his smile left its mark on her. She felt a shift beneath her ribs—a pleasant tug—and her thinking did a one-eighty.

Calling him back, she asked if he’d like to join her. Ten minutes. She wasn’t staying long. Slanting his head, he began to introduce himself, but quickly she held up a hand; if it was all the same to him, she’d rather not get into each other’s stories. Each other’s lives. She saw a faint line form between his brows before he agreed with a salute of his glass.

For twenty minutes or so, they each lost themselves in the piano man’s music. At the end of the break, when she roused herself and bid him good-night, her stranger said he ought to leave, too. It seemed natural for them to walk together, discussing songs and sports, and then food and the theater. He was so easy to talk to and laugh with...There was almost something familiar about his smile, his voice. Then they were passing his building and, as if they’d known each other for years, he asked if she’d like to come up. Grace didn’t feel obliged. Nor did she feel uncertain.

Now, in this bedroom with his mouth finding hers, she wasn’t sorry, either. But this experience was so far from her norm. Was it progress or simply escape?

A year ago, she’d been in a relationship. Sam was a decorated firefighter who respected his parents—valued the community. Nothing was too much for his family or friends. He had loved her deeply and, one night, had proposed. Twelve months on, a big part of Grace still felt stuck in that time.

But not right now. Not one bit.

As her stranger’s tongue pushed past her lips, the slow-working rhythm fed a hunger that stretched and yawned up inside of her. When he broke the kiss, rather than wane, the steady beating at her core only grew. She was attracted to this man in a way she couldn’t explain—physically, intellectually...and on a different level, too. She would have liked to see him again. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. This was all about impulse, sexual attraction—a fusion of combustible forces.

A one-night stand.

And that’s how it needed to stay.

One

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Wynn Hunter gave the older man standing beside him a wry grin. “Hate to tell you, but that bridesmaid’s a little young for you.”

“I would hope so.” Brock Munroe’s proud shoulders shucked back. “She’s my daughter.”

Wynn froze; his scalp tingled. Then he remembered to breathe. As his mind wheeled to fit all the pieces together, he swallowed and then pushed out the words. Brock had three daughters. Now it struck Wynn which one this was.

“That’s Grace?”

“All grown up.”

Brock didn’t need to know just how grown up.

Had Wynn suspected the connection three nights ago, he would never have taken her back to his Upper East Side apartment—not so much out of respect for Brock, who was a friend of his father, Australian media mogul and head of Hunter Enterprises Guthrie Hunter, but because Wynn had despised Grace Munroe when they were kids. She’d made his blood boil. His teeth grind.