Roarke's Kingdom Page 3

  It was his handkerchief. The faint scent of a musky cologne rose to her nostrils, bringing with it a sudden disorientation.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m fine. I just—I’ll feel better once I’m on my feet.”

  He clasped her shoulders as she began to rise. “I don’t think you ought to get up just yet,” he said. “Why don’t you stay put while I get some help?”

  “I don’t need any help.” Her voice was sharp. There was something about the way he held her that seemed familiar. If she could just concentrate on that… “I—I want to sit up. I know I’ll feel better when I do.”

  She sensed his reluctance, but helped her sit and lean back against the car. “How’s that?”

  “Better.” If only she could see his face, but the sun was still in her eyes. And her vision seemed weird. As if it wasn’t quite focused…

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” She smiled shakily and held out his handkerchief. “I’ve probably ruined this.”

  He laughed. The sound of it was vaguely unpleasant. “Don’t worry about it. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have my insurance company tack it on to your bill.”

  “My bill?”

  “They should get a laugh out of it, anyway. Repairs to my Corvette, ten thousand dollars. One linen handkerchief, twenty bucks.”

  Jennifer’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Just take a look at what you did to the front of my car.”

  “You hit me,” she said, “I didn’t hit—”

  “I hit your car, lady. Not you, although it’s a miracle I didn’t hit you. What the hell were you doing, standing in the middle of the road?”

  “That won’t change the facts. You were speeding, and you ran into my car.”

  “The facts are that you and your car were both where you shouldn’t have been.” He paused. “There’s something about you… Do we know each other?”

  So he sensed it too. That familiarity…

  Oh God! It was him. The security guy from Campbell’s!

  “No,” she said quickly. “We do not.”

  She began to get to her feet.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m going? I’m standing up.”

  “It’s too soon. Take another couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t need a couple of minutes. I’m fine. Thanks for your help, but—”

  “Yeah. Okay. Well, in that case…” He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. “I’ll need to see your driver’s license. Your registration.”

  “What for?”

  “What for?” He laughed. “You just hit my car, remember?”

  “Surely we can settle this on our own.”

  The man from Campbell’s Security folded his arms over his chest.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Jennifer swallowed hard. She still couldn’t see him clearly, but it wasn’t only because of the sun. Everything was shimmering. Sliding…

  “Miss?”

  His voice seemed to come from a long distance away.

  The earth tilted beneath her feet.

  She swayed, and the man caught her to him, his arm curving tightly around her, and he half-carried her to his car, opened the door and sat her down.

  “This is ridiculous,” he growled. “You’re hurt. How about admitting it?”

  “I—I’m fine.”

  “Is that why you almost passed out?”

  “I didn’t almost…Hey!” Her voice rose in shaky indignation as he pulled the floppy-brimmed sun-hat from her head. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to check your scalp for bruises. I should have done it before. Bend forward.”

  “I told you, I’m fine. All I need is an adhesive bandage for the cut on my forehead.”

  “Must you argue over everything? Just bend forward.” His pressed his hand against the back of her head and she had no choice but to do as he’d demanded. She felt his fingers skim lightly through her hair and then he grunted. “Nothing there. Look up and let me see your eyes.”

  “My—my eyes?” Jennifer’s voice faltered.

  “Yes. I want to check for concussion.”

  “I don’t have a concussion. Really. I—I—”

  He muttered something and reached for her oversize sunglasses.

  “Come on. Raise your head.”

  No. She couldn’t. Without both the hat and the sunglasses he’d recognize her…

  “Look, I appreciate your concern. But I’m fine. Really. And—and I’m in a bit of a rush. So—”

  “Yes. I’ll just bet you are.”

  Was it her imagination, or was there a sudden dangerous edge in his voice? She fought against the awful desire to look up and see the expression on his face. It was like driving past the scene of an accident; you didn’t want to look, but there was always that morbid sense of curiosity that urged you to turn your head, no matter what the risk.

  She took another deep breath. “Why don’t you just give me the name of your insurance company? My car’s a rental and I took full coverage. I’ll tell the company the accident was my fault entirely. I’m sure there’ll be no—” her voice faltered as he stepped closer to her “—no problem.”

  “Look at me. And take off those glasses.” His tone was silken and dangerous, and she knew the second she heard it that the game was up.

  Jennifer shook her head. “No.”

  “Take them off.”

  She shrank back. “No. I mean, what for? I told you, I’m perfectly…”

  She made a little sound as he reached down and whipped the glasses from her nose. There was a long silence, and then he let out his breath.

  “Well, well, well,” he said softly. “Isn’t it a small world?”

  She looked up slowly into eyes as flat and colorless as winter ice. Suddenly, she was very aware of how alone they were.

  “It’s—it’s not how it looks,” she said quickly.

  He rocked back on his heels and gave her a smile that matched the coldness in his eyes.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No. I—I…” Think. Think! There had to be something she could say, some explanation she could offer.

