Roarke's Kingdom Page 8

  “So you offered him the chance to be Roarke Campbell’s personal physician.”

  “I offered him the chance to set up a small clinic on Isla de la Pantera. I’d just bought it, but I knew I’d end up with a fair-size community.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve seen how many people there are on the staff.”

  “How many you need to keep that enormous house running smoothly for its lord and master, you mean? Yes.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but most of those people were here when I took over and I had no intention of displacing them.”

  “Such generosity.”

  “Such logic,” he said, refusing to rise to the bait. “They do what they’ve always done. They farm. They raise goats and chickens. They fish.” He scooped up another small shell and tossed it into the water. “All I added was a schoolhouse. And a medical clinic.”

  It wasn’t all, it was a lot. Even Jennifer had to admit that, but not to him.

  “All that, just so you can escape the mean streets of San Juan.”

  “All that,” he said evenly, “so I can get away from the pressure cooker world where I earn my bread and live a quiet life part of the time. I suppose that sounds deadly dull to you.”

  She looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Constancia says you’ve been fidgety. She says you’re obviously bored. She says—”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I might be the best person to ask about me?” Jennifer stopped walking and swung around to face him.

  Roarke’s brows lifted. “I’ve tried that, remember? You keep saying that you’re fine.”

  “I am. I mean, I’m recovering from the accident.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m bored to death.”

  His mouth thinned. “Yes. That’s what I thought. An island with no television, no radio, no clubs or restaurants or theatres must be dull as hell for—”

  “There’s nothing dull about peace and serenity.”

  His eyes fixed on hers. “No?”

  Jennifer pushed her damp hair from her face. “No. I’m bored because no one will let me do anything.”

  “I left orders that—”

  “I know. And that’s the trouble.” She threw her arms wide. “I’m going crazy. I’m not used to doing nothing hour after hour.”

  Roarke folded his arms against his chest. “And what would you like to do?” A taut smile twisted over his mouth. “Paint? Sculpt? Take up Swahili?”

  “How about making my own bed, for openers? Or making my own toast for breakfast? Or even laying out my pajamas—”

  “Have you given up going to bed in my shirt?”

  There it was again. That hot, electric rush.

  “The point is,” she said quickly, “I’m perfectly capable of doing something useful.”

  “You’re a guest here.”

  “I am a woman who believes in work.”

  “Sorry. There’s no work for you here.”

  “How about letting me take care of your daughter?”

  Her words were as unplanned they were unexpected, but as soon as she spoke them she knew that the idea had been tumbling around in the back of her mind for the past two days. Here she was, aching for a child she’d never seen, and there she was, Roarke’s daughter, no doubt properly fed and clothed and all the rest, but lacking the love she deserved.

  Roarke was looking at her as if she’d suggested the sea might be convinced to stop beating against the sand.

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  Jennifer swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “I’ve seen her nanny—”

  “Emilia.”

  “Whatever her name is. And—I’m sure she’s competent. But she hasn’t done anything with your baby for the past two days. She hasn’t even had her out of the house…” Jennifer paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “For a woman who’s so certain she knows everything there is to know about me,” he said quietly, “you really know remarkably little.”

  “Look, I’m not criticizing you.”

  “Aren’t you?” His tone was silken.

  “I just thought, as long as I’m going to be here another couple of days—”

  “You just thought, since the evil emperor has locked his child away in the castle, you would set her free.”

  Jennifer flushed. “No. I mean—”

  “Your arrogance is appalling. I’m King Midas. And you—” He reached out and lightly clasped her wrists. “You,” he said, drawing her toward him, “are Lady Bountiful, bored with life and willing to amuse herself by playing with dolls.”

  “It isn’t that at all. I—I like children.” Jennifer’s mouth trembled. “It—it hurts me to think of a child being lonely, wanting love or attention or—or—”

  “Daddy!”

  Roarke looked over Jennifer’s shoulder. His face changed instantly, the dark scowl replaced by a smile so dazzling that it transformed him.

  “Susanna.”

  Jennifer turned as Roarke let go of her.

  The nanny was standing a few yards down the beach, smiling—and she was holding Roarke’s daughter a child in her arms.

  Roarke dropped to his knees and held out his arms as the nanny lowered the child to the sand. Susanna raced to him, her little face beaming, and he caught her and swung her high over his head as he got to his feet.

  “Hello, sweetheart. Did you think I wasn’t coming back for you?” He turned the little girl toward Jennifer. “Susu, this is Jennifer. Can you say hello?”

  Roarke’s daughter giggled. “’Lo, Jenfer.”

  Susanna had dark hair. Blue eyes. There was a set to her mouth that looked—that looked somehow familiar…

  “It’s your fault Susanna thought I’d deserted her,” Roarke said.

  Jennifer blinked and looked at him.

  “I—I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said, my desertion’s your fault. Emilia whisked Susu off for a bath and a nap after our helicopter ride. I promised I’d come up and tuck her in.” A teasing light danced in his eyes. “But I got delayed, rescuing you.”

