Roarke's Kingdom

“Yes. There is.” Her head lifted. “Have your attorney draw up some kind of statement, and I’ll sign it.”

His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the legal ramifications that have upset you so much, Mr. Campbell. I’ll be more than happy to sign something that says the accident was my fault entirely.”

“A release,” he said with some amusement.

She nodded. “That’s right. Once I’ve done that—”

“Either you’re very naive or very clever, Jennifer. A release isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. Even the most incompetent lawyer could invalidate it by claiming you’d still been suffering the effects of concussion when you wrote it. Or, perhaps, that I’d intimidated you.” His lips drew back from his teeth. “I seem to remember you accusing me of that the first time we met.”

Jennifer’s spine had been stiffening as he spoke. Now she lifted her head and looked straight at him.

“Y

ou may own this island, Mr. Campbell, but that doesn’t make you its king.”

A cool smile twisted across his lips. “Suppose I said that it does?”

He’s challenging you, a little voice whispered within her. Let it pass—you can’t beat him at this game. You can’t even match him. But then she looked at that arrogant smile, at those dark, cold eyes, and she knew that she could not let him win so easily.

“It’s what I know,” she said evenly. “Puerto Rico is governed by the laws of the United States—”

He was beside her before the words had finished leaving her mouth.

“There is no law on Isla de la Pantera except my law,” he said harshly.

A whisper of fear rippled along her skin. He was not a man to cross. She had known that from the start. But how could she let him do this to her? She had a will of her own; she was not his property.

It was the sudden narrowing of his eyes that told her she’d spoken the last words aloud.

“Wrong, Jennifer. Everything on this island is my property.”.

“Not me,” she said quickly. “Not—”

“Everything,” he repeated, and his mouth dropped to hers. His hands cupped her face, framing it so that she couldn’t escape the kiss no matter how desperately she struggled.

But she wouldn’t struggle. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She had fought against Craig, once she’d realized where all his soft caresses were leading, and what good had it done her?

“You can’t fight me,” he whispered, drawing back a little, enough so that she could see the darkness in his eyes. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. Her voice trembled. “Oh, yes, I understand that you’re stronger than I am.”

He laughed. “That’s right. And a hell of a lot nastier.” His eyes swept over her face. “Don’t make this week more difficult than it has to be for either of us.”

Angry tears scalded her eyes. “I hate you,” she hissed. He laughed again, this time more softly. “Do you?” he said, and he kissed her again.

But his mouth was soft and persuasive, moving on hers, inviting her to kiss him back.

Roarke lifted her to her feet. His hands swept down her shoulders, down her spine to her buttocks, and he brought her against him.

“Open to me,” he whispered, and suddenly she wanted to, she wanted to feel his tongue in her mouth, feel his hands on her skin.

She made a little moaning sound, desperation and something far darker mixed together, and she felt the sudden hardening of his body against hers.

“Yes,” he said, his voice thick, and Jennifer raised her hands to his chest.

She caught his shirt in her fingers, felt the thunder of his heart beneath her palms—and then his hands cupped her shoulders again and he put her from him.