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?”