Found: His Perfect Wife. Marie Ferrarella

two years in her past, the mark it had left behind was still vivid. “Like you can’t breathe.”

      “Then I’m not married.”

      He probably thought she was strange, if not crazy. Needing something to do, she crossed to the window, opening it. The room hadn’t been aired out since their cousin had come to spend the holidays with them last Christmas. “Sorry, that was harsh. I shouldn’t have said that.”

      She needed to be moving all the time. Was that because she had so much energy to spare, or was she trying to outdistance something? There’d been a note in her voice he couldn’t quite recognize. Not that, he thought, he’d recognize a hell of a whole lot right now.

      “Why not?”

      “Because I just shouldn’t have.” Why couldn’t he leave it at that? It was his mind they needed to explore, not hers. “Besides, you’re a stranger.”

      “And your husband wouldn’t like you talking to strangers,” he guessed.

      “I’m not married.” He probably didn’t make the connection, or remember at any rate. “I live here, remember?”

      Luc watched her fuss with the bedspread. “Yes, it’s just that I thought maybe you lived here with your husband. You sounded so adamant just now, about marriage.”

      She had, too. Probably too adamant. Alison ran her hand along her neck, trying to lighten the moment. “It’s been a rough day. I was almost mugged.”

      His eyes met hers. Humor glinted in them. “Yeah, I know.”

      It felt as if his eyes were touching her. Air became thick in her throat, almost solidifying. She turned away, unsettled by the pull she felt. “There’s a tiny bathroom in the back. No shower, but you can wash your hands. I know it’s not much, but—”

      “I don’t need much,” he assured her. There was no need to apologize. She and her brother were being more than kind, taking in a stranger. “And I appreciate you and your brothers letting me stay here.”

      The image of a small room, dark but warm, flashed through his brain, remaining in less time than it took to identify it.

      Alison touched his arm, drawing his attention back into the room above the garage. “What is it?”

      He blinked, trying to focus. Aware only of the fact that she was standing very close to him again. And that she wore a fragrance that reminded him of—what? “Hmm?”

      “You just had a very strange look on your face. Did you just remember something?”

      “A half of something,” he allowed. “A room.” He turned around slowly, taking in the details of the room for the first time. The room in his mind had been cheerier. “Kind of like this. It was dark. Outside,” he realized, “it was dark.”

      “Nighttime,” she guessed.

      He was about to agree, then stopped. “No, it wasn’t. It was daytime.”

      Then why was it dark? “A storm?” Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

      It sounded like a logical guess, but he couldn’t really say for sure. “I don’t know.”

      Her heart went out to him. In his place, she wouldn’t have known if she could stand it as calmly as he was. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be plying you with questions. It’s just that I keep thinking if I ask the right one, suddenly everything’ll come back to you.”

      He smiled, grateful for her help. She made him feel less alone. “It beats you hitting me on the head, hoping that might jar the thoughts back into my brain.”

      She’d seen a cartoon like that once. Maybe, subconsciously, he was remembering the same one. “If everything else fails, maybe we’ll fall back on that.” She remembered Kevin giving Luc money for dinner. She’d forgotten to stop at the store. “Why don’t you follow me into the house and we can see what there is in the refrigerator to heat up?” If she was lucky, Lily had stopped by to stock it for them.

      “Sounds like a plan, and since I don’t seem to have any previous engagements that I’m aware of, I happen to be free.” He opened the door and waited for her to step through.

      Something sizzled in her veins as she did so. Surprised, she suppressed it.

      Chapter Four

      The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with highly polished, copper pots and pans hanging from ceiling hooks arranged in a rectangle that encompassed the fluorescent light fixture. A butcher-block island stood in the middle, unadorned and vacant, while a blue-tiled utility bar housed only newspapers from days past and a small television set that was dormant at the moment.

      It was a kitchen waiting in vain to be pressed into service.

      This had been Lily’s domain. For a time, Alison had felt intimidated and inadequate just walking into it until she’d made her peace with the fact that she enjoyed eating sandwiches and two-minute microwave specials.

      Leading the way in, she opened both sides of the refrigerator, allowing Luc a full view of the interior. It was Jimmy’s turn to go shopping. Which would explain why there was so little within the “magic box,” as she used to call it when she was a little girl. Back then, her mother had presided here and she could remember warm, wonderful smells coupled with a feeling of well-being coming from this room. There’d been no pots hanging from the ceiling, no butcher-block island then, only a breakfast nook. And love.

      Until everything had changed.

      “Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder at Luc. “What’s your pleasure?”

      The question caught him unprepared. He’d just allowed his mind to wander, to dwell on the woman who had taken him under her wing because, according to her, he’d come to her rescue. He wished he could remember at least that part. But he couldn’t.

      Instead, what was teasing his mind now was the very real, very strong attraction he was experiencing standing so close to her. Pleasure was the word for it, all right.

      “Excuse me?”

      “Food.” She gestured toward the open freezer. Stacked inside were several colorful boxes, the names on the side hinting at culinary heaven in under five minutes. She tilted her head so that she could read the labels better. Her hair brushed along his bare arm, sending ripples of current through him. “We have frozen pot pie, frozen Mexican entrée, frozen—” Straightening, she looked at him with a self-depreciating smile. “Well, pretty much frozen everything.”

      He was more interested in the other side of the refrigerator. Edging her to the side, he indicated the contents on the lower two shelves. “You’ve got some vegetables and a carton of eggs.”

      There was no point in even mentioning that. “I don’t want to add ptomaine poisoning to your list of troubles.” She began to close that side of the refrigerator.

      He placed his hand in the way, stopping her. “Why, are they spoiled?” Reaching inside, he picked up the larger of the two red peppers languishing beside the three sprigs of broccoli and pressed his fingers along the sides. “Feels pretty firm to me.”

      She had no idea why she was identifying with an inanimate object. Why she could almost feel his fingertips pressing her skin. Maybe, she decided, because Luc wasn’t quite real. Without a memory, he could be anyone, like a fantasy come to life for a brief spate of time. Once his memory returned, he’d be gone.

      And she would remain unthreatened.

      “They’re not spoiled—” she agreed. “Yet. But they would be by the time I get through with whatever I tried to make.” A person had to know her limitations. This was one of hers. “We have a division of labor here as far as the kitchen goes,” she explained, taking the pepper from him and returning it to its place. “Whenever she stops by, Lily creates, Kevin cooks, Jimmy warms up and I destroy.” She made it a point