Kitabı oku: «Mills & Boon Introduces: What Lies Beneath / Soldier, Father, Husband? / The Seven-Day Target»

Mills & Boon Introduces

What Lies Beneath

Andrea Laurence

Soldier, Father, Husband?

Soraya Lane

The Seven-Day Target

Natalie Charles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

What Lies Beneath

Andrea Laurence

Dear Reader,

You have no idea how long I’ve waited to write this letter to you, because it means that you’re reading my very first book! The past year has been a life-changing whirlwind culminating in the pages you’re holding in your hand. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

You get only one first book, and I’m thrilled that mine is Adrienne and Will’s story. Some books are easier to write than others, and from the first moment this story popped into my head—oddly enough at 5:30 in the morning while I worked out on an elliptical machine at the gym—it was a joy to work on. The characters immediately came to life, and the words just flowed. From the beginning, I knew this special story would be ‘the one.’

I can’t wait for you to read Adrienne and Will’s story and all the books that follow it. If you enjoy it, tell me by visiting my website at www.andrealaurence.com, like my fan page on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter. I’d love to hear from my readers! (*Wow, I have readers.*)

Enjoy!

Andrea

About the Author

ANDREA LAURENCE has been a lover of reading and writing stories since she learned her ABCs. She always dreamed of seeing her work in print and is thrilled to finally be able to share her books with the world. A dedicated West Coast girl transplanted into the Deep South, she’s working on her own ‘happily ever after’ with her boyfriend and their collection of animals that shed like nobody’s business.

You can contact Andrea at her website, www.andrealaurence.com.

I’ve spent weeks trying to decide who to dedicate my first book to. It’s not as easy as you think, especially when you have so many wonderful, supportive people in your life.

There will be more books and more dedications, but this book would simply not exist without—

My Mother, Meg

For telling me my whole life that

I could do anything I put my mind to, and believing it.

My Boyfriend, Jason

For watching motocross and football with his headset on so I can write, and thinking chili dogs and takeout are better than a gourmet, four-course meal cooked at home.

And the Playfriends—Kira Sinclair, Kimberly Lang,

Dani Wade and Marilyn Puett

For reading countless manuscript drafts, correcting my grammatical shortcomings, plotting in hot tubs and believing in me all those times I didn’t believe in myself.

Prologue

“I am never taking this airline again. Do you know how much I paid for this ticket? Absolutely ridiculous!”

The sharp shriek of a woman’s voice attacked Adrienne’s ears the moment she stepped onto the plane and rounded the corner to first class. The woman sounded like she felt—although Adrienne was furious with herself, not a helpless flight attendant. She was going home a failure, but she had no one else to blame.

Her aunt told her that taking her father’s life-insurance money to start a fashion-design company in Manhattan was a stupid, reckless thing to do. She’d be back in Milwaukee and broke within a year, she insisted.

At least her aunt wasn’t right on all accounts. It had been nearly three years since she left. Adrienne had some moderate success, a few dedicated customers, but in the end, the cost of keeping afloat in New York City was more than she could take without a big break, and it never came.

Adrienne looked down at her boarding pass and started eyeing the seat numbers for 14B as the line finally began to move. As she moved closer, she came to the horrible realization that the screamer was going to be her seatmate for the flight. The woman had finally calmed down, but she didn’t look happy. Adrienne grabbed her book, stowed her bag in the overhead compartment and quickly took her seat, avoiding eye contact.

“I can’t believe I got bumped from first class by a group of Japanese businessmen and crammed into the window seat. I can barely move my arms.”

This was going to be the longest two hours of Adrienne’s life. “Would you like to trade seats?” she asked. It was the one thing she could offer to save herself. As much as she would love to shove the woman up to first class, there were no seats unless she was amenable to sitting in the pilot’s lap.

The little concession made a huge difference. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” The woman’s expression instantly softened and Adrienne could finally appreciate how attractive she was. A bad temper did little for her appearance. She smiled wide, revealing perfect white teeth and full lips, and for a moment she reminded Adrienne of her mother. They looked a lot alike, with long, straight, shiny dark brown hair and bright green eyes. She could be Adrienne’s attractive, put-together older sister, really. Her suit was expensive and impeccably tailored. Her shoes were this season’s hottest Jimmy Choos.

Adrienne suppressed a sudden pang of jealousy. This woman was better suited to be the beautiful and fabulous Miriam Lockhart’s only daughter. Adrienne inherited her mother’s fondness for fashion and skill with a sewing machine, but physically, she had more of her father in her, with his untamable kink to her hair and crooked teeth she couldn’t afford to fix.

Adrienne undid her seat belt and stepped into the aisle to trade seats. She didn’t mind the window, and to be honest, she should have a good view of New York City as it slipped away with her dreams.

“My name is Cynthia Dempsey,” the woman said as she sat down.

Adrienne was surprised, figuring the woman would dismiss her once she’d gotten her way. Slipping her book into the seat-back pocket, she returned the smile, hoping the woman didn’t notice her crooked teeth the way she’d noticed her perfect ones. “Adrienne Lockhart.”

“That is a great name. It would look fantastic on a billboard in Times Square.”

Or on a fashion label. “I’m not meant for the spotlight, but thank you.”

Cynthia settled in, fidgeting with a large diamond engagement ring on her finger as they started to pull away from the concourse. Her fingers were so thin, and the band too large, that the massive jewel seemed to overwhelm her.

“Are you getting married soon?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, sighing, but her face didn’t light up the way it should. She leaned in more like she was sharing gossip, as though her wedding would be the talk of the town. “I’m marrying William Taylor the Third at the Plaza next May. His family owns the Daily Observer.”

That said it all. It would be the talk of the town. Adrienne was sitting three inches from the woman, but it might as well have been miles. She would probably spend more on her wedding than Adrienne had inherited when her father died. “Who’s doing your dress?” The only common ground they could share was fashion, so Adrienne steered the conversation that direction.

“Badgley Mischka.”

“I love their work. I actually interned with them for a summer in college, but I prefer daily wear that appeals to the modern working woman. Sportswear. Separates.”

“Are you in the fashion industry?”

Adrienne winced. “I was. I had a small boutique in SoHo for a few years, but I had to close it recently.”

“Where would I have seen your work?”

Turning in her seat, she gestured to the gray-and-pink blouse she was wearing. It had an unusual angled collar and stitching details that made it distinctively hers. “Since I’m out of business, this is your last chance to see an Adrienne Lockhart design.”

“That’s a shame.” Cynthia frowned. “I love that top, and my friends would, too. I guess we just don’t make it downtown often enough.”

Three years Adrienne had worked, struggling to get her pieces out there. Sending samples to stylists in the hopes that something would make it into a magazine. Wearing her clothes out at every opportunity to catch the eye of someone with influence. It was just her luck that she would meet that person on the plane home.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are next for takeoff. Flight attendants, please prepare for departure and cross-check.”

Adrienne sat back and closed her eyes as the plane taxied. She hated to fly. Hated turbulence. Hated the feeling in her stomach when she took off and landed. She went through a reassurance ritual each time, telling herself cabs were much more dangerous, but it didn’t help.

The engines roared loudly as the plane started speeding down the runway. Adrienne opened her eyes for just a second and saw Cynthia nervously spinning her engagement ring again. She didn’t seem to like flying either. That made Adrienne feel a little better about her own fears.

The wheels lifted off, the plane shuddering as the air current surged them upward. The slight shake was enough for Cynthia’s elbow to slip from the armrest, sending her ring flying. It fell to the floor between their feet, disappearing several rows behind them as the plane tipped into the air.

“Oh, hell,” Cynthia complained, looking around her.

This was the absolute worst time for it to happen. Adrienne was about to say something reassuring when a loud boom sent all thoughts of missing rings from her mind. The plane shook violently and pitched downward. Adrienne looked frantically out the window. They weren’t that far off the ground yet.

She clutched the arms of her seat and closed her eyes, ignoring the groans of the equipment and the screams of the people around her. The pilot came on to announce an emergency landing, the edge of nerves in his voice. It made Adrienne wish she’d paid more attention to the safety briefing instead of talking to Cynthia. Networking with dead people was pointless.

Doing what she could remember, Adrienne leaned forward, rested her head between her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as another loud boom sounded, the lights went out in the cabin and the plane lurched.

There was nothing left to do but pray.

One

Four weeks later

“Cynthia?”

