Intimate Strangers

by Denise Mathews

  Intimate Strangers

  By

  Denise Mathews

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "LET ME LOVE YOU, SARA.

  LET ME SHOW YOU HOW I FEEL."

  Sara slid her arms around his waist, lured by his words. Roarke pulled her still more tightly against him. Bringing his face close to hers, he placed soft, lingering kisses on her cheeks, and Sara could feel her face grow warm wherever his lips touched her skin. Then his mouth tenderly sought hers. His kiss was gentle at first but soon grew demanding. Clinging to him in a passionate embrace, Sara was surprised to find herself responding with equal fervor.

  Published by

  Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza

  New York, New York 10017

  Copyright © 1983 by Denise Mathews

  ISBN: 0-440-14048-X

  Printed in the United States of America

  First printing—January 1983

  To Our Readers:

  We have been delighted with your enthusiastic response to Candlelight Ecstasy Romances™, and we thank you for the interest you have shown in this exciting series.

  In the upcoming months we will continue to present the distinctive sensuous love stories you have come to expect only from Ecstasy. We look forward to bringing you many more books from your favorite authors and also the very finest work from new authors of contemporary romantic fiction.

  As always, we are striving to present the unique, absorbing love stories that you enjoy most—books that are more than ordinary romance.

  Your suggestions and comments are always welcome. Please write to us at the address below.

  Sincerely,

  The Editors

  Candlelight Romances

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza

  New York, New York 10017

  CHAPTER ONE

  A brilliant, hot white glare made the pain in her head increase to an unbearable degree. The throbbing became an agony of exquisite proportions and she groaned, closing her eyes tightly against the luminous torture. A wave of alarm swelled through her body, followed by the sensation of overwhelming terror. She heard that same sound again and was dimly aware it was coming from her. She was moaning, moaning from pain, a pain that was everywhere, like the dazzling, searing radiance that had blinded her.

  A disembodied voice floated through the fog of pain that clouded her brain. "Can you hear me? I thought I saw you open your eyes a moment ago. Can you answer me?"

  She struggled to break through the layers of mist that gripped her mind. She felt as though she were deep in a bottomless sea and labored to penetrate the viscous misery that engulfed her body.

  Tentatively squinting, she barely opened her eyes and tried to make them focus but was fearful that the same brilliance would assault her again. There were rows of lights in the ceiling over her head and the walls were stark white. Slowly she turned her head and blinked her eyes to clear her vision and realized someone was standing beside her, and behind that someone were a number of forbidding machines positioned along the side of the room. "Where am I? Am I all right?" To her surprise, her voice was barely a husky whisper. But the dark-haired woman, dressed in white, watching her, had heard the murmured questions.

  The woman's face was expressionless except for her eyes, which seemed to be warm and kind. "Well, hello, you're back with us at last! You're in the hospital, but you're going to be fine." She patted her on the hand reassuringly.

  Trying to grasp the woman's hand, her own flailed aimlessly about in the air. It felt so weak and, with dismay, she watched her arm drop limply back onto the bed. "Hos-hospital? How did I get here?" Her throat felt raw and her voice sounded hoarse, but she persisted. "I can't move. What happened to me? Please, I'm scared, I hurt everywhere." She tried to move her arm again to grasp at the woman and this time succeeded in taking hold of the woman's forearm.

  The nurse gently took her hand away and said soothingly, "Now, try to calm down. You've been in an accident, but you're going to be all right. I'm going to call your doctor and tell him you're awake. He'll answer your questions."

  She watched the nurse move over to the phone that hung on the wall opposite her bed. After a low, mumbled conversation, the crisp white figure came back to the bed, smiling as she picked up her limp arm and wrapped a black cuff around it. Her brain spun, full of half-formed questions as the nurse took her blood pressure and pulse. Finally she couldn't keep silent any longer, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the nurse put a thermometer into it. She tried to quell the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. What happened? What kind of accident had she had? She felt as though her body had been battered by something or someone, and her head ached horribly. Oh, why won't someone explain why I feel like this, she groaned inwardly.

  As the nurse was writing some notes on a chart, a tall man in a white coat walked soundlessly into the room. "Good evening, young lady, I'm Dr. Maxwell." The doctor's smile lit up his eyes.

  "What am I doing here?" She struggled to sit up but fell back on the bed, swamped by the aches and pains that wracked her body when she moved. Her chest felt constricted and the pain in her head made her senses swim.

  "Wait, I'll raise your bed a little. We'll talk for a few minutes if you feel up to it, and I'll try to answer any questions you have. But you must promise me you'll try to stay calm." She watched as he raised the bed and moved the chair the nurse had vacated closer to the side of the bed where she could see him without moving her head around.

  Her throat felt raspy and dry and she swallowed tightly, hoping to relieve the feeling. "Why am I in a hospital and what's wrong with me?" she whispered.

  "Do you remember driving in a bad ice storm?" The doctor's voice was gentle and soothing.

  Her brow wrinkled with concentration. "Ice storm? No, I…" An icy shiver of fear ran up her spine. "I don't remember any ice storm, I don't remember anything." Her voice choked off a sob. "What's wrong with me?" she wailed, and large tears rolled down her sensitive cheeks.

