Read Online Wife With Amnesia by Metsy Hingle - Free Book Online Page B

shadows. Suddenly uneasy in the encroaching darkness, Claire rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She glanced toward the door, eager for Matt to return. Thunder grumbled, and Claire nearly jumped out of her skin.
    She needed to hide.
    The thought came out of nowhere, making her heart race. Despite the damp chill in the air, sweat beaded across her forehead, between her breasts. For a second something tugged at her memory, something frightening and ugly that sent fear climbing up her throat. Instead of reaching for that scrap of memory, she shrank away from it, afraid of what she would find. Fear mushroomed inside her. The urge to hide picked up a panicked beat in her blood.
    She needed to run.
    She scrambled to get out of the chair, ready to flee.
    â€œThe weatherman says we’re in for a few showers.We’d better get you inside before—” Matt swore. He was beside her in a flash, catching her when she would have fallen flat on her face in her haste to untangle herself from the chair and run. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the house.
    He didn’t say a word—not a single one—as she clung to him. Long after he sat down on the couch with her wrapped around him and trembling like a leaf in the wind, he remained silent. He asked no questions. He didn’t try to reason with her that she was being foolish. He simply held her, his hand rhythmically stroking over her hair and down her back in a soothing motion.
    Claire wasn’t sure how long she sat there plastered against Matt before the terror that had ambushed her out on the deck began to subside. It could have been minutes or hours that passed before the shaking inside her finally stopped. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that the drapes had been drawn closed and that candles and lamps had been lit throughout the room, giving it a soft, cozy glow. The next thing she realized was that she no longer could hear the drumming of rain against the windows or the echo of thunder. Instead she heard the rich voice of Harry Connick, Jr., singing an old Sinatra classic and the steady beat of Matt’s heart beneath her ear. Curled up in his lap with her head resting against his chest, Claire gradually became aware of him as a man. There was no mistaking the strength in the arms that cradled her. He felt solid, safe, strong—a man to slay dragons, she thought.
    Surprised by the romantic analogy her brain had conjured up, Claire took a deep breath to clear her head. As she did so, she caught his scent—that mixture of woods and citrus and male sweat. No longer in the grips of the fear that had nearly paralyzed her, she thought about thatkiss they had shared earlier on the deck. She felt that pull at her memory again. She could see herself in his arms, feel his mouth and hands on her body, taste him on her lips. Claire shivered. It wasn’t just a memory that had heat curling low in her belly, she realized. It was a need, a feminine hunger to have Matt kiss her, to have him touch her again.
    â€œCold?” he murmured, his hand ceasing its slow, lazy strokes down her back.
    â€œNo. I—I’m okay,” she told him, flustered as much by her reaction to him as to her wild imaginings.
    Great, Claire thought, admonishing herself. She practically freaked out over a little thunder and didn’t have a clue why, since her mind was filled with blanks where her memories should be. She had enough bruises on her body to play a game of connect the dots, and her ankle was trussed up like a mummy’s. But apparently her female parts were all in full working order because she was sitting here lusting after a husband that she didn’t even remember.
    â€œI think the worst of the storm’s over now. Feeling better?”
    â€œYes,” she replied, lifting her head. “Tell me, do I always become catatonic whenever there’s a little thunderstorm?”
    The question had been meant as a