The voice cut through the fog, rousing her from the grips of the protective sleep her body insisted on. She wanted to tell the voice to go away, that she was happier asleep and oblivious to the pain, but it insisted she wake up.

“Cynthia, Will is here.”

There was something nagging at her brain, a niggling sensation that made her frown with confusion every time someone said her name. It was like a butterfly that would sit on her shoulder for a moment, then flitter away before she could catch it.

“Maybe I should come by later. She needs her rest.” The man’s deep voice pulled her closer to consciousness, her body responding to him against its will. Since she’d first heard it, he’d had that power over her.

“No, she’s just napping. They want her up and moving around, engaged in conversations.”

“What’s the point? She doesn’t know who any of us are.”

“They said her memory could come back at any time.” The woman’s voice sounded a touch distraught at his blunt observation. “Talking to her is the best thing we can do to help. I know it’s difficult, but we all have to try. Cynthia, dear, please wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open as she reached the surface of consciousness. It took a moment for everything to come into focus. First there were the overhead hospital lights, then the face of the older woman that hovered above her. Who was she again? She dug through the murky recesses of her brain for the answer. They told her she was her mother, Pauline Dempsey. It was discouraging when even the woman that gave her life barely registered in her brain.

That said, she looked lovely today. Her dark hair was nicely styled. She must’ve been to the salon, because the strands of gray were gone and it swung lightly, as though it had been trimmed. She had a silk scarf tied around her neck with flowers that matched the blue in her pants suit and the green in her eyes. Wanting to reach up and adjust the scarf, she was thwarted by the sling protecting her broken arm. Just the slightest change would’ve made it much more flattering and modern, although she didn’t know why she thought so. Amnesia was a strange companion.

“Will is here, dear.”

The worry slipped from her mind as Pauline pressed the button to raise the head of the hospital bed. Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair and tucked it behind her ears, readjusting her sling to make her heavy, casted arm more comfortable.

Sitting up, she was able to see Will seated at the foot of her bed. They said he was her fiancé. Looking at the handsome, well-dressed man beside her, she found that very hard to believe. His light brown hair was short but long enough on the top for him to run his fingers through it. His features were aristocratic and angular, except for the full lips she found herself watching while he talked. His eyes were blue, but she didn’t know exactly what shade because she avoided looking him in the eye for long. It was uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the lack of emotion in them. Or the way he scrutinized her with his gaze.

She knew absolutely nothing at all, didn’t even know what she didn’t know, but she had managed in the past few weeks to realize that her fiancé didn’t seem to like her at all. He always lingered in the background, watching her with a furrowed brow. When he didn’t appear suspicious or confused by the things she said or did, he seemed indifferent to her and her condition. The thought was enough to make her want to cry, but she didn’t dare. The moment she got agitated, nurses would run in and give her something to numb everything, including her heart.

Instead she focused on his clothes. She found she enjoyed looking at everyone’s different outfits and how they put them together. He was in his usual suit. Today it was a dark, charcoal gray with a blue dress shirt and diamond-patterned tie. He ran a newspaper and could only visit during lunch break or right after work, unless he had meetings. And he had a lot of meetings.

That or he just didn’t care to visit her and it was a convenient excuse.

“Hello, Will,” she managed, although it didn’t come out quite the way she wanted. The multiple surgeries they’d done on her face went well, but there was more healing still to go. The accident had knocked out all her front teeth. They’d implanted new ones, but they felt alien in her mouth. Even after all the stitches were removed and the swelling had gone down, she had a hard time talking with the large, white veneers. And when she did say anything, she sounded like she’d swallowed a frog from the smoke and heat that had seared her throat.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Pauline said. “Would you like some coffee from the cafeteria, Will?” “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

Her mother slipped out the door, leaving them in the large, private hospital room reserved for VIP patients. Apparently she was a VIP, because her family had made a large donation to the hospital several years back. At least that’s what she was told.

“How are you feeling today, Cynthia?”

Realizing she wasn’t sure, she stopped to take a personal inventory. Her face still ached and her arm throbbed, but overall she didn’t feel too bad. Not nearly in as much pain as when she’d first woken up. If they’d told her she’d been locked inside a giant dryer, tumbling around for three days, she’d have believed them. Every inch of her body, from the roots of her hair to her toenails, had ached. She could barely talk or see because her face was swollen so badly. She’d come a long way in the past few weeks. “Pretty good today, thank you. How are you?”

Will frowned slightly at her but quickly wiped the expression away. “I’m well. Busy, as usual.”

“You look tired.” And he did. She didn’t know what he looked like normally, but she’d noticed that the dark smudges and lines around his eyes had deepened each time she saw him. “Are you sleeping well?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess not. It’s been a stressful month.”

“You need some of this,” she said, tugging on the tube that led to her IV. “You’ll sleep like a baby for sixteen hours, whether you want to or not.”

Will smiled and it pleased her. She wasn’t sure if she’d seen him smile since she came to, but it was enough of a tease that now she wanted to hear him laugh. She wondered if he had a deep, throaty laugh. The suited man looking at her oozed a confidence and sexuality that even a sterile hospital couldn’t dampen. Certainly his laugh would be as sexy as he was.

“I bet.” He glanced down, looking slightly uncomfortable.

She never knew what to say to him. She was constantly being visited by friends and family, all of whom she’d swear she’d never seen in her whole life, but none of those chats were as awkward as talking to Will. She’d hoped it would get easier, but it just didn’t. The nicer she was to him, the more resistant he seemed, almost like he didn’t expect her to be civil.

“I have something for you.”

She perked up in her bed, his sudden announcement unexpected. “Really?”

Her room had been flooded with gifts early on. It seemed like every flower and balloon in Manhattan had found its way to Cynthia’s hospital room. Since then, the occasional arrangement came in from family or even strangers who heard about her story on the news. Being one of three survivors of a plane crash was quite newsworthy.

Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “The airline called earlier this week. They’ve been sifting through the wreckage, trying to identify what they can, and they found this. They traced the laser-etched serial number on the diamond back to me.”

He opened up the box to reveal an enormous diamond ring. Part of her wanted to believe it was a well-made costume piece, but after what she’d seen of her family and their large, plentiful and authentic jewelry, she knew it was breathtakingly real.

“It’s beautiful.”

Will frowned. Apparently that was the wrong response. “It’s your engagement ring.”

She almost laughed, but then she noticed the serious look on his face. Owning a ring like that seemed preposterous. “Mine?” She watched as Will gently slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. It was a little snug, but with that arm broken and surgically pinned, her fingers were swollen. She looked down to admire the ring and was pleased to find there was a vague familiarity about it. “I do feel like I’ve seen this ring before,” she said. The doctors had encouraged her to speak up anytime something resonated with her.

“That’s good. It’s one of a kind, so if it feels familiar, you’ve seen it before. I took it to be cleaned, had the setting checked to make sure nothing was loose, but I wanted to bring it back to you today. I’m not surprised you lost it in the accident. All that dieting for the wedding had made it too loose.”

“And now it’s too small and I look like I’m the loser of a boxing match,” she said with a pout that sent a dull pain across her cheek. It didn’t hurt as much as her pride. She had no idea what her wedding dress looked like, but she was certain that if she’d thought she looked better in it thin, the swelling wouldn’t help.

“Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of time. It’s only October. May is a long way off, and you’ll be fully recovered by then.”

“May at the Plaza.” She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that much.

“It’s slowly coming back,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite go to his eyes. Standing, he slipped the ring box back into his pocket. “I’m having dinner with Alex tonight, so I’d better get going.”

She remembered Alex from his visit the week before. He was Will’s friend from school and quite the flirt. Even looking like she did, he told her she was beautiful and how he’d steal her away if she wasn’t Will’s fiancée. It was crap, but she appreciated the effort. “You two have fun. I believe we’re having rubber chicken and rice tonight.”

At that, Will chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached out to pat her hand reassuringly.

The moment he touched her, she felt a familiar shiver run down her spine. Every single overworked nerve ending in her body lit up with awareness instead of pain. Her chest tightened, her hand involuntarily gripping his to maintain the connection it craved.

His touches, however brief or fleeting, were better than any morphine drip. Just the brush of his fingers against her skin made her feel alive and tingly in a way totally inappropriate for someone in her present condition. It had been that way since the first time he’d pressed a soft kiss against the back of her hand. She might not know him by sight, but her body certainly recognized her lover. The pleasurable current cut through everything—the pain, the medication, the confusion.

