Wife With Amnesia (11 page)

And his mouth went dry at the sight of all that smooth, pale skin with only bits of lace shielding her breasts and femininity from him. “You're going to kill me,” he almost growled.

Her fingers froze on his belt. She looked up at him, and for a second the eyes that had gone all smoky with desire cleared. Then her lips, those luscious lips, curved in a smile that was pure sin. “I will kill you if you stop now.”

He didn't stop. He wasn't sure he could stop even if he had wanted to. Unclasping the hook at the front of her bra, he filled his palms with her breasts. When she moaned, he kissed her, eased her back down against the pillows and promised himself he would go slow. He would take his time, savor each inch of her body, starting with her mouth.

He kissed her again, long, slow, drugging kisses. But kissing her mouth wasn't enough, not nearly enough. So
he kissed her chin, tasted her throat, licked the slope of her breasts. When he circled the tip of her breast with his tongue, Claire's fingers bit into his shoulders. She arched her back, lifted her hips. And then it was Matt's turn to groan as he took one nipple into his mouth.

“Matt, I…oh, Matt, please,” she cried when he shifted to her other breast and suckled. “I can't stand it. I want you…I want you inside me.”

“Not yet,” he told her and, struggling to hold back his own need, he pressed kisses down her midriff and moved lower. When her belly quivered beneath his mouth, Matt nearly lost it. He hooked his fingers in the tiny scrap of lace, stripped it away and made himself a place between her legs. Then he pressed his mouth to the center of her heat.

“Matt,” she gasped even as she arched her body.

He parted the soft folds, flicked his tongue over her, in her, tasting, nipping the sensitive flesh.

Claire bucked beneath him, sobbed out his name. “Matt, I can't…I—”

She exploded beneath him.

As she trembled with the force of her release, Matt pulled her into his arms and held her. He drank in the cries of pleasure that spilled from her lips until the last of the shudders subsided. When she opened her eyes, she fisted her fingers in his hair and dragged his mouth to hers.

The kiss she gave him was long, slow, sweet. By the time Matt lifted his head, his breath was coming hard and fast, and his blood was burning hot. Desire became a fever in his blood, set his brain on fire and scrambled his ability to think.

“We've got to get you out of those clothes,” she told him while her fingers tore at the zipper of his slacks.

Feeling the same desperate need for speed he heard in her voice, he shucked off his pants and briefs. She reached for him again, stroked the tip of his manhood with her finger, and Matt nearly shot through the roof. When she closed her fist around him, need shuddered through him. Telling himself he was insane, he caught her wrist. “Wait.”

“I'm tired of waiting. I don't want to wait anymore—not for my memory to come back, not for me to remember that I loved you. I don't need to remember to know what's inside here now,” she told him, and pressed his hand against her chest, where her heart beat fast and strong against his palm. “I love you, Matt.”

Hearing her say the words filled the emptiness he'd lived with since she'd left him.

“I want to make love with you, Matt. I thought it's what you wanted, too.”

“It is what I want,” he told her. He shook with the effort it took to keep from taking what she offered, taking what he wanted. But he couldn't let her give herself to him—not without telling her the truth. “I love you, Claire. And I want you more than I want to draw my next breath, but there's something I need to tell you first. Something that I should have told you before now. It might make a difference in how you feel about me and in whether or not you still want to make love with me.”

The desire clouding her eyes cleared, and it ripped at him to see confusion take its place. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Before you were hurt and I brought you home from the hospital, you and I weren't the happily married couple I led you to believe.”

She picked up the dress she'd discarded, held it in front
of her like a shield. “I don't understand. We're not married?”

“Oh, we're married all right. But before you were attacked and lost your memory, we'd been separated for six months.”

