Roarke's Kingdom Page 12

  He made a growling sound of triumph.

  She tasted of woman and passion, of everything he had ever dreamed or wanted.

  She was trembling beneath his touch, his kisses, and when he drew back, she made a little whisper of protest and reached for him.

  “Wait,” he said thickly.

  She watched as fumbled for his jeans, found his wallet and a condom and sheathed himself in it.

  “Jennifer.” His voice was hoarse with desire. “Look at me. Watch me make you mine.”

  Her lashes lifted.

  Her eyes, as deep and blue as the sea, met his.

  Then, with one deep, slow, sweet thrust, he was inside her.

  She came instantly, sobbing his name, shattering into a million shards of spinning glass, and as her muscles clamped around him, he let go, let go, let go of the loneliness and pain of the past as he exploded within her.

  She cried out and reached for him, bringing him down to her so that she could kiss his mouth.

  He collapsed against her. He could feel his heart racing, feel hers galloping.

  After a couple of minutes, he raised his head and kissed her again.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “I was too fast.”

  “You were perfect.”

  He smiled. “You’re what’s perfect.”

  His words brought back reality. A tremor went through her, and he rose up on his elbows and looked down at her.

  “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

  “No. Oh, no, you didn’t hurt me.” She smiled and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. “You were wonderful.”

  “What every man wants to hear,” he said, grinning.

  “It’s just that—that nothing’s changed, you see. There are things you don’t know about me…”

  Roarke rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and kissed her. “We’ll have plenty of time to learn all about each other.”

  “What you just said. About me being perfect…”

  His easy smile faded.

  “Sweetheart, I know there’s something haunting you.” He brushed his lips gently over hers. “Whatever it is, it won’t change anything about us. About you and me. Nothing could do that.”

  She wanted that to be true. And maybe it was. He was a good, kind man. He might not judge her as harshly as she had judged herself.

  Now, she thought. Tell him now, right this second…

  But he was kissing her. She was drowning in waves of pleasure, and the urgent little voice in her head was lost against the power of those waves that were carrying her toward the edge of the universe.

  He loved her. She loved him. And, just as he’d said, right now that was the only truth that mattered.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun was low in the sky by the time they weighed anchor and began motoring back to Isla de la Pantera.

  Roarke stood at the wheel with Jennifer in front of him, his arm around her waist. They had spent the long day making love, drowsing, swimming naked in the warm sea and sharing the lunch Constancia had prepared along with a bottle of chilled white wine Roarke took from his boat’s mini-fridge.

  It had been the most glorious day of Jennifer’s life—and now it was coming to an end.

  She sighed, and Roarke drew her closer. “What?”

  “I was just thinking what a perfect day this has been.”

  He nuzzled her hair away from her ear, then bent and kissed her the nape of her neck.

  “It’s been the happiest day of my life,” he said softly.

  “Yes. Of mine too.”

  But even as she said it, her throat closed with emotion. It would have been better to have gone through with her plan to leave Roarke and his island.

  Now, she wasn’t only a woman trapped in a series of terrible lies, she was a woman who’d let the man she adored show her his heart.

  If he knew the truth—when he knew it, would he hate her for the way she’d let him bare himself to her? He was such a private man. How would he react when he knew he’d exposed all his emotions to a liar?

  “Jen?” Roarke’s arms tightened around her. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to go back to the real world just yet.”

  No. Neither did she.

  Suddenly, he drew back on the throttle. The roar of the engine dropped to a whisper as he turned her in his arms.

  “Did you get to see much of Puerto Rico before you came to Isla de la Pantera?”

  “No,” she said evasively. “Not much.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “But you should, you know.” He smiled. “The island’s beautiful, and filled with contrasts. There are rainforests and caves and beaches as beautiful as any on Isla de la Pantera.”

  She smiled. “Does the tourist office pay you to make this speech, señor?”

  He laughed as he traced the bones of her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll bet you didn’t even get to see very much of the old part of San Juan.”

  “I—I didn’t get to do much sight-seeing, no.”

  “Well, then, that settles it. We won’t go back to the island. Not yet. I’m going to turn us around and head for San Juan.”

  “But Susanna—”

  “Constancia will spoil her silly.”

  “And what about clothes? All I have with me is what I’m wearing.”

  “You can do some shopping. A silky dress. Sapphires for your throat.”

  “Roarke. Really…”

  “Jennifer,” he said, “really.” He laughed at the expression on her face, and then his laughter died. “I want to be alone with you. No servants. No interruptions. And as much as I love my daughter, the thought of being able to make love whenever we feel like it without stopping to tend to a crying baby would be a luxury.” He drew her close and kissed her with slow thoroughness. “Sweetheart. All you have to do is say yes.”

  * * *

  The elegant little boutique was set like a jewel along a stretch of beachfront where jewels of one sort or another were commonplace. But even here, where diamonds glittered and designer clothes fought for display space, this particular window held things that were breathtaking in their beauty—especially the blue and green silk dress that lay draped across a white wicker chair.

