Roarke's Kingdom

“You said this was about Susanna.”

His eyes turned cold. “Perhaps you’d like to shut the door before I say anything more.”

His words made her throat constrict. “I don’t understand. Is she all right or isn’t she?”

“I told you. She’s fine.”

“Then what—”

He marched past her and slammed the door closed.

“Your concern is touching, Jennifer. It comes a little late, but it’s touching.”

She warned herself not to rise to the bait. “What is it, then?”

He hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was gruff.

“She still asks for you.”

His words ripped into her soul.

“Does she?” She tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. “Well, I—I think of—of…” To her horror, her voice broke. She turned away blindly. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to let him see her cry “Would you—would you like coffee, or…”

“This isn’t a social call.”

Jennifer closed her eyes. “No,” she said softly, “no, of course not. I just—” She paused, then looked at him again. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t difficult. Broadwell’s a small town.”

“Yes, but—”

“And there’s just one Jennifer Winters in the telephone book.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize…” She went very still. “You—you know my name is…?”

“I’m pressed for time,” he said brusquely.

She watched as he walked to the window where the afternoon light was streaming in, reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an envelope and extended it toward her.

She looked at it, then at him. A sense of unease tiptoed down her spine.

“What is that?”

“A legal document. I asked my attorney to put things in terms that would be clear to a layman, but if you have questions…”

“But what is it?”

“Read it. It’s self-explanatory.”

Jennifer looked at the envelope, then at him.

“Let’s not waste time,’ he said impatiently. “Read it. Sign it. And we’ll be out of each other’s lives once and for all.”

Out of each other’s lives. Yes. That was what she needed. Roarke, out of her life.

Out of her heart.

She nodded, took the envelope, opened it and withdrew four sheets of legal-size paper. She blinked and looked up. Roarke’s arms were crossed; his expression was unreadable.