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“You kissed her?”

Alex’s disbelieving shout no doubt cut through the walls of Will’s office and into the hallways of the Observer headquarters.

“Keep it down, will you? I deliberately employ some very nosy people around here, and not all of them are journalists. My admin is at the top of the gossip food chain.”

Will got up from his desk and pushed his office door closed, flipping the lock to prevent interruptions.

“What’s the gossip in you kissing your fiancée?”

“Well, for a start, she isn’t my fiancée anymore.”

Alex sat down in Will’s guest chair. “Yes, but only I know about the breakup. Last time we talked you seemed pretty certain you were out of there once she was back on her feet. What changed?”

Will sat down at his desk and leaned back, weaving his fingers behind his head. “Nothing. And everything.”

“I knew it. I knew when I saw that grin on your face at dinner that she’d gotten to you.”

Will wasn’t sure he liked the implication of that, but he had a hard time denying that she’d gotten under his skin. “I’ve never been this preoccupied with a woman before.”

“So you’re staying?”

“No. Yes. For the time being. Even if she woke up tomorrow with the temperament of a pit bull, I’m riding this out until she’s recovered. We’ve agreed to start fresh and see what happens, but I still have reservations. This just spells long-term disaster.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

Will sighed. “Because I wanted to. And I haven’t really wanted to kiss her in a long time. There is suddenly this chemistry between us. This electricity whenever I’m close to her. It’s nothing like we ever had before. It’s as though I’m with a completely different woman. A brand new relationship with someone who’s soft and sweet and gentle. I mean, she giggles, Alex.”

A blond brow shot up, curious. “Cynthia giggled?”

“More than once. At first, she was sort of lost, trying to feel her way around, but now that she’s got her bearings, she’s full of excitement and joy. It’s like she’s got a new lease on life. I like being around her. I’m happy when she’s happy. I bought her a damn sewing machine.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I thought she’d like it, and I was right. She’s cleared out her office of advertising junk and has been merrily plugging away at making clothes.”

“Is that what she’s going to do now?”

“I guess. She can’t exactly go back to the ad agency and fake it. I encouraged her to do what inspired her, and this is the direction she took. It makes her happy.”

Alex nodded. “Which makes you happy. So what’s the big deal, then?”

“It’s all wrong!” Will shouted, slamming his fist into his desk. Hitting something let out some of the aggression he had pent up inside. His gut was a swirling mix of untapped sexual energy, confusion and frustration with no outlet. “She’s sucking me back in when all I wanted was to get out. It almost makes me wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. When I broke it off, she was insistent that we could work things out. Cynthia didn’t want the embarrassment of calling off the engagement. She wouldn’t even take off her ring because she said we’d talk when she got home. What if she’s trying to trick me into staying by faking this whole thing?”

“You mean pretending she has amnesia?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. I couldn’t trust her then, and I’m still not sure I can trust her now. All she did was lie to me for more than a year.”

“She nearly died in a plane crash. Not even Cynthia could premeditate a plan like that.”

Will frowned at Alex, his argument instantly deflating because he knew his friend was right. He was being paranoid. Letting his past distrust of Cynthia cloud his judgment. Of course she couldn’t have set this up, but somehow it was easier to be suspicious of her than to let himself trust her. “Ah, hell. What a mess I’ve made of things.”

Alex stood and went over to the small bar where Will kept his stash of water, soda and Scotch. “Want a drink?” he asked.

“No, help yourself,” Will said.

Alex poured himself a few fingers of Scotch and walked over to the large picture window that overlooked the vast concrete sea of New York City. “I think you’ve gone about this all wrong.”

“Enlighten me.”

The real-estate developer returned to Will’s desk and sat back down in his chair. “You offered her a clean slate, but you’re still letting all that old junk mess with your head. Let’s take a page from Cynthia’s book, so to speak. Forget about your past with Cynthia. Forget about this collaboration with Dempsey Corp. Even forget you were ever engaged.”

Will looked at his friend with distrust. Those were a lot of factors to just sweep off the table. “O-kay.”

“Now,” Alex continued, “with all that set aside, just ask yourself one simple question: Do you want her?”

Leave it to Alex to boil the situation down to base needs. But it made sense. Did he want her? Given that the blood pumped furiously through his body just from the sound of her laughter? Given that he’d locked himself in his office for hours with a miserable erection to keep himself from doing something stupid? “Yes.”

“And with any other aspect of your life, what do you do when you want something?”

“I get it.”

Alex shook his head. “You don’t just get it, you tackle it. When you wanted to be student-body president, you campaigned like no one else. When you wanted to be the captain of the polo team in college, you worked harder than any other guy on the field. Cynthia could’ve had any man she wanted. But you set your sights high and you made her fall for you. You make things happen. It sounds like she’s interested in you and you’re interested in her. What’s the problem?”