  “You didn’t rescue me. I was doing just fine, until you—” Jennifer stared at him. “What helicopter ride?”

  Roarke set the child down and patted her bottom gently, and she ran up the beach to Emilia.

  “The one that brought Susanna and me back from San Juan. Well, from Miami, actually. But—”

  “You mean—you mean Susanna was with you? She wasn’t here while you were gone on business?”

  “What a script you’ve written,” he said with cool amusement. “Big, bad Roarke Campbell, the heartless captain of industry…”

  “Wait a minute. I didn’t—”

  “…the heartless captain of industry who flies off to make millions while his daughter languishes, unloved, in his castle.” His mouth thinned. “Have I left anything out?”

  “That’s not—I didn’t—” Jennifer fell silent. He was right, and they both knew it. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Very sorry.”

  Roarke said nothing. Then he sighed, tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and they began walking toward the house.

  “I guess I can’t really blame you.” He gave her a quick glance. “I suppose I did come on like the king of Isla de la Pantera for a while.”

  My God, she thought in amazement, was he actually apologizing?

  “Look,” he said, as if he’d read her mind, “this isn’t an apology—”

  Jennifer bit back a smile. “No,” she said mildly, “I didn’t imagine it would be.”

  “But it is an explanation.” He cleared his throat. “The thing is, I was suspicious about you.”

  Her throat constricted. He had every right to be, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Well, I suppose—I suppose I can understand that. After all—”

  Roarke caught hold of her shoulde
rs and swung her toward him. His eyes were very dark and very still on hers.

  “No, I doubt if you could possibly understand.” One hand slid to her throat and curved lightly around it. He smiled, and his thumb smoothed gently along her mouth. “I guess I am apologizing,” he said. “We got off to a bad start. And I’d like to change that.”

  Jennifer stared at him. Her thoughts were whirling in tight circles while she tried to sort things out. Where was the cold, imperious Roarke Campbell she knew? For that matter, where was the unfeeling man with no heart whom Constancia had described?

  “Well? Do you think we could start over? Try and get along?”

  Tell him, she thought suddenly. Tell him the truth, tell him what brought you to Puerto Rico, what you at first believed and now know was a lie…

  Tell him the whole ugly story? How she’d let a man get away with date rape. How she’d given away her baby. How she’d lied to him about who she was and why she’d gone looking for him. For the man she’d thought he was…

  “Hey.” His voice was soft. There’s no reason to cry.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not—I’m not crying. There’s—there’s sand in my eye…”

  “Where?” he said. He put his hand under her chin, tilted her face up to his. “I don’t see any sand. What I see is a beautiful woman…”

  His head dipped toward hers. The brush of his lips was soft, almost hesitant, and then his mouth opened on hers. She rose on her toes and leaned toward him, and suddenly the sea and the sand spun away.

  When he finally lifted his head, she was trembling.

  And he—he was a second away from taking her in his arms, taking her down to the sand, taking her, taking her, taking her…

  Roarke drew a hard breath. “Constancia’s probably got lunch ready.”

  Jennifer nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  Together, keeping a polite distance between them, they headed for the house.

  Chapter Six

  Days slipped by.

  Life on the island had an easy, natural rhythm and Jennifer was becoming part of it.

  Roarke must have spoken with Constancia, because the housekeeper’s insistence on not letting her do anything had eased. And Mendoza had given his approval of letting her resume most normal activities.

  She had gone from feeling like a prisoner to feeling like part of Isla de la Pantera.

  Today, as late afternoon sunlight filtered into the kitchen, casting a golden light over the old-fashioned butcher-block worktable, she was arranging flowers she’d picked from the garden in a woven basket.

  Constancia was humming as she shelled peas into a terracotta bowl.

  Jennifer looked up and smiled. “That’s a pretty tune. What is it?”

  The housekeeper laughed. “It is pretty, sí, but not when I sing it, I am afraid. My musical talent leaves much to be desired.” She went to the sink, turned on the tap and rinsed her hands. “It is just something I used to sing to la chica when she was very, very tiny.”

  Jennifer tucked the last flowers into the basket. “Susanna is a sweetheart,” she said softly.

  “Sí.”

  “Constancia?” Jennifer hesitated. “When you said those things about someone in this house being cold and heartless—you were talking about Señor Campbell’s wife, weren’t you?”

  “Sí. Of course. Of who else would I say such things?”

  “I’ve noticed,” Jennifer said slowly, “that nobody ever talks about her.”

  Constancia’s mouth thinned. “Why would they? She left when Susanna was only a few months old.”

  It was hard for Jennifer to get her head around that. Her heart ached for a child she’d never even seen, and Roarke’s wife had walked off and left her own child behind.

  “Has she ever been back to see Susu?”

  “She has been back, sí, but it was not her love for the child that brought her.” Constancia wiped her hands on her apron. “What is between them will never end.”