If only she reacted that way to a man who liked her. The thought was like a pin that popped the momentary bubble that protected her from everything else in her life that was going wrong.

Will looked at his hand, then at her with a curiosity that made her wonder if he were feeling the same thing. She noticed then that his eyes were a light blue-gray. They were soft and welcoming for a moment, an inner heat thawing his indifference, and then a beep from the phone at his hip distracted him and he pulled away. With every inch that grew between them, the ache of emptiness in her gut grew stronger.

“Good night, Cynthia,” he said, slipping through the door.

With him gone, the suite once again became as cold and sterile as any other hospital room and she felt more alone than ever.

Alex sat sipping his drink on the other side of the table. He’d been quiet through the first two courses. Will always appreciated his friend’s ability to enjoy silence and not force a conversation to fill space. He understood that Will had a lot on his mind, and letting him get through a glass of Scotch would make the discussion easier.

He’d asked Alex to join him for dinner because he needed to talk to someone who would be honest. Most people just told him what he wanted to hear. Alex was one of the few people he knew with more money than he had and who wasn’t inclined to blow smoke up his ass. He was a notorious playboy and typically not the first person Will went to for romantic advice, but he knew Alex wouldn’t pull any punches when he asked for his opinion on what he should do about Cynthia.

What a mess their relationship had become. To think that a few short weeks ago, he didn’t believe it could get any worse. It was like daring God to strike him…

“So, how’s Cynthia faring?” Alex finally asked once their entrées arrived, forcing Will out of his own head.

“Better. She’s healing up nicely but still doesn’t remember anything.”

“Including the fight?”

“Especially the fight.” Will sighed.

Before Cynthia had left for Chicago, Will had confronted her with evidence of an affair and broke off the engagement. She’d insisted they could talk things through once she got back, but he wasn’t interested. He was done with her. He’d been on the phone with his real estate agent when the call came in that Cynthia’s plane had crashed. When she woke up with no memory, he wasn’t sure what to do. Continuing with his plan to leave seemed cruel at that point. He needed to see her through her recovery, but he would leave as planned when she was back on her feet.

At least that was the original idea. Since then…the situation had gotten confusing. This was why Alex was here. He could help him sort things out before he made it worse.

“Have you told her yet? Or should I say again?”

“No, I haven’t. I think once she’s discharged, we’ll talk. We’re rarely alone at the hospital, and I don’t want her parents getting involved.”

“I take it she isn’t back to being the frigid shrew we all know and love?”

Will shook his head. Part of him wished she was. Then he could walk away without a pang of guilt after her recovery. But she was an entirely different woman since the accident. He’d had a hard time adjusting to the changes in her, always waiting for Cynthia to start barking orders or criticize the hospital staff. But she never did. He made a point of visiting her every day, but despite how hard he fought it, Will found he enjoyed the visits more and more. “It’s like she’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person.”

“I have to admit she was quite pleasant when I came by the other day.” Alex put a bit of filet mignon in his mouth.

“Yeah, I know. Every time I visit her, I just sit back and watch in disbelief as she asks people how they are and thanks everyone for visiting or bringing her things. She’s sweet, thoughtful, funny…and absolutely nothing like the woman who left for Chicago.”

Alex leaned in, his brow furrowed. “You’re smiling when you talk about her. Things really have changed. You like her,” he accused.

“What is this, prep school again? Yes, she is a more pleasant person and I enjoy being around her in a way I never have before. But the doctors say her amnesia is probably temporary. In the blink of an eye, she could be back to normal. I refuse to get reinvested only to end up where I started.”

“Probably temporary can mean possibly permanent. Maybe she’ll stay this way.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Will said with a shake of his head. It was just like Alex to encourage him to make a risky move. “She may not remember what she did, but I do. I can never trust her again, and that means we’re through.”

“Or this could be your second chance. If she really is a different person, treat her like one. Don’t hold a past she doesn’t even remember against her. You could miss out on something great.”

His friend turned his attention back to his steak, leaving Will alone with his thoughts. Alex said the words he’d been afraid to let himself even think. Being with Cynthia was like meeting a woman for the first time. He found himself rushing from the office to visit her or thinking about how she was while he needed to concentrate on the front page flash for the Observer. And today…he’d felt an undeniable sizzle of awareness when they’d touched. He’d never had that intense a reaction to her before. He didn’t know if it was the fright of nearly losing her for good or her personality change, but there was a part of him that wanted to take Alex’s advice.

Of course, Alex didn’t keep a woman long enough for the relationship to sour. It might not seem like it now, but the old Cynthia was still lurking inside her. That woman was miserable and unfaithful and stomped on his feelings with her expensive stiletto heels. Will had broken it off with her, and he had no doubt she’d be back before long. He wasn’t going to lose his heart, freedom or any more years of his life to this relationship.

The doctors said she could probably go home soon. He was certain Pauline and George would want her back at their estate, but Will was going to insist she return to their penthouse so he could care for her. Having her at home was the natural choice. It was closer to the doctor, and being around her own things would be good for her.

And if it jogged her memory and she went back to normal? It would save him the trouble of breaking up with her a second time.

“Would you like to trade seats?”

The words floated in her brain, her dreams mixing reality and fantasy with a dash of pain medication to really confuse things.

“My name is Cynthia Dempsey.”

The words made her frown even in her sleep. Cynthia Dempsey. She wished they would stop calling her that. But she also didn’t know what she’d rather have people call her. If she wasn’t Cynthia Dempsey, shouldn’t she know who she really was?

And she did. The name was on the tip of her tongue.

The boom of an engine bursting into flames dashed the name from her mind. Then there was only the horrible, sickening feeling of falling from the sky.

“No!”

She shot up in bed, hurting about a half dozen parts of her body in the process. Her heart was racing, her breath quick in her throat. The nearby bed monitor started beeping, and before she could gather her composure, one of the night shift nurses came in.

“How are we, Miss Dempsey?”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, the confusion of sleep removing the buffer that edited what she shouldn’t say.

“Okay. Cynthia. Are you all right?”

She saw it was her favorite nurse, Gwen, when she reached over and turned on the small light above her bed. Gwen was a tiny Southern girl with naturally curly ash-blond hair and a positive but no-nonsense attitude about life. She could also draw blood without pain, so that instantly put her at the top of Cynthia’s list.

“Yes.” She wiped her sleepy eyes with her good hand. “I just had a bad dream. I’m sorry for snarling at you like that.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty li’l head about it,” Gwen said, her thick Tennessee accent curling her words. She turned off the alarm and checked her IV fluids. “A lot of trauma patients have nightmares. Do you want something to help you sleep?”

“No, I’m tired of…not feeling like myself. Although I’m beginning to wonder if that has anything to do with the medication.”

Gwen sat at the edge of the bed and patted her knee. “You had some pretty severe head trauma, honey. It’s possible you might never feel exactly like you used to. Or that you won’t know when you do. Just make the most of how and what you feel like, now.”

Cynthia decided to take advantage of the only person she could really talk to about this. Will wouldn’t understand. It would just upset Pauline. Her mother spent every afternoon with her at the hospital, showing her pictures, telling stories and trying to unlock her memory. Saying she didn’t feel like herself would just be an insult to Pauline’s hard work.

“It feels all wrong. The people. The way they treat me. I mean, look at this.” She slipped her arm out of the sling and extended her pale pink cast to show off her engagement ring.

“That’s lovely,” Gwen said politely, although her dark brown eyes had grown twice their size upon seeing the massive diamond.

“Don’t. We both know this could feed a third-world country for a year.”

“Probably,” she conceded.

“This doesn’t feel like me. I don’t feel like some snobby uptown girl that went to private school and got everything she ever wanted. I feel like a fish out of water, and I shouldn’t. If this is my life, why do I feel so out of touch with it? How can I be who I am when I don’t know who I was?”

“Honey, this is a little deep for a three o’clock in the morning conversation. But here’s some unsolicited advice from a Tennessee fish in Manhattan waters. I’d stop worrying about who you were and just be yourself. You’ll go crazy trying to figure out what you should do and how you should act.”

“How do I do that?”

“For a start, stop fighting it. When you walk out of this room to start your new life, embrace being Cynthia Dempsey. Then, just do what you feel. If the new Cynthia would rather go to a Knicks game than the symphony, that’s okay. If you’ve lost your taste for caviar and expensive wine, eat a cheeseburger and drink a beer. Only you know who you want to be now. Don’t let anyone change that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” She leaned forward and embraced the nurse who felt like her only real friend in her new life. “I’m being discharged tomorrow. Will is taking me back to our apartment. I have no idea what’s in store for me there, but when I’m in the mood for burgers and beer, can I call you?”

