Page 18 of Roarke's Kingdom

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She was out cold by the time they reached the island.

Roarke had called ahead, and his housekeeper and the doctor were at the dock, waiting for them.

“What happened?” the doctor said.

Roarke told him and Mendoza nodded.

“Concussion, probably.”

“I will get one of the men to take her from you,” the housekeeper said, but Roarke waved off the suggestion. The woman in his arms was light to carry. Besides, she was his responsibility. Maybe if he hadn’t been driving so fast, if he’d been more care

ful…

Whatever the reason, he would be the one who would take her to a guest room.

Then he’d let Mendoza examine her and Constancia get her out of her now-stained clothes and into something cool and flowing.

Once those things were done, he’d go to his own rooms.

Except, he didn’t.

Constancia made her comfortable. Mendoza confirmed the concussion.

And Roarke took off his jacket and his tie, and settled into a chair beside the bed.

* * *

They weren’t on the water anymore. She knew that because she wasn’t swaying.

That was the good news.

The bad was that her head hurt.

“Jennifer.”

“Mmm.”

“Jennifer.” A hand brushed lightly over her cheek. “Come on, wake up.”

She sighed and tried to burrow into the pillows. “I’m tired,” she murmured.

The hand brushed her face again, then moved to her shoulder. “Can you open your eyes and talk to me? Just for a moment, I promise, and then I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

Slowly, slowly, Jennifer forced her eyes open. At first, all she saw was a velvety blackness. Then, little by little, things began to come into focus. Moonlight, streaming through a set of French doors. Sheer lace curtains, moving gently under the touch of the breeze.

And a man’s face, inches from hers. A man, bending over her as she lay in the center of a wide, soft bed.

“Roarke?” She started to sit up, and fireworks went off inside her head.

“Easy,” Roarke said softly. He cupped her shoulders and gently eased her back on the pillows.

Jennifer swallowed. Her mouth and throat were dry as sand. “Where—where am I?” she whispered.

He laughed softly. “I always wondered if people really asked that when they came to.”

She blinked. Just for a second, there’d been two of him smiling at her, one mirroring the other like flickering ghost images on an out-of-focus TV screen.

“Come to? What do you mean?”


Tags: Sandra Marton Billionaire Romance