check his phone when she spoke the words. His gaze narrowed at her and then he conceded with a nod. “I’d say you were probably right and offer to put it on silent.” He held it up and flipped a switch, putting an end to the constant symphony of beeps, chirps and ringtone melodies. He wasn’t comfortable turning it completely off in case there was a serious emergency.
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction, I suppose. When was the last time you went on a vacation?”
“I took leave the Monday after your accident.”
Cynthia frowned. “That’s not a vacation. I’m talking sand between your toes and a frosty drink in your hand.”
He thought back to his last trip and calculated how long it had been. “Sadly, it was after we graduated from Yale. Junior paid for both of us to spend a week in Antigua as a present.”
“That was a long time ago. Do you have anything planned in the future?”
“Just our honeymoon. Two weeks in Bali,” he said. “We reserved one of those little private huts over the water.”
Will’s mind instantly flashed to being on the beach with her. He knew she wasn’t pleased with whatever weight she’d put on since the accident, but he didn’t mind in the least. It gave a new fullness to her breasts and a roundness to her hips that would fill out a bikini quite nicely. He imagined rubbing thick, creamy sunscreen over every inch of her pale, delicate skin to protect it from burning. The undeniable desire to pull her into the water and taste the saltiness of her skin and the ocean mingling together washed over him. It was a fantasy worth indulging, even if not for a honeymoon. Two weeks in paradise, indeed.
“That sounds heavenly,” she said, echoing his thoughts without realizing it. “Maybe we should plan something. Not necessarily two weeks in Bali, but something to get you away from work and me out of the apartment.”
“Definitely,” he said. Wherever it was, it had to have a beach, and he would buy her a pink bikini to wear. He’d already decided as much.
Just then, the waiter returned with their meals. “Wow,” Cynthia remarked as she took in her large platter of pasta and immediately dug in. It provided him the luxury of watching her for a moment without her noticing.
Everything about Cynthia fascinated him. He supposed that having a brush with death could make you appreciate the smallest things, even fettuccine with clam sauce. It made him want to expose her to new things and shower her with gifts—not only because she deserved them but because she would genuinely appreciate them. He would take her on a tour of the city she would love, and as soon as the doctor cleared her to travel, they would be off to the nearest tropical locale. If she was too afraid to fly, he’d charter a yacht to take them there. But that would all come later.
First, he intended to expose her to another new experience. Once they got home, he was going to coax every type of pleasure he could from her body.
Seven
Cynthia could feel a change in the energy between them while they ate. At one point, she’d looked up from her food to find Will watching her intently. He’d barely touched his own meal, but the desire in his eyes made it obvious he was hungry for more than just pasta. She’d have to try tiramisu another night, because they were heading straight home after this course.
That was fine by her.
But as the elevator of their apartment building carried them up, Cynthia felt her nerves getting the best of her. She wasn’t a virgin, but she felt as inexperienced as one. What was she supposed to do? She knew she was in capable hands with Will, but she wanted to please him, too. Hopefully he would understand and not think she was just bad in bed.
She also knew he probably couldn’t help but draw comparisons from the past, and that worried her, too. Since none of her newer clothes fit, she knew she’d gained weight. Would he be disappointed to find that her body had changed? What if he wanted the lights on? Cynthia wasn’t sure she was brave enough for that yet.
Will took her hand and led her from the elevator to their door. She let him guide her inside. He locked the door behind them, tossed his keys onto the table where the phone used to be and made his way into the living room.
When he reached up to turn on the light, Cynthia caught his hand. “How about just the fireplace?” she suggested. Even that light was too much, but she didn’t want to sound immature. The fire would still cast shadows, and the dim glow would mask the imperfections she hoped to hide.
He nodded silently, going through the motions of starting a fire and gesturing for her to sit on the thick area rug in front of the fireplace. She kicked off her shoes and sat down to watch him. With the flames started, Will disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two flutes of champagne. “Have you tried champagne yet?”
“No,” she said as she accepted the glass and watched him lower to the rug beside her.
“Then, to the first of several new experiences tonight I hope you’ll enjoy.” Will held up the flute and clinked it with hers.
Cynthia could feel herself starting to blush and hoped the fireplace didn’t make it too obvious. She brought the glass to her lips and took in a sip of the sweet, bubbly drink. It was wonderful. She took another large sip. The fizz seemed to go straight into her veins, warming her whole body and relaxing the muscles that tensed as he lingered close.
“Do you like it?” Will asked, setting his half-empty flute on the nearby coffee table and then leaning closer to her.
“I do.” She swallowed the last bit for a dose of liquid courage and set it aside.
“Good.” He reached out to cradle the nape of her neck and leaned in to close the small gap between them. His lips met hers, and she instantly felt lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with champagne. His mouth was warm and tasted sweet against hers. The feel of his fingertips massaging through her hair coaxed her eyes closed, and she gave in to the sensation of him.
She felt the heat of his hand on her thigh. It stroked gently through the fabric of her skirt, slowly inching it higher up her leg. The caress lit a fire deep in her belly that urged her to reach out to him. Cynthia pressed a hand against his chest, kneading at the hard muscles, but the starched fabric of his dress shirt didn’t feel good against her palms. She wanted to touch bare skin. Starting at his collar, she worked at the buttons, pausing as she reached his waistband. There, the brush of her fingertips across his stomach elicited a deep groan of approval against her lips. It made her bolder, and she tugged his shirt out and undid the last button, slipping the shirt over his shoulders and exposing his chest.
This, she wanted to see. Pulling away from his kiss, she opened her eyes and took in the hard expanse of his chest, the ridges and planes of his body accented and shadowed by the flickering fire. It beckoned her to reach out, and she indulged. She reveled in the velvet glide of her fingertips across his skin. The muscles of his stomach jumped as her hand neared his navel, and Will shot a hand out to grasp her wrist. “Not yet,” he whispered, moving her hand higher to rest on his shoulder.
Will kissed her again, and this time she could feel his hands move down her blouse, opening it as she had done to his shirt. For a moment her nerves returned, but her back was to the fire, so when he eased her blouse off, her chest was still cloaked in shadow. His hand slid like satin over her exposed back, grasping the catch of her bra and undoing it with a flick of his fingers. Without his mouth leaving hers, he slid the bra down her arms and tossed
