“In a hurry to leave me, Cara?”
“I’ve completed my end of the bargain,” she said, her heart pumping hard and fast.
The heat in his eyes banked. “You’ll get your money. And your passport as soon as I have it.”
She suddenly felt as if she’d made a mistake. She wanted to go to him, wanted to put her arms around his waist and press her cheek to his chest. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she wasn’t trying to rush away, but that she had to do it for her own good.
Because she cared about him. Too much. In so very short a time, Jack Wolfe had managed to worm his way beneath her defenses and make her care.
But she knew she couldn’t trust him. Couldn’t give him her heart. It never worked out, that kind of blind trust. Her mother had had it with her father, and look where it had gotten her. Brokenhearted and broke. Cara wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Jack was gorgeous and amazing in bed, but that was the extent of it. She wouldn’t love him.
She believed in happy ever after, but she knew that kind of love wasn’t one-sided. It couldn’t be. And there was absolutely nothing about Jack that said he was in danger of falling in love with her.
“This isn’t going anywhere, Jack,” she said. “You and I both know it.”
He looked so dark and furious. “We’ve spent one night together. It’s a little soon to be thinking about the future, isn’t it?”
“Maybe for you,” she said, stung. “But I have to find another job and get on with my life. I can’t stay here as your—what? Paid companion?”
“That part is over,” he said, his voice measured. “I paid you to go to the wedding. You went. We’ve moved on now.”
“To what?”
His jaw flexed. “I have work to do,” he said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. It’s down the hall, on the left.”
“Is this usually how you end your discussions?” she asked. “By walking away?”
He turned back to her. “What discussion, Cara? You’ve said you want to leave. I’ve said I’m working on it.”
“You don’t let anyone in, do you?”
Surprise flashed across his face. A moment later, he was as cool and unflappable as always. “As I said, I’ll be in my office.”
Cara stood with her arms wrapped around her middle as she watched him go. She was furious, and yet there was nothing left to say, was there? Angry tears pressed against the backs of her eyes.
She refused to let them fall. Crying over a man was weakness, even if she was crying in anger.
She was not weak. She would never be weak. The sooner she got control of her life back and got out of here, the better.
Jack spent the afternoon on the computer. The markets in New York had just opened; it was exactly what he needed to lose himself for a while.
He bought and sold thousands of shares, knowing just when to begin and end each transaction. The thrill of the chase was always exhilarating, always got his blood pumping and his adrenaline firing along all his synapses.
But it was different this time. Different because he couldn’t completely stop thinking about the woman in the other room. She’d accused him of shutting her out, of shutting everyone out.
He’d wanted to deny it, and yet he couldn’t. Because relationships were unpredictable at best. If you couldn’t count on the people you shared DNA with to be there for you, how could you ever rely on another person? Knowing that had saved him a lot of angst over the years.
Jack clicked another button. His game was still sharp, and he made money as always, but he wanted to stop, wanted to go and haul Cara against him. Wanted to strip her naked and lose himself in her delightful body again.
It was odd, this feeling. He was a highly sexual man, and he enjoyed making love to the women he dated—but he’d never quite been this obsessed with one. It was a shock to want her again so badly within moments of finding his release in her body. Sex was a pleasurable pursuit, but it wasn’t an addiction.
Until Cara.
He was getting hard just thinking about her. He shoved thoughts of her aside ruthlessly, clicked on a “Buy” button. The transaction went through, but instead of feeling the elation he usually felt, he was frustrated.
Frustrated because he wanted to be with Cara. Wanted those legs wrapped around him while he thrust into her beautiful body. But more than that, he wanted to talk to her. He’d enjoyed talking to her before they’d lost control with each other, and he found that he wanted to talk to her almost as much as he wanted to make love to her.
He liked her.
Jack focused on the computer screen. She only cared about her money, and about leaving, so why was he thinking of her so much? There was nothing between them except great sex. And he could enjoy that for the next few days with her—assuming she was still speaking to him. He clicked a “Sell” button, his blood humming with anticipation as he watched the money pile up in his account.
By the time he finished his transactions, it was after eight o’clock. Jack shoved back from the computer. He’d forced himself to concentrate, and he’d made money, but this restless hunger gnawing beneath the surface had grown stronger with the passing hours.
He found Cara on the balcony off the living room. Below, the city stretched out in a never-ending carpet of light and sound. Car horns and screeching tires filtered up from far below. Cara leaned against the railing, cradling a wineglass in one hand. She took a sip and returned her attention to the sights.
She still wore the sea-green sleeveless dress she’d had on earlier, but she’d taken off the heels she’d been wearing. She had one bare foot propped on the railing, the other flat on the polished stone of the balcony.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She spun around, her hand over her heart. “My word, Jack Wolfe, you scared the living daylights out of me.”
