Roarke's Kingdom

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if I can see straight to the end of the earth.”

“There’s only one view better.”

Moments later, standing barefoot in the warm surf that beat gently against the beach, Jennifer knew he was right. This view of the sun, lying on the rising breast of the sea, was spectacular.

“Is it always like this?”

Roarke raised his glass in mock salute to the sky.

“No, not always. Sometimes it’s even more brilliant.”

“Now I know why you bought Isla de la Pantera.”

“Actually, there were two reasons.”

“What was the other?”

He drew her closer against his side. “The sunrises.”

Jennifer smiled. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not really joking?”

Roarke took her empty glass and set it down on the sand with his, and they began walking slowly along the beach, hands joined, bare feet in the surf.

“The truth is that buying the island started out as a business venture. I’d seen too many small islands snatched up and badly developed in this part of the world and I thought the future—the real future—lay in learning to create communities on these islands that would draw tourists without compromising the environment.” He groaned. “Hell. Does that sound as pretentious as I think it does?”

“What it sounds is impossible.”

“Not impossible—but tough. Very tough. Anyway, I’d commissioned a guy to take aerial photographs of the area for me as part of that idea. He did, and when I went through them, I came across the shots of Isla de la Pantera.”

Jennifer glanced at him and nodded. “Island of the Panther.”

Roarke smiled. “Your Spanish is improving, hmm?”

“I asked Constancia what it meant.”

“And she told you it was named for a mystical jaguar.”

“Uh huh.”

“Very mystical.” He smiled again. “Considering that jaguars don’t exist on these islands, and never have.”

“Why the name, then?”

Roarke let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders. His arm, his body felt hot against hers, and she had to step herself from burrowing closer.

“No one is certain, but it’s probably tied up with voodoo.”

“Voodoo? Really?”

“Lots of people in the Caribbean practice voodoo—including some of the ones who live on this island. They have some sort of legend about a solitary creature—half man, half jaguar—who roams these hills.” He gestured across the low dunes, toward the interior of the island, where darkness had already overtaken the dwindling daylight. “He lives here, alone, the legend says, because he can’t find peace anywhere else.”

Jennifer glanced at Roarke from beneath her lashes. The fading light played across his face, painting his high cheekbones with shadow.

“How sad,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Yes.” His voice was tight. “I thought so, too. Anyway, I flew out to take a look at the island—and I knew I had to have it.”

“So you bought it.”