  Jennifer couldn’t help but sigh. The dress had thin straps and a full skirt. It looked as if it had been fashioned from the sea.

  “It’s a pretty dress, isn’t it?” Roarke said softly, dipping his head toward hers.

  She smiled up at him. “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  “And made for you.”

  Jennifer laughed and tugged at his hand. “Come on, silly. That dress was made for someone who can afford it.”

  Roarke’s brows lifted. “Well, then—”

  It took a second until she understood. When she did, she shook her head vigorously.

  “Absolutely not.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing grin. “Absolutely not, the lady says.” He took her hand, his fingers lacing through hers, and began tugging her toward the shop door. “You’ll have to phone my accountant and tell him that. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear that I can’t afford that bit of fluff.”

  “You know what I mean. There’s not a way in the world I’d let you buy that dress for me.”

  Roarke rolled his eyes to the heavens. “You’d think the woman would learn, wouldn’t you? We’ve had this conversation before.”

  Jennifer sighed. He was right, they had—in shops where all her protests hadn’t kept him from buying her enough things to make her wonder if they’d be able to fit them all on his boat.

  “It makes me happy,” he’d kept saying, and she’d been helpless in the face of such irrefutable and loving logic.

  But here, on this street, she’d drawn a firm line. The shops glittered with expensive stuff—earrings and necklaces and pins, crystal flagons of perfume, clothing bearing labels she’d read about but never actually
seen—and Roarke had been eager to buy them all.

  “That would be lovely on you,” he kept saying, just as he was now, but she’d stood firm.

  “No,” she’d said, each time adding an ultra-polite Thank you that made made him laugh.

  This time, though, he ignored her protests, moved past her and opened the door to the little shop.

  A saleswoman stepped forward, smiling pleasantly.

  Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “I am not going inside that place.”

  He folded his arms and leaned back against the open door. “Fine,” he said calmly. “I’ll just stand here.” A wicked grin curved across his mouth. “It’s another few hours until our dinner reservation. I’m sure the salespeople won’t mind.”

  The salespeople were already looking at them.

  Jennifer blushed. “This is silly,” she whispered.

  “Yes. It is. Now, why don’t you behave yourself and try that dress on?”

  She glared at him. Then she flounced past him into the shop.

  “Fine,” she said coolly. “I’ll try it on and then you can explain to the saleswoman that I’m not the least bit interested in buying it. Will that satisfy you?”

  She should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Roarke spoke to the clerk in rapid Spanish, there were a lot of sí, señors and smiles, and then Jennifer found herself in an elegant fitting room, standing before a bank of mirrors with the saleswoman slipping the blue and green silk dress over her head.

  It was even more wonderful than she had imagined, especially with a matching pair of high-heeled sandals.

  “The señorita looks lovely,” the saleswoman purred.

  “Lovely,” Roarke whispered when she stepped into the little salon and pirouetted before him, and when he caught her to him and kissed her, the smiling assistant looked discreetly away.

  When she returned to the fitting room to take off the dress and put on her own clothes, she stopped dead. There was a tumble of garments piled on the chair and more hung from the rack.

  “What is all this?” Jennifer asked helplessly.

  The woman smiled. “Your novio asks that you try these things on, señorita.”

  “My what?”

  “Your fiancé. He is most charming.”

  A flush rose in Jennifer’s cheeks. “Oh, but he’s not—” She hesitated. What harm could there be in pretending? It was such a wonderful thing to imagine, a fantasy beyond all fantasies, and it would hurt no one to indulge it for just a little while. “All right,” she said. “Let’s give him a fashion show, if that’s what he wants.”

  “I think,” the assistant said in a conspiratorial whisper, “that he just wishes to make you happy. I have never seen a man smile so when his lady twirls before him in a new dress.”

  He did look happy, Jennifer thought each time she stepped out from behind the fitting room door. And by the time she had tried everything on, she was happy, too.

  Part of it was because of the beautiful clothes, but more of it was because there was such joy in pleasing Roarke.

  Her thoughts darted to the woman who had once been his wife.

  Had she had ever taken any pleasure at all in making him happy?

  When the little fashion show was over, Jennifer slipped her own dress on and combed her fingers through her hair.

  The bubbling saleswoman would be disappointed. All this time and there wouldn’t be anything to show for it.

  Maybe she’d look at a silk scarf or something. It would still cost a fortune and it wouldn’t come close to making up for the woman’s hopes of having made an enormous sale, but—

  She caught her breath as she stepped out of the fitting room. Roarke stood waiting at the door, surrounded by stacks of glossy little boxes and sacks.

  “Enjoy your new things, señorita,” the saleswoman said happily and while Jennifer was still trying to come up with a response, Roarke took her by the arm and led her out to a waiting limo. He handed her inside, leaned forward and spoke to the driver who smiled, nodded, and went inside the store.

