Intimate Strangers

by Denise Mathews

  Glittering green eyes blocked all other images in her mind. Who was Suzanne? If they were such good friends, why had she sensed such instant hostility toward her when Suzanne burst in on them. Placing her face into the palms of her hands, she moaned, "How much more can I stand?"

  A knock on the door made her heart flutter with panic. If it were Roarke, what would she say to him? The insistent knocking was much louder now and, sighing deeply, she went back into her room to answer the door. She flung it open, and Roarke was leaning against the door frame.

  Puzzled by his appearance, Sara stared at him curiously. Never had she seen him so disheveled. His rumpled, dark red silk dressing gown, his uncombed hair, and unshaven face all gave mute evidence that he hadn't had much more sleep than she.

  "May I come in for a minute, or are you going to make me stand here in the hall," he asked, his voice devoid of any inflection.

  Sara shrugged her shoulders and stepped aside. He slipped passed her and began pacing around the room, unconsciously picking up things and setting them back down without looking at them.

  Avoiding his eyes, she closed the door and sat down at the table in front of the window.

  "Sara, we need to talk." He walked to the table and leaned over, resting his palms on the top. He sounded tired and, as he stood up to light a cigarette, Sara noticed from the corner of her eyes that his hands shook a little.

  He stared out the balcony window, puffing on his cigarette and running his free hand through his hair.

  Sara tried not to look at him, but the aura of desolation surrounding him drew her eyes like a magnet. Here was a man who was usually so self-assured and in command of most situations. To see him so rumpled and harried upset her.

  "Sara…"

  She met his eyes. A shock went through her body. She loved him so much, and seeing his obvious distress made her want to reach out and cradle him in her arms. She wanted to croon to him and tell him everything was all right, that she loved him despite all their problems. But she couldn't. Last night stood like a specter between them.

  "Last night we tried to bridge the gap between us. I think we made a good beginning." He pulled out a chair and slouched into it. "Look, I told you we'd have to take it day by day." He leaned forward and put out his cigarette. Reaching over, he took her hand tenderly in his. His eyes pleaded with her. "Can we deal with last night?"

  Sara looked down at their hands then up at Roarke. "I think we should try. I want to. I didn't get much sleep last night thinking about us."

  His grip tightened. "Neither did I, Sara. I am sorry I left you like that last night, but I wasn't thinking straight. I was so surprised that Suzanne had arranged for me to meet with General Robinson, I acted on impulse. I've been in touch with his aide and know for a fact that the general is going to be in town for only two days and he's tied up with meetings at the Pentagon both days. I knew this would be my only chance to see him for quite some time. I wanted to tell you this, but you wouldn't talk to me… you locked me out."

  "Maybe…" she paused. "Maybe I should have let you explain it to me last night," she said in a small voice. "But what about Suzanne?"

  Dropping her hand, he demanded, "What about Suzanne?"

  "Well," she hesitated, then, determined not to let him hide behind his wall, she stubbornly persisted. "Is she really my friend? Why haven't you mentioned her if she's such a good friend of ours?"

  "We've known Suzanne and her late husband for years. My company had a contract to construct several buildings for her father and through business we drifted into a friendship. When her husband died, I helped her sort out his tangled financial affairs. You haven't told me yet, Sara. Can you forgive me for a stupid, impulsive act? I'll try not to let it happen again. I know you were hurt. I saw it in your eyes last night."

  "Yes, I was, there's no sense in denying it. But if we've come to a better understanding of each other, I guess it's been worth it. Why didn't you tell me about Suzanne? She practically accused you of keeping her away… and anyone else who might want to see me."

  He grimaced. "Sara, I told you before. Ted felt it was better if you didn't have a lot of people around to confuse you. I was just trying to follow his advice. Besides, Suzanne's accusations don't worry me at all."

