Free Wife With Amnesia by Metsy Hingle Page A

and sat on the first stepwhile she contemplated the steep climb. She had been wrong, Claire decided. There was no way she was going to be able to maneuver those stairs on her own.
    â€œDamn it, Red! What do you think you’re doing?”
    She whipped her gaze toward a scowling Matt and watched in frustration as he ate up the yards that it had taken her forever to navigate in a matter of seconds. “I was going upstairs, but I couldn’t find my crutches.”
    An angry frown slashed his brow. “I told you to wait for me.”
    â€œI’m not helpless, Matt, and I don’t want to be treated like an invalid. I think I can manage the stairs, if you’ll lend me your arm for support.”
    â€œNo way. I’m carrying you.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œNo buts,” he said firmly. Releasing a breath, he closed his eyes a second, and when he opened them again, his expression had softened. “Listen, you’ll probably be up and down these stairs more times than I care to think about during the next few days. Now is my only shot at playing the hero. So humor me, Red. Let me feel macho. Let me carry you upstairs.”
    She wanted to argue, would have, but the plea in his eyes made it impossible. “All right. This time. But tomorrow, I do it on my own.”
    â€œDeal.”
    And before she had a chance to reconsider the wisdom of her decision, he lifted her up into his arms. A person would have thought she weighed practically nothing as he began to climb the stairs with her. But Matt carrying her was the least of her problems, Claire thought. He followed the curve of the stairway and Claire felt the nerves dancing along her skin again with each step. She recalled that overpowering urge she’d felt to run and hideearlier. To run and hide from whom? she wondered. From Matt? No, she reasoned. Matt was her husband. He loved her. Did she love him? She was attracted to him, even desired him, she admitted. But did she really love him? She stared at his face, felt that kick to her pulse again. Could she have forgotten him the way she had if she did love him?
    She didn’t know, Claire decided. What she did know was that despite the sexual pull between them, she didn’t remember him. And despite what he might think after that mind-blowing kiss that they had shared, she wasn’t ready to be his wife again. Until she was ready…until she knew who she was again, there was no way she could share Matt’s bed.
    Claire swallowed. How did she go about telling her husband that although she’d crawled all over him downstairs and he made her toes curl when they kissed, she didn’t feel comfortable sharing a bed or anything else with him yet?
    â€œThis is it,” Matt said and nudged open the door.
    Her first glimpse of the room stole Claire’s breath and emptied her head of concerns as she took in the details. Like the rest of the house, this room was lovely and elegant in its simplicity. At the heart of the room was a huge four-poster iron bed. The bed’s pewter finish was set off by a thick duvet in a shimmering sage damask with layered bed skirts that boasted coordinating trim sashes. Big fluffy pillows of sage, cream and silver were piled at the head of the bed. Crystal lamps with ceramic bases in celadon sat on pewter and glass nightstands. Across the room a cut crystal vase of white roses sat on a glass-top table between a chair and settee in oyster damask. A matching chaise with a striking jewel-colored throw sat opposite the grouping. An antique-white armoire took up most of one wall while a dressing table with an assortment of perfume bottles and framed pictures took up another. Floor-to-ceiling windows with billowing sheers filled the far wall. A large ficus and several flowering plants added to the room’s charm. “It’s lovely,” she told Matt. And it was. The room was also warm, inviting…and totally unfamiliar to