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Seven
Felicity had a wonderful day with her friends. The meal at the Plaza. The visit to the Met. So much talking and laughter. They finished off their excursion with dinner at a hole-in-the-wall pizza place.
Yet if she were honest, Wynn was always in the back of her mind. His quick wit. His sexy green eyes and lazy smile. The taste of his firm lips. The feel of his hard, masculine body when he held her close.
She was wading into some very deep water.
Ordinarily, she prided herself on keeping promises and following through on commitments. But what if she had made a big mistake?
By the time she said goodbye to her friends and hailed a cab, she had worked herself into a tizzy. If she was going to quit, she needed to do it now, before she lost her nerve.
Or before she ended up in Wynn’s bed.
The baby was asleep when she let herself into the apartment. Wynn was in the living room, sprawled in a chair, doing something on his iPad.
He looked up and gave her a terse smile. “Nice day?”
“Very.” She dropped her bag in a chair and shed her coat and shoes. “How were things here?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure. Ayla was fussy. And she ran a fever this evening. I may have to take her to the pediatrician in the morning.”
“Oh.” Felicity’s heart sank. This would be a bad time for her rehearsed speech. “It could be teething,” she said. “I bought a baby book when I got here. I’ve been reading a couple of chapters each night. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for little ones to be feverish when a new tooth is about to break through the gum. But there are remedies we can try.”
Wynn stood and stretched. “You bought a book? And studied it?”
“Yes. Why are you surprised?”
“Not surprised. But it means I chose the exact right person to take care of Ayla.”
“Lots of people can look after children,” she said, laying the groundwork for her change of heart. “It’s not so much a matter of skill as it is common sense and kindness.”
“Maybe so, but I’m still damned grateful you were willing to love and protect Shandy’s daughter.”
Not fair. If Wynn was going to drag the dearly departed into the equation, how was Felicity supposed to walk away?
“I saw the picture you posted on Instagram this afternoon,” Wynn said. “Very chummy.”
The sudden change in topic caught Felicity off guard, but not as much as finding out that Wynn had an Instagram account. She cocked her head and studied him to see if an alien had inhabited his body.
“You’re active on social media?” she asked, trying to make sense of that. It wouldn’t compute.
Wynn shrugged. “I wouldn’t say active, but yes. I have all the usual accounts. It’s a necessity for business these days.”
“Right...” She wasn’t buying it. “What picture are you talking about?”
“The one with two hot guys flanking you, each with an arm around your waist.”
Felicity grabbed her phone and pulled up the post in question, trying to look at it from Wynn’s perspective.
Reagan was standing in the left of the frame, laughing, a small distance from the other three. Paul and Rico were hamming it up, leaning their heads on Felicity’s shoulders and hugging her.
Their waiter at the Plaza had taken the photo.
“You have a problem with the picture?” she asked, feeling her temper simmer.
“I didn’t know your pool of male admirers was quite so large...or so varied.”
“It’s two men, Wynn. Longtime friends. I was happy to see them.”
