"I don't… I don't have any defense or explanation because I don't know this person you're talking about. It's like we're talking about a stranger, a stranger who haunts this house," Sara said regretfully. She got up to leave the room, feeling she had spoiled their wonderful evening, but until her memory returned, she knew this would happen often.
"Sara, please don't leave. I didn't mean to be so short with you. You're right when you say ghosts haunt this house. But I think they're ghosts we can put to rest. Come over here and let's sit down a minute."
If only they could put the ghosts to rest, but how? She sat down beside him and he looked deeply into her eyes.
"Roarke, I'm sorry if I upset you," Sara said quietly, "but regardless of what you think, there are many things I need to know. Do you realize how alone and frightened I am? My nightmares are becoming more frequent. The horrible part is that even when I dream of the past, I really don't remember it. One thing I do know though—I don't like the other Sara. She's the ghost who haunts this house." Sara felt her agitation increasing, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm so afraid that when I do get my memory back, I'll be the old Sara, and I don't want to be her! The more I hear of her, the less I like her. I have such a helpless feeling. I'm afraid that I can't stop her from coming back."
Roarke's forehead was creased with worry. "Sara, try not to be so frightened. That's not going to help. Listen"—he smiled and chucked her under the chin with his fingertips—"you weren't all bad. My God, if you would have been, I wouldn't have married you. We had a lot of good times together."
"But I couldn't defend myself even if you did tell me now what had gone wrong or some of the things I did to you. I don't remember what I did or why I did them."
"I wouldn't tell you anyway, Sara," Roarke interjected. "There would be no use in going over who is to blame. I told you before, we're both at fault. What is past is past and what matters is right now. We're both different people, so we'll take each day as it happens and each other as we are now." Roarke smiled again, his face relaxing, and he reached over and took her hands that she was twisting together in her lap, held them in his, and rubbed them. "I am beginning to believe that you're not the same woman who haunts us from the past. I'm almost positive that woman no longer exists." He kissed the wrists of both her hands. "I want to know the new you. We'll find a way to bridge the gap between our past and the present."
The contact of Roarke's lips on the thin flesh of her wrists was like an electrical shock. Sitting very still, she tried to keep her voice low and even. "Roarke, I honestly don't know what to say. Starting a new beginning is very easy for me because this is my beginning. But this can't be easy for you, I know that. I can't even begin to imagine all the hurt we've been through, but I sometimes can see the pain in your eyes. Are you sure this is what you want to do and not something you feel obligated to do?" She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. His flesh under his silky shirt was warm and firm beneath her hand.
"Sara, if I weren't sure, I wouldn't be sitting here now. Of course I'm sure. You are fascinating, warm, and understanding, and I want to know you better." Roarke reached up and took her hand from his shoulder and kissed the palm. "And you aren't alone. You have Martha, Bradley, and me. We all care about you."
Sara blinked back tears that were forming in her eyes. "I know that, but what about my friends, our friends? We do have some friends, don't we? No one has called or come to visit me. Are they afraid of me? Do they think amnesia is a contagious disease or a form of insanity?"
Roarke put his fingers over her lips to stop the words. "I thought we settled that a good while ago. You're not crazy. I don't want to hear another word about that! Our friends have called, and I asked them all to have patience until you're well. We thought you had enough to contend with in getting over your accident. And Ted said with your amnesia you could do without a lot of confusing people hanging around."
Leaning her head back against the sofa, Sara sighed audibly and closed her eyes. Roarke squeezed her hands and she opened her eyes again and looked at him.
"Listen, Sara, we can't keep dwelling on this. We've sat here most of the evening talking about a new beginning, but we can't start if we keep rehashing the past. This started out as an evening we both looked forward to. We've had our serious talk. Now let's get on with the fun part."
Sara also desperately wanted to recapture the gay mood of earlier in the evening. She had looked forward to Roarke's homecoming with such anticipation and apparently so had he. His charming conversation at dinner and his concern for her well being made her feel so wanted. She didn't want to constantly be complaining or worrying. He certainly wouldn't look forward to coming home if she were that kind of woman.
