The Heartless Rebel

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Though she was sitting on a bed in her underwear, her body was burning up. Especially when he unzipped his pants and shoved them down his hips.

  He was wearing a pair of white briefs, and her gaze slid to the bulge in them. The very large bulge.

  “I’m very ready for you, sweetheart,” he said. “We can stop this game any time and get to the good part.”

  She wanted to. Oh, God, how she wanted to. But it was a bad idea. Bad because she wanted it so much. Bad because she’d never wanted a man this much, and had no idea what would happen if she let herself go with him. Would she fall in love? Would he break her heart?

  Or would they have fantastic sex and go their separate ways as if it meant nothing at all?

  Was she capable of meaningless sex?

  She didn’t think so. She’d never had a one-night stand, and she’d never slept with a guy she’d just met. She’d known Jack for three days—how could she possibly go to bed with him?

  You’re playing strip poker with the man, for God’s sake! How could you not be prepared for the possibility of sex with him?

  “I think you just don’t like losing,” she said.

  He looked sinful, hot and dark and devilish. “I don’t intend to lose, Cara.”

  “I’m not the one with only one stitch of clothing left,” she retorted.

  “Game’s not over yet,” he said. “Deal.”

  Cara picked up the cards and shuffled them. After he’d cut the deck, she dealt. The promise of the hand leached away with her next deal, so she folded. Three more hands passed with her folding each time.

  “Are you trying to stave off the inevitable?” Jack asked.

  “I haven’t had a good hand,” she said. “There isn’t a time limit on this game, you know.”

  But another fifteen minutes passed before she got a hand she felt she could use. Only one card separated her from a flush. It was a risk, but when the next card came up diamonds, she breathed a sigh of relief. Inwardly, of course. She didn’t want him to know she was confident in her hand.

  This time, when the call came, she laid her cards down with a flourish. “Beat that.”

  His smile was not what she’d hoped to see. “I can do that,” he said, spreading his cards out for her to see. A full house. Cara cursed inwardly. How had she let that happen? How had she not clued in to his body language on this one?

  Because he was damn good, that’s why. So was she. Usually.

  “The bra,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Off with it.”

  Heart tattooing the inside of her chest, she straightened her spine and reached behind her back to snap the bra open. Her nerve endings were singing, her body flooding with liquid heat. She lifted her arms and pulled the bra off first one side and then the other before letting it fall to the floor behind her.

  She felt the heat of a blush rising up her neck, but she refused to acknowledge it.

  Instead, she tilted her chin up and put her hands on her hips, daring him to look his fill.

  She didn’t know what to expect next, but Jack clearly did.

  “That’s it,” he said. “I forfeit.”

  Shoving the cards aside, he reached for her. Panic threaded through her, but she shoved it down deep and went into his arms. How could she deny that it was where she wanted to be? Where she’d known she would end up almost from the first moment she’d met him?

  He stroked the skin of her shoulder, his fingers so gentle and light that she shivered, little goose bumps rising in the wake of his touch.

  “You are amazingly beautiful,” he said before his mouth came down on hers.

  Her first thought was that if she wanted to preserve herself, preserve her heart, then she needed to push him away.

  Her second was that she couldn’t stop this thing between them from running its course.

  The tension had been unbearable for days now, tightening as they played this game, and this was the only form of release that would be acceptable to them both. Whatever happened, she was so entangled now that she could do nothing but enjoy the ride.

  She wanted him inside her, on top of her, tangled up with her, loving her with the fierceness and ruthlessness that were the hallmarks of his personality.

  She wanted him, all of him. Desperately.

  Cara speared her fingers into his hair, loving the texture. She finally felt free to touch, to explore, to claim him as her own. With the loss of her bra, everything had changed. They’d crossed a line over which there could be no retreat. The only way out was forward.

  Jack urged her closer until she was sitting with her legs on either side of him. Then he put his broad hands on her bottom and pulled her against the ridge of his erection.

  Cara gasped as sensation streaked through her at the simple contact of their bodies through the thin fabric separating them. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man.

  She hadn’t realized how much she missed this kind of contact. Except that everything with Jack seemed to feel so much more intense than it ever had with anyone else.

  He flexed his hips, pressing hard into her center, and her body responded with a surge of moisture. The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling with an urgency she’d never experienced before. The kiss was hot, intense, and deep—but it wasn’t enough.

  She tried to get closer, couldn’t stop the moan that vibrated in her throat.

  Jack immediately broke the kiss, leaving her empty and disappointed. “I forgot about your lip. I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said, “that’s not it at all. Kiss me, Jack. Don’t stop kissing me.” He fused his mouth to hers again. And then he was lifting her, pushing her back onto the bed, coming down on top of her. His body was big and hard, and she loved the feel of him pressing into her.

  When his hand closed over the slope of her breast, she arched her back, thrusting into his hand. He pinched her nipple, softly, expertly, until she was a quivering mass of sensitive nerve endings.

  “Jack,” she said, her voice breathy and thick. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. Tears of joy, of frustration, of unimaginable sorrow. She didn’t know why she felt all these things with him, but the intensity of it physically hurt.