Gwen smiled wide. “Absolutely.” She wrote her cell phone number in the small notebook Cynthia had been using to keep notes. “And don’t worry,” she added. “I can’t imagine any future with Will Taylor in it being bad.”

Cynthia nodded and returned her reassuring grin. She just hoped Gwen was right.

Two

Will watched Cynthia walk through their apartment as if she were taking a tour of the Met. He had to admit the place felt like a museum sometimes with all the glass, marble and leather. It wasn’t what he would’ve chosen, but everything served its designated function, so he didn’t really care.

She examined each room, admiring the artwork, running her fingers over the fabrics and seeming visibly pleased with what she saw. She should like it, he mused. She and her godawful decorator picked it all out.

Cynthia moved slowly, the stiffness of her muscles slowing her down. The doctors had changed the cast on her arm to a brace so she could remove it to shower for the last few weeks until it was fully healed. All the bandages and stitches were gone now and only the faintest of discoloration was visible on her face and body. If not for the slight limp and the brace, you might never know what kind of trauma she’d undergone.

Pauline had a hairstylist come to the hospital to do her hair before she was discharged. The hospital staff had to trim a good bit of the length off as it was singed from the fire, but the stylist turned their chop work into a chic, straight style that fell right at her shoulders. It was an attractive change, and he found himself admiring it as the town car brought them home. Her face looked so much better, and the hairstyle accented it nicely. A new style for the new woman in his life.

There was a thought that would bring him nothing but trouble.

Will turned and found Cynthia staring at the large engagement portrait they had hanging in the living room. Damn. He’d gone through the apartment and put away all her pictures as Pauline had asked, but he had to miss the giant one on the wall. As far as he knew, she hadn’t seen any pictures of herself from before the accident. But now that she had, he expected her to have Dr. Takashi on the phone in an instant, threatening him with malpractice. Personally, he thought the doctor had done a great job even if she didn’t look exactly the same.

But nothing happened. She stood silently studying it for a moment, and then she continued to the back of the apartment. The chime of his phone distracted him with an email from work, and he heard her shout from down the hall as he read it.

“This bathroom is huge! Is this mine?”

“Does it have a sunken whirlpool tub?”

“No.”

“Then no,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s just the guest bath. Ours is off the master bedroom.” And not three weeks before the crash, she’d complained that their bathroom was too small. He’d asked if she was throwing a cocktail party in there, and she’d scowled.

Clipping his phone to his belt, Will followed her to see if she’d gotten lost somewhere. He found her standing in her closet, her eyes glazed over at the selection in front of her. After a moment, she reached out and started flipping through the neatly hung outfits.

“Dior. Donna Karan. Kate Spade. Are these…mine?”

“Every bit. You moved my stuff out of the closet six months ago to make room for your ever-expanding shoe collection.”

At that, she turned to face the wall of shoes behind her as though she hadn’t noticed it before. She whipped open a box of Christian Louboutins and stepped out of the loafers she’d worn home. The black patent-leather pump with the red sole slipped on without hesitation. “They’re a little too big,” she said.

That was odd. “Well, if your feet shrunk in the accident somehow, I’m sure you’ll have fun replacing all of these with your new size.”

She shot him a look of pure disbelief as she slid on the other shoe. She was a little unsteady on the five-inch heels at first, reaching out with her good arm to brace herself, then a wide grin spread across her face. Maybe now the bedazzled leather contraptions would be appreciated.

“I’m sure an insert would do the trick. I wouldn’t dare waste all these.” She turned back to the clothes, flipping through a few dresses he remembered her wearing at one society event or another. “Why is it that I recognize all these designers and understand their importance, but my own mother is a stranger?”

That was a good question. He had no idea how amnesia worked. Will ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Maybe your brain just remembers what was most important to you.”

Cynthia stopped in that moment and turned to him. The look of wonder faded from her face. “Did I really prefer shoes over my own family?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not the person you confided in.”

She slipped out of the shoes, placed them gently into their box and returned them to the shelf. No longer seeming to enjoy her closet, Cynthia brushed past Will on her way into the bedroom and disappeared down the hall.

He followed her out and found her sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the hideous modern art piece hanging over the dining-room table. “Are you all right?”

She nodded stiffly, but he didn’t believe her. “I feel like everyone is tiptoeing around me. That there’s an elephant in the room that everyone can see but me. If I ask you some questions, would you answer them for me? Honestly?”

He frowned but agreed before sitting on the couch beside her. They needed to talk, and there was no sense in putting it off.

“Are you and I in love?”

She certainly didn’t hold back, so he opted to do the same. “No.” Candy-coating the truth wouldn’t help. She needed to know.

“Then why are we engaged?” Her wide green eyes looked a touch disillusioned. “We’re not.”

“But.” Cynthia started, looking down at her ring.

“We were in love a long time ago,” Will explained. “Our families were old friends, and we dated through college. I proposed two years ago, and then you changed and we grew apart. Your family doesn’t know yet, but I broke off our engagement right before you left for your trip.”

“Why?”

“You were having an affair. The benefits of staying with you were outweighed by the betrayal.”

“Benefits? That sounds like an awfully cold way to talk about it.”

“It’s the truth. We didn’t have a relationship left, really. Your father and I were collaborating on a project that would’ve been extremely lucrative for both our companies. Your father prefers to work with family, so I was trying to see it through, hoping we’d weather the rough patch. When I found out you’d been having an affair for quite some time, there was no choice left. Even if the project fell through, the wedding was off. I told you I’d be out of here by the end of October. Plans obviously changed after the accident.”

“You’re staying?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes that gripped at his heart. Somehow it seemed wrong to punish her for what felt like someone else’s sins.

“No. I’ll be here until you’re well. Then we will announce the breakup and I’ll move out as planned.”

Cynthia nodded in understanding, but he thought he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she looked away. “I must’ve been a horrible person. Was I always that way? You couldn’t have loved me if I was.”

“I liked the woman you were when we met. I wasn’t fond of the woman you became after college.”

She swallowed hard and looked down at the hands she had folded in her lap. She said she wanted the truth and she was getting it, even if it was hard to hear. “Was I nice to anyone?”

“Your friends and family, for the most part. You spoiled your little sister. But you had a short fuse if someone upset you.”

“Am I anything like that now?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “You’re quite different since the accident.”

“But…?”

“But, I wonder how long it will last. The doctor says the memory loss is temporary and anything could trigger it all to come back. At any moment, the woman sitting in front of me could disappear.”

“And you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

The face of his fiancée, so familiar, yet so different, looked at him. Her green eyes were pleading with him, and he noticed golden flecks in them he’d never seen before. It was beautiful the way the colors swirled together, pulling him in. It made him want to keep looking, to find details he’d missed before. How long had he been with Cynthia but never really knew her? It made him wonder if he ever actually loved her or just the idea of them together. The smartest, most beautiful girl at Yale and the captain of the polo team. Both from wealthy families that ran in the Manhattan society circles. It was a match made in heaven.

But this was completely different. He wanted to know the woman sitting beside him. He wanted to help her explore the world and learn who she was and who she wanted to be. And he shouldn’t. He should tell her it didn’t matter if she got her memory back. But that wasn’t true, and she asked for honesty. “No, I don’t want that.”

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “there’s a part of me missing, and that bothers me. But from what I’ve heard, I think maybe it’s better this way. Better if I don’t remember and just start fresh.”

Her words resonated with him. Alex had said this could be a second chance for their relationship. But could he offer it? This woman had betrayed him, abused his trust and threw away what they had together. Did the fact that she didn’t remember doing any of it make a difference? He wasn’t sure. “You always have a choice.”

Cynthia’s brow furrowed, a line deepening between her eyebrows in concern. Her last dose of Botox must’ve worn off during her hospital stay. It was refreshing to see her express real emotions, even if it cost her a few wrinkles over time. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“At any moment your memory could come back. When that happens, you always have the choice of continuing to be the person you want to be instead of going back to your old ways. You can make a fresh start.”

She nodded, continuing to watch her hands and seemingly building up the courage to ask more questions. “I know you didn’t like me, but were you at least physically attracted to me before the accident?”