"But, Roarke"—Sara looked up at him mischievously—"I—I don't remember how to have fun either!" Mirth bubbled up inside her and she couldn't contain it. Her eyes were shining and the sound of her giggling filled the room.
Roarke threw his head back and laughed. It was the first time Sara had heard him laugh aloud in the weeks that she had been with him. His laughter was deep and filled with vibrant warmth. This is how she wanted to see him all the time—his eyes twinkling, a smile lighting up his face, and his deep laughter warming the room.
"You're a nut, a cute one, but still a nut." He tweaked the end of her nose with his fingers. "Well, as I recall, you used to be a fanatical gin player. Would you like to play cards?"
"I guess, but you'll…" Sara chuckled.
"What's so funny?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.
"I was about to say again, you'll have to refresh my memory—" Sara's words caught on a sob that suddenly came out of nowhere.
Roarke was beside her instantly. "Don't cry, Sara!" he said, taking her into his arms and caressing her back. He looked at her with a strange glint in his eye. "You weren't that bad at playing gin." He gasped as Sara grinned and pretended to hit him.
Sara grabbed one of the throw pillows she had been leaning against and hit him on the head with it. "So, I'm a bad gin player, huh? Get out the cards and let's see who's a bad gin player."
Roarke retreated from the barrage of throw pillows that were aimed in his direction. Sara sat back and sighed a deep sigh of contentment. Maybe they had salvaged the evening.
Roarke walked back to the sofa and moved the things around on the coffee table so they would have room to play cards. He sat down and shuffled the deck, the cards a blurred flurry of cardboard in his hands.
Sara sat up straight and pretended to roll up her sleeves. "Okay, deal! Just give me the details, then be prepared to lose." Roarke laughed and Sara almost dropped the cards out of her hand. She gazed at him, and his smiling face made her breathless. Her love for him nearly overwhelmed her senses. She loved him so much, could she be the kind of woman he could love? How she wanted to be, she wanted to be everything to him—his friend, his companion, his wife and, most of all, she wanted to be his lover. Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on what Roarke was telling her about the play of the cards. Telling him she thought she understood, they started the game.
After a few minutes Sara drew a card from the pile in the middle of the table, placed it among those in her hand, put the cards face up on the table, and called, "Gin!" She laughed at Roarke's amazed expression.
Later Roarke threw his cards down. "You sure didn't forget how to play gin, did you? I've been losing consistently for the past hour."
"Well, there are just some things a girl never forgets," Sara quipped. "I guess I'm a natural-born gambler. But don't think you are going to get away that easily, with just a compliment. We were playing for money, remember?" she said with mock sternness. "There's still some accounting to do. Let me see…" Sara picked up the tablet laying beside Roarke. "That's exactly five hundred dollars you owe me, sir. Pay up!" Sara put the tablet down and held out her hand in demand for payment.
Roarke stood up and felt his pockets then pulled them inside out. "All I have is thirty cents and my key cha
in. Will that do?"
Teasingly Sara chided him. "Don't you know you shouldn't gamble unless you can afford it?"
"Oh, I can pay, ma'am, if you'll just step over here." With a beckoning finger, he pointed to the place where he stood.
"There's all kinds of payment. Maybe we could use the barter system. I'll trade a kiss for what I owe you."
Sara slowly rose from the sofa and went over to him. "That's an expensive exchange, don't you think? A kiss for five hundred dollars? I guess I'll have to be the judge to see if it's worth it."
He grasped her and roughly tipped her back into the cradle of his arms. He stared down at her greedily. "There are just some kisses that are worth more than others, ma'am." He pretended to ruffle her hair, then a gentleness overcame both of them. He kissed her throat and then, lavishing her face with a loving gaze, he lowered his lips and kissed her mouth. They stood, bodies locked together in a kiss that deepened. Sara slid her arms around him and pulled her body closer to his. As she felt his fingers coil in her hair and his kiss consume her, the floodgate of her desire burst open.
