Intimate Strangers (15 page)

"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 stomach. 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.

"Roarke, don't be silly. What would Martha and Bradley think?"

"What do you mean, what would they think? We're married, for Pete's sake. When we get home, we're going to move all your things into my bedroom and from now on you're going to sleep with me!" He nipped the end of her nose with his lips.

"Are you sure about this?" Sara drew her head back and gazed into his eyes. "If I move back into your room that means that our marriage is a reality and all the vows that go with that reality are valid again."

"I wouldn't ask you back into my room unless I was sure," Roarke replied, his voice losing the sexily teasing sound it had had and becoming more serious in tone.

"You may think you're sure, but what if I remember every-thing and revert back to the Sara you closed out of your life two years ago?"

"How many times do I have to tell you we'll face that if it happens!" he replied with a sharp edge to his voice.

"Look, Roarke, we can't do that. There's no 'if about it. We have to face this now, every day. Making love doesn't erase all the hard facts we're facing. It doesn't erase anything! As a matter of fact, it shouldn't change anything. You said our lovemaking was always great, that it was a good thing even when our marriage was going bad. We just can't run away and make love instead of decisions."

"You're talking nonsense again." Roarke walked to the tree and took a cigarette out of his pocket.

"No, Roarke, I'm not. Are you prepared right now to tell me that when I do remember, and if I'm the old Sara, that you'll still want me to share your bed… your life? I need reassurance, Roarke, reassurance from you."

He threw his cigarette down and ground it out with his shoe, twisting the grass beneath his toe. "Maybe you haven't changed as much as I thought, Sara. You have to take apart and psychoanalyze everything we say until I don't know what we're talking about. I'm tired of this. Let's go. You can stay in your own room, but don't expect me to ask again." Roarke picked up their picnic things and began putting them back into the basket.

Sara was aghast. She reached out her hand to grasp his arm, but he shrugged it aside and walked by her to put the things into the trunk of the car. "Roarke, please listen. I'm not…"

"I said, we'd better start home." His stern voice was gruff.

Sara knew there was nothing she could say or do that would make the situation any better, so she kept silent and helped him clean up the remaining debris from the picnic, knowing the memory of their love scene would always remain.

Riding back to the house, they were silent, Roarke's hands tightly gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. Sara was miserable and fretful. She shook her head in bewilderment. They were certainly a different couple from the one who had traveled this same road several hours before.

Roarke paused at his study doorway, "If you change your mind, let me know, and we'll talk about it."

Uncontrollable anger seethed through Sara. How dare he be so magnanimous? We'll talk about it! Who does he think he is? Then a calming sheath settled over her. Turning to Roarke, she smiled. "Yes, we'll also discuss your impulse to go out with other women and leave your wife behind."

His lips twisted in a bitter smile as she turned her back on him and started up the stairs, his voice trailing behind her. "Damn you, Sara. I was right! You haven't changed. You are still accusing me of things that are in your imagination."

Sara walked into her room and threw the sketch on the bed. She looked at the drawing of Roarke, propped against the tree, a smile creasing his face. Her mind pictured his tense face and frown as he went into the study.
What a change in just a few hours
, she thought.
It's like he's two people also
. Sitting down in front of her vanity mirror, she examined her reflection intently. Suddenly, as if through a clearing mist, she saw Roarke and herself reflected in the mirror. He was dressed in a tuxedo and she was in a filmy blue gown. She was standing before Roarke with her hands on her hips. "Who was that woman, Roarke?" the reflection was saying and the memory of her voice sounded shrewish.

"Sara, I've already told you who she was," Roarke said impatiently.

"You told me she was 'someone's wife.' She certainly didn't act like 'someone's wife'." Sara turned on her heel and started pacing the room.

"What exactly do you mean?" Roarke reached out and gripped her arm as she passed him.

"Just what I said. She practically hung on to you the entire evening. It was embarrassing. She acted as though you were her lover or husband and didn't belong to someone else. As a matter of fact, she didn't even acknowledge my presence." Sara's eyes bored into Roarke's.

"Sara, I can't help what that woman does. I did nothing to encourage her. It's nothing that I said or did. I've met the woman twice before and both times her husband was there. You're reading things that aren't there. Furthermore, I don't belong to you. I am not your possession." Roarke removed his tie and shook his head in disgust then turned to leave the room.

"Roarke, don't you dare walk out on me. Every time I turned around, she was beside you. It was as though she couldn't let you out of her sight. You must have done something to encourage her." Sara stamped her foot in impotent fury. "And don't tell me you don't belong to me. You certainly do!"

Roarke pivoted back, anger raging over his face. "Sara, I'm sick of having this conversation every time we go out. I did nothing, I tell you, nothing, to encourage that woman." His voice raised in pitch from exasperation. "I don't care to discuss this anymore."

She went to him and grabbed his arm as he was walking out of the room. "Roarke, I don't believe you. Why would a woman you've only met two times behave around you as she did? I feel sure everyone at that party thought the same thing I did."

"And what was that, Sara?" Roarke asked in a bored tone.

Sara gripped his arm tightly. "Why, that you were lovers, of course."

Roarke shook himself loose of Sara's hand. "I'm tired of your accusations. Every time we go somewhere I have to come home and listen to you accuse me of being someone's lover. I'm tired of this, Sara. It has to stop," he insisted. "I'm tired of your jealousy, I'm tired of your reading infidelity into my every move. I'm tired of this conversation," he said, punching his fist into the door frame in disgust.

"If you're so tired of everything, and that seems to include me, then why don't you leave. Why don't you just leave!" Sara shouted, her face distorted with jealousy and anger.

Roarke stepped back into the room, slamming the door behind him. He reached out and grabbed Sara by the shoulders, jerking her toward him. "Don't push me, Sara. One of these days you'll say it once too often and I
will
leave." He let her go so abruptly she stumbled backward.

Sara recoiled at the fury she knew he was barely controlling. But for some reason she couldn't stop the words that poured out of her mouth. "Don't threaten me, Roarke. I'm not afraid of your threats anymore." She stood rigidly, her eyes flashing, and stared at him haughtily, a grim smile on her face.

He drew his clenched fist back but dropped it, his shoulders slumped, a look of defeat crossed his face. "All right, Sara, you win. I'm leaving. I can't live like this any longer." He slammed the door behind him.

Sara stood in the middle of the room, looking with shock at the closed door. "Roarke, you'll regret this," she screamed. She placed her hands over her face and bowed her head, desolate.

The mist in the mirror cleared and Sara was once more staring at her reflection. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch the mirror where the nightmare scene had been enacted.
Was that me? Was that what our marriage had been
? Sara put her arms down on the vanity top, cradled her head in them, and sobbed as though she would never stop.