Free Wife With Amnesia by Metsy Hingle Page B

her.
    â€œYou’re responsible. You chose everything in here except the bed,” he told her as he eased her down to the chaise.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYou bet,” he said, and pulled the drapes open to reveal a night sky twinkling with stars now that the storm was over. Returning to her, Matt lifted her healthy foot and started to remove the flat shoe.
    Claire yanked her foot up toward her chest, wrapped her arms around it. “I…I think I can manage.”
    He hesitated a moment, then stood. “I’ll get your pajamas for you.”
    â€œMatt, wait.”
    He stopped in front of the chest of drawers and looked back at her. “Yeah?”
    Nervous, Claire plucked at the fabric of her slacks. “I know that this is your room, too,” she began. “I mean, I know we’re married and you and I…that we…”
    Matt retraced his path to her side. “Look at me, Red.”
    When she didn’t, he tipped her chin up. Desire gleamed in his silvery eyes. And for a moment nerves gave way to excitement as an answering need licked through her.
    â€œI want you. Make no mistake about that. And I’d like nothing better than to carry you over to that bed and make passionate love with you all night.”
    Claire’s heart jumped at his words. Another shiver ofexcitement shot through her blood, along with a jolt of fear. “Matt, I—”
    â€œBut as much as I want that, I know you don’t feel the same way right now. So I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight, tomorrow night and every night until you tell me that you want me to share this room with you.”
    â€œThank you,” she whispered, both relieved and disappointed.
    After showing her where everything was in the adjoining bathroom, he pulled back the bed covers and laid out her pajamas. ‘I’m going down to lock up for the night. I’ll be back up in a few minutes with your medication.”
    â€œOkay,” Claire told him as she picked up the ivory silk pajamas.
    He paused at the doorway. “Sure you don’t need any help?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” she said, but as he left the room, Claire couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret.
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    Matt pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. Leaning against it, he squeezed his eyes shut and battled the desire that clawed at his gut. He could still taste her, feel the imprint of Claire’s body pressed against him, smell her scent on his skin. For a few moments downstairs when she had kissed him back, and again when he had first brought her into the bedroom, she had been his Claire again. It was as though nothing had changed between them, as though she had never walked out on him, as though the past six months had never happened.
    Only, those six months had happened, Matt reminded himself. She just didn’t remember them. And no matter how much he loved and wanted Claire, he couldn’t afford to rush her.
    He needed to stick to his plan if this was going to work, Matt told himself. Sucking in a breath, he opened his eyes and headed downstairs. And the only way to make it work was to earn her trust. Otherwise, when Claire’s memory returned, he didn’t stand a chance of her forgiving him.
    Too bad patience had never been one of his strong suits, Matt thought as he put on a kettle of water to make tea. While he waited for the water to heat, he recalled the terrified look on Claire’s face when that storm had rolled in earlier and the way she had clung to him. The fist around his heart squeezed tighter as the unwelcome images painted by the investigator’s report came back to haunt him.
    All too easily he could envision Claire as a frightened toddler, cowering inside that confessional box in the empty church while a hurricane raged outdoors. Anger churned anew inside him at the details he’d gleaned from the report, making him grateful that even prior to the assault and her amnesia, Claire