He loved her accent, especially when she got a little flustered. It was Southern, but there was a hint of something else, as well. The Cajun in her, he supposed. He’d listened to her speaking French in Paris and marveled at the sensual way she said the words, the thickness of them on her tongue. It was different, earthier, than the French he was used to. It called up thoughts of dark, sultry nights. Silk sheets, sweat and incense. He wanted to know her, wanted to know what had made her into this infuriatingly sexy and independent woman. He wanted, he acknowledged to himself, to own her… body and soul.
“What were you thinking about so intently?” As if he didn’t know. He didn’t regret walking away from her earlier, but he regretted not telling her he wanted her to stay because he liked being with her.
She tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear. “A lot, actually.”
He moved onto the balcony to join her, took the glass from her. She willingly handed it over and he took a sip before giving it back. He refused to think about the intimacy of the gesture, the ease with which he could get used to this.
“Like what?” he pressed.
She sighed. “Home. Mama. You.”
You. That gratified him. “What about me?”
Her eyes were warm and smooth, like green onyx. She studied him carefully. He got the impression she was trying to decide how to answer. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was too late to take back the question.
“I was thinking that I hardly know you. And that I wish I could’ve applied the brakes to this thing between us and backed up a few steps before last night.”
“Fast can be good. Sometimes you have to live life on the edge, Cara.”
“I’m not much good at living life on the edge.”
Jack shrugged. “Actually, I’d say you’re quite good at it.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, really, I’m not. This … whatever this is with us … has skipped a lot of steps for me.”
He could tell that she was genuinely stressed by it, but it was too late for regrets. He had no intention of stepping back now. He needed her too much.
Needed? I
t was a strong word, and not one he typically used, but he couldn’t think of a better one at the moment. And he had every intention of pressing his advantage. Because she wanted him, no matter what she said about this thing between them going nowhere.
Besides, to bed was somewhere—and that’s where he intended to take her.
“What do you suggest?” he asked, taking the glass from her and sipping again.
She watched him drink. He wondered if she knew the hunger that was in her eyes, the answering hunger she called up in him.
And yet he knew she wasn’t about to suggest they take this into the bedroom. He got the impression she was fighting herself very hard not to give in to her physical urges. He would let her do so, for now. But she would be his tonight, and every night so long as they were together.
He pushed aside thoughts of her passport, thoughts of her walking out of his life. It didn’t bother him, not really. He simply wasn’t ready for this to end quite yet. And he didn’t think she was, either, no matter what she’d said earlier.
She licked her lips, and his body turned to stone. “I think we should talk.”
“Fine,” he replied.
He expected the usual female chatter about feelings and plans for the future. He hadn’t handled it well earlier, when he was still feeling raw and exposed, but he could do it. He knew enough about this kind of talk to navigate it fairly well. She would want to know about his childhood—he wouldn’t tell her the truth of that, but he did have a prepared answer he usually gave. She’d want to know about his past loves, his goals and dreams and plans.
He knew what to say in response to those things. He’d done it before, many times. And when she was satisfied, he’d ask her the same questions. He was even looking forward to the answers.
But what she said was not at all what he expected to hear.
“Then tell me what happened yesterday in the bar.”
CHAPTER TEN
JACK’S gaze, which had been so full of heat and sexual promise that she’d had a hard time concentrating on what she wanted to say, had gone utterly cold.
But she didn’t regret asking, dammit. In spite of what had happened earlier, she wanted to know where she stood with him. She’d had enough time to cool off and think. He’d pushed her away because he didn’t want to let anyone in. And though it might be the smart thing to just wash her hands of him entirely, she couldn’t quite do it yet.
But this was the line in the sand. If he brushed her off, then she knew exactly what he thought of her. Of them.
He took another long draft of her wine, then handed the glass back to her. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Here’s the condensed version,” he said, his words sounding as if he’d bitten them off. “Jacob left home when we needed him most. Lucas had to step up and be man of the house. But he couldn’t handle it, either, so he left, too. And then there was me. I didn’t run away.”
Cara’s heart was hammering inside her breastbone. She hadn’t expected this much from him, she really hadn’t. She’d been prepared to walk away, knowing she’d done her best. But he’d just thrown her a curveball.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. It wasn’t the whole story, she was certain, and yet she could feel his pain as if it were her own. She knew about taking on responsibility that you didn’t think you were ready for. About unfairness and duty.
“I was seventeen,” he said bitterly. “And I had to take care of four younger siblings the best I could. It was Jacob’s duty to be there for us. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle the pressure.”
“But you could.”
“Yes.”
“You might not believe this, Jack, but I understand the way you feel. Katrina changed a lot of things in my life. It’s not the same thing, I know, but I do understand the feeling of being trapped by doing what’s right.”
His eyes gleamed with anger and bitterness. “You can never understand what I’ve been through, Cara. Be grateful for that.”
“I’ve had to sacrifice things—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“All right. Then tell me.”
“I—” He shoved a hand through his hair.
“Dammit.”
She reached for his hand, squeezed. “It’s okay, Jack.”
