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“Ah,” he said.
They went to the living room and played with the baby. This had become a ritual...a few moments of normalcy amidst the uncertainty of their sexual connection.
As usual, Felicity held back in the evenings. Wynn was the child’s father. Felicity was only a babysitter.
When Ayla got fussy, Wynn stood to take her to her room. He gave Felicity a measured look. “Don’t disappear,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something.”
After he left the room, Felicity stood and paced. She was terrified of revealing that her feelings were more than physical. As a girl of eighteen, she had loved him. Now, back in his orbit, she understood that no other man would ever measure up.
Where did that leave her?
Finding out that Wynn had been out to dinner with Gretchen tonight had thrown Felicity off her game. It had reminded her that Wynn had many women in his life. How could Felicity ever have the guts to tell him how she felt?
She loved sharing his bed. But she wanted more. She wanted intimacy. Real intimacy. The kind of relationship where two people faced the world as a cohesive unit, bound by love. A couple who shared dreams and fears. And yes, incredible sex.
When Wynn returned, she was no closer to knowing how to handle him. So she chickened out. She told herself she needed more time to weigh the pros and cons of being completely honest about her feelings.
He sat in a chair and sighed, his expression torn. “Do you think she misses her mother?”
“How can I answer that? I’m sure she does. But what do I know about an infant’s brain? You’ve given her love and stability. That’s a lot, Wynn. She’s a lucky little girl.”
“Maybe...”
He made a visible effort to shake off his concerns. “I have a proposition for you,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
Wynn chuckled. “Next Thursday night, one of WynnSpeed’s big marketing partners is holding a holiday party at a restored warehouse in Tribeca. It’s going to be black tie, very glitzy. You and I have dealt with some hard times lately. What would you say to kicking up our heels and having fun?”
The image of Wynn Oliver kicking up his heels didn’t compute. But the thought of going to a party with him—on a date—lifted her spirits.
“I could be persuaded,” she said. “But I might need an afternoon to shop for a dress. I brought mostly casual clothes with me when I came to New York.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “And if you want to run anything by me, I’m sure we can arrange a private fashion showing.”
“Are we talking about sex?” she asked, her nerves humming.
He glanced at the sofa, his grin wry. “It’s pretty much all I think about since you let me tie you up.”
“I didn’t let you do anything,” she said, laughing.
He sobered. “I want to be clear. I’m interested in having your body but it’s far more than that. And to be honest, I’m not sure I like it. I find myself wanting to protect you. That’s not something that happens with other women.”