"Roarke… oh, I'm sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Roarke and Sara parted abruptly. Startled, they turned as one toward the voice that had interrupted their embrace. Sara's eyes were still misty from her passion, and it took her several seconds to focus on the woman who was standing in the doorway.
"Suzanne, what the hell are you doing here?" Roarke moved away from Sara, walked over to the coffee table, and reached for his cigarettes.
Ignoring his question, the woman flung open her arms and rushed toward Sara. "Sara, darling, how good to see you."
Sara stood as still as a statue, watching the strange woman move toward her. Who was she? Then the woman's arms went around her, and Sara flinched as she endured a quick kiss on her cheek.
Stepping back, the woman gushed, "Sara, I've wanted to come to see you long before this, but your mean husband wouldn't let me. You poor dear, you've been through so much and then for Roarke not to allow you to see your old friends is just more than I can understand."
Bewilderedly turning to Roarke for help, Sara saw him turn his back and walk over to the bar. "Do you want a drink, Sara?" He paused slightly then added, "Suzanne?"
"Yes, darling, please. I've been at a beastly boring party and I just decided on a whim to barge in here and say hello."
Sara forced herself to move and collapsed on the couch. Who was this person? She cleared her throat and said, "Roarke, I'd like some brandy, please." When he brought it to her, she looked at him quizzically.
He blinked as awareness swept over his face. "I'm sorry, Sara. I guess I forgot again. This is Suzanne Morrison."
"Oh, Roarke." Suzanne swirled her glass, the ice making a tinkling sound as the cubes chased each other around the sides of the glass. "I forgot she wouldn't remember me. Isn't it a shame, she's been through so much, hasn't she? Roarke, do tell her who I am."
Sara turned to the stunning woman and in a soft, controlled voice said, "I'm not deaf, Miss Morrison, I just have amnesia. You don't have to act as though I'm an invalid or incompetent. You can talk to me. I am here."
"Oh, Sara, I am sorry. I guess I was being rude." The green eyes glittered. "I don't know how to handle this, I'm sorry. I've known you for years, Sara. Please call me Suzanne. It sounds so strange for you to call me by my last name. The four of us were friends, you and Roarke and Bob and myself."
"Bob?" Sara asked.
"My… late husband." She took a quick sip of her drink.
Sara studied the svelte figure in green. Suzanne was taller than she was, and with the high-heeled shoes she wore, she was almost as tall as Roarke. Her black hair was caught up in a Gibson girl style and little ringlets of hair were left to cling at her temples and nape. She wore a deep emerald green dress. The skirt was split up the side to her thigh and the bodice plunged to her waist in the front. Sara marveled at how small the pieces of material were that covered her voluptuous body. The neckline showed off her cleavage and the rounded swell of half her breasts.
Sara felt a twinge of envy. Most anyone else wearing such a gown would look vulgar, but Suzanne looked sensuous and stunning. Her makeup was done to perfection, and her green eyes were heavy-lidded and soft and the phrase "bedroom eyes" came into Sara's mind. Her nose was narrow and tipped up at the end and her mouth was the same red as her nail polish, with a full pouty bottom lip. She was definitely beautiful, but she had an aura about her of a panther on the prowl. Sara shivered at the thought.
"Look, Sara," Suzanne said, "I want to know all about how you're doing. When are you going to be able to get out? We'll have to have lunch downtown and celebrate your recovery. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"I'm fine and lunch sounds like a nice idea. But right now I can't think of anything you could do for me," Sara replied guardedly, not looking at Suzanne but at Roarke for some kind of help, some answers. But he wouldn't meet her eyes. She was curious about his seeming discomfort and reticence to look at her.
Suzanne turned back and concentrated her attention on Roarke. "Roarke, the Robinsons are going to meet me in an hour at the Boiling air force base officer's club. General Robinson is quite anxious to talk with you. He wants to discuss that government contract with you, that nice big one you're interested in," she murmured softly, putting her free hand on Roarke's arm with a fluttering motion.
Roarke moved away from her and sat down in the chair opposite the sofa, turning his body slightly to face the fireplace.
