Jack wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He’d known the timing was tight, but he hadn’t thought they would miss everything once they were delayed. He’d thought to see at least a bit of the ceremony. Then a quick stop at the reception, and he’d be gone again before too much time had passed. He’d intended to congratulate the happy couple, to speak to Annabelle and Sebastian at least, and then to retire to his suite for the night. He hadn’t wanted to insult Sebastian by refusing to stay in the hotel overnight, but as soon as he was able, he was taking Cara to his London home and leaving the Grand Wolfe behind.
He introduced Cara to Annabelle. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Annabelle said she needed to go and pack up her equipment.
“Did everyone come?” he asked her.
If she knew what he meant, she didn’t let on. “Everyone but Alex. Oh, and Rafael came alone.”
Jack shrugged. “Leila is probably working.”
“Perhaps. But he didn’t seem very happy.”
They talked for a few moments more, and then Annabelle was gone.
Cara was biting her lip again. He knew she must be disappointed that they’d missed the wedding as she worried that plump lower lip between her teeth. He wanted her to stop, and he wanted to bite it for her. A shot of pure lust rocketed through his body at the thought of doing just that. Maybe it was a good thing they had a hotel room after all.
“I’m sorry you missed meeting Nathaniel,” he said. Because he was certain, though she’d not said anything, that she’d been looking forward to meeting his famous brother. Who wouldn’t want to meet a movie star?
“I’m not,” she said softly, her eyes more green than gold as she gazed up at him. “But I am sorry you didn’t see your brother get married.”
Jack shrugged it off. He’d wanted to be here for Nathaniel, but he had no one to blame but himself. If he’d flown in earlier—or yesterday, like everyone else—there’d have been no problem. “I’ll see him again soon enough. He’s far more interested in his new wife than in his family, anyway. As it should be.”
“I’m glad I got to meet your sister. She’s very pretty. And very serious.”
“She wasn’t always so serious,” he said before he could stop himself.
If Cara wondered at that statement, she didn’t allow her curiosity to show.
“So now what?” she asked, her pretty mouth curving in a soft smile. God, he loved her smiles. And he loved that she understood when he didn’t want to talk about something. How could he tell her about the ugliness that had taken Annabelle’s sweet innocence away forever?
Jack’s eyes skimmed over her. The jeweled turquoise of her dress was magnificent. The fabric hugged her curves, displayed her assets to perfection. She had long legs, beautiful and toned, and he couldn’t help but imagine them wrapped around him. He wanted them wrapped around him in the worst way.
Now that the tension of being here for the wedding was leaching away, a different kind of tension was taking its place. He wanted this woman, wanted to sweep her up and take her to the room where he would slowly reveal every inch of her delightful body. And then he would make love to her for hours, exploring her, learning her taste and texture, finding out what made her sigh with delight and scream with pleasure.
His body was stone. Pure, hard marble.
And yet he knew he couldn’t rush this, knew he wasn’t quite in the right state of mind just yet.
“How about a drink in the bar?” he said. “We can’t have got all dressed up for nothing.”
“That sounds good.”
They made their way back toward the sleek bar on the other side of the lobby. Heads turned as they passed, and he knew it was because of the gorgeous brunette at his side. They’d just found a table and sat down when Jack saw Jacob watching him from across the bar.
White-hot fury exploded inside him with a force he was unprepared for. The first time he’d seen Jacob’s face in how many years? Nearly twenty goddamn years. Jacob was older—they all were—but his face was still so familiar. It was a shock on so many levels to see Jacob, and yet anger was by far the dominant emotion churning through Jack.
“Jack, what’s wrong?” Worry laced Cara’s voice, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Jacob to answer her.
Jacob looked so cool, so unflappable. So goddamn smug.
Hatred boiled inside his gut, his brain, hatred that threatened to rip him apart at the seams it was so strong. And more. He didn’t want to acknowledge the more, but he knew what it was. Disappointment, betrayal, rage, fear. Love.