  Sara sighed again as Roarke walked back over to the window. "I do need time. You and Ted are probably right, Roarke." She reached out and tucked a flower that had fallen onto the middle of the table back into the vase, thinking of all that Roarke had told her. He had apologized and tried to explain why he had left her so abruptly last night. For him, she reasoned, that was a giant step in their relationship. She stood up and walked over to him. "I might not understand or remember that much about your construction business, but I think I realize how important a government contract is. It's just that Suzanne's appearance surprised me, and your going with her was almost like… desertion. But I should have let you explain, I'm sorry. Let's try to forget the whole thing."

  He turned from the window and just stared at her for several seconds with a peculiar expression on his face. Suddenly he threw his arms open and Sara went to him. Roarke enfolded her against his body and hugged her tightly against him.

  She tipped her head back so she could look up into his face. "Why did you look at me so funny?"

  Roarke shook his head, smiling. "I just can't get used to the new you."

  "Why? Am I so different?"

  "As day is from night," he stated, kissing her forehead.

  "How am I different?" Sara asked, still puzzled.

  "I think I'll let you find that out for yourself. What do you want to do today? How about a picnic? You can bring your sketch pad and we'll find a cozy hideaway where I can lay around and rest while you draw, just like we used to."

  "That sounds like fun, but don't you have to be at the office? You've been away for three days!"

  "Nope! I called and told them what I wanted done and that I was going to play hooky today." He hugged her. "I want to have fun with my wife!"

  Sara kissed Roarke's cheek. "That's a great idea. I'd like to get out; the weather is so beautiful."

  "Okay," he said, smiling broadly. "I'll ask Martha to pack a picnic lunch. Can you be ready to leave in about an hour?"

  "Sure," she said, smiling back at him.

  Roarke kissed her lightly on the mouth and walked toward the door. As he opened it, he paused. "I'll take you to one of your favorite places. Maybe that will help you to remember something. Although I'm still not sure if I want you to remember." He closed the door quietly behind him.

  Sara sank back into the chair. I can't believe I could have been so totally different from the person I am now. What happened and what must I have been like that he's hoping I don't remember anything? She loved him so much, of that she was positive. She was beginning to think that maybe she didn't want to remember the past either. If the way she is now was so fascinating to him, would he want her if she remembered and changed back?

  "No," she said out loud to the room. "I have to remember! I have to be whole! If I can remember and keep Roarke too, it will be an answer to my prayers. But if I remember and can't keep him, I don't know what I'll do, but I won't worry about that now. Regardless of the consequences, I have to know who and what I am."

  They walked to the car and Roarke held her hand tightly in his. "Turn around, Sara."

  Sara turned slowly in front of him. Her jeans fit snugly across her hips, outlining her slenderness, and her blouse was hot pink with tiny straps that left her shoulders bare to the sun. The blouse hugged her breasts and tapered down until it tucked into her jeans.

  "You look terrific, come on!" He laughed as he took her hand again and they got into the car.

  They drove on a narrow two-lane highway heavily wooded on either side, and the trees were soft with their newborn leaves. Once in a while she caught a glimpse of houses sitting back away from the road, some with their privacy protected by high walls, and some with giant trees surrounding them. Ev
erything was in bloom, beautiful lush lilacs, gaudy, brilliantly colored azaleas, and fruit trees covered with blossoms from deepest pinks to the whitest whites.

  Glancing over at Roarke as he pointed out a particularly colorful display on his side, she smiled to herself. He looks so handsome, she mused. His tight jeans were snug on his thighs and his polo shirt clung to his muscular chest. The wind coming in the open window blew his hair across his forehead. She couldn't see his eyes behind the large dark glasses, but his voice was filled with a boyish excitement.

  Chattering with each other about the beautiful scenery and how perfect the weather was for their picnic, they drove for several more miles. Sara was relaxed and happy, treasuring every moment. She didn't know how they got along together before, but she felt like a young girl… a young girl in love. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, although they avoided any reference to their past. She was delighted that things were going so smoothly and Roarke was so charming. Roarke turned the car onto a dirt road and drove a little farther. Then he parked the car on the side of the road and turned off the engine.