  “Roarke,” Jennifer said in a warning tone.

  Too late.

  The driver and the salesclerk emerged, arms loaded with packages, and dumped them in the car’s trunk.

  “Roarke,” Jennifer said again, “what did you do?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide which things I liked the best, so I took them all.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You took them—”

  He silenced her with a kiss.

  “Including that little silk bra and the thong that goes with it.”

  She blushed as the driver got behind the wheel and the cab pulled into traffic.

  “He’ll hear you,” she hissed. “And weren’t you listening to me? I told you I wouldn’t let you buy me—”

  “Yes. I know.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “But it gave me more pleasure that I can describe.”

  “Roarke, that may have worked once. But—”

  “Please.” His hand tightened on hers. “Please say you’ll accept my gifts.”

  Please, he’d said, and with that one simple word he’d changed everything.

  There was something incredibly touching in knowing that she held such power over this man who could make the world jump at the snap of his fingers.

  “You’re impossible.”

  His grin was quick, sexy and undeniably wicked. “Is that a yes?”

  “Truly.” She tried hard to sound angry. “Truly, you are—”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her.

  “You are wonderful,” she whispered, and his arms tightened around her.

  * * *

  He had a condo in the city.

  Eight rooms, all with high ceilings, all with incredible views of the city or the sea or the mountains.

  Jennifer put on the beautiful new blue and green dress and they dined in a quietly elegant restaurant. They danced on the tiny dance floor, although what they mostly did was sway in each other’s arms.

  At the end of the meal, Roarke ordered brandy and when it arrived he said something in Spanish to the waiter, scrawled his name on the bill, and got to his feet.

  “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand to Jennifer.

  Puzzled, she put her hand in his and stood up. “But we haven’t had our drinks.”

  “We will. Just take your glass with you.”

  Minutes later they were walking slowly along the darkened beach, her spike heeled sandals tucked in the pockets of his dinner jacket.

  He put his arm around her waist and she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “This is decadent,” she said softly. “The sea, the moonlight—”

  “You mean to tell me this isn’t the way you end an evening back home in Illinois? No brandy, no moonlit sea, no warm sand under your toes—”

  She lifted her face to him and their lips met and clung. After a long while she sighed and put her head on his shoulder again.

  “Did you grow up here? In these islands?”

  He shook his head. “I grew up in Manhattan. And I guess I thought I’d make my life there—until I came down here on a business trip. One look, and I knew I belonged here.”

  “Mmm. I can see why.”

  “So,” Roarke said, “what it’s like to grow up in a small town?”

  “It’s—well, it’s quiet.”

  He smiled. “Is that the kind of little girl you were? Quiet?”

  “That’s as good a description as any.”

  “What about brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head. “There was just my mother and me.” She hesitated. “I had no father,” she said slowly. It was the first time in her life she had ever volunteered the information that had always pained her. “None I ever knew, anyway.”

  Roarke’s arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That must have been rough.”

  “It was what it was,” she said with honest simplicity.

  “And now your
mother is gone?”

  “How did you—”

  “Well, you said you had no one to go home to.”

  Jennifer sighed. “Yes. She died a couple of years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “It was quick. I mean, it didn’t seem like that at the time…”

  “What happened?”

  “Cancer. She suddenly felt very tired and when it persisted they did some tests, even tried an operation, chemo… She was ill for a long time. At the end, they wanted me to put her in a hospice, but I brought her home. She’d always worked so hard to take care of me—”

  Roarke heard the sudden catch in her voice and swung round to face her. “Dammit, I’m a fool,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t mean to make you think of sad things.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her. “Let’s go home. We’ll go out on the balcony and watch for shooting stars as they fall into the sea.”

  * * *

  She changed from the blue and green dress to a nightgown that Roarke had bought her. It was made of ivory silk and lace, and she smiled when she saw herself in the bedroom mirror.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He came up behind her, handsome and powerful in his white dinner jacket and dark pants, and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said as he kissed her hair. He raised his head and looked at her steadily in the glass. “Are you happy with me?”

  Her eyes met his. “Happier than I’ve been in my whole life,” she said softly.

  “Good. That’s good. It’s excellent. Because—because—” He cleared his throat. “Hell,” he said, “I don’t know how to say this…”

  “Say what?”

  “Marry me.”

  She stared at him in the mirror. “What?”

  “I’m asking you to marry me—and, dammit, I don’t know why I didn’t ask you while we were still on that stretch of beach, in a romantic setting instead of like this—”

  Jennifer laughed. For one swift heartbeat she felt a joy so great that it stole her breath away. But then she remembered what she had spent the last weeks trying to forget, and her laughter died.

  “Thank you for asking me, but—”

  “Thank you for asking me?” His voice was harsh. “Is that the best you can do?”