It was the love that was worst of all. Knowing the love was dead and gone and there was nothing left but emptiness where a brotherly bond should have been.
He stood abruptly. “I changed my mind. Let’s get a drink in our room,” he said, holding his hand out to Cara.
Her brows drew together as she studied him. Then she sighed and unfolded those impossibly long legs.
Jack looked over to the bar again, but Jacob was gone. Cara was on her feet when the crowd parted and he caught sight of Jacob. His older brother was coming straight for him, his strides purposeful.
Jack’s first instinct was to meet Jacob with a fist to the face. But he wouldn’t do it. He was better than that, and he wouldn’t allow Jacob to see how affected he truly was. “Jack—”
“Get the hell away from me, Jacob,” he burst out. “I don’t want to talk to you. The time for talking was when you decided it would be easier to abandon us than stick with us and do your duty. I have nothing to say to you.”
Jacob looked almost serene as he endured Jack’s tirade—which only made Jack angrier. Then Jacob held up his hands, as if to put a stop to the torrent of words.
“I understand this is a shock,” Jacob said, “but I can see that now isn’t the time. I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down.”
Jack took a step toward his brother, violence radiating through every cell, every nerve ending. “When I’ve calmed down? I’m not the one who ran away when I couldn’t take the pressure! You can have nothing to say to me, Jacob. Nothing I want to hear.”
Jacob’s lips compressed, but then he nodded and turned away. Jack watched his brother’s retreating back. Anger whipped through him, followed by frustration and even that old, childish sense of abandonment. Jacob had been the closest thing he’d had to a father figure.
“Jack? Are you ready?”
He felt Cara’s hand on his arm, the comforting weight of it, the solidity of her body beside him. People in the bar had turned to look at them, but they turned away now that the drama was finished. “Jack?”
She was looking up at him with a mixture of concern and tenderness. He put his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve. Any other time, he’d want to be alone. This time, strangely, he did not.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They were sharing a suite, Cara realized, but she didn’t protest. The suite was luxurious, with a giant king-size bed and a couch in the living area for her to sleep on. She could have insisted on her own room now that he no longer needed her help for anything, but she couldn’t leave him, not like this. She wasn’t exactly certain what had happened in the bar, but the effect on Jack had been extraordinary.
He’d lost his temper, something she’d not seen him do even when threatened by Bobby and his men. He’d punched one of Bobby’s guys, yes, but he’d been in control the whole time. The Jack she knew never lost control. But he had just now—spectacularly. She’d thought he was going to launch himself at Jacob. She didn’t know anything about what had happened between them, but clearly it weighed heavily on Jack’s mind. Had done so for years.
Jack stood by the window, hands thrust into his pockets. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the bar.
“Do you want me to order drinks from room service?” she asked. It wasn’t that she wanted a drink, but she needed to say something, needed to fill the oppressive silence and see if she could get him talking again.
A
nything to get him talking.
He glanced over at her. “Sure.”
“What do you want?” She flipped through the menu, pretending a casualness she didn’t feel. If she seemed normal, maybe he’d relax. Maybe he’d even open up to her. It wasn’t likely, she acknowledged, but it was worth a try.
“Order a bottle of champagne,” he said. “Or whatever you prefer.”
“Champagne is fine.” Cara picked up the phone and dialed room service. She’d never ordered room service in her life, had certainly never stayed in a hotel of this magnificence. The walls were papered in pale blue silk. The chandelier in the center of the suite was an ornate Venetian glass concoction shaped to look like flowers budding from a vase. The glass was multihued, beautiful beyond description.
There was a watered-silk chesterfield sofa flanked by two modern leather chairs sitting on the biggest oriental carpet she’d ever seen. Sleek glass-topped tables rounded out the living area. Huge silk panels hung on the windows, held back by ornate tassels.
