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you going?” His voice was very soft. Something about it scared the life half out of her. He was, she already knew, a strong, powerful man.
“I—I’m feeling much steadier.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her lips felt as if they were being stretched across her face. “I’m just going to get the insurance papers from my car and—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Well, thank you for that. But you’re right, this was my fault entirely.”
His teeth drew back from his lips in a cool smile. “Yes, it certainly was. Now, if you’ll come with me, please?”
Jennifer stared at him. “What?”
“Neither of these cars will be going anywhere, not without a tow truck.”
She looked from his car to hers. He was right, of course. She didn’t have to be a mechanic to know that neither automobile would be heading back to San Juan on its own.
“Now what?” she asked wearily.
The Campbell’s security guy slammed the door, then went around to the driver’s side, pausing only long enough to run a hand over the Corvette’s mangled hood. Then he reached inside and removed the keys from the ignition.
“What’s your name?” he said.
She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him her name. If he ever mentioned her to his employer, it might ring a bell in the mind of L.R. Campbell. Her name was on her baby’s birth certificate, after all, and Campbell might think she’d come here to make trouble. And she hadn’t. The last thing she wanted was to upset her child’s life. She only wanted—
“Well?” She looked up. The security guy was watching her narrowly. “Did that lump on your forehead give you amnesia?”
“Jennifer,” she said, “Jennifer…Hamilton.”
“Well, Miss Hamilton, what we’ll do now is arrange for that tow. And we’ll see if we can’t get that cut of yours cleaned and bandaged.”
Her face lit up. Maybe she would salvage something from this day after all. She could do more than phone for a tow at the clubhouse; she could ask some discreet questions about L.R. Campbell, perhaps even arrange for a boat rental for tomorrow morning.
She frowned as he took her arm and began walking her toward the water. “The clubhouse is the other way, isn’t it?” The man beside her didn’t answer. “Excuse me. Isn’t the clubhouse behind us?”
He glanced at her, then toward the docks. “Yes.”
A pulse began to beat in her temple, just above where she’d cut it. “Why aren’t we going there, then?”
“It’s after eight. The clubhouse is closed for the night.”
Water glinted ahead, its surface afire with the crimson and orange of the setting sun, silhouetting a sleek cruiser that rolled lazily on the swell. The man beside her paused, one hand on her arm, the other fishing in his pocket for a key ring.
Jennifer stumbled against him, fighting the sudden panic rising inside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Let’s go, Miss Hamilton.”
“No. You said you were taking me to a phone.” She cried out as he lifted her into his arms. “Put me down. Do you hear me?” She hammered wildly at his shoulders as he shifted her weight and began striding briskly along the slip toward the boat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You need a phone and a first-aid kit,” he said calmly. “And I’m taking you where you can find both.”
“To that boat, you mean?” Jennifer pounded his shoulders harder. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to set foot on that thing. And I’m going to report you to your employer. You can count on it, Mr.—Mr.—”
He looked down at her as she struggled in his arms, and a smile curved across his mouth.
“That’s right, we haven’t introduced ourselves properly, have we?” His next words almost made her heart stop beating. “I’m L.R. Campbell, Miss Hamilton.” His mouth twisted. “But considering how well we’ve come to know each other in the past couple of days, I don’t think even Emily Post would object if you called me Roarke.”
Chapter Three