“You were a beautiful woman.”

“You’re dodging the question,” she said, her gaze meeting his. Her irritation brought a red blush to her cheeks that chased away some of the yellow discoloration from her bruises. She was so full of emotion now. Her skin flushed with anger and embarrassment, her eyes teared up with confusion and sadness. It was such a welcome change from the ice princess he knew.

It made him wonder what she would be like to make love to. Will’s groin tightened, and he pushed the thought out of his mind. He was leaving, and he’d never find out the answer to that question, so it was better he didn’t think about it. “I’m not. You were beautiful. Every guy at Yale wanted you, including me.”

“That picture in the hall…”

“Our engagement portrait?”

“Yes. I don’t look much like that now. I doubt I ever will again.” There was another new expression on her face, a vulnerability that Will wasn’t certain he’d ever seen before. Cynthia was many things, but she rarely showed weakness. The woman sitting beside him had a fragility about her that made him want to comfort her. He’d never felt that urge before. And he certainly shouldn’t feel that way about Cynthia, of all people.

Unable to fight the need, he reached out and ran a thumb over her cheek. The swelling was almost entirely gone now. “Before, you were like a statue in a museum. Perfect, but cold.” The tips of his fingers tingled as they glided over her soft, ivory skin. “I think flaws give character, and you’re much prettier now. On the inside, too.”

Cynthia brought her hand up to cover his where it rested on her cheek. “Thank you for saying that, even if it isn’t true.” Wrapping her fingers around his hand, she pulled it down into her lap, where she held it tightly. “I don’t know everything I did to you, but I can only imagine. I’m sorry. Do you think you could ever forgive me for the things I did in the past?”

Tears gathered in Cynthia’s eyes, and it made his chest ache to see her upset. The way she clutched his hand was like a silent plea. The guilt of crimes she couldn’t remember was eating her up. She wasn’t asking him to love her again. Or to stay. Just to forgive her.

Seeing her like this, spending time with her the past few weeks, had roused new and different feelings for her. Feelings that if left unchecked could lead him to getting hurt again. He couldn’t allow that, even if every part of his body urged him to take the chance. But maybe he could offer her absolution. And then, in time, perhaps more.

“Maybe what we both need is a clean slate. To put everything behind us and start over.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Start over?”

“Yes. Both of us just need to let go of the past and move forward. You can stop worrying about what you’ve done and who you were and just focus on what you want for your future. And maybe I can stop punishing us both for things we can’t change.”

“What does that mean for you and me?”

That was a good question. One he wasn’t really ready to answer, but he’d do the best he could. “It means we start over, too. We’re strangers, really. We have no reason to trust each other, much less love one another. What, if anything, happens between us will take time to determine.”

“And what about this?” Cynthia held up her hand, her large engagement ring on display.

“Keep wearing it for now. This is our business. We don’t need anyone offering their two cents, especially our families. This is a decision we have to make ourselves.”

Forgiving her was the right thing to do. Cynthia nodded, a faint smile curving the corners of her full, pouty lips. Her eyes were devoid of tears now and lit with the optimistic excitement of new opportunities. After weeks of seeing her so battered and beaten down, she was almost glowing. She did truly look beautiful, regardless of what she thought. So beautiful that he was filled with the undeniable urge to kiss the smile from her lips.

He leaned in, pressing his mouth gently against hers. It was little more than a flutter or brush across her abused skin. A silent reassurance that things would be okay even if it didn’t work out between them.

At least that was the idea. In an instant, his whole body responded to the touch of her, and he knew the reaction at the hospital had not been a fluke. He’d felt a surge there but had convinced himself he’d just gone too long without sex. Maybe that was still the case, but every nerve ending urged him to cup her face and drink her in. But he didn’t dare. For one thing, he didn’t want to risk hurting her, since she wasn’t fully healed. And for another, it was the first step down a rabbit hole he’d be unable to crawl back out of.

“Think about what you want your life to be. And what you want us to be,” he whispered against her mouth. Then he pulled away before he changed his mind and did something he’d regret.

Cynthia didn’t feel beautiful. She didn’t care what Will said. That kiss was likely just out of pity. To make her feel better for realizing she’d been a miserable, beautiful woman once and a sweet, broken woman now. She could tell he was uncomfortable about it. His cell phone rang, and he immediately took the opportunity to disappear into what she supposed was his home office. She was left to her own devices to make herself comfortable and get used to her new, old home.

The problem was that it didn’t feel much like home. The whole space had an institutional quality about it. She appreciated the clean lines and indulgent fabrics, but it was too modern for her taste. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture that called to her to come and snuggle into it. The couch was firm, cold leather. The chairs were wood or metal without much padding. After poking around, she settled into the bedroom to watch television. The large, luxurious bed was perfectly comfy and the ideal place to lose herself in some mindless entertainment.

When that lost its appeal, she decided to take advantage of her bathroom and take her first real shower since the accident. She undressed and gently removed her arm brace, making a face when she saw how skinny and pale her arm was underneath. Then she stood languishing under the multiple streams of boiling hot water for a good half hour. The shower made her feel more human, more normal, but once she sat down at her vanity, normal disappeared.

They’d kept mirrors from her the first few weeks. Pauline—er…her mother—had insisted on it. She didn’t want Cynthia to get upset. Cynthia didn’t know how she was supposed to look, but it didn’t take a mirror to realize there had been a drastic change, and not for the better. The pained expressions on the faces of those who knew her were enough. So she hadn’t asked for a mirror.

Then one day Dr. Takashi removed the last of the bandages and brought a hand mirror with him. Cynthia hadn’t wanted to look at first. She had no idea what she would find. Her mother was an attractive older woman, and her younger sister, Emma, was cute in an awkward, teenaged way, but she had no assurance she didn’t take after her father. George was a regal, commanding man, but she wouldn’t say he was handsome. He had a nose like a hawk’s beak and eyes that appeared cold and beady when he focused unhappily on hospital staff.

Looking in the mirror that first time had been hard, but it had gotten easier. Every time she saw her reflection she looked better. The expressions on her family’s faces were encouraging. But the one thing no one had done was bring her a photo of how she looked before the accident. Her mother had brought in a shoebox of pictures, pointing out different people for her to try to remember, but not a single one had her in it.

Returning to the apartment, one of the first things she was greeted with was a large canvas photo of her and Will. She was almost startled when she rounded the corner to the living room and came face-to-face with her former self.

It looked like the kind of engagement portrait that would go in a newspaper announcement. Her long, dark hair was swept over her shoulder, revealing large sapphire earrings that complemented the royal blue dress she had on. Will was looking handsome, yet casual, in khakis and a light blue dress shirt. They were sitting together under a tree.

The woman in the portrait had elegant, delicate features. Her skin was flawless and creamy, her eyes a clear, bright green. Her makeup was applied so well it took a keen eye to notice she had any on at all. She looked every bit the daughter and fiancée of two powerful Manhattan families.

She’d expected to be upset when she finally saw a photo of herself, but she found the experience to be oddly vacant. It was like looking at a picture of a stranger. Disconnected.

Now, watching her reflection in the partially foggy mirror, it was hard not to draw the comparison and catalog the vast differences. The high cheekbones and delicate nose had taken the brunt of the accident. Time would tell if the plates and implants Dr. Takashi used would bring back the prominent features.

Only the eyes and the smile looked like the portrait to her. Smiling in the mirror, she admired her new teeth. They were much like the photo, though they, more than anything, still felt wrong when she tried to eat or talk. And the eyes…well, the expression behind them was different. Perhaps when the photo was taken she wasn’t so confused.

Her hairstylist had blown her hair straight after cutting it that morning. It was twisted up in a towel at the moment, but she knew the unruly kink would be back once it dried. She wondered how she would blow it out again with one good arm, then decided she didn’t care enough to bother. Wavy hair was the least of her worries.

With a sigh, Cynthia poured a bit of lotion from the hospital into her hand and gently rubbed it into her face and neck. It was supposed to help with the scars and overall healing. Somehow, she doubted it would do enough.

More than anything, even if she never looked like she did in that portrait again, Cynthia wanted to feel right in her own skin. And she just didn’t. Lotion couldn’t fix that.

“I bet that felt nice after all those sponge baths.”

Cynthia snapped her head to the side and found Will leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands buried in his pockets. He’d been working for so long she’d forgotten he was home.