It was without doubt the most luxurious hotel room she’d ever been inside. While she waited for the champagne to arrive, Cara drifted over to the antique desk. She recognized the style as French because she’d seen furniture like this back in New Orleans. It was polished walnut, inlaid with flowers and scrolls. Cara sank into the upholstered chair and opened the drawers one by one, just for something to do.
A deck of cards lay in the center drawer. She took them out and flipped open the box. The backs had London landmarks on them. Quickly, she shuffled, loving the feel of the cards in her hands. She was good at what she did, dammit. It wasn’t fair that she’d had to leave the way she had, that she might never work in a casino again. Because Bobby had reach, that was a certainty. Not only would he never hire her again, he might also have her blacklisted in every casino she ever tried to work in.
A knock sounded on the door and she got up to answer. A man wheeled in a trolley with a champagne bucket and two glasses. Deftly, he opened the champagne and poured some in each glass.
Jack came over and handed the man some cash, and then he was gone.
Cara sipped her champagne and watched Jack. He took his glass over to the window and downed it.
“I found a deck of cards,” she said as she took the bottle over and poured him another drink. “Why don’t we play a hand or two of poker?”
His gaze swung toward her.
“I know you’re used to winning,” she said, “but you’ve never played me. I’ll try not to embarrass you, though.”
Jack couldn’t resist a challenge. And she was going to challenge him if that’s what it took. She didn’t know if she could really beat him, but he didn’t need to know she wasn’t confident. She was good at cards, no doubt about it. And she was damn good at bluffing.
“What are the stakes?” he asked, and her heart soared. She’d intrigued him enough to shake him from his brooding.
“If I win, you take me to some awful touristy thing that I’d love, but you hate.”
“For instance?”
“I don’t know.” She cast about wildly, thinking of the sort of nutty things they’d had in Las Vegas, before making up something suitable for London. “A Jack the Ripper ghost walk. Or a Henry VIII turkey-leg banquet.”
He almost grinned, she was certain. “And if I win?”
Cara shrugged. “We go somewhere you want instead.”
“Doesn’t sound like much incentive,” he said, taking a sip of the champagne.
His eyes narrowed, his gaze slipping over her body. Her skin warmed, her nipples tightening beneath the fabric of her dress. Any second and he would know the effect he was having on her.
“I have a better idea,” he said as his eyes met hers again.
“What’s that?”
“We play for the clothes on our backs. Or we don’t play at all.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARA’S heart thundered in her ears. Strip poker. Could she do it? Because she knew what would happen if she lost.
Her body felt tight, achy, the tender area between her thighs melting, softening. Her body craved his so strongly it scared her. If they ended up in bed together, she didn’t know what would happen after, but she feared he would be finished with her. This lovely feeling she had when she was with him would die.
And she wasn’t ready for that to happen just yet.
Cara took a deep breath. But she wouldn’t lose. She had just as good a chance of winning as he did. Maybe better, because she’d played from the other side of the table for so long that she had an instinctive feel for how things would shake out.
“Fine,” she said. “We play for clothes.”
Jack smiled for the first time in hours. It was a devilish smile, a supremely confident smile. Warmth curled inside her belly, flooded her limbs.
“There’s only one problem,” she continued. “What’s that?”
“You’re wearing more clothes than I am. Either you spot me a couple of hands, or you count that jacket, shirt and tie as one item.”
He shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. “The shirt and tie count as one item.”
She tipped her chin to his waistline. “And the belt?”
“Goes with the pants.”
Cara picked up the deck of cards. If it got his mind off of what had just happened, if it gave her back the man she’d come to know, she’d risk it. “All right, then. I guess we’re on. If you pull one of those chairs over here, we can play at the desk.”
“The bed, Cara. It’s bigger.”
Her ears felt hot. Not from embarrassment, but from sensual overload. She wanted to play strip poker on a bed with this man. And she wanted to win, because she wanted to see that magnificent body again.
