Heartless Rebel

by Lynn Raye Harris

  When she returned to the bedroom, Jack had managed to stand on his own. He’d undone his belt and zipper, but his pants hung low on his hips, revealing smooth skin and a dark arrow of hair pointing the way to his groin. Cara swallowed as her heart picked up speed again.

  God, she was acting like a timid virgin. She had to stop this nonsense, had to help him into the tub before she could lie on the bed and turn on the television. It was late, but she was too keyed up to sleep just now. A bit of mindless television was usually just what the doctor ordered when insomnia hit.

  “Do you need help?” she asked, praying he would say no. His shirt was one thing, but his pants?

  For once, he looked apologetic instead of devilish. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take them off. Bending is hell at the moment.”

  Cara thought of something her friend LeeAnn had once said. LeeAnn had gone to nursing school and now worked in the ICU, taking care of critical patients. According to LeeAnn, you got used to seeing naked men after a while. It was just a job, no matter how good-looking the man.

  Cara squared her shoulders. Yes, this was a job, a mission of mercy. Jack Wolfe was attractive, but this wasn’t about attraction. This was about helping a patient into the bath.

  Except that, even in this state, he seemed too big, too virile and male, to be a patient. He was stiff and sore, but he wasn’t incapacitated.

  Determinedly, she pushed his trousers down his hips until all that was left were a pair of boxers.

  “I should warn you,” he said when she hooked her fingers into the waistband. Cara looked up, met his silver gaze head-on. His eyes were both cool and hot and she wondered how he did that, how he managed to seem so in control and on the edge all at once. “I’m not unaffected by a beautiful woman removing my clothes, even in this state.”

  Cara licked suddenly dry lips. Her throat felt like sand. Jack’s eyes darkened as he followed the movement of her tongue.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she managed huskily.

  And then she was bending and sliding his boxers down his muscled thighs until she could let them fall at his feet. Resolutely, she focused on his face as she stood again. She would not look down, would not look at that part of him she was suddenly dying to see.

  “Seeing down your shirt just now didn’t help,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”

  “You’re not in any shape to flirt with me,” she said firmly, “so you really should stop.”

  “Can’t help it.”

  Nor could she help it when her gaze dropped, in spite of her resolution not to look. Cara’s breath caught, held, until she felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He was beautiful. And he was definitely aroused.

  “Like what you see?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re in no shape to do anything about it, as you’ve already noted.”

  “I’m not.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “But you are.”

  Cara’s ears burned. Not because he shocked her, but because a part of her wanted to do it. She wanted him at her mercy, wanted to tame and control and possess. All she had to do was drop to her knees, take him in her mouth and—

  “Forget it. I’m not some kind of good-time girl, Jack Wolfe. We’re here because you couldn’t leave well enough alone, not because I can’t resist your charm.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Come on,” she said as she slipped an arm around his waist—sweet heaven, his bare waist. “Let’s get you into the bath. The warm water will help.”

  Somehow she got him into the bathroom and into the tub, though she got soaked in the process. He stretched out his legs—they were still bent since the tub was shorter than he was—and groaned.

  “God this hurts.”

  Her heart squeezed in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Don’t worry. You can make it up to me later.”

  Later. As if she would still be here. Cara shook her head. No, she wasn’t staying. She wasn’t succumbing to the need to be near this man.

  Need? Was it already that bad?

  No. Because she’d let herself be fooled once—at least for a short time—by her feelings for James, and she knew better now. She didn’t need a man. She liked men, enjoyed good sex, but she didn’t need a man. And definitely not this man.

  “You never quit, do you?” she said, grabbing a towel so she could go into the bedroom and remove her wet clothes.

  “Sweetheart, if I were dead I’d still want to have sex with you.”

  “Charming.” But her pulse was pounding, fluttering.

  “I’ll be in the other room. Yell if you need me.”

  Cara changed out of her wet clothes and hung them on a chair to dry. Then she wrapped the towel around her body and climbed onto the bed, scooting back against the pillows as she turned on the television. But instead of finding anything she wanted to watch, her gaze kept straying to Jack’s cell phone on the bedside table.

  It was early evening in Louisiana …

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  She picked up the phone and went to the bathroom door. “Can I make a call to the States on your phone? I’ll pay you.”

  He didn’t even look at her. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed. He lifted two fingers where they rested on the edge of the tub. “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” She turned away, then stopped. “Do you need anything?”

  “Nothing you’re willing to provide,” he said on a long drawl.

  She shook her head as she went back to the bed and climbed onto it. Twenty seconds later, Mama’s voice came on the other end of the line. A flood of wistfulness washed over Cara. Oddly enough, tears pricked her. She pressed her eyelids to keep them from falling.

  “Hey, Mama.”

  The conversation didn’t last long, but it helped her feel better in the end. Remy was doing well. The money Cara had sent recently would pay for his therapy through the end of next month. Evie had just gotten a job as a secretary in a law firm downtown, and the insurance was paid up for the next two months. The ground beneath her family’s feet was firm, if not quite solid yet.