“It’s not that simple. Yes, in your scenario it seems that way, but all those other issues still exist. I don’t live in a vacuum.”

“Yes, but what would it hurt if you guys gave this new relationship a solid try?”

Will knew the only thing that could get hurt was him, but that was only if he let it happen. Cynthia had the potential to really get into his head and into his heart, but he couldn’t allow it to go that far. He didn’t have a head injury to forget what Cynthia was capable of. But if he could keep his heart out of the equation, it would be better for business, and maybe he wouldn’t mind coming home at night. “It wouldn’t hurt anything,” Will admitted.

Alex took another sip of his Scotch, a smug smile curling his lips. “Well, it’s not my life, man, but if I were you, I’d go for it. March right out of this office and seduce the panties right off of her. Then enjoy it while it lasts. If she recovers and you hate each other again, so be it. You leave. You haven’t lost anything that wasn’t screwed before that plane went down.”

“And if she doesn’t recover?”

“They you’ll live happily ever after. Simple as that.”

It wasn’t as simple as that, but it did give him something to think about. Will got up and poured his own small tumbler of Scotch.

Alex was right. He had told Cynthia he’d forgiven her, but deep down, he was still holding back. He hadn’t committed himself the way he should’ve. And that wasn’t fair to either of them. Will needed to let himself enjoy her, even if he couldn’t let himself love her. Eventually something would ruin what they had, and he needed to take the chance while he still could.

Cynthia did the last bit of stitching and snipped the thread that ran from the cloth to the needle. She turned the dress right side out and shook it in front of her. It had taken her a few days, but her first piece was finished. She held it out to admire it and smiled. It wasn’t bad.

She’d opted to start with the first design that called to her, regardless of whether it was too hard to tackle. It was a sleeveless shirtdress with a sort of fifties-era vibe. It buttoned down the front, with a sweet, rounded collar and a belt that tied at the waist. The skirt was full and fell just below the knee. She even considered constructing a crinoline underneath for fullness but opted to wait until it was finished to decide.

The silhouette was sophisticated, but it veered from the traditional with black-and-white zebra-printed fabric, splattered with hot pink and purple. The moment she saw the bolt of it sticking out of the racks, she knew it was the perfect choice for this project. She’d trimmed the edges and fashioned the collar and belt out of black satin that gave it a touch of shine and richness.

It was rockabilly meets the eighties. Funky, fun and unlike anything she’d seen people wearing. At least on the Upper East Side.

But now the real test. Slipping out of her clothes, she unbuttoned the dress and slipped it on. Turning and admiring it in the full-length mirror on the door, she was pleased and relieved to find she’d fitted it just right. After fastening the last button and tying the belt, the dress fit perfectly, flattering and forming to every curve.

It was just screaming for some black, patent-leather peep-toe sling-backs. Cynthia dashed down the hall to the bedroom and searched through shoeboxes until she found just the right pair. She slipped them on and then walked out into the living room to give the look a turn around the floor.

The sound of a loud cat-calling whistle made her spin on her heels.

Will was standing in the doorway, a look of open appreciation lighting his eyes. His heated gaze took in every inch of her, and she was fairly certain her skills at the sewing machine didn’t have much to do with it. He smiled, shutting the door behind him. “Look at you,” he said.

“Do you like it?” she asked, taking a twirl to make the full skirt swirl around her and torture him with the quick flash of bare thigh.

“I do,” he said, swallowing hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

“I just finished it a few minutes ago.”

Will’s eyebrows shot for the ceiling. “You mean you made that?”

“Yep. It’s my first completed piece. I know the arm brace leaves something to be desired, but that will come off before too long.”

“You went from a sewing-machine virgin to making a dress that is well constructed enough for the catwalk in three days? It took my little sister two weeks to figure out how to thread her machine when she took home ec. Her first dress looked like a purple potato sack.”

Cynthia nodded. She’d had the same concerns when she first sat down. Fortunately, he’d bought her such a nice machine it practically ran itself. And sewing had simply come as second nature to her, which was frustrating considering how much of her previous life was a daily struggle. After reading over the manual once, the machine just made sense. Piecing together and pinning parts of the clothes on the dress form was easy. She might not know the name of every sewing doo-dad and gadget, but she would rummage through her things until she found what she thought would work. It was like she’d been doing it her whole life, which was impossible. And worrisome, honestly, if her joy of the new project hadn’t taken precedence in her mind.

“I guess following my instincts has paid off. I’m really excited about making more. I was even thinking about making my dress for the party.”

Will shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa. “Ahh, yes. Your mother’s soiree. It’s the talk of the town. Choose your design carefully, as it might show up on the cover of every society paper and website in Manhattan.”

Cynthia froze, mid-swish, her mouth falling slightly open. She hadn’t thought about that. She kept forgetting that anyone gave a damn about what or who she was. There would be journalists there. Photographers. If she really wanted to be a designer, this would be the perfect launching board.