  The doctor watched her reactions intently. Her fingers plucked nervously at the sheets that covered her bruised body and he saw the effort to concentrate was draining her quickly. Reaching out, the doctor took her hand and held it gently, trying to transfer some warmth and reassurance from his hand to hers. "There was an unexpected ice storm; you were driving your car and a small truck slid into you. You were lucky that neither one of you was going very fast. But you suffered a concussion, two broken ribs, and a broken ankle. One of your ribs punctured your lung and I had to operate to repair the damage. This is why you feel so much pain right now. You've had a rough time for a couple of days and you've been unconscious for most of it." He paused as he saw she was becoming agitated again and he didn't want to upset her any more than was necessary. "Now, come on, calm down, you're going to be fine. You'll have to stay in the hospital for a while, but in a couple of months, this will all seem like a bad dream." He smiled encouragingly at her and patted her shoulder, hoping he had convinced her that she would be all right.

  She dropped her head back down on the pillow. "Why can't I remember any of this? A storm? A car accident? How could anyone forget these things? I'm telling you, I don't remember! There's something horribly wrong." Her voice rose hysterically and her eyes darted around the room seeking escape from the pain and fear that trapped her. "Don't you understand what I'm saying? I can't even remember
who I am! I can't remember my own name! You're lying to me, I know you're not telling me everything… I…"

  "No, no. I'm not lying to you. I promise you that I've told you the truth and that you're going to be all right." The doctor interrupted with an earnestness that stopped her frenzied outburst. "You have a severe concussion and loss of memory is not at all uncommon. As you start to get better and your bruised brain heals, I feel sure this lapse of memory will disappear. What you need right now is rest and quiet and I'm going to make sure that you get it." Dr. Maxwell stood up and started to push the chair away from the bed.

  Frantically she reached out and grasped the edge of his white coat and looked at him pleadingly. "Could you at least tell me my name? Tell me who I am… please!"

  Again the doctor took hold of her hand, gently forcing her to release her grip on his lab coat and held her trembling fingers in his warm clasp. "Of course I can tell you your name. It's Sara… Sara Alexander."

  A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Maxwell, you have a phone call."

  The doctor glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'll be right there." Turning back to Sara, he said, "I have to leave, but I'll be back to see you tomorrow morning. We'll talk again and I'll try to answer any other questions you have. But, for now, I want you to rest. You're going to be fine." He smiled reassuringly.

  When he tried to release her hand, she held on to him with desperation. "Don't leave me, I don't have anyone, please don't leave me," she begged.

  The doctor eased himself back into the chair and brushed the hair off her forehead with a caressing motion. "Sara, don't be so frightened; you're not alone," he murmured soothingly. "I'll be here to help you any way I can. But there's someone else who can help you far better than I." He stroked her forehead again. "You're married and your husband's been here at the hospital - almost from the moment they brought you to the emergency room."

  Sara's eyes opened wide in disbelief. "My husband! I'm married?"

  "Yes, you are and I must say that's quite a man you have there. He'll be so relieved to hear you're conscious. Now, no more questions. You need to sleep, so I'm going to have the nurse give you a shot and the next time you wake up, you'll feel a little better and all this won't seem quite so frightening." The doctor smiled warmly, mumbled something to the nurse, and left the room before Sara could ask him anything else.

  Sara closed her eyes. What in the world is wrong with me? she moaned to herself. How could anyone forget everything? Sara's brow furrowed and a deep pain slashed across her forehead, making white sparks dance behind her closed eyes. Sara Alexander… Sara Alexander, she repeated to herself, but her mind remained a pain-wracked blank. No images, no faces, no memories. Then the sound of the doctor's words filled the void. "You're married and your husband's been here at the hospital…" Married! Husband! Her mind rebelled at the words. How can I be married and not remember that? And whom am I married to? What does he look like? She pressed her eyelids together in concentration as she tried to recall what he looked like, tried to remember his face. Face! Of course, her face! Surely you couldn't forget your own face. I know if I looked into a mirror and saw my face, I'd remember everything. She raised her head slowly and saw the nurse standing at the foot of the bed checking a hypodermic needle filled with a colorless fluid. "Nurse, could I please have a mirror?" she asked weakly.

  "Not now, Mrs. Alexander. I'm going to give you a shot so you can go to sleep. When you wake up, I'll check with Dr. Maxwell about giving you a mirror." The nurse lowered the needle and injected it into her arm without further conversation. Soon Sara's eyes were heavy and she drifted off to sleep, a sleep where there was no mystery or pain.

  Opening her eyes abruptly, Sara was released from the nightmare that had been gripping her. She was still groggy and the nightmarish feeling clung to the edges of her mind. The man in her dream seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't connect a name with the face. The harder she tried to get his face into focus, the more it dissipated, and the man's face that had been so clear when she was asleep was now just a fuzzy remnant. Somehow, though, she knew, that in some way, he was very important to her.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Alexander."

