Intimate Strangers

by Denise Mathews

  Sara was utterly puzzled. Did Roarke really call Suzanne and tell her they were finished? He must have; Suzanne's anger was certainly real enough. Why would he do that if he had been planning to marry her? And why would she assume he was coming back to me? Drained, she walked into her bedroom, undressed, and slipped under the covers. Thinking back to the time of Suzanne's intrusion into their lives, it had been Suzanne who had done all the chasing. She would come to the house on some pretext of discussing a blueprint or some alteration she and her father had decided upon.

  Sara had become so sick of this that she had finally ordered Bradley to tell Suzanne no one was home when she would unexpectedly appear on their doorstep.

  But Suzanne did not give up. She started turning up constantly at Roarke's office. She had insisted on lunch and dinner meetings. Sara had raised so much hell about that that Roarke had eliminated as many of the meetings as he could.

  Once Sara had left Roarke, Suzanne became his occasional date. Sara couldn't really remember hearing of him going out with anyone else. Had he been using Suzanne to give Sara a good reason to end the marriage? Did he want her to end the marriage so he wouldn't feel responsible for having ended it himself?

  Sara could feel the turmoil beginning to chum inside her again. She'd never get to sleep if she continued thinking this way. She had to settle herself. She had made a decision and she would stick to it. If Roarke had broken off with Suzanne, he must have had his reasons. Obviously Roarke didn't want to start his single life cluttered with anyone from his past.

  Rolling and tossing, she tried to clear her mind of all her troubled thoughts, but she was happy that Suzanne wouldn't be part of Roarke's life anymore. Sara loved him enough to want him to be happy, and she knew he could never be happy with Suzanne.

  Waking suddenly to what she thought was the doorbell ringing, she realized it was the telephone. She groped around on her nightstand for the receiver. "Hello," she said groggily into the phone when she managed to get it to her ear.

  "Sara, it's Roarke. I just got your message that you called and wanted to talk with me. What do you want?"

  Even in her sleep-drugged mind, Roarke sounded tired. "I wanted to ask you if you could take me to Annapolis in the morning." Sara sat up in bed, suddenly wide-awake.

  "It will have to wait until evening. I have several things I must do. Will seven thirty be all right?" he asked. Roarke was short and to the point. He sounded impatient, as though he wanted to end the conversation quickly.

  "Yes… yes, that's fine. It will give me time to get some of my things together that I want to take with me."

  Before Sara could say another word, the line went dead. Roarke had hung up. She sighed and slipped back under the covers. What time is it anyway? she thought. Her room was still in darkness. Turning on the light, she looked at her alarm clock. It was four o'clock in the morning! What was he doing calling her at this hour? Couldn't he have waited until later in the morning? Sara put the pillow over her head and tried to fall back asleep.

  A few hours later Sara slowly climbed out of bed. She couldn't fall back to sleep after Roarke's phone call. Her whirling brain had kept her rolling and sleepless. About seven o'clock she decided that the mattress was full of rocks and, stumbling zombie-like into the kitchen, she made coffee. After several cups she decided she was beyond hope; she couldn't go back to sleep and she seemed doomed to spend the rest of the day half-awake.

  Locating her suitcases in the hall closet, she decided to pack, maybe some kind of activity would help her feel better. Each thing she packed, each suitcase completed and standing by the front door took her one more step away from the man she loved.

  Later in the morning as she lay on the sofa, she tried to imagine what her life would be like if Roarke had only loved her. Her fantasy helped her drift partly to sleep when she heard a sharp knock on the door, then the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. Startled, Sara sat up.

  Roarke nearly tripped over her suitcases that were on the floor. Once he regained his balance, he came striding into the living room. "So you're packed and ready to leave," he observed as he sat down. "I'm hungry. We'll walk to the restaurant across the street and have some lunch before we start for Annapolis." He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

  Sara's head was spinning. "Wait a minute, what are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't be here until later this evening. And what in the world possessed you to call me at four this morning?" Sara was furious. He had called her in the middle of the night, waking her up, and now he was sitting here like her lord and master ordering her around. What was his hurry?

  Roarke shrugged his shoulders. "I've changed my plans. I'm going away, and this is the only time I can drive you to Annapolis. I called you at four this morning because you had left so many messages, I thought there was something wrong."

  "You're going away?" Sara couldn't keep from asking. She had a strange sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  "Yes, I'm going to the West Coast for several months. I've got to oversee the starting construction on the resort community contract I told you about. It's an important job and I want to give it my personal attention. I'll be leaving in a few days and I have quite a few arrangements to make." He drew heavily on his cigarette and, to Sara, he seemed extremely disturbed. He got up and walked around the room, his restlessness cutting her to the quick.

  Sara couldn't think of anything to say. The extent of her hurt and the deep disappointment at the news of his going away made her realize with a jolt that she had been nursing a secret hope that in some way they could still work things out.

  Sara watched Roarke; his impatience was transmitting itself to her with his every move. He's in such a hurry to shed these last eight years and his responsibility for me that it makes me sick at heart. Her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces and no one would ever be able to find them all to put them back together. Her wretchedness rose in her throat and threatened to choke off her breathing. Tears were burning behind her eyes.

