Page 8 of The Rancher's Amnesia Bride

Putain.

Her warm, satin-smooth skin almost felt sinful to touch, and he had a sudden and almost violent need to place as much distance as possible between them. It was as if a part of him recognized in her a destructive force that had the power to turn his entire world upside-down, and only pride alone kept him from getting the fuck out of her room.

Philippe gritted his teeth as he forced himself to move back at a careful and unhurried pace, all the while feeling Charlee-Mae continue to eat him up with unabashed curiosity. Fair's fair, Philippe thought, and so as soon as his dark gaze collided with hers, he indulged himself with his own scrutiny of her appearance.

Her long blonde locks were a wild, curly mess around her heart-shaped face, and aside from the layers of bandages wrapped around her head, another visible sign of her injury was the multitude of small but vividly red gashes that marred her from head to toe. None of these things, however, was enough to detract from the kittenish appeal of her looks...which Philippe was disturbed to find himself powerfully attracted to.

Merde.

"Hello."

Her voice was...sweet. It was the only word he could think of. Not thick, dark, and heavy like syrup, but more sweet like honey, which was as wholesome as it was addictive. A woman's voice was something he had never paid attention to, so why then, Philippe wondered irritably, was her voice suddenly different? Why did hers sound so fuckable, even when all she had said was a simple bloody hello?

He could see that she was waiting for him to answer, and while the thought of engaging in small talk struck him as distastefully artificial, years of etiquette training were impossible to ignore. But just as he was about to force himself to say 'hello' in return, it was then Philippe noticed her wide-eyed gaze flicking back and forth between their hands.

It took him a moment to realize she was comparing their wedding rings, and since she was the one who had chosen its design in the first place—-

"Is there a problem?" he asked politely. She would not be the first woman to have fickle taste in jewelry, and in some cases, it only turned out to be a woman's ploy to gain herself more jewelry.

His question appeared to make her nervous for some reason, and when he noticed the way her chest started to swiftly rise and fall under her hospital gown, Philippe just as swiftly tried to forget what he had seen.

His new "wife" - Mon Dieu, would he ever get used to calling her that? - might have the breasts of a blonde bombshell, but now was also the least appropriate time to indulge in such thoughts.

"I know this is going to sound silly—-"

Philippe frowned at the way her fingers started interlocking and unlocking over her lap.

"But I just want to be sure—-"

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" What is it?

"Are you my husband?"

Fifteen minutes later, and Philippe had his worst fears confirmed in the private office of Dr. Konstantin Manolis. He had known the other man for years, and it was in light of his friendship with the Greek neurosurgeon that Philippe wasn't even thinking of getting a second opinion.

If Konstantin believed Charlee-Mae suffered from amnesia, then that was what it was, but what he did have a hard time accepting was what his new "wife" had no memories of.

"The E.R. had to sedate her when she first came in," Konstantin relayed, "since she started panicking and insisting that they had it wrong, and she wasn't married."

"I see."

"I took charge of her case when I found out she was your wife. We spoke briefly earlier, and from what I can tell, there is nothing your wife can recall from the past two weeks."

And now, Philippe did see why his new "wife" had forgotten him, since it was also only two weeks ago that they had become a part of each other's lives, contractually speaking.

"For now, my only advice is to make sure she has lots of rest. While it's not necessary, it's best to keep her here until we at least get the stitches out. It's always better to err on the side of caution with head wounds like hers."

"I'll defer to your expertise then." An image of Charlee-Mae suddenly intruded in his mind, and Philippe found himself trying to imagine what it would be like to wake up with two weeks of his life suddenly missing. It would be hell for someone like him, and the realization made him feel...concerned.

And that was normal, Philippe told himself. His conscience wasn't completely dead, and for as long as she was his "wife", he also had a duty to take care of her.

Looking back at Konstantin, he asked, "Is there anything else I can do to make things easier for her?"

"Don't let anything upset her," was his friend's blunt reply. "Situations like this are extremely tricky, and it's imperative that your wife refrains from forcing herself to recall her memories. Placing herself under unnecessary mental stress will only make things worse."

The nurses still on duty started elbowing each other again when they saw the Frenchman and the broodingly handsome Dr. Manolis step out of the latter's office.

Thanks to their resident Google expert Nurse Mindy, they now knew that Philippe DeRose, aside from being the billionaire they had correctly assumed him to be, also possessed the reputation of a tough negotiator in the boardroom and a jet-setting playboy outside it.

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