T
he CD player clicked off, magnifying the silence in the room. Matt had been sure that nothing could feel worse than that fist-in-the-gut punch he'd experienced at the hospital the first time Claire had looked at him as though he were a stranger. He'd been wrong. Having her stare at him now out of brown eyes bright with tears was ten times worse. All his hopes of making things right between them sank, leaving the bitter taste of regret in his mouth and an emptiness inside him that went soul deep. “I'm sorry, Claire. I had hoped…” It didn't matter what he had hoped. Not anymore. Before she'd been hurt she had interpreted his actions as a betrayal and had been unable to forgive him. What chance did he have that she would forgive him now, when he had set out to deceive her deliberately? He didn't. And with the admission, something inside of him withered, died.

“You deserved the truth. I should have been honest
with you right from the start. I really am sorry.” Turning away, he snatched his pants from the floor and started to rise.

“Why, Matt? Did you do it out of some sense of…of obligation?”

Frowning, Matt turned back. “Obligation?”

“Yes. Did you pretend to be in love with me because you felt some misguided sense of duty to me because I'd been hurt?”

Understanding dawned and the hope he had thought dead flickered to new life. “God, Red, is that what you think?” Throwing down his pants, he caught her by the shoulders and stared down into her face. “Do you really believe that I was pretending to love you?”

“Weren't you?”

“No.” He spit out the word, wanting to shake her for even thinking such a thing. “I told you once before that I'm not a damn saint. I'm a man…a man who's made a lot of mistakes. I wasn't pretending to be in love with you. I
am
in love with you.”

“You are?” she asked, her face brightening.

“Yes, my sweet idiot. I am.”

“I'm not an idiot,” she countered.

He kissed the mock scowl on her lips. “In this particular instance you are,” he said. “Because even a blind man could see that there was no need for me to pretend to love you. I've always loved you, Claire. And I suspect I always will.”

“Oh, Matt.” Suddenly she launched herself at him, nearly knocking him on his backside.

He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. “I love you, Claire Gallagher,” he whispered. He kissed her head, breathed in her flowers-and-sunshine scent. He had the second chance he'd wanted, he realized, and the
heavy weight on his heart lightened. “I love you,” he said again, and Claire hugged him even tighter. Closing his eyes, Matt savored the moment and tried to convince his body to ignore the fact that he had a warm, naked Claire plastered against him.

Not that he had much hope of hiding his reaction from her, Matt admitted. She moved her hands down his spine, and he gritted his teeth as need bolted through him. When she drew back slightly, pressed her hands against his chest, reluctantly Matt loosened his embrace. Claire lifted her head and looked up into his eyes. “I meant what I said earlier, Matt. I love you.”

His chest tightened at her declaration. He hoped that she meant it…that she would still feel that way after he told her the rest. Searching for the right words, he began, “Red, I need to explain about the separation, tell you the reason you left me—”

“The reasons don't matter. The past doesn't matter. Not anymore. It doesn't have anything to do with the way I feel now.”

“But you have a right to know. I hurt you. I didn't mean to, but I did. And I—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I don't care about some tiff we had. It doesn't matter. Not now. What matters is that I love you, Matt, not some memory of you, but the man I've come to know during these past few weeks.” She stroked his jaw. “You told me that if my memory never came back it wouldn't matter, that we would make new memories together. That's what I want, Matt. I want to make new memories with you. Make one with me now. Make love with me.”

Any further notion he had about coming clean and explaining what had happened went up in smoke. His body, already hot and hard from simply holding her, was be
yond wanting and in full-fledged need. Evidently his body communicated that fact to Claire because her eyes darkened, gleamed in the candlelight as she whispered his name.

Matt didn't know which one of them moved first. Bodies tumbled to the floor, landing atop scattered pillows. Arms and legs tangled. Mouths mated. Tongues dueled. Hard muscles met soft, silken skin. His breath coming fast, Matt tore his mouth free and pushed himself up on his elbows. He eased a knee between her thighs and looked down at Claire. Candlelight spilled over her, catching the gold in her hair and turning it to a fiery flame. She reminded him of a pagan goddess—all womanly curves, milk-pale skin and a sultry smile curving her lips. The wind howled outside like a hungry wolf, echoing the ravenous need inside him to make her his. Nearly strangling at the effort it took to hold himself back, he cupped her mound, slid his fingers inside to ready her for him.

