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.