Self-consciously, she tugged her towel up higher over her breasts and held it tight to keep it from coming undone. She could admit to herself she was attracted to him—the blush spreading across her face was evidence of that—but being mostly naked in front of him was a distinct disadvantage. They may very well have seen each other naked a hundred times, but she had no recollection of it. He was a stranger, like he’d said earlier. Everyone was, including herself.

He noted her reaction, stiffening instantly and taking a step back. “I’m sorry. This probably makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t think about that. I’ll go.”

“No, don’t,” she said, reaching out to him before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to be alone any longer. She’d wandered, confused and sad, through the apartment all afternoon, hoping anything would jog her memory. Having him here, even with her half-naked, was a welcome change.

He paused, then held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

Will returned a moment later with a fluffy, ice-blue chenille bathrobe. “This was your favorite. You liked to wear it in the evenings to curl up on the couch and read a book with your favorite glass of wine.”

Cynthia stood, still clutching her towel, and let him drape the robe over her shoulders. She slipped into the enveloping warmth, dropped the towel to her feet and tied the robe closed. It immediately quelled her concerns, covering her from neck to toe.

With the hot shower and the soft robe, she really couldn’t imagine feeling any better. At least until her fingers brushed his as she adjusted the collar. The glide of his skin across hers sent a tingle down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool marble and tile bathroom. She gasped softly and his fingers pulled away. She turned to look at him, her heart beating erratically in her chest. How did he do that to her with a simple touch? “This is great,” she muttered sheepishly.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, stepping back, but still watching her in a way that made her want to readjust her robe under his scrutiny. She wished she understood what was behind his gaze. He had an intensity about him that attracted her, but she couldn’t decipher what it meant when he focused it on her. Was it desire? Subdued anger? Curiosity?

“Are you hungry?”

Apparently, she was confusing the look of lust with hunger. “Yes,” she admitted. The last thing she remembered eating was some manifestation of Salisbury steak before she was discharged.

“What would you like?”

“Anything but hospital food,” she said with a smile.

“Okay,” he said, matching her grin. “I’ll go pick up something and bring it back. There’s a nice Thai place not too far from here. Would you like to try that?”

“Sure. Just don’t get me anything too spicy,” she offered. She had no idea if she would like it or not, but that should be safe enough.

With a nod, Will turned and left. Seconds later she heard the front door open and close behind him.

To prepare for dinner, she detangled her hair and went to the closet in search of something comfortable. Some of the clothes were too tight, but Will mentioned she’d been dieting for the wedding. She flipped farther into the racks, finding some older things in a larger size. She was eyeing a stretchy pair of yoga pants when the phone rang.

For a moment, she was startled, not quite sure what to do. It felt like answering someone else’s phone, but it wasn’t. The call might very well be for her. Telling herself that it could be Will, she went into the bedroom and picked the phone up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cynthia?” the man’s voice asked, but it wasn’t Will. This voice was deeper, quieter, as though he didn’t want anyone to hear him but her.

“Yes, this is Cynthia. Who’s calling?”

The man hesitated for a moment. “Baby, it’s Nigel.”

Nigel. The name didn’t ring even the slightest bell, although he said it as if it explained everything. But he called her “baby.” She didn’t like that at all. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. I’ve had an accident and the doctors diagnosed me with amnesia.”

“Amnesia? My God, Cynthia. I’ve got to see you. These past few weeks I’ve been going mad with worry. Your cell phone is disconnected. I couldn’t get into the hospital because I wasn’t family. All I know is what I read in the papers about the crash, and it wasn’t much. Please tell me I can see you soon. Maybe tomorrow while Will is at work?”

Cynthia’s stomach sank. Will hadn’t elaborated on the details of her affair, but it didn’t take much to realize Nigel was her lover.

Will’s voice crept into her mind. You have a choice.

And she did. The past was the past. Will had offered her a clean slate and with it, perhaps a future together. At first, she hadn’t been quite certain what to make of it. She had obviously been unhappy with Will before and wasn’t certain if a bump to the head could make everything better between them. But she at least wanted to try. For now, she wanted Will to stay. The man on the phone would ruin any chance they had.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, wait. I’ll take an early train from the Bronx and meet you for coffee.”

“No. Please stop calling. Goodbye.” She disconnected and set the phone back onto the cradle. A few seconds later it rang again, the same number lighting up the screen. She didn’t answer it. The phone finally went silent and she waited nervously for a moment, but he didn’t call back.

That done, she took a deep breath and returned to the closet to get ready for her first dinner with Will.

Three

Will sat at his desk, staring blankly at his laptop. After dinner, he’d returned to his office to work as he usually did. He spent most evenings working. Newspapers didn’t run themselves, and given that most of his days were filled with unproductive but necessary meetings, it was the only time he could dig through his email and actually get something done. Some people might’ve been bothered by the long hours he put in to keep the Observer at the top of its game, but Will didn’t mind. In fact, over the past few years, his office and unending stream of work had become a sanctuary from his failing relationship.

And yet tonight, with at least a hundred unread emails in his inbox, he couldn’t focus on the work. His thoughts kept straying to Cynthia.

He watched her roam around the apartment through the glass French doors that separated his office from the living room. When he’d left to pick up dinner, he thought things were okay between them. Better than okay if he let himself think too long about her shower-damp skin and the skimpy bath towel she was wrapped in. He hadn’t seen that much of Cynthia’s body in quite some time, and his visceral reaction to her was immediate and powerful. Fortunately the brisk walk to the takeout place had served as a cold shower, and by the time he had returned, he had it under control.

But now she seemed nervous around him. They’d eaten their Thai food in the dining room, filling the space between bites with harmless small talk. But he noticed an edge that wasn’t there earlier. When the phone rang, she nearly launched from her seat to beat him to answering it, and it was just Pauline checking to make sure she was settled in. The mother and daughter chatted while he cleaned up dinner and disappeared into his office.

Will couldn’t help but think that maybe she’d picked up on his attraction and it made her uncomfortable. He’d mentioned the possibility of a future together—nothing was impossible—but he wasn’t sold on the idea. He just wished his body and brain were on the same page.

He wasn’t surprised when she disappeared into the bedroom fairly early. She was probably exhausted after her first day out of the hospital. On top of the physical challenges, their talk had stirred up a lot of information that could be stressful to process. Dumping their past on her today was probably a mistake with her fragile condition, but she wanted honesty.

Given her nerves around him, he should probably sleep in the guest room tonight. It would make everyone more comfortable, and he could use the space to keep objective about all this.

With the apartment silent and dark, Will was able to focus on his work again. He finally shut down for the night near midnight. He would be up the next day by six, but those were standard hours for him. He could sleep when he was dead. Or retired. Whichever came first.

The next morning, he was up, dressed and having coffee by the time Cynthia stumbled into the kitchen. She was wearing navy silk pajamas under her robe, her hair pulled into a ponytail. Her eyes were still blurry and her face lined from a night of heavy sleep. The woman he knew would never let anyone, not even him, see her like this. She always emerged from the bedroom with her hair and makeup done. Will had to swallow his surprise in a large swig of coffee. He really needed to come to terms with Cynthia as a new person, but it was hard to change his every expectation of her.

“Good morning,” she said, gently rubbing her eyes.

“Morning,” he replied, getting up to refill his mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I tried some in the hospital and didn’t like it.”

Will returned to the table and slid a plate with a couple pieces of buttered whole-wheat toast toward her. He couldn’t stomach much more than that this early, but if he didn’t eat something, he’d never make it through the morning column reviews. “I made some toast. There’s tea and cocoa in the cabinet if you’re interested.”

Cynthia settled into one of the kitchen chairs and took a piece of toast from the plate. She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had last night, and Will was relieved. Perhaps some time alone in the apartment would help her adjust.

“I hate to leave so soon after you got up, but I need to get to the office. I’m going to try not to stay too late.”

“You work a lot,” she commented.

Will shrugged, rising from the table and putting his mug in the sink. “I do what I have to. Now, the maid should be here today around noon, so you won’t be alone. I asked her to make dinner so we don’t have to go out. She’s planning to go through all the classic recipes so you can try them. I think we’re up for pot roast tonight.”

“Okay.” She nodded, although her brow was wrinkled in confusion again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It feels weird to have someone cook and clean up after me. I guess it probably shouldn’t, but it does.”