“Matt,” she cried out as he moved his finger in and out of her, mimicking what was to come. His body burned from the inside out as he brought her up, watched her shudder and fall over the edge. Still, he held himself back. He took her up again and again and again.

Claire gasped, clung to him as her body convulsed in pleasure. When she closed her teeth over his shoulder, the sharp bite shattered the last of his control. Unable to wait a moment longer, Matt sheathed himself in her in one swift stroke.

Her body arched like a bow beneath him as he filled her. And then he began to move. He wanted to go slowly, tried to go slowly, but he hadn't counted on the frantic beat in his blood that seemed to know only one speed—fast. But it was a speed that Claire was evidently familiar
with because she matched him thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet each stroke. She grabbed his hair, dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him long, hard, deep. And then her body stiffened. She arched her back and she began to quiver beneath him, around him. “Oh, Matt!”

With the taste of her still on his lips, Matt gripped her hips, slammed into her—again and again. And as the thunder bellowed out its fury and the lightning flashed white against the drapes, Matt buried himself inside her one last time and shouted her name as he dove headfirst into the storm.

 

Claire came awake to the sound of silence. Thunder no longer grumbled. Rain no longer beat against the roof. Wind no longer whistled mournfully like a wolf searching for its mate. Slowly she opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was that she wasn't upstairs in her bed, but lying naked in front of the fireplace. The next thing she realized was that she wasn't alone. A man's arm was draped over her waist. Not just any man's arm, Matt's arm, she corrected as memories of the evening came flooding back. Memories of Matt telling her that he loved her, kissing her, touching her, making love with her. Her heart swelled with emotion at how beautiful it had been, how right.

How could she have forgotten making love with him? How could she not remember something so powerful, so fulfilling, so inherently right? And why hadn't making love with Matt brought it all back to her?

It didn't make a lick of sense, Claire told herself. From what she had learned since awakening in that hospital all those weeks ago, she was perceived by everyone to be strong, determined, a survivor. Was she? The Claire Gallagher that Matt and his family described wasn't a person
who would run away from something. So why couldn't she shake the feeling that she had been running…was still running?

The questions tumbled right out of her head as Matt's hand cupped her breast. Claire sucked in a breath as his touch sent a fresh jolt of need curling low in her belly. Was he still asleep? she wondered, and decided he was, given the steady rhythm of his breathing. His movement had merely been a reflex, she told herself, and realized she was disappointed.

After the night they had spent making love, how could desire be this sharp and so close to the surface? For pity's sake, what was wrong with her? Claire chided silently, feeling wicked and wanton.

Matt's thumb grazed over her nipple and tiny explosions of pleasure shot through her body. Claire bit her bottom lip, tried to keep her body still and wondered how on earth she was going to endure this sensual torture while she waited for Matt to wake up. As if in answer to her silent question, he eased his hand down her middle and tucked her closer. Her bottom came up against an obviously fully aroused Matt. Claire gasped. “You're awake,” she accused.

“Yes,” he growled in her ear just before he nipped her shoulder.

“I think the storm's over,” she said, her voice breathless as his palm moved lower.

His hand stilled. “Regrets?”

“No,” she answered quickly. Turning over, she looked at Matt's face. Most of the candles she had lit earlier had died out sometime during the night. Only a few flames flickered now against the darkness. In the faint light, he reminded her of a warrior lord. Sharp cheekbones, slashing brows, dark stubble shadowing his jawline. His
mouth was pulled into a firm, uncompromising line. His black hair fell across his forehead giving him a rakish appeal. Unable to resist, she brushed the hair away from his eyes. And the hungry gleam she saw in those gray eyes made her pulse jump. “How could I possibly regret something that was so wonderful?”

“Was it wonderful for you, Claire?”

