Read Online Remember Me by Sharon Sala - Free Book Online Page B

be swayed by confusion and chose to ignore what she said.
    â€œWe’re almost home,” he said. “You’ll feel better after you rest.”
    She flinched. His refusal to address her confusion was making her crazy.
    â€œNo, Clay, I won’t,” she snapped. “I won’t feel better until I understand what’s going on. I’ve lost two years of my life, and the way I feel, I’m losing my husband, as well. A good nap isn’t going to cure a damn thing.”
    The color faded from his face. “You’re not losing me,” he muttered.
    â€œFeels like it to me.”
    She looked at him for a long, silent moment—waiting for a more reassuring response, or, at the least, some sign of tenderness. It wasn’t there. When he turned the corner and headed down their street, she looked away.
    The tension between them lengthened. Moments later, he was parking in the driveway, and the business of getting her out of the car and into the house overtook the inquisition.
    The house smelled damp, a holdover from the recent rains. Clay helped Frankie inside, then stopped to turn up the central heat. As he did, she swayed. He reached to steady her, his hand brushing her breast, then lingering at the curve of her waist.
    She watched his nostrils flare and then saw his mouth soften. She leaned forward, offering herself out of both love and desperation.
    He didn’t move.
    She tensed, waiting for him to come closer, to take her in his arms and tell her how much she meant to him, how glad he was that she’d come home.
    But the moment never came. She lifted her chin, her voice bitter with tears. “You know something, Clay? I never figured you for a quitter.”
    Then she took her bag from his hands and made her way down the hall without him. It was the longest twenty feet of her life.
    Clay watched her go, wanting to go after her. But he kept remembering the years of believing she was dead—of being hounded mercilessly by the police and the press. A part of him was afraid to let go of the safety net he’d built around his heart.
    â€œCoward,” he muttered to himself, then stalked into the kitchen to make some coffee.
    An envelope and a small pile of clothes were lying on the kitchen table. He’d forgotten to put them away. He picked up the clothes, fingering the fabric and looking at the labels. He wasn’t much of a judge of women’s clothing, but it was obvious that these were not off any department-store rack. He dropped them on the table, reached for the envelope and looked inside, still incredulous that Frankie had been carrying this kind of money.
    He turned toward the doorway. Frankie was coming down the hall. Suddenly he wanted to see her face when he showed her the money. If she had something to hide, he would know it.
    She walked into the kitchen with an empty pill bottle in her hands. Her expression was closed, her body language posting an “off-limits” sign that any fool could have read.
    â€œI have a headache. We’re out of painkillers,” she said.
    He tossed the envelope on the counter and headed for the cabinet over the sink.
    â€œHere you go,” he said, shaking a couple out in her hands.
    â€œThank you.”
    Clay’s conscience tugged. She looked so hurt, so confused.
    â€œFrancesca…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLook, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, but you have to understand my—”
    â€œWhy?”
    He hesitated, frowning. “Why what?”
    â€œWhy do I have to understand your feelings? You don’t seem inclined to understand mine.”
    He took a slow breath. He didn’t want to fight, he just wanted answers.
    â€œHow can I understand anything, Francesca, when everything about you is still a big mystery?”
    Tears surfaced again. “And no one regrets that more than I. But there’s one thing I haven’t forgotten.”
    His interest heightened.