  She recoiled as he leaned forward and slammed his hands on the doorframe on either side of her.

  “Well? Why were you following me?”

  Jennifer blinked. “Following you?”

  “Come on, don’t try playing the innocent. It worked once, but—”

  “Is that what you think? That I was following you?” Despite herself, she laughed. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “How could I have followed you? I was here first, remember?”

  He stared at her while the seconds ticked away, and finally he nodded. “So you were.”

  Her pulse began to ease. “Well, then—”

  “Let me get this straight. You just happened to wander into the Campbell building yesterday.”

  “I told you, I was looking for a job.”

  “And now, by the strangest coincidence you found your way here, to my yacht club.”

  “Your yacht club?” It took no effort at all to achieve a tone of disbelief. “I didn’t know that.”

  He smiled tightly. “Didn’t you?”

  “Look, I was out driving, seeing the island—and—and I saw a sign that said something about boats…”

  “There are a dozen signs about boats along this stretch of road.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that. I was just—I saw the sign. I knew it said something about boats, and I thought—I thought I’d see about—about renting one.”

  She fell silent and waited for him to say something. But he didn’t; he just kept looking at her, his expression absolutely unreadable. After a moment, she swallowed dryly and stepped out of his car.

  “Where are
you going?” His voice was very soft. Something about it scared the life half out of her. He was, she already knew, a strong, powerful man.

  “I—I’m feeling much steadier.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her lips felt as if they were being stretched across her face. “I’m just going to get the insurance papers from my car and—”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Well, thank you for that. But you’re right, this was my fault entirely.”

  His teeth drew back from his lips in a cool smile. “Yes, it certainly was. Now, if you’ll come with me, please?”

  Jennifer stared at him. “What?”

  “Neither of these cars will be going anywhere, not without a tow truck.”

  She looked from his car to hers. He was right, of course. She didn’t have to be a mechanic to know that neither automobile would be heading back to San Juan on its own.

  “Now what?” she asked wearily.

  The Campbell’s security guy slammed the door, then went around to the driver’s side, pausing only long enough to run a hand over the Corvette’s mangled hood. Then he reached inside and removed the keys from the ignition.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him her name. If he ever mentioned her to his employer, it might ring a bell in the mind of L.R. Campbell. Her name was on her baby’s birth certificate, after all, and Campbell might think she’d come here to make trouble. And she hadn’t. The last thing she wanted was to upset her child’s life. She only wanted—

  “Well?” She looked up. The security guy was watching her narrowly. “Did that lump on your forehead give you amnesia?”

  “Jennifer,” she said, “Jennifer…Hamilton.”

  “Well, Miss Hamilton, what we’ll do now is arrange for that tow. And we’ll see if we can’t get that cut of yours cleaned and bandaged.”

  Her face lit up. Maybe she would salvage something from this day after all. She could do more than phone for a tow at the clubhouse; she could ask some discreet questions about L.R. Campbell, perhaps even arrange for a boat rental for tomorrow morning.

  She frowned as he took her arm and began walking her toward the water. “The clubhouse is the other way, isn’t it?” The man beside her didn’t answer. “Excuse me. Isn’t the clubhouse behind us?”

  He glanced at her, then toward the docks. “Yes.”

  A pulse began to beat in her temple, just above where she’d cut it. “Why aren’t we going there, then?”

  “It’s after eight. The clubhouse is closed for the night.”

  Water glinted ahead, its surface afire with the crimson and orange of the setting sun, silhouetting a sleek cruiser that rolled lazily on the swell. The man beside her paused, one hand on her arm, the other fishing in his pocket for a key ring.

  Jennifer stumbled against him, fighting the sudden panic rising inside her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Let’s go, Miss Hamilton.”

  “No. You said you were taking me to a phone.” She cried out as he lifted her into his arms. “Put me down. Do you hear me?” She hammered wildly at his shoulders as he shifted her weight and began striding briskly along the slip toward the boat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You need a phone and a first-aid kit,” he said calmly. “And I’m taking you where you can find both.”

  “To that boat, you mean?” Jennifer pounded his shoulders harder. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to set foot on that thing. And I’m going to report you to your employer. You can count on it, Mr.—Mr.—”

  He looked down at her as she struggled in his arms, and a smile curved across his mouth.

  “That’s right, we haven’t introduced ourselves properly, have we?” His next words almost made her heart stop beating. “I’m L.R. Campbell, Miss Hamilton.” His mouth twisted. “But considering how well we’ve come to know each other in the past couple of days, I don’t think even Emily Post would object if you called me Roarke.”

  Chapter Three

  The woman looked at him as if he’d told her his name was Frankenstein.

  Roarke almost laughed at the wide eyes and the perfect O of her lips—except he wasn’t entirely sure that what was happening here was something to laugh at.

