She’s awake. So why can’t she remember?
They say she’s Cynthia Dempsey, fiancée of media mogul Will Taylor. But try as she might, she can’t recall their high-society life or the man sitting by her hospital bed. Though her body certainly remembers him. Even as she senses the distance between them, the electricity when they touch is undeniable.
Will can hardly believe Cynthia’s transformation. Gone is the ice queen who betrayed him, and in her place is a woman who seems genuine and warm. But can he risk his heart again, not knowing what might happen when her memory returns?
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. Her chest tightened; her hand involuntarily gripped 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.
But when Will looked at her, she knew that no matter what had gone wrong between them, he felt that shiver, too.
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
Andrea Laurence
What Lies Beneath
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.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
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, bu
t 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 q
uite 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.”
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