  Sara drank in the beauty that surrounded them. They were on a gently sloping low hill under a small circle of trees and at the foot of the hill was a very old mill, its huge wheel turning slowly in the stream that ran beside it. The murmur of the water splashing on the rocks below added to the sounds of the rustling new leaves on the trees and birds chirping as they busily tended their nests. Some of the trees were dogwood and their branches were dressed in their spring finery. Each branch looked heavy with the blossoms. It was as though they were standing under pink-and-white clouds that had been caught in the trees.

  Roarke handed her a blanket to spread out beneath the trees. When she opened the picnic basket, she found that Martha had - thought of everything—there was even a bottle of red wine and two glasses. They were ravenous and after they ate, Roarke sat with his back leaning against a tree and Sara sat cross-legged near him and filled their glasses with wine.

  She handed Roarke his glass and after taking a few sips picked up her sketch pad. With a few strokes, the hill, the tree, and Roarke leaning against it started coming to life on the paper. Her hand flew, more and more detail becoming apparent. She noticed when she paused that Roarke hadn't taken his eyes off her. Smiling, she asked, "Why such a piercing look, Roarke?"

  "I was watching how your beautiful face is so serene in its concentration. You haven't forgotten your art, have you?"

  "Apparently not." Her face frowned as she erased a line, then she looked up at him. "Hold still, please, till I get your mouth right." She bowed her head over the drawing. "For some reason, Roarke, my hand and whatever part of my brain that makes it function haven't forgotten. Where are you going? I haven't finished yet!"

  He moved over and sat beside her, taking the sketch in his hands. After a few seconds he said, "I'll say you haven't forgotten. In fact, I think you're better than ever. Look at the strength and delicacy you've drawn into that." He pointed to the sketch of the tree.

  Smiling gratefully, Sara replied, "I want to start back in oils one of these days. Roarke, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. If we've been separated, why is all my painting equipment at the house?"

  Still studying the drawing, he answered casually, "When you left, you only took so much with you. I offered to have your things packed and sent to you, but you kept putting me off, saying you could get new equipment."

  Sara watched him with intense interest. Deciding not to pursue the subject further, she reached over and took the sketch pad from him and continued drawing.

  They were both silent for several minutes, Sara busily bringing the sketch to life and Roarke not taking his eyes from her face. She felt a little distracted by his staring but became so engrossed by the picture unfolding beneath her pencil that it was as if she were alone.

  "Who are you, Sara Alexander?" Roarke asked quietly.

  Sara met his eyes and put her drawing down on the ground. "I don't know, Roarke. I really don't know," she repeated softly.

  He moved closer to her, reached over, and touched her face. His fingertips traced her jawline and then the edge of her lips. He reached up and gently plucked a flower petal out of her hair that had drifted down from the dogwood. Twirling the petal between his fingers, he studied her face. Sara sat silently, not knowing what to say to him.

  "You're the same and yet… you're different. I know your face"—he softly touched her cheek—"I know your body…" He trailed his finger down her arm and onto her hand then reached out and gently touched her chin. "I know what you look like, I know the taste of your lips. You're the same on the outside, but you're not the same Sara on the inside. Which is the real Sara?"

  "I wish I knew, Roarke." She placed her hand over his. "I won't know which one is real until I can remember. I'm a stranger to myself. Some things I know instinctively, like sugar and milk in my coffee, writing with my right hand, my painting. Other things I don't know at all. I…"

  Roarke gathered her into his arms, gently lay her back on the blanket, and cradled her head in his hand. He looked deeply into her eyes. His dilated pupils appeared to be black instead of the deep blue they usually were. Lowering his lips to meet hers, she responded with such intensity, it sent uncontrollable tremors through her body. She put her arms around him and marveled as his body touched hers. They molded together, neither one wanting to break away or stop the fire that was bursting into flame between them. He ran his hand down her neck and tentatively touched her breasts and when she didn't resist, his hand covered them and tenderly stroked them to response. He moved his lips from hers almost reluctantly then ran kisses down to the hollow of her neck.