  Bumping into her twice in two days seemed more than a coincidence. There was that strange way she’d gotten inside his offices yesterday. And now he was supposed to believe she’d just been driving around and fate had put the two of them at the same place at the same moment?

  Maybe.

  Then again, maybe not.

  When you were rich, very rich, you leaned to be suspicious of things that might be coincidental, but could just as easily be careful planning.

  The world was full of scammers and salesmen. It didn’t matter if they wore custom tailored suits or jeans, if they were male or female…

  Roarke’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman.

  Actually, it did matter.

  Women could be better con artists than men could ever hope to be.

  He knew that, first hand.

  Especially women who were beautiful, and this one was.

  Dark hair that curled softly around her face.

  Eyes the color of the sky.

  She was beautiful. He was rich. For all he knew, she’d set this whole thing up…

  Hell.

  The bruise on her forehead was real enough, and it was swelling. There was blood on her mouth. She was hurt, possibly concussed. The odds on her staging an accident that could easily have killed her were zero to none.

  It was one thing to be a little suspicious and another thing altogether to be paranoid.

  She was struggling against him as if he were carrying her away to do her harm.

  Well, why wouldn’t she think that? He hadn’t explained anything. He’d simply picked her up and marched toward his boat.

  She probably figured he was kidnapping her.

  “Calm down,” he said.

  The words had about as much effect as he should have figured they would. Worse, maybe, he decided as she punched a small but surprisingly powerful fist into his shoulder.

  “PUT—ME—DOWN!”

  “In a minute.”

  “Not in a minute! Now. Right now, dammit, whoever-you-are, put me down!”

  “I told you who I am. Roarke Campbell.” He gave a grim laugh as he shifted her weight. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself yesterday.”

  Jennifer snorted.

  Impossible! This man wasn’t the one she’d been searching for.

  L.R. Campbell was older. He was middle-aged. Sedate, even staid. He was the sort of man who’d be comfortable beside a fireplace on a cool evening, who’d be content having a sleepy child cuddle in his lap.

  Nothing of that description fitted the man holding her in his arms. He emanated power and vitality, not comfort. He would know nothing about children—but everything about women. The way he held her, the way he’d looked at her, even when he was angry, told her that.

  He had to be an impostor; but that didn’t matter right now because he was striding off with her, carrying her on board the boat that he claimed was his.

  Jennifer’s heart thudded with fear.

  She pounded against his chest, hard enough so that she felt the energy of the blows reverberate through her wrists and up her arms, but he didn’t pause or miss a step, not even when she let out a blood-curdling shriek.

  “Jesus,” he said, “are you trying to puncture my eardrums?”

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you won’t get away with it. Do you hear me? I swear, I’ll—”

  “You’ve read too many bad novels, Miss Hamilton.” A slow smile tilted across his mouth as he set her down in the cockpit. “Or indulged in too many fantasies. The slave trade’s been dead in these islands for years.”

  Jennifer faced him angrily, chin elevated and eyes glittering. “Look, Mr.—Mr. Whoever-You-Are…”

  “I t
old you my name.”

  “Yes,” she said grimly. “You’d like me to believe you’re L.R. Campbell.”

  The brilliance of the tropical sunset had given way to velvety night and his face, with its look of amused derision, was clearly visible in the bright glow of the stars.

  “Roarke. How much better acquainted must we be before you call me that?”

  He was laughing at her, damn him. And he sounded so convincing. A chill danced along her skin. Could he—was it conceivable that he really was…?

  A sharp pain flared in her temple. No. He wasn’t. She couldn’t let herself think that way; not if everything she’d believed for the last years was to have any meaning.

  “You’re not…”

  The words turned into a moan.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “My head. It—it hurts.”

  The boat rolled gently on the swell, and her stomach rolled along with it.

  “Are you all right?”

  No. She was not all right. Things were coming apart in front of her. And the pain in her head was—was—

  “Miss Hamilton.” His hands cupped her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just—I’m a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

  His mouth narrowed as he let go of her. “One that hasn’t ended yet,” he said, selecting one of the keys from the ring in his hand. He unlocked the cabin door and reached inside. Lights blazed on, illuminating the deck and what was visible of the area below. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ll tend to that cut, and then I’ll phone for a tow truck.”

  “And a taxi.”

  “And a taxi.” He made his way down the steps, turned and held out his hand. Jennifer hesitated for a long moment. Then she took his hand carefully followed after him.

  The main cabin was much larger than she’d expected—larger than her living room back home, and certainly more handsomely furnished.

  “Sit wherever you like,” he said, his hand sweeping out in an imperious gesture that took up the entire area. She hesitated, then perched gingerly on the edge of a mahogany table, watching as he stripped off his jacket and tie, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows. He slid back a wall panel, revealing neatly stacked shelves on which sat gauze pads, bottles of antiseptic, and assorted tins and bottles of tablets. “Right,” he said. “Now, just tilt your head up to the light.”