Free Wife With Amnesia by Metsy Hingle

joke, her way of trying to alleviate some of the sexual tension she sensed between them. But one glimpse at his guarded expression and the worry clouding those silvery eyes had her stomach dipping. “I was only kidding.”
    â€œRight. I know that.”
    Nerves began to inch their way up her spine again. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing,” he said, averting his gaze.
    Her stomach sank. He was lying. “Do I have some…some kind of phobia that makes me freak out during thunderstorms?”
    â€œOf course not.” He sighed, washed a hand down his face. “Most people don’t like bad weather. You’re no exception. That doesn’t mean you have a phobia about it. Besides, New Orleans gets its fair share of rainstorms. Since you’ve lived here your entire life, you’re used to them. For the most part, storms don’t bother you.”
    â€œBut sometimes they do bother me?” she prompted.
    â€œYes. Or at least I suspected they did. You never said anything, but I always got the feeling bad weather frightened you. Today…today was the first time you ever admitted you were afraid. It’s also the first time you’ve ever let me comfort you.”
    And Matt had wanted to comfort her, Claire realized with sudden insight. Obviously, the fact that she had allowed him to comfort her now meant a great deal to him, given the thickness in his voice. So how had she failed to recognize Matt’s need to do so before now? He was her husband, and he cared about her. She didn’t doubt that. It was there in the way he looked at her, in the tenderness of his touch, in the patient way he had dealt with her amnesia.
    So why hadn’t she turned to Matt before now? Yet another question in the puzzle of who was Claire Gallagher? What made her tick? Didn’t she love her husband enough to trust him with her fears? Had she ever loved or trusted anyone? she wondered. And why had a little thunder and rain caused her skin to go all clammy and sent panic racing like wildfire in her veins? Suddenly all the questions running through her mind had her head pounding. She rubbed at her temples.
    â€œHead hurting again?”
    â€œJust a little,” she admitted.
    Easing her off his lap so that she was stretched out on the couch, he asked, “How about I get you a couple of those pain pills that Jeff prescribed?”
    â€œNo. Really, it’s not that bad.”
    He studied her face a moment, his eyes filled with concern. “You sure?”
    She nodded and attempted a smile. “I think I’m just a little tired.”
    â€œThat’s no surprise. You’ve had a pretty full day.”
    She liked having Matt grin at her that way, Claire realized as his lips kicked into a grin. She liked him smiling at her almost as much as she liked having him hold her. And considering the state of her memory, she wasn’t all too sure that was a good thing.
    He kissed the tip of her nose and stood. “It’s getting late. Give me a minute to put the kitchen in order, and then I’ll help you upstairs so you can get ready for bed.”
    He disappeared before she could protest that she didn’t need any help and could manage the stairs on her own. What she didn’t know was how to manage the desire that had started curling low in her belly again at the mention of going to bed. She could easily envision herself sharing a bed with Matt, kissing him, touching him, making love with him.
    And she’d darned well better get her lustful musings under control, Claire told herself as she banished the images from her mind. She could hear water running and the clatter of dishes coming from the next room. Sitting up, she searched the room for sight of her crutches. When she failed to find them, she gave up and began a slow journey across the room. By the time she reached the staircase, she was exhausted. Using the newel post for leverage, she eased herself down