Excerpt of Wife With Amnesia by Metsy Hingle

"God, Red. I was so scared I was going to lose you," he said, his voice raw.

Claire stared at the man beside her bed, studied his face. He looked and sounded so familiar. So why couldn't she remember who he was or how he fit into her life?

"When the hospital called and said they'd brought you in, I thought . . . I was so afraid . . . "

Moved by the anguish in his voice, in his eyes, she reached out and touched his clenched fists. "I'm all right." He stiffened momentarily. Something dangerous flashed in those steel-colored eyes. But before she could pull her hand back, he closed his fingers over hers, held. "I know. It's just that . . . " He whooshed out a breath. His expression grim, he continued to stare at her while he seemed to engage in some inner struggle. "I'm sorry. I know how much you hate it when I push. But after last night . . . after thinking that you might . . . " He scrubbed a hand down his face. "I guess you're just going to have to add one more sin to my list of transgressions. Because God help me, I've got to do this."

And before she realized his intent, his mouth touched her own. He brushed his lips against hers in a kiss so soft, so gentle, that instead of pushing him away, Claire rested her palms against his chest. Muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, and she could sense the strength, the tightly leashed control, the fire held in check. The sweetness of his restraint moved something inside Claire. Curling her fingers in his shirt, she returned his kiss.

When he tensed, lifted his head to stare at her, Claire was sure she'd made a mistake. She started to retreat. But then he angled his head and his mouth came crashing down on hers again. Then his mouth was shaping hers, claiming her in a hungry kiss that made her blood heat, made her heart thunder in her chest. For a moment, sanity deserted Claire. Her senses whirled beneath the searing demand of his mouth. Feminine need shuddered through her and instinctively she arched her body toward him.

The sound of his groan, hit Claire like a slap. Shocked by her actions, she snapped open her eyes. Sweet heavens, what on earth had she been thinking? She didn't know this man--not even his name. Shaken, she unclenched her fingers from the fabric of his shirt and shoved at him–hard. He released her at once and had she been standing, she was sure she would have fallen. "W-who are you?" she demanded, hating the tremor in her voice, a tremor that she realized wasn't caused by fear alone.

Eyes narrowing, desire still glittered in their gray depths as he watched her with the same intensity that he'd kissed her. Out of nowhere the image of a wolf tracking its prey raced through Claire's mind. Whoever this man was he was dangerous, she realized. Maybe not physically, because she didn't think he would harm her, but on some deeper, more personal level. "I asked who you were."

"Matt."

"Matt," she repeated, sampling the sound of his name on her lips. She waited for some flicker of recognition, some memory to go with the name. When none came, her head began to throb in earnest. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she closed her eyes and ran his name, his face, his kiss through her mind again. Nothing. No inkling that she knew him, that she remembered him. All she encountered were more blank pages. Her heart picked up a panicked beat at that realization, and she was forced to acknowledge that her memory was filled with far too many blank pages. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes and found his gaze fastened on her as though he were sizing her up. The idea that he might be unnerved her–almost as much as her inability to remember.

"Do I know you?" she blurted out the question and immediately regretted it. Of course, she must know him, Claire reasoned. Why else would he be at the hospital with her? And why else would he have planted that toe-curling kiss on her?

"Yeah. I guess you could say you know me," he said, his mouth hardening, his dark brows slashing in a frown. "After all, I am your husband."