“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
