he headed off, Grace blinked and then eased into a smile. No inviting himself up or flirty innuendoes. Perfect. Except...
If Wynn wasn’t here at her father’s behest, or to test the air for some no-strings-attached sex, that made tonight about a mutually attracted couple who wanted to enjoy some time together. In other words, a date.
Her first in a year.
* * *
“Some like it steamy.” As he walked alongside her, Wynn gave her a puzzled look. Grace indicated a billboard across the street. “There,” she explained. “It’s the name of a new movie.”
Wynn grinned. “Sounds like something my brother would dream up.”
She and Wynn were heading back to the hotel. They’d enjoyed their meal and the show had been fantastic.
During dinner, she’d caught up on all the Hunter news. Apparently Cole and Dex had been at loggerheads for years. When their father had decided to split the company among the kids, workaholic Cole had expected more from Dex than he’d thought Mr. Casual could give. Dex had been happy to get away on his own to California to head Hunter Productions, which, after some challenges, was now doing well. Teagan had got out of the family business altogether. She’d followed brother Dex to the States and had forged a successful health and fitness business in Seattle. Grace decided she really ought to get in touch with her old friend again.
As for the show, the staging had been spectacular and singing amazing; more than once, Grace had had to swallow past the lump in her throat. And Wynn’s company had been as intoxicating as ever. Despite her reservations, she was glad he’d convinced her to go out.
“I know Cole’s getting married,” she said as her attention shifted from the billboard to take in Wynn’s classic profile. “But isn’t Dex engaged, too? I’m sure I saw an announcement somewhere.”
“I get to meet both Dex’s and Cole’s love interests in a couple of weeks. Cole’s wedding’s back home in Sydney.”
In Australia? She remembered wondering about his accent that first night; she’d thought possibly English but hadn’t wanted to get into backgrounds. “A Hunter wedding. Set to be the social event of the season, I bet.”
Grunting, he flipped his jacket’s hem back to slot both hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t count on that.”
The Hunters were wealthy, well connected. When Guthrie had remarried a few years ago, her parents had attended. Grace’s mother had come home gushing over the extravagance of the reception as well as the invitation list—sporting legends, business magnates, some of the biggest names in Hollywood today. But it sounded as if Cole and his bride-to-be might be planning a more private affair.
Grace was about to ask more when a raindrop landed on her nose. She checked out the sky. A second and third raindrop smacked her forehead and her chin. Then the starless sky seemed to split wide apart.
As the deluge hit, Grace yelped. Wynn caught her hand, hauling her out of the downpour and into the cozy alcove of a handy shopfront.
“It’ll pass soon,” he said with an authoritative voice that sounded as if he could command the weather rather than predict it.
With his hair dripping and features cast in soft-edged shadows, he looked so assured. So handsome. Was it possible for a man to be too masculine? Too take-me-now sexy?
As he flicked water from his hands, his focus shifted from the rain onto her. As if he’d read her thoughts, his gaze searched hers before he carefully reached for her cheek. But he only swept away the wet hair that was plastered over her nose, around her chin.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She thought for a moment then feigned a shiver and nodded.
He maneuvered her to stand with her back to him. He held open his silk-lined, wool-blend jacket and cocooned her against a wall of muscle and heat. Heavenly. Then his strong arms folded across her and tugged her in super close.
Surrendering, Grace let her eyes drift shut. She might not want to get involved, but she was human and, damn, this felt good.
His stubble grazed her temple. “Warm now?”
Grinning, she wiggled back against him. “Not yet.”
When his palms flattened against her belly, slowly ironing up before skimming back down, she bit her lip to contain the sigh. Then his hug tightened at the same time his fingers fanned and gradually spread lower. She let her head rock back and rest against his shoulder.
“Better?” he asked against her ear.
“Not yet,” she lied.
“If we keep it up,” he murmured, “we might need to explain ourselves to the police in that patrol car over there.”
“We’re not exactly causing a scene.”
“Not yet.”
He nuzzled down beneath her scarf and dropped a lingering kiss on the side of her throat as one hand coasted higher, over her ribs, coming to rest beneath the slope of her breast. When his thumb brushed her nipple, back and forth three times, she quivered all over.
She felt his chest expand before he turned her around. In the shadows, she caught a certain glimmer in his eyes. Then his gaze zeroed in on her mouth as his grip tightened on her shoulders.
“Grace, precisely how much do you want to heat up?”
Her heartbeat began to race. No denying—they shared a chemistry, a connection, like two magnets meant to lock whenever they crossed paths. She’d had fun this evening. She knew he had, too. And the way he was looking at her now—as if he could eat her...
On a purely primal level, she wanted the flames turned up to high. But if she weakened and slept with Wynn again tonight, how would she feel about herself in the morning? Perhaps simply satisfied. Or would she wish that she’d remembered her earlier stand?
She liked Wynn. She adored the delicious way he made her feel. Still, it was best to put on the brakes.
Sometimes when she thought about Sam, the years they’d spent together, the night 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,