  Sara turned her head and saw a nurse standing beside her bed. She had been so intent on recalling the man's face that had appeared in her nightmare, her mind hadn't registered another presence in the room.

  The nurse was hovering over the bed, fussing with her pillows and straightening the sheets. "It's a beautiful morning. We're supposed to have temperatures in the middle sixties today. I hope that means winter is over and spring is here to stay." The nurse prattled on as she lifted Sara's arm to take her pulse. "Washington, D.C., is at its most beautiful in the spring, although the cherry blossoms are going to be late blooming this year, but I love living here."

  Some of the nurse's banal chatter penetrated Sara's mind. Spring! I don't even remember winter! She felt so bewildered and frightened and her thoughts whirled around in her head. Isn't there anything I can remember? Sara put her free hand up to rub her aching head. "Excuse me, what did you say?" asked Sara, realizing the nurse was speaking to her again.

  "I said, your head will still ache a bit, but it's nothing to worry about. It's just the last dregs of the concussion you have. I'm going to give you a sponge bath then your breakfast because Dr. Maxwell will be coming in soon to check you and I'd like you to be ready for his examination." The nurse moved to the foot of Sara's bed and wrote some notes on a chart.

  "Yes, that's fine, anything you wish," Sara mumbled distractedly. Dr. Maxwell… she vaguely remembered him. He was that big burly man with unruly salt-and-pepper hair who had been so comforting to her last night… or was it last night? She wasn't sure of anything anymore. People had come and gone, floating through her semiconsciousness and between the pain and the drugged stupor she was kept in; people and time meant nothing.

  She tried to focus her mind on Dr. Maxwell. He was the man who had tried to explain to her why she was in a hospital. He had told her she had amnesia from a concussion, that she had been in a car accident. She felt almost triumphant! She could remember him and what he had told her. So why would he say she had amnesia? She could faintly recall them moving her from Intensive Care to this room. But the memory was more like a dream, and she suddenly realized she couldn't remember anything that had happened before that.

  Once again her mind churned and caused that now familiar sense of befogging pain. A ball of quivering anxiety shot through her chest to meet and increase the ache in her head. She was married! He had told her that she was married! How could she forget such a thing? The idea that she couldn't remember her husband frightened her and made her feel disoriented.

  She had to concentrate on something she knew she remembered; maybe that would break the grip of this immobilizing fear. Testing herself, she tried to remember Dr. Maxwell's face in greater detail. It was craggy with graying eyebrows. Of course, her face! "Nurse, could I please have a mirror?" Sara tried to sit up but grabbed her side and winced with pain.

  The nurse came over to the side of her bed and gently settled her back onto the pillow. "Mrs. Alexander, you must keep in mind that you have had surgery. We encourage our patients to move about and sit up, but please do it slowly. These quick moves and thrashing around could hurt you. Now, I'll raise your bed and you can fill out your menu for tomorrow. And after I've given you a sponge bath, I'll bring in your breakfast."

  With quick efficiency the nurse clutched the control and along with a low, humming noise, Sara felt the bed move and soon found herself in a sitting position. A tray table was placed across her bed, a menu and a pencil on the tray, and the nurse was out of her room before Sara could ask her again about having a mirror. Frustration brought quick tears to her eyes and her thoughts raced through her brain so rapidly, they almost tumbled over each other. There's something wrong that they don't want me to see. It must be my face! What's wrong with my face that no one will give me a mirror?

  With tr
embling fingertips she tentatively touched her cheeks and flinched from the slight touch. The flesh was tender and sore, but she felt no bandages until her exploring fingers reached her forehead where there was a small square of gauze. Other than the small patch and the soreness, there didn't seem to be any cuts or stitches. She traced the moisture from her tears down her cheeks and shuddered, knowing that she had to try to keep some control over her emotions. What she wanted to do was to scream with outrage that she was thrust into this alien existence. But she knew if she let go and caved in to her fear, she would give up any chance to rebuild her life. She knew that weakness and tears wouldn't solve the situation nor heal her wounds.

  Sara wiped the tears from her eyes and with determination took the pencil in her hand and quickly filled out the menu. She sighed and laid her head back against the pillow. Suddenly a light of hope flickered in her mind and she felt a surge of joy.

  She picked up the menu and looked at it in wonder. Grasping the pencil in her right hand, she sensed how comfortable it felt there. Again tears came to her eyes but now for a different reason. She liked sugar and milk in her coffee and held a pencil in her right hand! Excitedly she kissed the menu and waved the pencil in the air. At least she knew these things instinctively and if she could remember this, there must be hope for remembering everything else.

  She lay in her bed propped up by several pillows, waiting for the doctor to come to her room. She felt a little better, in fact had almost enjoyed eating the soft-boiled egg and cereal she had been served for breakfast. The nurse had sponge-bathed her and had brushed her hair back and caught it with a clip at the nape. Thinking was not quite so painful, and her thoughts were a little clearer. She supposed it was from the realization she could remember something and that had given her hope. But she had to have some answers if she was going to be able to cope, and the most important answer she needed was to the question of how long this amnesia would last. Deep in thought, she was barely aware when the doctor breezed into the room.