Suzanne moved over to Sara and sat on the couch beside her. "Look, Sara, we've been friends for a long time. This meeting with General Robinson has been so hard to set up. Do you mind if I steal Roarke away from you for an hour or so? It's really important for him to meet with the general. I tried to call Roarke at the office today to tell him I had finally arranged this and left several messages, but he never returned my calls."
Roarke stiffened slightly in his chair. "I didn't go to the office. I came straight home from the airport."
"Well, that explains it. Honestly, Roarke, there are times when you're absolutely impossible to get in touch with. Were you two playing some new game I haven't heard of?" Suzanne asked, pointing to Roarke's pockets that were still turned inside out.
Roarke looked over at Suzanne with a frown on his face. "We were playing gin. Sara beat me and won some money. I was just showing her that I didn't have any money on me… oh, never mind. Sara, do you mind if I go along with Suzanne to see General Robinson? She's right, he's so damned busy running around the world and I'd like to get a handle on this contract."
Sara stood, trying to keep a tight rein on her befuddlement. "I—I don't mind if it's important. If you'll excuse me, I'm tired. I think I'll go to my room." Sara couldn't look at either of them. She just turned, her head held high, and walked to the door. Her eyes were filled with tears of hurt ready to spill over her lashes.
Roarke was suddenly behind her with his hand on her elbow. "I'll walk with you to your room."
"Good night Sara, I hope to see you soon. I'll call you tomorrow. I'll bring Roarke back safe and sound, I promise."
Sara's back stiffened. "Good night, Suzanne" was all she could manage to say and she could barely choke that out. Once they were in the foyer by the stairway Sara turned to Roarke. "I can walk to my room without any help. Please don't leave Suzanne on my account. Good night." She spun around and walked up the stairs as fast as she could and still maintain some dignity.
"I'll see you later, Sara." Roarke's voice floated after her up the stairway.
Sara turned to face him. For the first time since Suzanne's appearance, his eyes met and held hers. All she could do was stare down at him. Her hurt must have clearly shown in her eyes.
I don't care if he does know I'm hurt, Sara thought to herself. After all, he could have told her no, that he'd make other arrangements to see that general.
Roarke started up the stairs toward her. "Sara…"
>
"Roarke, could you hurry a little? After all, it is quite a drive to Boiling." Suzanne stood at the doorway of the study, one hand on her hip and the other almost caressing the door frame.
Sara turned and continued her way up to her room, not caring to hear or see any more of the scenario at the foot of the steps. She closed and locked the door of her bedroom behind her. Leaning against the barrier placed between Roarke and herself, she let the tears she had been holding back flow down her cheeks.
She heard Roarke's soft tapping on her door, and when it became clear she was not going to answer him, the muffled sounds of his voice sifted into her room. But she still didn't open the door and in a few moments she heard him leave.
Sara threw herself across the bed and wept. How could this happen? How could he have agreed to meet these people with Suzanne just when they were having such a wonderful evening? Their relationship was growing, a thread linking them together in the present and hopefully to their past. But maybe she was fooling herself, maybe there was no way to link the past to the present. Maybe this is why she had left him, that his business came first and he didn't care who he used or who he hurt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sara blinked her eyes at the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. She rubbed them, trying to relieve the heavy, gritty feeling from too much crying and too little sleep. What fitful sleep she did get had been filled with terrible nightmares. More than once during the night she jerked awake with her heart pounding and her face damp with perspiration. This morning she couldn't remember any of the dreams, just vague subconscious feelings and fatigue as evidence that they had occurred.
She stumbled over to the balcony door, pulled it open, and went outside to let the fresh late spring air sweep the cobwebs from her brain. She needed to think, but her brain was fuzzy and she couldn't concentrate. Closing her eyes, she let the sounds of the morning fill her mind.
Leaning against the balcony railing, her thoughts wandered of their own volition. It seemed that every time she and Roarke got close, something happened to shatter the illusion. Why did he have to leave with Suzanne last night? she agonized. Since he now knew the general was in town, why had it been so imperative that he see him right then? He could have made an appointment for today. Do people really talk business late in the evening? she wondered.
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