That, or they’d laugh her back to a figurehead VP job at her daddy’s company. Who was she to just decide one day she wanted to do fashion? She had no training, no experience. Uncanny skill with a pencil and some scissors did not a career make.

“Maybe I should just stick with something in my closet, then,” she conceded.

“Can’t do that,” Will said, closing the gap between them. “You can’t be seen in something you’ve worn before. You’ve either got to buy a new dress or make one. And I think you should make one. Let everyone at that party know that Cynthia Dempsey has arrived, more fun and fashionable than ever.”

Cynthia let her gaze drop from his, the compliment flushing her cheeks. “You’re just being nice.”

“No,” Will said, standing directly in front of her and resting his hands on the small waist she accented with the cut of the dress. His fingers gently stroked her skin through the fabric, sending a warm awareness coursing through her veins. Her mouth went dry, her breasts tightening and aching to press against the hard wall of his chest.

Every time he got close to her, every time he touched her, she reacted this way. She just didn’t understand. This couldn’t be something new; this had to be chemistry and hormones at a base level. Something primitive. She couldn’t squelch this reaction to Will even if she tried. And yet she had had an affair with someone else. She couldn’t possibly feel this way and be with another man at the same time.

Will leaned in and pressed against her, and she was immediately pleased that she’d put on these high heels a moment before. The five-inch pumps put them on a level playing field. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, hard length to soft belly.

“I believe I have my first fan,” she said, her voice breathy and still slightly rough from the accident.

“Indeed.” He leaned in and kissed her, capturing her mouth with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Cynthia met his advance with gusto. Their previous kisses, the way he touched her, had a hesitation like there was a war inside holding him back. Tonight there were no barriers. His tongue invaded her, his hands roaming across her body as though he were exploring new territory. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest and bringing his erection into direct contact with the sensitive juncture of her thighs.

Will moaned against her lips with the pleasure the pressure brought on. He slowly backed her against the living room wall and cupped one cheek of her ass, pulling her tighter to him. His lips traveled lightly across her jaw, still careful about the surgery she’d had, then moved down to feast on the sensitive curve of her neck. His hand drifted to encircle one of her breasts, his thumb stroking the hardened nipple that protruded through the fabric.

Cynthia gasped, the thrill of pleasure running down her back and exploding at the base of her spine into throbbing desire. She inched one thigh up the outside of his leg, hooking her knee around his hip. He pressed into her, the firm heat striking her sex. She couldn’t contain her cry of pleasure. She’d never experienced a sensation like that before, and her body shuddered from the force of it.

Will continued sucking and biting at her neck, his fingers gently unfastening the chunky black buttons that held her dress on. Before she knew it, the top was undone to the waist and he was sliding his hands inside to caress her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.

Her breath caught in her throat as he left a trail of kisses down her neck to her collarbone and on to the valley between her breasts. He pushed aside the lace and took a hardened peak into his mouth, eliciting a strangled cry from her throat. Her fingers weaved into his hair tugging him closer. Now that she had him back in her arms, she didn’t ever want to let him go.

Will’s hand slid along her exposed thigh, pushing her dress higher as he moved. The tension in Cynthia’s body increased with every inch, her body drawn tight as a drum. All her reservations about being with Will melted away. Nothing mattered but being in his arms right here, right now.

When his hand found the moist heat between her thighs, she thought she might explode with wanting him. His fingers stroked her gently through the silk of her panties, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“Will, please,” she whispered.

He pulled away from her breasts long enough to speak. “Please what? Tell me what you want, Cynthia.”

A part of her flinched when he said her name. He’d said it a million times, but somehow saying it now, like this, brought the doubts back to her mind. She didn’t want him calling her that. The concern was immediately wiped away by a tidal wave of pleasure as his finger made direct contact with her most sensitive spot.

“You,” she managed, not quite sure she could form any other words.

Will’s hand withdrew and she was about to revel in getting her way when she heard a soft ringing sound and realized he’d stopped because of the phone. She was about to chuck his stupid cell phone across the room when she realized it was the cordless phone on the table beside them. The caller ID was lit up with the last number in the world she wanted to see. He never called this late. There was no way she could hide the panic plastered over her face in that instant. No way she could pretend she didn’t know who was calling.

Will pulled away, taking a full step back and leaving only her gelatinous legs precariously holding her up. When she looked in his eyes, the desire was gone, replaced only with the same cold indifference he’d had in the early days at the hospital. His jaw was tight, his face reddening slightly with an anger he refused to unleash even if she deserved it.

Instead, he turned and marched out of the room, slamming the apartment door behind him.

Completely deflated, Cynthia slid down the wall, her head cradled in her hands. With the phone still ringing, she picked it up from the cradle and threw it against the wall with a loud crack. The phone broke into several pieces, and that was enough to silence it, but the damage was already done.

Nigel had called again. And apparently Will recognized the number, too.