“I’m sure you’ll adjust to the luxury of it in no time, especially once you try Anita’s eggplant parmesan. She’s truly gifted in the kitchen. If you need anything,” he said as he slipped into his suit coat, “call my cell phone. I’ve left you a list of numbers on the refrigerator, including your folks and some friends if you get lonely.”

“Thank you,” she said, standing up to see him out.

They walked to the front door, where he grabbed his laptop bag. “I’ll see you tonight.” On reflex, he started to lean in to give her a goodbye kiss. In that fraction of a second, he noticed her eyes widen and her body tense up. Given her reaction after yesterday’s kiss, it was probably a horrible idea, even as a casual goodbye. He stopped short, pulling back awkwardly, and instead threw up a hand to wave and darted out into the hallway.

Traveling down the elevator, Will could only shake his head. What the hell was he doing? He certainly wasn’t acting like a man on the verge of moving out. He was getting sucked in by her, like quicksand. The more he struggled, the more he was sure to sink.

It was better he get to the office as quickly as he could. At least there, he knew what he was doing.

Cynthia stared at the closed apartment door, more confused than ever. Her heart had fluttered in her chest when she thought he might kiss her. Their kiss the night before hadn’t really counted and just left her anxious for more. Will had set his hostility aside after their talk yesterday, but things were hardly on track for serious romance. She knew it was too soon for any of that. Kisses would only complicate things.

But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about what his kisses would feel like or how his mouth would taste. When he leaned close to her, the scent of his spicy cologne was enough to send her pulse racing. It made her thankful she wasn’t still hooked up to hospital monitors that might give away her attraction to him.

Shaking her head, she locked the door and went back to her room to get dressed for the day. She wasn’t exactly sure why—she had no intention of leaving—but it seemed like the thing to do. Reaching into the back of the closet, she pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a long-sleeved blouse in a dusty shade of pink and then slipped them both on with a pair of loafers.

Returning to the kitchen, she boiled water for tea and slathered another piece of toast with raspberry jam she found in the refrigerator. When the tea was ready, she poured a cup, grabbed her toast and went to explore the room Will had said was her private office.

She’d glanced at it briefly the day before but hadn’t ventured inside. After their talk—and Nigel’s call—she was afraid of what she’d find. Today, she wanted to tackle her past head-on and set it aside for good. She settled at the glass-and-chrome desk and ate while taking it all in. A large space on the desk was cleared off for her laptop, which had been destroyed in the crash. Stacked around it were glossy magazines and file folders. It was all very neat and precise. It made her want to reach out and shuffle some of the pages around. There was simply too much perfection.

Across from her desk were a red leather love seat and a chrome-and-glass coffee table. Several large advertising posters and a few framed magazine ads were hung on the wall for products she recognized. Her best guess was that these were campaigns she designed. Her family told her she was a successful partner in a Madison Avenue advertising agency.

Looking at them, a feeling of unease washed over her. Not only were they completely unfamiliar, but she had no thoughts about the marketing strategies that went into them. All she could come up with was that she liked the dress one of the models was wearing. That was it.

Without her memory, she was going to need a career backup plan, and fast. Especially if Will opted to leave as planned. He’d left the door open for a relationship, putting the ball in her court to decide what she wanted. If she’d really hurt him as badly as he’d said, he was right to leave and she wouldn’t blame him. But last night’s discussion with Nigel had shown her that she did want to try for more with Will. She wanted him to stay, and not just for the financial support.

And yet, knowing he always had one foot out the door made her hesitant to invest too much. She might be the one to get hurt this time. It was a sobering thought that sent her scrambling for a chore to occupy her mind.

Cynthia opted to start shuffling through paperwork, partially out of curiosity and partially out of the hope that it might jog something in her head. She opened files and thumbed through pages about different campaigns and clients. Mostly it was unfamiliar gobbledy-gook. The advertising lingo was completely lost on her.

Setting them aside, she opened a drawer in her desk and fished around. At the front of the drawer were neatly stacked and aligned office supplies. Further back was a pile of envelopes. Cynthia pulled them out and eyed the outside. They were all addressed to her. Some of the postmarks went back as much as a year.

Picking the oldest one, she removed the letter and started reading it. It was a love letter from Nigel. An actual, handwritten love letter. It was sort of an odd thing to do in this day and age, but he explained in the first one how he thought it was the only sincere way to express how he felt. Email was cold and impersonal. She’d probably kept the incriminating letters for their sentimental value.

With a sigh, Cynthia sat back into her chair. She knew she’d had an affair, but being confronted with evidence of it was disconcerting. It was quite the romance they’d shared. He was a struggling artist she met at a gallery show. Since that time, they’d been meeting secretly at lunch, going away for weekends together under the guise of business trips and taking advantage of Will’s long hours by flaunting their relationship in the apartment she shared with him.

The letters were more romantic than she’d expected from a fling. She couldn’t know what she wrote back to him, but they seemed to be in love. It boggled her mind, not jiving with what everyone told her about herself. How did an uptown society girl fall in love with a poor artist from the Bronx? She didn’t understand. Was she just using Nigel, or was she too embarrassed to be with him publicly? Daddy and Mother certainly wouldn’t approve. Did loving Nigel and marrying Will somehow give her the best of both worlds?

Cynthia felt sick and was thankful to only have toast in her stomach. She thought she wanted to regain insight into her old life, but now she never wanted to remember the truth. She wanted to erase it all.

Piling the letters into a heap on her desk, she dug around for anything else incriminating. Her laptop and cell phone were gone, so any digital evidence of her relationship with Nigel went down with the plane. If and when she got a new computer, she’d purge anything left behind in her accounts. Will had already mentioned replacing her cell phone. She’d make sure to ask for a new number that Nigel couldn’t get his hands on. In her office file cabinet, she found a folder with various cards from Valentine’s Day and her birthday inside. None were from Will. Those were added to the pile, as were some photos of Cynthia and a blond man she didn’t recognize. They looked far too cozy and the location far too tropical. She could take no chances with this. It all had to go.

By the time the housekeeper, Anita, arrived, Cynthia had a fairly large stack of things to destroy. She went out to meet the woman in the living room. She was a pleasantly plump older woman with graying hair. Quite efficient, she’d already begun dusting the mantle over the fireplace when Cynthia found her there.

The fireplace. Perfect.

“Miss Dempsey.” She smiled, although Cynthia didn’t detect much sincere warmth behind it. “It’s so good to see you back home. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Her housekeeper didn’t seem to like her either. Did anyone? “Please, call me Cynthia. And you’re no trouble. I’m happy to have someone here with me. Let me know if I can help you with anything. I feel bad just sitting around watching you work.”

Anita looked as though she were struggling to hide the surprise on her face, simply nodding when she apparently failed. “Thank you, Miss Dempsey, but I can manage. Do you need anything before I get started?”

Since she asked…“Actually, I’m a little chilled this afternoon. I’d love to just curl up with a book in here. Any chance we could get the fireplace going?”

That Saturday was an unseasonably warm fall day. By this time in November, people were usually heavily bundled or shoveling out of the first snow, but it was in the high sixties. Will had started off that morning working in his office as usual, but seeing Cynthia wander aimlessly through the apartment tugged at him with guilt.

He’d made a habit of focusing on work to avoid dealing with her before the accident, but he didn’t need to work this much. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to. He wanted to spend more time with Cynthia. Which is why he deliberately stayed in his office this long—the pull she had on him was too strong. But he couldn’t stay in there forever.

Shutting his laptop down, he came out of the office and found her reading on the couch. She had a paperback romance in her hands. It hadn’t come from any of the bookshelves in the house. “What are you reading?”

“A book I bought on the corner yesterday. I’m really enjoying it.”

Will nodded, trying not to let his surprise show, because it just worried Cynthia when she realized she was doing something out of character. Honestly, the less she realized was different, the better. This Cynthia was all wrong, but all right by him.

“I noticed you had the fireplace going the other day, but it’s fairly warm out today. Would you be interested in getting out of the apartment? Maybe take a walk around the park?”

The grin that met his question made him feel even guiltier for waiting this long. Her face lit up like a child in front of an ice cream sundae. She put her book down, carefully marking the page. “Should I change?”

Will hadn’t really noticed what she had on before that. If he had, he might’ve had another surprise to hide from her. She wore a pair of tight, dark denim jeans, gray ankle boots and a soft gray sweater that went down past her hips. She’d put a hot-pink belt over it and some chunky pink bracelets to match on her good arm.

“Wow, pink,” he commented.