  She sat in her chair, trying to keep herself under control. Her hands were balled into fists and she dug her nails into the palms of her hands trying to focus her mind on that pain instead of the pain inside her. No, this pain wasn't just inside her, this pain .seared her very soul. A life without Roarke was inconceivable, but he had made it clear over and over that he didn't want her.

  Sara slowly rose from the chair. "I'm going into my room and get the rest of my things." Her voice sounded steady, which surprised her. She must not expose her pain to him. She could fall apart when she was alone in Annapolis. I will not let him see what this is doing to me, she thought as she stood in the middle of her bedroom. I don't want him to pity me and I certainly don't want to take advantage of his feeling that he's responsible for me. She couldn't understand why he would feel so responsible, but he did and she would not use this to try to get him back.

  "Sara, could you hurry, please?"

  Roarke's voice broke through her tormented thoughts. Roarke was standing beside her with a peculiar look on his face.

  "I'm sorry, Roarke, what did you say?" Sara mindlessly moved to the dresser, opening drawers and closing them again without any purpose except to keep her trembling hands busy and so she wouldn't have to look directly at him.

  "I said, are you ready to leave? I have a lot of things I have to do today and it's at least a couple of hours drive to Annapolis and back." He seemed as reluctant to look at Sara as she was to meet his eyes. He walked over to the window but moved quickly back to the door and left the bedroom. It seemed as though he couldn't stand still.

  We're two strangers. Anyone seeing us would never believe we've been married for so long, Sara thought. Her misery was absolute. His question finally penetrated her befogged brain. "I'll be ready to leave in a few minutes," she called out to him, her voice sounding stilted in her ears. She glanced around the room to see that nothing remained behind.

  How much easier this would be if I could just
forget the past and start anew! Sara realized what she had just thought. She started laughing. For months she had been unable to remember the past and she had nearly driven herself insane trying to remember it. Now she was wishing she could forget all of it. Her laughter rose hysterically.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Sara! Sara, stop it right now!"

  The sting of his hand across her cheek shocked her. She slapped her hand to her mouth and tried to stop her mounting hysteria. Shaking her roughly, Roarke continued to yell her name. Her cheeks were wet with tears and suddenly she sagged from overpowering weakness. Against her will her body slumped onto Roarke's powerful chest. His arms circled around her and he picked her up and gently carried her over to the bed, murmuring soothing words.

  A few moments later she felt a cold cloth on her forehead. Opening her eyes, she met Roarke's solemn gaze. "Are you all right? What happened?" With a worried expression he tenderly placed his hand along her cheek and softly stroked it in an effort to comfort her.

  "I don't know what happened but I… I think I'm all right." Sara took the cold cloth from her head and inched her body up against the headboard of the bed, trying to escape his disturbing touch.

  Roarke reached over and took the cloth from her hand. "I was just checking that everything was secured in the apartment when I heard you laughing. At first I thought you were on the phone, but when I heard your laughter changing and you were sounding hysterical, I came in here to find out what was wrong. You didn't even know I was here! I tried to talk to you, but you didn't seem to hear me. I'm sorry I had to slap you, but I didn't know what else to do. I'm… I'm so sorry, Sara." His voice was anguished and his eyes were so pained that she couldn't look away.

  Then Sara saw something more in his eyes than pain. Could it be she was still in the grip of her hysteria? That could be the only explanation for what she thought she saw. Rubbing her hands roughly over her eyes, she blinked, trying to focus clearly on Roarke's face. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, the unguarded expression on his face, were telling her something that made her spirit soar with hope. This was not the look of a man who saw her as a responsibility or a burden he wanted to shed. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his cheek. It was wet! Looking at her damp fingers, she was puzzled. Were his cheeks wet from her tears or could it be from his tears? "Roarke," she whispered, his name sounding more like a moan.

  "Sara… my sweet Sara." He pulled her roughly against his chest and held her so tightly it was as if he were sure she'd try to escape him again.

  Sara clung to him desperately, afraid to hope what this might mean, yet not wanting to let go of this moment no matter what his meaning. "Roarke, I love you." Her voice was muffled against his shirt and she was afraid he had heard her but at the same time afraid that he hadn't.

  "What did you say?" he demanded, beseeching her to repeat it, holding her away from him so he could look into her eyes.

  "I said, I love you, Roarke. There's no sense denying it anymore." Sara hung her head, fearful of seeing the possible rejection in his eyes.

  "Don't play games with me, Sara, I can't stand anymore. I've waited so long for you to say those words and really know what they mean, but if this is a game, it will destroy me." His voice hardened and his hands that were holding on to her shoulders bit into her flesh.

  "Playing games. My God, Roarke, I'm not playing games. When I woke up in the hospital not knowing who I was or who you were, I was so scared. I couldn't remember anything of our past, but I fell in love with you all over again. With you, as you are now. I'm not playing games." She hung her head. "Now let me go and I'll finish packing." Sara shifted away from him, but he didn't loosen his grasp on her shoulders. If anything, his hold on her tightened.