  Slowly he pulled her shirt out from her jeans and slid his hand underneath it. The touch of his hand against her bare flesh sent fresh shock waves through her body.

  Roarke's lips kissed their way from her neck back to her lips and teased them with his tongue. "Sara, I need you." His voice was husky with desire. "I want you with my very being."

  "Don't stop touching me, I… I want you too, Roarke."

  Roarke rolled slightly away from her, leaned on his elbow, and stared at her with an intensity that made her mind reel. His eyes were hooded with passion, his lips soft and full. Fascinated, she watched as he unsnapped her jeans and shivered when his hands glided across the flesh of her hips as he pulled the clothing off. He leaned over and drew the jeans down and over her feet then threw them aside. Running his hands back up her sensitive sides, he lifted her shirt up and over her head.

  For what seemed like eternal minutes to Sara, Roarke sat and looked at her nakedness gleaming in the sun. A light breeze blowing through the leaves on the trees threw shadows that mottled her skin. Never taking his eyes from her, he removed his clothing and moved to lie beside her. Slowly he ran his hands from her face down her shoulders, across her breasts, over her stomach, and lightly touched her sensitive thighs.

  Sara moaned as he explored places on her body that led to more exploration. Her hands gripped his arms, and then she loosened one hand and felt the strength of his body as she stroked it.

  Roarke lowered his head and kissed her, his lips demanding, forceful, and she opened hers to receive the passion that waited for her.

  She was oblivious to her surroundings. All she knew or cared about was this love that was lying beside her and then the love she felt inside her.

  Their pace was leisurely, not the frantic coupling of their first night. They rose and fell together as they both moved closer to the peak of ecstasy. Roarke's hands didn't cease their searching or caressing, and Sara gripped and kneaded his solid muscles in the throes of her passion.

  Groaning, Sara was suddenly flung out to the stars. She soared and imagined she could envision the scene below of their bodies entwined in love's dance.

  Roarke lay beside her, the corner of their blanket barely covering his thighs. He seemed to be asleep as she ran her fingertips over the rippling muscles of his stoma
ch. Finally he twitched and let out a chuckle. "Damn it, Sara, you're deliberately tickling me."

  "That's right," she replied sweetly. "Don't you think we should get dressed, or do you plan to play king of the jungle all day?"

  He sat up, leaned on one elbow, and reached out with his other arm to pull her face to his. Kissing her lingeringly, he ran his tongue across the sensitive inner skin of her lips.

  "Oh, no, you don't," she laughed as she drew away. "You're not going to seduce me again, you reprobate. I'm wondering how many people have watched this X-rated show already. Besides, I'm getting sunburned… all over!" Laughing again, she grabbed her clothes, ran behind a tree, put them back on, and came back to Roarke, buckling her belt around her waist.

  Roarke looked up as he tucked his shirt in his jeans and pulled her into his arms again. "Don't struggle, we're properly clothed. No one saw us. Besides, if they did, how could they deny that it was the most perfect and beautiful thing they had ever witnessed?"

  Sara flung her arms around his neck. "Oh, Roarke, what a lovely thing to say. It was perfect and beautiful. You make me feel so special."

  "Mmmm," he murmured into her hair. "I can't keep my hands off you. You're still the most provocative woman in the world to me." He ran his hands down to cover her breasts, stroking them until they became full with desire. "You are so beautiful, I can't resist you."

  Sara smiled and nibbled on his ear lobe. "It must be getting late, don't you think we ought to be leaving? Won't Martha be waiting dinner for us?" Her voice was husky as she whispered into his ear.

  He drew back, a seductive smile on his lips. "Dinner! How can you think of dinner? You're going to be my dinner! We're going to go home and I'm going to make love to you all night, just like we used to." His hand was tangled in her hair and he bent to kiss her again.