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 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 fiance. 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 fiance 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,...