“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.”