  “I know,” he replied before kissing his way down her neck, over her collarbone. His fingers shaped her ribs, the slope of her breast, the soft skin of her abdomen. She couldn’t pull herself away now even if she wanted to.

  And she definitely didn’t want to.

  The moment his mouth closed over her nipple, she cried out. The pleasure was so intense, so unbelievably intense, as he sucked the hard, tight bud between his lips. Her fingers clutched in his hair, on his shoulders.

  He slid a hand down her abdomen, beneath the silk of her panties, found the hot, wet center of her body. He groaned as his fingers sank between her legs.

  Those fingers, those clever fingers that handled the cards so expertly, began to play her body like a fine instrument. Two fingers pinched and kneaded her clitoris, making her cry out with the pleasure. And then he was dipping lower, inserting a finger into her body, joining it with a second one as his thumb took up the rhythm above.

  His mouth played her nipples while his fingers stroked her—and Cara came unglued at the seams. Her body tightened painfully, so very painfully, as she flexed her hips and tried to make his hand move faster.

  She could feel the release gathering, feel it coming, feel every cell of her body vibrate with energy and need—

  And then it happened. She reached the peak and fell off the other side, sobbing and gasping the whole way.

  Chapter Nine

  Jack had never felt this kind of urgency before. When he made love to a woman, he took his time. He was in control, always in supreme control.

  But not this time. Cara’s breathy little moans, the way she curled her fingers into his skin, the sweet intensity of her voice as she shattered beneath his fingertips—not to mention the hot, wet feel of her, the way she sizzled and shook, the scent of her skin—he
had to have her.

  Right now.

  His side hurt, but he didn’t care. He’d never felt such sweet pain as the pain of his arousal. His injuries simply didn’t compare.

  Cara was still shaking from the power of her release as he practically tore the silk panties from her body. Then he was shoving off his underwear and settling between her legs again. She opened to him immediately, her long legs wrapping around his hips as he pushed inside.

  He had no finesse. None whatsoever. He’d lost it somewhere along the way. Cara was ready for him, more than ready, but she gasped a little at his possession, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she waited for her body to accommodate him.

  But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t ask her if she was okay, because it took every ounce of control he had not to take her hard and fast. His body urged him to cast off restraint, to use her sweet lushness for his pleasure, to spend himself wildly in frenzied lovemaking.

  He held himself rigidly, fighting for control—and then she reached up with a soft hand, stroked it across his cheek.

  “Jack,” she said softly. “Oh, Jack.”

  Tears glazed her eyes, but he understood instinctively that they weren’t tears of pain or unhappiness. My God, she was beautiful. And she was his.

  Just like that, he lost whatever tenuous grip on his sanity that he’d had. He began to move, relentless, stroking into her body. He rode her hard, but she met him all the way, her lush body tilting up to his, her hips opening to him, her lovely breasts bouncing with the force of their lovemaking.

  It drove him insane. She drove him insane. He held on as long as he could, held on to the tight knot of pleasure gathering at the base of his spine until he felt her body tighten around him. A moment later and she was arching her back, thrusting her breasts up, gasping as her climax hit her. He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, gloried in the sharpening of her cry as he increased her pleasure.

  She was so incredibly responsive. When she collapsed on the bed again, he grasped her buttocks and lifted her to him, angling her until her body began to spark once more. It didn’t take much to make her come again.

  This time when she went over the edge, he went with her, spilling his body into hers with such force that his vision went black for a split second. It was the most amazing, most wonderful feeling to find his release in Cara’s lush body.

  But at the back of his mind, dampening the sensual afterglow, was the knowledge it wouldn’t last. It never did. Nothing ever kept his attention longer than it took to establish his dominance. Not even a woman as sweetly sexy as Cara Taylor.

  Cara awoke to the sounds of the shower running. Pushing herself up in the plush bed, she blinked and yawned—and then it hit her. Where she was. Who she was with.

  What she’d done.

  Oh, God.

  Her body was pleasurably languid, though she acknowledged the slight soreness between her legs, as well. Her heart skipped a beat. They’d made love endlessly, it seemed.

  Sleeping, waking to tangle themselves together on the crisp, cool sheets, sleeping again, waking to make love once more.

  She’d never had a lover like Jack, a man who was so attuned to her body that he could make her crave him with the slightest touch. It was so dangerous, this feeling she had when she was with him. She could love him if she wasn’t careful.

  Cara sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  No. She would not go there. She was a grown woman, in control of her destiny and her body. She’d made love with Jack—had sex with Jack, she corrected—because she had needs and because he was mighty good at fulfilling them.

  Women could have sex for the sake of sex, too. She’d just done so. Over and over again.

  Cara tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and told herself to stop blushing. She could feel the heat in her skin, could feel the warmth creeping up her spine, her neck, over her cheeks.

  What the hell was there to blush about?

  She whipped the covers back and stood, stretched. She went over to the huge walk-in closet, where all her things had been hung up when they’d first arrived. A full-length mirror sat at the back of the dressing area, and Cara jolted to a stop. Who was that woman?