  "Sara, you don't know what you're saying, do you? You're upset for some reason and you're just clinging to me because I'm familiar. Once you're on your own in Annapolis and have some time to think, you'll feel differently." He released her shoulders abruptly and she fell back against the headboard.

  She rolled away from him and jumped off the bed, standing defiantly in front of Roarke. "How dare you tell me what or how I feel. Since when did I need any psychiatric advice from you? You've always patronized me or treated me like a child. I am not a child, I am a woman!" Her eyes were on fire and her breasts heaved with her anger and indignation.

  Roarke sat motionless on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide with shock. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress and the bedspread was crushed beneath his clenched fists.

  Sara was beyond caution or caring. She had had enough of this charade they played, each one treading carefully around the other, never saying what they really felt, just what they thought the other one wanted to hear. It was time Roarke knew how she really felt. Nothing mattered anymore, so she certainly couldn't make the situation any worse than it already was.

  "You seem to forget, I have my memory back. I remember what our life together was like. You married a child and you were determined to keep me that way." Sara was pacing the room, the words pouring from her mouth of their own volition. She stopped in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. He was frozen, only his eyes followed her movements. They were hooded slits of blue steel, moving as she moved.

  She started pacing again and moved away from Roarke. "You talk about games… games!" She threw her arms into the air in exasperation. "I played games to get a little attention from you. It was the only way you ever took any notice of me at all. You know…" She stood in front of Roarke once more, shaking her finger in his face. "The only time you ever treated me like a woman was when we were in bed." She was in a red rage now, her fury seemed to have been uncapped like a volcano that had been latent for years then finally erupted from the internal pressure. All the years of pent-up frustration, hurt, and anger were pouring out and she couldn't stop. She was aware of Roarke only as the object of her tirade.

  "You want to know what I was hysterical about? Well, I'll tell you. I was standing in here, wishing I could forget the past and my love for you." Sara laughed derisively. "Isn't this ironic? Can you imagine? For months I've driven myself nearly crazy trying to remember everything, and now that I have, I want to for-forget." Sara dropped her face into her hands and began crying bitterly.

  Roarke moved across the room to her like a man still caught in a dream. Lovingly he took her into his arms, and when she tried to shake him off, he tightened his grip. "Sara, my darling Sara," he whispered into her ear. He stroked her hair and lifted her chin. His lips touched her brow, brushing across her forehead.

  He coaxed her over to the bed and made her sit down beside him, his arm around her shoulders, holding her protectively close to him. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and awkwardly dabbed her eyes.

  Sara tried to shake off his arm and pulled the handkerchief from his grasp and wiped her own eyes. It would crush her to see his pity.

  "Sara, look at me!" He forcibly turned her head and her eyes couldn't resist the compelling force of his order. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart quickened. It wasn't pity she saw in his eyes, it was love.

  "Sara, I love you. I've always loved you. From the first time I saw you, I knew you would be the only woman I would ever want." His voice thickened with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  "Oh, Roarke, I can hardly believe this." She moved closer to him and tentatively touched a tear that escaped over his lashes. "Do you really love me?" she whispered.

  "I have, all my life," Roarke answered, lowering his head toward her. Sara closed her eyes as his lips moved to touch hers. He pressed her back against the bed and gently stroked the sides of her face. She ran her hands restlessly over his back to reassure herself that he was there and not a dream.

  "Can this be real? Is this true?" Sara asked hungrily, starved for reassurance.

  "My darling, I've always loved you, always wanted you. And my real torture is knowing that no matter what happens between us, my love for you can't
be destroyed." The tears that Sara had seen shimmering on his lashes dropped onto her chest and one trickled a warm path down between her breasts and lay shining in the hollow.

  In awe Sara touched the moist droplet and looked at her fingertips then in breathless astonishment gently touched Roarke's cheek. Overwhelmed by his emotional reaction, she began to sob. "Roarke, there has never been anyone else, never. Please, love me, love me. You're all I want in life. I love you."

  His kisses skimmed along her neck and his fingers fumbled a little at the buttons on her blouse. She sighed as the last button gave way and his lips fondled her breast. Entranced, Sara let a soft moan of pleasure escape her trembling lips. "How I love you, my darling, how I've longed to hold you close again, feel your body against mine and love you. I'm not complete without you. Even when I couldn't remember you, my body remembered your touch and my passion for you."

  He lifted his fingers to her lips and whispered, "I love you, my darling." He cherished her unresisting lips once more with his. Their movements were intense and increased in tempo until they melted together in their old passion and their renewed love.

  Sara was sitting up in bed propped against the pillows, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks still flushed from their shared ecstasy. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and she gingerly touched them, running her fingertips lightly across them, and she smiled, to herself at different memories of their afternoon of delight.

  She could hear Roarke in the kitchen whistling as he made coffee. The difference in him was unbelievable. No more guarded words, no mask over his face. He now had the expression that she loved—smiling happiness. His face held joy and contentment.

  She wanted to get out of bed and look in the mirror to see if there was as dramatic a change in her as there was in him. He looked younger, years younger. A burden had been lifted from him, but it wasn't the burden she had worried about. Instead it was the burden of loving someone whom he thought didn't love him.