Intimate Strangers by Denise Mathews Read Free Book Online

thinking was Roarke's behavior today. From the moment he had appeared in her doorway at the hospital, he had been an enigma. He had been barely civil and almost surly at times, withdrawn and uncommunicative at others. His anger was unexplainable and uncalled for. She felt he had made several oblique references to her past, but what did they mean? What kind of a person had she been? If only he'd sit down and calmly tell her what their life together had been like and what kind of a person she was, then she would understand him. After all, he admitted he was the only man who knew what she was really like!
    Sitting on the edge of the bed, she rubbed her hand over her eyes.
He said so many perplexing things to me, if only I knew why
, she thought.
Am I really a man-chaser who plays games? Oh, my God, surely that isn't true
! She curled up on the bed and put her head on the pillow, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Am I the sort of woman who throws herself at men and is this why Roarke is so contemptuous and bitter toward me? When he saw Ted holding my hands, that seemed to set off his anger. Does he have reason to accuse me as he did
?
    Sitting up, Sara wiped her face with her fingertips and looked around the room.
I have to quit weeping at the drop of a problem
, she reflected.
I have to get my mind off this mess for a little while, or I will go stark raving mad
. Until someone would tell her about her past or her memory came back on its own, she was a prisoner in this house and in this room. More than that, she was a prisoner of her own mind, walls of forgetfulness blocking out her past.

CHAPTER FOUR

     
    "Sara, where are you?" the deep voice demanded.
    Struggling with her balance, Sara peered around the edge of the closet door. "I'm here, just a second."
    Roarke! It was Roarke calling her, she thought nervously. She was hoping against hope he would leave her alone until she could strengthen herself and figure out what approach to take with him.
    "What on earth are you doing?" Roarke asked as she came into view.
    She limped over to the chaise longue and sat down, hesitating until she felt a little more composed before answering him. "I was tired of lying in bed with nothing to do. My curiosity got the better of me"—she shrugged her shoulders—"so I decided to look around. Are all those clothes really mine? That closet is huge and just jammed with beautiful things."
    Roarke glanced over toward the closet and nodded his head. "Yes, they're all yours. You love clothes, obviously." He took a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, shook one out, and lit it while his eyes lowered to concentrate on the glowing end.
    Sara watched the flame from the lighter flicker quickly across his face, the plains and ridges of his cheeks prominent in the flash of light. His black hair was a little unruly and one strand fell across his forehead. Then he looked up and their eyes locked. Sara's breath stopped as the blueness of his eyes seemed to draw her into their depths. There seemed to be no way she could break the spell. Several heart-wrenching seconds drew out as he studied her face. Sara could feel her lips part slightly and finally, with a shuddering breath, she lowered her eyelids.
    "Sara, I hope you'll accept my apology for this morning." Roarke's voice, even though it was low, seemed to roar in her ears, the waves of sounds beating against her eardrums. "I can't give you any explanation right now, but I realize I was overreacting to what was possibly an innocent situation—"
    "Possibly innocent!" she interrupted. "I don't believe this, Roarke. Even your apology is qualified!"
    Holding his hand up, he appealed, "Please, let me finish, Sara. I don't want to fight with you. That's not why I came in here. I tried to think this through today while you were resting, and I've come to the conclusion we can't continue this way. It's not going to help you get better and I certainly don't want to feel responsible for that." He put the cigarette