  When the call ended, she laid the phone on the table and closed her eyes. They were doing well. Not great, but well. She could have used the money that Bobby had been about to pay her, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Besides, that had been dirty money, and Mama wouldn’t have approved of dirty money. Cara would just have to find a new job, work harder and make damn sure her family stayed on firmer ground.

  She roused herself and went to check on Jack. He looked up when she came in. The skin under his eye looked worse, but there was no swelling.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Stiff. I’m ready to get out of here.”

  He pushed himself upright until she could get an arm around him and help him to stand. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around him, then handed him another one to dry his torso with. The towel she wore kept slipping as they walked toward the bed. She prayed it would hold until she got him into bed when she could tighten it again.

  “Why are you still here?” Jack asked.

  The question startled her. “Because you’re too stubborn to go to a doctor.”

  “If I did, would you leave?”

  She hesitated only a moment. “Yes,” she said, though the word wanted to stick in her throat.

  “A good reason not to go, then.”

  “Jack—”

  “But where would you go?” he interrupted. “Where is home?”

  He lay on the bed and she pulled the covers up. “New Orleans,” she told him.

  “A grand city.”

  “You’ve been to the casino there, no doubt,” she said a bit crisply.

  “I have. But why aren’t you working there? It’s far safer than working for a man like Bobby Gold.”

  Cara shrugged. She didn’t want him to know the truth. That she felt like she’d never make anything of herself if she stayed in Louisiana, that she wanted advent
ure and romance, and that she wanted to travel to far-flung places. It sounded childish when she said it. And yet those were the longings of her heart. She wanted to escape. She’d always wanted to escape.

  Guilt stabbed into her. She had no right to feel that way.

  “I thought there was more money to be made in

  Vegas.” She picked up a pillow and clutched it to her chest. “Why don’t you go to sleep now? It’ll do you good.”

  He tipped his head at the pillow. “Planning to suffocate me in my sleep?”

  “It’s a thought,” she said. “But no. I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

  He caught her wrist in a broad hand before she could turn away. “There’s no need for that, Cara. It’ll be uncomfortable.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “This bed is big enough for two.”

  She wasn’t sure this room was big enough for two when he was the other person sharing it with her. He encroached on her space simply by breathing. Made her jumpy and achy all at once.

  “I’d hate to bump into your ribs in the night,” she said. The words were hardly more than a whisper.

  “I appreciate your concern. But I don’t think that’s the reason.”

  “Of course it is,” she said.

  “Get in the bed, Cara. You can put the pillow between us if it makes you feel better. To protect my ribs,” he added.

  Was that sarcasm she heard in his voice?

  But she was tempted. Because the floor would be hard, and because she was so tired and achy already that she just wanted to sleep in a soft bed.

  Tomorrow, everything would look better, especially if she slept well. Her head would be clear and she could think of what to do next. Of how to get home when her passport and all her money was back in Nice.

  “Fine,” she said. “But if you touch me anywhere inappropriate, I’ll black your other eye.”

  Jack only laughed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JACK slept fitfully. The injuries woke him from time to time, but it was the proximity of the warm woman next to him and the dreams he sunk into whenever he fell asleep that kept bringing him back to the surface. He wanted to reach for her, pull her into the curve of his body and just hold her. Because he wanted to be close to someone.

  The dreams hadn’t bothered him in years, but tonight they were back in force. His father was a chameleon, making them all laugh and building a fabulous tree house for them one moment, only to explode the next. The screaming and rage rained down on him, on his brothers and sister, like fire from above. The tree house was destroyed as the sobs of his younger siblings rent the air.

  But Jack had never cried when his father raged.

  Unlike the others, he’d always known when William was on the verge of cracking and he’d mostly avoided his father’s wrath. But he’d ached for his siblings, for the ones who seemed to draw William’s attention most of all. Tonight, it seemed as if he was destined to relive those memories every time he closed his eyes.

  And he figured he knew why. Nathaniel’s wedding … the trip home. In a couple of days, he would probably come face-to-face with Jacob again. Jacob, who he’d looked up to and admired. Who he’d wanted to be exactly like when he was growing up.

  Until Jacob had betrayed them. Until he’d left and they’d had to learn how to live without him there to guide them. He’d loved Jacob, but Jacob hadn’t loved him—them—enough to stay.

  Though it hurt like hell, he pushed himself up and swung his legs from the bed. If one of Bobby’s men hadn’t delivered a blow that had knocked him unconscious, he’d hate to think of the sort of shape he’d be in now. Because they would have kept punching until they did more damage than just a few bruised ribs.

  “What are you doing?” Cara cried, scrambling up beside him.

  “Looking for something to drink.”

  “I’ll get it. You stay there.”

  He hated being dependent, hated that she’d had to help him undress when it wasn’t for pleasure. But he let her get up and go to the minifridge. When she bent down and opened it up, the interior light shone on her bare legs, on the curves of her bottom beneath the towel she still wore. His body reacted, in spite of the aches and pains.

  “There’s water, juice, soda—”

  “Water’s fine.”

  She twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to him. He took it and drank, his eyes skimming her lush body in the meager light peeking between the closed curtains.