“It’s ugly. You have no idea …”
Cara bit her lip. She wanted to know, and she didn’t. The anguish on his face disconcerted her, made her search for something less difficult to talk about. “What do you think your brother wanted to say to you?”
She’d seen the way Jacob had looked at Jack yesterday. He’d seemed … remorseful. As if he’d wanted to say something important, but Jack had exploded and shut him down before he could do it.
Jack opened his mouth. Closed it again, his expression turning to granite. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
Then he reached for her, pulled her into his arms and nuzzled the skin of her neck. A thrill went through her, and a twinge of sadness, as well. He’d tried, but he didn’t really want to be close to her in any way other than physically. Sex was what he wanted. No doubt he’d been humoring her in order to get to that point.
Cara put her palms on his chest. His skin burned her through the fabric of the casual cotton polo he wore. So hot, always so hot. She licked her lips, her throat suddenly as dry as a desert.
She had a choice. She could pretend none of this had happened, pretend she wasn’t hurt by his unwillingness to share more with her—or she could go to bed alone. It wasn’t an easy choice, but she had to stand up for herself. She wasn’t simply his sex toy. She wasn’t here just to fulfill his physical needs. She was worth more than that. If not to him, then at least to herself.
His mouth was magical where it skimmed along her throat. Another few moments, and she’d never be able to say no. Cara’s fists curled into his shirt.
“I’m tired, Jack. It’s been a long few days.”
He stiffened. She wasn’t sure what he would do, what he would say, but he let her go and stepped back. His eyes were pewter in the evening light. Already, she was regretting that she’d pushed him away. She wanted to press a kiss to his hard jaw, wanted him to soften and smile again. But she wouldn’t do it. Not tonight, not with her heart breaking like this.
“Then I’ll say good-night,” he said. She waited for him to say something else, prayed he would say something else, but he didn’t. He left her standing alone on the balcony with the night sounds of London ringing in her ears.
* * *
What had Jacob wanted? That was the billiondollar question so far as Jack was concerned. There was nothing Jacob could say that would ever erase the pain and anger of his abandonment. So why was Jack now wondering what his brother wanted?
And why was he thinking of Cara and the way she’d looked at him when he’d told her he didn’t know and didn’t care?
Damn her for making him wonder! Damn her for making him question his own reaction. He hadn’t been able to control the rage that had burst from him at the sight of his brother, of that face he’d once loved and admired so much. He’d felt every sick moment of Jacob’s betrayal then. The panic and fear when they’d discovered that Jacob was gone, that all he’d left was a note and that he wasn’t coming back again.
It had hurt so much back then. He’d thought he was over it, but the moment he’d seen Jacob again, everything inside him had boiled over.
How could he explain it to Cara? Why would he want to? This thing with Jacob had nothing to do with the two of them. He resented her for making it into an issue between them. He didn’t want her to know about the ugliness of his life before, didn’t want to have to see her pitying expression when he told her about it.
Jack threw down the pen he was holding and put his head in his hands. It was two in the morning and he was still thinking about this. Still thinking about her. He wanted to go to her, wanted to explain why he couldn’t talk about this.
> But why should he have to do that at all? What happened years ago had nothing to do with right now.
Goddammit. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t sitting here and beating himself up over it. It was his life and he’d do what he damn well wanted. What he’d always done.
Jack tapped a key on his computer, brought up the Japanese markets. They were already well into the trading day, but that wouldn’t stop him from making a killing before it was over.
When Cara awoke, light was streaming through the shades and across the bed where she lay. She turned her head. She was alone. Jack’s side of the bed hadn’t even been slept in. Guilt shafted through her. Had he slept on the couch? Slept in his office?
Or had he left during the night?
Cara flipped the covers back and grabbed her robe. He wouldn’t dare leave her alone here, would he? She didn’t know why, but panic unwound inside her at the thought. She didn’t pause to analyze it.
She burst from the bedroom and hurried through the vast apartment. He wasn’t in the kitchen, the living room or on the balcony that ran the length of the apartment. She stopped, straining to hear any sound—and realized he was in his office. She could hear the clackety-clack of a keyboard as she got closer. Pushing the door open, she stopped and watched him.
“Have you slept at all?” she said, her voice rusty.
His head snapped up. And then he turned to look at the skyline outside his window, as if he’d only just realized it was broad daylight. Another click of the keys and then he was pushing back from the computer.
“I lost track of time,” he said, as if it made perfect sense that he would do so.
“So you’ve been at the computer all night?”
“Technically, I suppose so. But it’s the end of the trading day in Asia.”
“Trading,” she repeated. He was up all night trading? Trading what? Not baseball cards, surely. As if a British man would be interested in baseball, she thought.
The shadow of his beard had grown into a day’s worth of stubble. Why did he look so unbearably sexy unshaven? And why did she want to go over and pull his head down to hers, kiss him until neither one of them could breathe?
Heartless Rebel Page 11