She smiled and ran her hand over the belt. “I’ve decided pink is my favorite color. Do you like it?”

He knew the only reason Cynthia had that belt was for a retro eighties-style charity fundraiser they’d attended last year. She appeared quite taken with the splash of color now. Cynthia seemed to get a lot of enjoyment from putting an outfit together. It was a fun look for her. Her hair was down and slightly curly. Her face was fresh and free of makeup. She really looked lovely.

For a walk in the park, her outfit suited just as well as his khakis and polo shirt. “You look fine. Will you be okay to walk in those boots?”

She stood, feeling around in them for a moment. “I think so. They’re pretty comfortable, and I think my daily strolls are paying off.”

Will grabbed a light windbreaker from the closet and ushered Cynthia out ahead of him. They took the elevator to the ground floor of their building, waving to the doorman as he greeted them by name and held the large golden door open for them.

It didn’t take them long to reach Central Park. They walked silently down the sidewalk, crossing over into the forest of reds, oranges and golds that autumn had ushered in. It had always been his favorite time of year. Fall in Manhattan was the best. The cooler temperatures, the changing leaves, the Thanksgiving parade…it just gave him a sense of inner peace no other time of year provided, like the world was slowing down in preparation for winter.

“I love the fall,” Cynthia said, happily stomping on crisp leaves under her boots. “I think it might be my favorite time of year. Of course, I don’t remember much about the other three seasons, so I’m withholding judgment for now.”

Will smiled, reaching to his hip for the phone that had chirped several times since they left the apartment. He thumbed through the messages but didn’t get very far before he felt Cynthia’s insistent tug on his arm. He looked up to see her pointing at one of the city’s million hot-dog carts.

“Let’s find out if I like hot dogs.”

Will slipped the phone back into its holster and followed her over to the cart. Something as simple as a hot-dog vendor had filled her with excitement. It was so contagious that he was eager to have one, too, and he hadn’t bothered to in years.

They stopped at the cart and ordered two hot dogs and sodas—his piled on with sauerkraut and mustard, hers with ketchup, mustard and sweet relish. They found a bench and sat down with their lunch.

He’d polished off about half of his when he looked over and noticed Cynthia’s hot dog was completely gone. She dabbed the corner of her mouth to remove some rogue mustard, still chewing the last bite. Apparently she did like hot dogs. “Would you like another one?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and sipping her soda. “That was just enough. There are a million things out there for me to try. I’ll gain ten pounds if I overdo it. It’s just one of many things I have to figure out.”

Will watched her expression grow somber. She sipped her drink thoughtfully and watched a leaf blow by. He popped the last of his hot dog into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. “What are you thinking about?”

Cynthia sighed and sat back against the bench. “I’m thinking of what a mess I’m in. In a few weeks’ time, you could be gone. I don’t think I can go back to my old job if my memory doesn’t return. I have no real skills I remember. I didn’t even know if I liked hot dogs until a few minutes ago. What am I supposed to do?”

He’d considered this subject as he’d watched her lie in that hospital bed for weeks. She was fortunate that her income wasn’t important. Anyone else might be crippled by it. “Well, you may not know it, but you do have a healthy trust fund and stock portfolio. You could live comfortably on that for quite some time.”

“I’ll go stir crazy in that apartment doing nothing. Especially if I’m there alone.”

Will noted the way she looked at him when she said the last part. She didn’t want him to leave. And sitting here with her in this moment, he didn’t want to leave either. She needed to feel secure in her situation. At least then he would know she wanted him to stay for the right reasons. “I’ve also spoken to your boss, Ed. He understands the circumstances, and if and when you’re ready to come back, okay. But if not…you could always try working for your dad.”

“And do what? I don’t understand any of that technical stuff. I don’t want to get paid to sit at a desk at Dempsey Corp. playing solitaire just because I’m the boss’s daughter.”

He had to admire that. Working for her father or sitting around the house would’ve been the easy thing to do, but she wanted more. “You have the luxury of trying something new. You’ve got a world of opportunities ahead of you. What would you like to do? Anything interest you?”

She thought for a moment before she answered. “Clothes. Clothes are all that has really caught my attention. Not just buying and wearing them, but putting pieces together. Admiring the lines of a blazer or the texture of a fabric. I’m not quite sure what to do with it, though.”

Will had noticed the last few weeks in the hospital how she had mentioned people’s clothing, complimenting them, asking about fabrics and where they bought one piece or another. It seemed to be a natural interest for her. “Would you like to try designing clothes? Or maybe be a stylist for fashion shoots or something?”

Cynthia turned to him, her green eyes wide. “Is designing clothes really an option? I watched a lot of reruns of some fashion reality show in the hospital, and it looked interesting. I may not be any good at it, though.”

“Doesn’t mean it would hurt to try. We’ll get you some sketch paper and colored pencils. See what you come up with. You don’t have to be the next Versace, but you can play around and have some fun with it.”

She broke into a wide smile and flung her arms around his neck. He was taken aback by her enthusiastic embrace, but he didn’t pull away. He wanted to encourage this new side of her, even if he wouldn’t be around to see it come to fruition.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his neck and he breathed in the scent of her—a mix of a floral shampoo, a touch of perfume and the warmth of her skin. He recognized her favorite fragrance, yet it was different somehow. Something underlying it all was new and extremely appealing. His body noted the difference and responded to it despite his brain’s reluctance. His pulse quickened and his groin stirred in an instant.

He had tried to wish away his attraction to her, and yet Alex’s words taunted him. This could be their second chance. He’d offered them both a clean slate, and the only thing keeping him from taking this opportunity was his own stubborn sense of self-preservation. Yes, the woman he proposed to had abused everything he gave her. But this was an entirely different woman despite their resemblance. No matter how hard he fought it, she intrigued and aroused him like no woman had before.

What would it hurt to see where this could go, even if only to soothe his own curiosity? He could certainly keep his heart out of the situation to avoid disaster. If things went awry or she regained her memory, he could easily walk away, no harm done. And if he could keep their relationship going long enough to satisfy George Dempsey, it would boost his business. It seemed like a win-win situation if he could let himself give in to it.

Cynthia pulled away slightly, stopping to look up at him. She was clearly excited by her new design adventure, but her expression shifted as she gazed into his eyes. Something changed in that moment, and he could feel the difference, too. The attraction she felt for him was just as strong. He could tell by the way her breath caught, her lips parting slightly and tempting him closer.

She wanted him to kiss her. And he wanted to. He wanted to know how she would touch him. What sounds she would make. How she would feel in his arms. Letting his body and his curiosity win over, he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. There was an immediate connection when he touched her. This wasn’t just a test. It was a real kiss, unlike what they’d shared before. A thrill raced through his body, a tingling in the base of his spine urging him to pull her closer. The need built quickly inside, pushing him to take more from her.

Cynthia leaned into him and placed one hand gently on his cheek. His tongue brushed hers, the taste and feel of her new and unexpected, like silk and honey. The hand resting on her hip slid upwards, caressing her side and tugging her to him. She whimpered quietly against his mouth, a soft, feminine sound that roused a primal reaction in him. He’d never been this turned on by a kiss in his life.

Everything about her, from the gentle caress of her hands to the flutter of her eyelashes against his cheek, started his blood boiling. There was an innocence, a sweetness. She had no agenda, no motives for offering herself to him. She just gave in to her desires and urged him to do the same. It took everything he had not to scoop her off the bench, carry her back to the apartment and claim her as his own.

Unfortunately, by the time he carried her four blocks to their apartment, he would realize it was a mistake. Pulling away, he stayed close, their breath warm on each other’s skin. They sat still for a moment, his mind whirling with the implications of what he’d just done. He needed to keep his brain in charge instead of his crotch, or he’d make a mess of everything.

The loud melody of his phone broke the trance. The gap between them widened, Cynthia self-consciously straightening her clothes while he checked the caller ID. Apologizing, he took the call, ending the conversation as quickly as he could. “Let’s go get you those art supplies,” he suggested, when no other words seemed appropriate.

They gathered up their hot dog wrappers and soda cans, tossing them into a nearby garbage receptacle, and headed back out of the park and toward the nearest craft store.

This time, as they traveled, he felt Cynthia’s fingers tentatively seek out his own. He couldn’t remember holding hands with a girl since high school, and it was charming and unexpected. Hesitating for only a moment, he captured her small hand and they walked together out of the park.

With every step, he felt himself being pulled further in by the fascinating woman he refused to love.