Roarke's Kingdom

“You are wonderful,” she whispered, and his arms tightened around her.

* * *

He had a condo in the city.

Eight rooms, all with high ceilings, all with incredible views of the city or the sea or the mountains.

Jennifer put on the beautiful new blue and green dress and they dined in a quietly elegant restaurant. They danced on the tiny dance floor, although what they mostly did was sway in each other’s arms.

At the end of the meal, Roarke ordered brandy and when it arrived he said something in Spanish to the waiter, scrawled his name on the bill, and got to his feet.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand to Jennifer.

Puzzled, she put her hand in his and stood up. “But we haven’t had our drinks.”

“We will. Just take your glass with you.”

Minutes later they were walking slowly along the darkened beach, her spike heeled sandals tucked in the pockets of his dinner jacket.

He put his arm around her waist and she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“This is decadent,” she said softly. “The sea, the moonlight—”

“You mean to tell me this isn’t the way you end an evening back home in Illinois? No brandy, no moonlit sea, no warm sand under your toes—”

She lifted her face to him and their lips met and clung. After a long while she sighed and put her head on his shoulder again.

“Did you grow up here? In these islands?”

He shook his head. “I grew up in Manhattan. And I guess I thought I’d make my life there—until I came down here on a business trip. One look, and I knew I belonged here.”

“Mmm. I can see why.”

“So,” Roarke said, “what it’s like to grow up in a small town?”

“It’s—well, it’s quiet.”

He smiled. “Is that the kind of little girl you were? Quiet?”

“That’s as good a description as any.”

“What about brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “There was just my mother and me.” She hesitated. “I had no father,” she said slowly. It was the first time in her life she had ever volunteered the information that had always pained her. “None I ever knew, anyway.”

Roarke’s arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That must have been rough.”

“It was what it was,” she said with honest simplicity.

“And now your

mother is gone?”

“How did you—”

“Well, you said you had no one to go home to.”

Jennifer sighed. “Yes. She died a couple of years ago.”