  Her naked body glowed. Her skin was luminous, her long hair a wild tangle down her back. Her green eyes were slumberous. She looked tousled and satiated, as if she’d been having sex for hours—which, she acknowledged, she had.

  Her breasts were full and firm, the deep pink nipples budded tight in anticipation of her lover’s touch. There were red marks on her shoulder, her neck, even her abdomen, where Jack’s stubble had abraded her tender skin.

  The marks on her abdomen stole her breath as she thought of how they’d gotten there.

  He’d kissed and licked his way down her body, spread her legs open and then taken her to heaven with his tongue.

  Cara bit her lip at the memory. If Jack came out of the bathroom and wanted to do everything all over again, she’d jump at the chance.

  Instead, she found a robe and belted it around her body. Then she selected undergarments and headed for the bath. Jack was standing at the mirror with a towel draped low around his lean hips, razor in hand.

  He stopped when she walked in and turned to look at her. She didn’t know what to say to him after last night. She felt awkward, out of place, and it angered her. Because she hadn’t felt that way before they’d slept together. She’d known she needed to keep her distance from him, but she hadn’t done it.

  Jack reached for her, pulled her against his damp, warm body. He smelled fresh and clean from the shower as he dipped to kiss her.

  She opened her mouth beneath his, surprised with how much she still wanted him. She could feel him hardening, his penis pressing insistently against her thigh. She reached beneath the towel and took him in her hand. His velvety skin was hot. She squeezed ever so lightly.

  Jack groaned. A moment later he was shoving the robe from her body, licking his way to her nipples while she threw her head back and moaned.

  “I want you to see us, to see what you do to me,” he said roughly, turning her until she faced the mirror. She was almost as tall as he was, but his body dwarfed hers. He was all lean, tanned muscle—and he quite simply took her breath away.

  He clasped her breasts, his fingers tweaking her nipples, pinching and pulling them until she thought she would come apart simply from his touch. In the light of the bathroom, his tanned skin looked so stark against her creamy complexion. The contrast made her shiver.

  “You’re beautiful, Cara,” he said in her ear, his breath sending pleasurable vibrations over her sensitive skin. “I want you again.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  She thought he would turn her to face him, would grab her hand and haul her back to the bed. But he didn’t. Instead, he bent her over and gripped her hips.

  Cara gasped. It was so erotic, what he was about to do. So raw. She wasn’t a stranger to varied love-making—and yet she didn’t think she could survive something so private, so sensual, as watching this man make love to her in the mirror.

  But she didn’t want to stop it. She wanted him again, desperately. She wanted to see his face, wanted to see her own, even though it frightened her. What would she see in her own eyes while he took her?

  As he slid inside her body, their eyes locked in the mirror. Cara gasped again with the fullness of his possession—it was slightly different from this angle—but she didn’t want him to stop. She gripped the edge of the counter as he began to move. Their gazes remained tangled, as if it were a contest to see who could last the longest without looking away.

  It was Jack who closed his eyes first. His head tilted back, and the look of sheer ecstasy on his face made her heart squeeze tight in her chest.

  A moment later, his fingers found her clitoris and she could no longer concentrate on watching him. She could only feel, could only see the bigger picture of the two of them together, could only marvel at the sensations streaki
ng through her and the shameless way she enjoyed everything he did to her.

  They didn’t last long. Cara shattered within moments and Jack followed immediately after. She leaned on her elbows, breathing hard. It should have felt impersonal, the way they’d just had sex, but nothing could be farther from the truth. She felt as if their souls had twined, as if they’d seen a part of each other that no one ever had before.

  In the next moment, she chided herself for being silly. Jack was highly sensual. He’d made love to many women. She was just the flavor of the week.

  He disengaged from her body and she felt bereft with the loss of him. But then he turned on the shower and led her under the spray.

  They didn’t come out for a very long time.

  That afternoon, they checked out of the hotel. Cara thought they would return to Paris, but instead Jack took her to a grand apartment overlooking the Thames and the London skyline. Like his Paris apartment, this one was furnished in sleek, modern lines. Unlike the Paris apartment, this building was as modern as the furnishings.

  “Why did we stay in the hotel last night when this is so close?” she asked as she scanned the view. There were the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben … and so many other things she couldn’t even identify.

  Jack turned from his perusal of a stack of mail. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

  Cara frowned as she watched him go through the mail. What had happened between them had been amazing—too amazing, if she were honest with herself. Because now she didn’t want to do what she needed to do: she didn’t want to ask him for the money so she could get back to her own life.

  “Is there any word on my passport and bank card?” she asked.

  He looked up again. “I have someone working on it. But no, not yet.”

  “You realize I can’t go home until I have my passport back.” There, she’d said it.

  She’d voiced her fear and given him a hint of what she intended. If he couldn’t get her passport for her, she would go to the American embassy and apply for a new one. She wasn’t worried about anyone using her bank card—they’d need her PIN to do so—but if she didn’t get that back soon, she’d report it missing and get a new one sent to her here in London.