“Yes. I've never…” She flushed, lowered her lashes, suddenly flustered as the reality of what she'd almost said hit her.

“You've never?”

“I was going to say that making love has never been like that for me before. And then I realized I don't remember how it was before,” she said, swallowing hard to keep back the tears that suddenly stuck in her throat.

Matt tipped up her chin. “I remember,” he told her. “And it was never like that for me before, either. I've never felt more complete, more connected to you than I did when we made love last night.”

Claire's heart lurched with joy because it had been the same for her. There had been a sense of completeness, of being home, of being whole.

“And I've never loved you or wanted you more than I do right now.”

Anticipation hummed in her veins as his gray eyes roamed over her face, over her body. Her pulse danced. Her stomach dipped. Pinpricks of heat dampened her skin wherever his eyes touched her. And when he settled his focus on her mouth and leaned closer, anticipation gave way to need. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her mouth. Softly at first, sweetly, a slow drugging kiss that tempted, that teased, that made her want more.

When he drew back, Claire's head was spinning, her
breath was shallow and the ache inside her was fierce. “Why don't I remember this, Matt? How could I not remember this?”

“Then remember this,” he told her as he nipped her bottom lip. At her gasp, he took advantage of her parted lips and kissed her again. The kiss started slow again and quickly grew hotter, hungrier, deeper. He speared his hands through her hair, anchored her head and took the kiss deeper still. One kiss fed into another and another until Claire wasn't sure when one kiss ended and another began.

Matt's hand traced her breast, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hip, then a path along her spine. She looped her arms around his neck, lost her fingers in his hair and held on as the storm of sensations began to build in her. She was still tingling from the feel of his warm fingers on her back when he pulled his mouth free. “And remember this,” he said as he lifted her so that she sat astride him.

He tested her, readied her with his fingers while his teeth and tongue tempted and teased her breasts. Desire streaked through her faster than a shooting star with each touch, each stroke until her body burned for him to join hers. When she thought she'd surely go mad with the wanting, Matt circled her waist with his hands and with a strength and skill that astonished her, he lifted her again and lowered her onto his shaft. “I love you,” he whispered in a voice taut and raw. “Today, tomorrow, always.”

He filled her slowly, fully, completely and she drew him into her. Matt had been right. The past didn't matter. Only now. Only this. “I love you,” she told him, and began to move. He allowed her to set the rhythm. Like a sailboat she moved slowly at first, heading for the open
water and the wind. Then she was moving faster, skimming the waves, racing in the wind. Echoes and shadows swirled about her, clouded the edges of her mind. The door to the past yawned open a notch. Then the first wave of pleasure hit her, exploded inside her, over her, around her. With their hands locked together and her body anchored to his, she forgot about the door, forgot about the past. And holding on to Matt, she flew with him into the wind.

When she collapsed, gasping against his chest, and Matt enclosed her in his warmth, the haze of fog still swirled around her memory. But this time Claire felt no urge to run from the shadows of the past. Whatever she'd been afraid of no longer frightened her. With Matt, she was home. With Matt, she was safe.

 

That feeling of being safe stayed with Claire until she opened her eyes and discovered she was no longer snuggled with Matt in front of the fireplace. She was in bed—alone. Shoving up on one elbow, she scanned her surroundings and realized she was upstairs in her bedroom. Evidently that sensation of floating on air while wrapped in a cocoon of warmth hadn't been a dream after all. Matt must have carried her upstairs and put her in bed. The drapes had been drawn, but a hurricane lamp sat on a corner chest and bathed the room in a soft golden light. The sheet and coverlet slipped from her shoulders and Claire shivered at the chilled air. A quick check told her she was still naked, and she didn't see her clothes anywhere in sight. Pushing the coverlet aside, she tucked the sheet around her breasts. She started to get up, intent on going in search of Matt, when the bathroom door opened. Matt stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of jeans and
holding a denim shirt in his hands. His hair was damp and uncombed, his chest bare and tempting.