that he had died—it all seemed like a lifetime ago and yet still so “now.” Before she could truly move forward and think about starting something new, she needed to make sense of what had come before.
The loss.
Her guilt.
Lowering her gaze, Grace turned to face the street. The display featured in the shop window next to them caught her eye. They were sheltering from the rain in a bookshop doorway. The perfect in for a change of subject.
“Does Hunter Publishing own bookstores?” she asked.
Wynn combed long fingers back through his hair then shook out the moisture as if trying to shake off his steamier thoughts.
“We handle magazines and newspapers,” he told her, “not novels.”
“Everyone’s supposed to have at least one story in them,” she murmured, thinking aloud.
She certainly had one. Nothing she wanted professionally published, of course. But she knew that committing unresolved feelings to paper could be therapeutic.
“Have you got a flight booked back home?” he asked as the rain continued to fall.
“Actually I was thinking of taking a little more time off.”
Hands in his pockets, Wynn leaned back against the shop door. “How much time?”
“A couple of weeks.” Another experienced therapist had just started with the practice. Grace’s boss had said, although she was relatively new, if she needed a bit more time off, it shouldn’t be a problem.
His eyes narrowed as he gave her a cryptic grin. “You should come to Cole’s wedding with me.”
She blinked twice. “You’re not serious.”
“I am serious.”
“You want me to jump on a plane and travel halfway around the world with you, just like that?” She pulled a face. “That’s crazy.”
“Not crazy. You know all the old crowd. I already told my brothers that we caught up.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Exactly how much had he told them? “What did they say?” she asked.
“They said you had a crush on me when you were six.”
“When you were such a dweeb?”
“I was focused.”
She teased, “Focused, but clumsy.”
She could attest to the fact that he’d outgrown the clumsy phase.
“Cole suggested it earlier today. I brushed it off, but after tonight...” He pushed off from the door and stood up straight. “It’ll be fun.”
The idea of catching up with his family was certainly tempting. After that Christmas, she and Teagan had been pen pals for a long while. Then Tea had that accident and was in and out of hospital with a string of surgeries. Tea’s letters had dwindled to the point where they’d finally lost touch.
But foremost a trip to Australia would mean spending loads of time with Wynn, which didn’t add up to slowing things down or giving herself the time she still needed to work through and accept her past with Sam.
She waved the suggestion off. “You don’t need me.”
“That’s right. I want you.”
Such a simple yet complicated statement—it took her aback.
She tried to make light. “You must have a mile-long list of women to choose from.”
His brows knitted. “You have that wrong. Dex was the playboy. Never me.”
When a group of boisterous women walked by the alcove, he stepped forward to gauge the prewinter night sky.
“Rain’s stopped,” he said. “Let’s go before we get caught again.”
* * *
As they walked side by side past puddles shimmering with light from the neon signs and streetlamps, Wynn thought back.
By age ten, he’d had a handle on the concept of delayed gratification. If he needed the blue ribbon in swim squad, he put in time at the pool. If he wanted to win his father’s approval, he studied until he excelled. Reward for effort was the motto upon which he’d built his life, professional as well as private.
Then Heather had walked away and that particular view on life had changed.
On the night he and Grace had met again, Wynn had seen what he’d wanted and decided simply to take it. A few minutes ago, with her bundled against him in those shadows, the same thousand-volt arc had crackled between them. For however long it lasted, he wanted to enjoy it. More than gut said Grace wanted that, too, even if she seemed conflicted.
Hell, if she had time off, why not come to Australia? He could show her some sights. They could share a few laughs. No one needed to get all heavy and “forever” about it. He wasn’t out to replace her ex. He understood certain scars didn’t heal.
Maybe it would make a difference if he let her know that.
“Should we have a nightcap?” he asked as they entered the relative quiet of her hotel lobby a few minutes later. “I found a nice spot in that lounge earlier. No piano though.”
She continued on, heading for the elevators. “I have to get up early.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Wynn adjusted his plan. He’d say his piece when he said good-night at her door. At the elevators, however, she cut down that idea, too.
“It’s been a great night,” she said, after he’d hit the Up key. “But I think I’ll say good-night here.”
He was forming words to reply when he heard a woman’s laugh—throaty, familiar. All the muscles in his stomach clenched tight a second before he tracked down the source. Engaged in conversation with a jet-set rock’n’roll type, Heather Matthews was strolling across a nearby stretch of marble tiles.
Wynn’s heart dropped.
Over eight million people and New York could still be a freaking small world.
At the same time his ex glanced in his direction, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. He shepherded Grace inside and stabbed a button. As the doors closed, the ice in his blood began to thaw and the space between collar and neck started to steam. It took a moment before he realized Grace was studying him.
“Inviting yourself up?” she drawled.
“I’ll say good-night at the door.”
“Because of that woman you want to avoid?” She hit a floor key. “Want to tell me who she is?”
His jaw clenched. “Not particularly.”
She didn’t probe, which he appreciated. Except, maybe
