She was in love with him. Completely. One hundred percent. Head over heels. Any way you said it, it came down to the same thing.
She’d fallen in love with Roarke Campbell.
Jennifer sighed. She’d known it for a while, but tonight had changed everything. Living with the knowledge that she loved him was one thing.
Living with this, the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body…
After tonight, he would forever be in her heart.
They’d made love again, here in his bed. Then he’d drawn her close, he lying on his back, she on her side with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.
“We have a lot to talk about,” he’d said softly.
“Yes,” she’d whispered, and she’d thought Tell him now. Right now.
But she hadn’t. And seconds later he was asleep. A little while after that, the beat of the voodoo drums slackened until finally the beat mirrored the slow, steady rhythm of his heart. Still she lay awake, loving the feel of his arms around her even as she despised herself for her cowardice.
Tears rose in her eyes.
She hadn’t told him about herself. And she had to. It meant risking everything, but she had no choice. She was a liar and a cheat and either he would hate her or forgive her, but she had to put an end to the deception.
Or maybe—maybe she had to leave him. Maybe the possibility that he would look at her with disgust or, worse, hatred was too much to face.
Somewhere in the darkness a night bird cried out, its voice as lonely and anguished as her heart.
Carefully, she began to roll away from her lover. He made a soft sound of protest and even in her despair she loved that he wanted her to stay with him.
She pressed a light kiss to his shoulder.
His arm tightened around her. A minute passed and then his breathing steadied again.
Yes. She had to tell him the truth.
Or—or she could leave Isla de la Pantera.
Do it quickly and cleanly, without confronting him. Whatever he thought of her when he found her gone might be better than what he’d think of her if she told him that everything he thought he knew about her—even her name—was a lie.
He always left for his office by eight o’clock.
Once he was gone, she could get her things together and head for the dock. If one of the local fishermen was willing to help her, fine. If not, there were charter services that would come and pick her up, and to hell with the cost.
Until then—until then—
“Sweetheart?” Roarke murmured, his voice husky with sleep.
“Roarke.” Jennifer curved her hand against his jaw. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Why don’t I go to my room and let you—”
“My thoughts, exactly.” He rose over her. “The ‘let me’ part, that is.”
She didn’t want to smile, but she did. He smiled too; she knew it when he kissed her and she felt his lips curve against hers.
“And just what is it I’m supposed to let you do?”
His arms tightened around her. “Let me show you that I know the perfect cure for insomnia.”
He kissed her again. Her mouth. Her throat. Her breasts.
In seconds, she was lost to sensation. To passion.