Roarke's Kingdom

Fury had surged through her. She’d almost snarled at the man—but she’d caught herself just in time.

This was Roarke Campbell’s kingdom. He made the rules here.

Nobody else.

“Fine,” she’d said in defeat. “At least I’ll have my own things…”

But she wouldn’t. The pilot would ask for the luggage that belonged to Jennifer Hamilton—and Jennifer Hamilton didn’t exist.

How would she get around that?

“Wait,” she’d said quickly, as the pilot began to turn away. “Let me phone the Mariposa and tell them to have my things waiting at the reception desk. I’ll have them tag it Isla de la Pantera so that there won’t be any confusion about what’s mine.”

The little subterfuge had worked like a charm and a few hours later her things had been delivered to the island.

And, naturally, all her clothing had been pressed and put neatly away by one of the servants.

Enjoy all this luxury, she kept telling herself. After all, she’d never known such pampering. When she was little, her mother had been too weary at the end of the long day to do much more than put together a meal. And the last few years, between caring for her mother and working at the Route 66 Roadside Café, luxury had been a once-a-week hot bath in lieu of her daily quick shower.

But she couldn’t enjoy it. For one thing, it seemed sybaritic to lie around doing nothing when everyone around her was gainfully occupied. For another—

For another, she was just plain bored.

She’d almost said that to Constancia, but could she? There was something contemptible about saying such a thing to the woman who spent the day waiting on you. It smacked of the sort of pomposity Jennifer had despised when she was growing up, dealing with the women her mother had worked for, whose floors she’d scrubbed and kitchens she’d cleaned, who had sent her home with leftover food their own families were tired of, or clothing they’d no longer wear because it was out of fashion.

Jennifer began walking along the curving path that wound through the garden to the sloping beach that was the southern boundary of Isla de la Pantera.

“Just concentrate on getting well, señorita,” Constancia kept saying, as if it were a magical incantation.

It probably was.

Roarke must have drummed the need for her complete recovery into his staff. The sooner she was better, the sooner he could safely get rid of her.

Well, the feeling was mutual.

It couldn’t be soon enough.

Ahead, sunlight glinted on a white sand beach. Jennifer slipped out of her sandals, then stripped down to her swimsuit, leaving her shorts and cotton T-shirt lying in a little heap beside a patch of beach grass. Sand kicked from her heels as she ran into the frothing surf. The water was warm, almost hot from the steady blaze of the sun. It curled around her calves and then her thighs like silk, and she felt the tension begin to drain from her body. Don’t swim, Constancia had warned, and the doctor too.

“No strenuous activity,” he’d said sternly. “Not until you are completely well.”

But swimming wasn’t strenuous, especially not if she just floated on her back and let herself ride on the gentle swells, as she’d done yesterday. She rolled her shoulders as the water lapped at her breasts. It felt wonderful. No prying eyes, no one to tell her what she should and should not do…

“Damn it, woman! What in God’s name are you up to now?” Roarke’s voice roared across the silence. Jennifer gasped and spun around just in time to see him come splashing into the surf fully dressed.

She turned and dived into deeper water, kicking furiously, but he was too fast for her. He caught her easily and drew her back against him, his arms enclosing her just beneath her breasts, so tightly that she could feel the hammer of his heart against her back.

“Can’t you be trusted at all?”

Jennifer slammed her hands against his forearms. “Let go of me, damn it!”

Roarke turned her toward him. “What I ought to do,” he said grimly, “is lock you in your room. That’s the only way I can be sure you’ll behave yourself.”

“I was behaving myself. In fact, I was having a perfectly lovely time until you—”

“Mendoza told you not to do anything strenuous. And Constancia warned you about the currents.”

Jennifer tossed the wet hair from her face. “It must be wonderful to be God,” she snapped.