  “How do you feel now?” she asked.

  “Like I’ve been run over by a train.”

  “I need to leave,” she blurted. “My passport and money are still in Nice, and I can’t go home without them.”

  Something inside him twisted at the thought of her leaving. “It’s too dangerous, Cara. You need to stay away from Gold.”

  Her golden-green eyes sparked with temper. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I can’t leave Europe without my passport. What am I supposed to do, hide from Bobby forever? If I take some friends with me, he won’t bother me.”

  Jack couldn’t help but laugh, though it hurt to do so. “Stay away from Nice, and stay away from Bobby.”

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Did she realize, he wondered, that the towel inched up and revealed a hint of what lay beneath? His body turned to stone. He didn’t even care that it hurt.

  “I’m not your property, Jack. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  God but she exasperated him. Was she that obtuse or did she just delight in contradicting him? “I’m trying to protect you.”

  If anything, that statement only made her angrier. “Protect me? My God, if you hadn’t come barreling in like the Lone Ranger, it’d all be over with and I’d be on my way home again. I don’t need your help, Jack. In fact, I’d be better off without it!”

  Anger flashed through him. He’d taken a bloody beating for her, and she still insisted she’d have been fine. “Right. Because when Bobby’s boys needed a punching bag, they’d have just had to do without because you’re a woman.”

  “God!” She shoved both hands through her hair, whipping it off her shoulders and then letting it fall again, a silken waterfall down her back. “They hit you because you hit them. I’ve never seen Bobby abuse any of the girls. He was angry with me and he slapped me. But that’s the extent of it. Or would have been if you hadn’t shown up.”

  Jack reached for the watch he’d left on the bedside table—9:00 a.m. He was done arguing with her because it was pointless. She was determined to do her own thing—and maybe she was right.

  Maybe Bobby’s anger would have faded a bit since he’d gotten the jackpot after all.

  Some people were determined to keep flying into the fire, even when they knew they would get singed. Jack knew better, had always known better. And he had little patience with those who did not.

  “Fine, then. You go back to Nice. I’m going to London.”

  She didn’t think he would be able to do it, but Jack managed to dress on his own. Then he made a call on his mobile. She heard him ask for a Dr. Drake, so at least he was finally planning to get checked out. The knowledge relieved her, made her not worry quite so much about what he would do when she was gone.

  Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He opened it and took a package from a young man wearing jeans and a faded rock band T-shirt.

  Cara ran the towel over her freshly washed hair as she watched him open the package and take out a couple of bottles. She’d put her clothes back on, though they were still slightly damp. It was uncomfortable, but that couldn’t be helped. She had to leave, and she had nothing else to wear.

  Except she had no cash to go anywhere. How would she get back to Nice when she had no money, no credit cards and no ATM card? She had to ask Jack for money, and that galled her. She already owed him for the night in the hotel, and the phone call, and she hated that she had to ask for yet another loan. She was used to paying her own way, to taking care of herself, and to be
dependent on this man she hardly knew for money to eat and sleep—and get back to Nice—bothered her more than she could say. She felt wrong asking, and yet she had no choice.

  She would pay him back. Even if he didn’t believe it.

  Jack took a couple of pills from the bottles and washed them down with water. Cara blinked. What kind of man could call a doctor and have painkillers delivered twenty minutes later? It forced her to reevaluate her assessment of him. He might be a gambler, but he was obviously a very good one. Perhaps he came from money and never really had to worry about what would happen if he lost everything.

  Wouldn’t that be nice? Cara thought wistfully. He looked up, met her gaze. His expression didn’t soften from the hard mask he’d donned when she’d told him she was leaving. Her heart flipped in response. She had to stifle an urge to go to him, to run her fingers through his hair, to caress his granite jaw and press her lips to his. He slipped a wallet from the tuxedo jacket he’d left lying on the bed. Then he took out some euro notes and tossed them on the bed. “You’ll be needing that,” he said.

  Perversely, her eyes filled with tears. Angry tears, tears of frustration. She’d been worried about asking for cash, and he’d preempted her. She wanted to tell him to keep his damn money, and yet she couldn’t. Without it, she’d be standing on a Lyon street by nightfall, singing a cappella and hoping she could earn enough coins to eat dinner.

  “Thank you,” she said instead, shame a living creature inside her belly. It roiled and twisted until she wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and heave into the toilet.

  “Take care of yourself, Cara.” He watched her for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something else—or maybe he was waiting for her to say something—before he turned and walked out the door. He didn’t walk with the fluid grace that he had when she’d first seen him, but he still moved like a man in control of his life and destiny.

  She heard the roar of the engine start after what seemed like forever. And then the tires were squealing out of the parking lot and she was alone.

  Cara let out the breath she’d been holding. He’d left her. Oddly, it hurt that he had. But she’d told him to go! Cara pressed her fingers to her temples and sucked in a sharp breath. What was wrong with her? She’d wanted him gone, wanted to be on her own again so she could think and plan and breathe without Jack Wolfe taking up all the oxygen in the room.