  An icy hand seemed to close around Jennifer’s heart.

  “Is it—is what they feel for each other that powerful?”

  “What he feels for her is more powerful than I can describe.”

  Jennifer nodded. Why did it hurt to hear that despite whatever had happened between Roarke and his wife, he still wanted her?

  There was a silence, and then the housekeeper cleared her throat.

  “You have spent much time with Susu the past days.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “You are good with her, señorita. And good for her. She flourishes like a flower under your touch. Her nanny is a nice woman, but there is something special between you and our little girl.”

  Too special.

  Jennifer knew she was getting attached to Roarke’s daughter. When the time finally came to leave the island, she would miss Susu desperately.

  And, oh, she would miss Roarke…

  “Susu is not the only one who flourishes, yes?”

  Jennifer looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Señor Campbell is very happy, too.” Constancia took a knife from the rack and began honing it on a sharpening stone. “I have not seen him this way in a long time.”

  A little rush of pleasure raced through Jennifer’s veins. “Really?”

  The housekeeper nodded. “He laughs, he smiles—and he comes home early every night.”

  “Well, I suppose he’s—he’s being polite.”

  Constancia grinned. “You think so? I think he is not a man much given to worrying about what is polite and what is not, señorita. If the Governor himself were here and Señor Campbell did not wish to talk with him, he would not do so.”

  Jennifer laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am right. To see him seated opposite you at the dining-room table every night, talking and smiling instead of eating alone with his nose tucked into the newspaper—” The older woman sighed. “It is something I have not seen before.”

  Jennifer touched her tongue to her lips. “Not since—since his divorce, you mean?”

  Constancia’s black eyes snapped. “Nor before that, either. His wife did not like to spend her evenings at home. She did not deserve him, that is certain.”

  “Why did she leave him?”

  The housekeeper’s face darkened. “For another man.”

  “What woman in the world would leave Roarke for another man?” The words were out before Jennifer could stop them. She was saying too much.

  “I agree.”

  There was a silence. Then Jennifer cleared her throat.

  “And yet, he still feels something for her?”

  “Si. It would be better if he did not, but he does. I keep hoping he will get beyond those feelings.” Constancia looked at her. “And I think you are helping that happen.”

  It was too much to take in. That a woman would be foolish enough to leave Roarke for another man. That Roarke should still want that woman.

  That she, Jennifer, should want—that she should want—

  She shot to her feet.

  “I’m going for a walk, Constancia. If the señor should arrive early and wants me—”

  “What if he does?”

  She whirled around. Roarke smiled at her from the doorway.

  Roarke, so big. So masculine. So much the kind of man she had always dreamed of…

  Her heart pounded.

  “I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

  “Only a couple of seconds.” His smile tilted. “Did you miss me?”

  Her tongue seemed too thick to manage normal speech. Had he heard that foolish slip of hers? She didn’t think so, but then why was he looking at her that way, with that little smile on his lips? If only she hadn’t said something so ridiculous. What on earth had she been thinking? Maybe it was because of the concussion. She still had an occasional headache, after all, and her eyes were—

  “…blac
k and blue.”

  “What?”

  “I said, you shouldn’t be doing too much. Not yet.” He frowned as he walked toward her. “Your eyes are still discolored.”

  “Yes, they are, a little. Dr. Mendoza says—”

  “Tilt your head to the light.” Roarke clasped her face in his hands and raised it. His hands were cool against her flushed skin; he was so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek. A tiny quiver went through her, and his frown deepened. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly.

  “Does this hurt?”

  His hand moved lightly across her skin. It was all she could do to keep from trembling.

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, I just—I just—” She looked at him helplessly. “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

  “In that case, I know exactly what you need.”

  His smile was contagious. She felt her own mouth curve in response to his.

  “What?”

  “Constancia? How long until dinner?”

  “Twenty minutes, no longer.”

  Roarke grinned. “Ah,” he said. “An hour. That’s just about right.”

  The housekeeper put her hands on her hips. “Twenty minutes, señor.”

  “Constancia! How can I show Señorita Hamilton the most glorious sunset in the world in so short a time?”

  Jennifer laughed. “An hour? To watch the sun set?”

  “Do you see how little the woman knows of sunsets?” he said as he took Jennifer’s hand. “One hour, Constancia. Not a second more. I promise.”

  The housekeeper smiled. “One hour,” she said, “and perhaps I will even grant you five minutes beyond that. The sunset on our island deserves it.”

  * * *

  It took no time at all to realize why it was going to take an hour to watch the sun set on Isla de la Pantera.

  Roarke described it as a solemn old custom, although within minutes it was easy to see that whatever customs were involved were being invented, right on the spot.

  They stopped first in the library, where he pulled off his jacket and tie and dumped them over the back of a chair.

  “All right,” he said, peering into the depths of a handsome mahogany wall unit that opened to reveal a drinks cabinet. “We’ll need provisions for our trip.”