“Fine.” She picked up her champagne. “Let’s go.”
“After you.”
She led the way into the bedroom, set the champagne on the bedside table and kicked off her heels before climbing onto the bed. When she turned around, Jack was watching her, his eyes smoky with desire.
“We could just skip the cards,” he said, his deep voice vibrating over her nerve endings. “Save a whole lot of time and trouble.”
“On the bed, Jack. Get ready to lose your shirt.”
He slipped out of his shoes and socks, then got onto the bed opposite her. The center of the king-size bed was a good playing surface, if a little unorthodox. Cara shuffled the cards and Jack cut. Then she dealt with quick, practiced movements.
“I love watching your hands stroke those cards,” Jack said.
“No trying to distract the dealer,” she answered coolly. Then she picked up her hand.
She glanced at Jack—except that he was looking at her, as well. Both trying to gauge the other’s reaction for a clue to the hand they held.
“You’re a good bluffer,” Jack said.
Cara arched an eyebrow. “Who says I’m bluffing?”
“I can always read people, but you’re good at hiding your emotions at the table. I noticed that in Nice.”
“Practice,” she said, though her heart was tripping along with adrenaline. No doubt his proximity had an effect, as well.
Jack tossed two cards down and smiled. Cara looked at her hand again. She had two fives, which was good, but she hoped for better.
Tossing three away, she dealt the next round. This time she picked up an ace, a two and another five. It wasn’t stellar, but it was a good hand.
“Call,” Jack said.
Cara laid down the cards. Jack only smiled. She’d seen that smile before, when Bobby’s man had thought he’d won the pot. Then Jack laid down his hand. She scanned it desperately, relief flooding her when she realized he’d lost.
“Three of a kind beats two,” she said.
“As I see it, there can be no losers here.”
“Your shirt, please.”
Jack’s smile sent a shot of pure lust straight to her center as he began to loosen his tie. A second later he tugged it f
ree and tossed it at her. Slowly, he unbuttoned the crisp white shirt he was wearing.
“You have a T-shirt on under that!” she exclaimed as the shirt fell open to reveal another layer beneath.
“You should have thought of it before. Too late now.” He peeled the shirt off and dropped it on the floor.
Dammit, why did men wear so many more garments when they were dressed up than women did? It hardly seemed fair. She hadn’t even worn stockings, which she was now regretting. But in the South, the weather was too oppressive to wear stockings; she’d gotten used to going without them whenever she wore a dress. Besides, her legs were good enough that she didn’t need them.
Fortunately, Jack lost the next round, as well, his straight falling victim to her flush. He didn’t seem quite as perturbed as she would have expected for losing two hands in a row and she began to wonder if he was doing it on purpose, toying with her to make her overconfident. She wouldn’t put it past him, but she refused to be distracted by the ploy.
When he pulled the T-shirt over his head, Cara stifled a gasp. The skin on his left side was black and blue where Bobby’s thugs had hit him.
“It looks worse than it is,” he reassured her. “I have strong core muscles, which protected my ribs pretty well. Apparently, there is a benefit to working out.”
Cara swallowed. The bruising did look brutal, and yet the smooth ridges of muscle were every bit as impressive as she recalled. He wasn’t beefed up like a hard-core gym rat; rather, he was leanly muscled, sexy as hell. She wanted to run her tongue along those ridges.
Cara stifled her impulses and concentrated on the cards. She had to be careful, or Jack would take her down so quick she wouldn’t know what had hit her until too late.
But the next hand played out rapidly. The first clue she had that she’d lost was Jack’s smug smile. Her gaze dropped to the cards. Two pair beat one pair. Damn.
“The dress, Cara,” Jack said.
She thought about insisting on removing her panties instead—because at least she would have the coverage of the dress to protect her. But what if she lost another round? She couldn’t get her bra off without removing the dress, so that would mean the dress would be next and she’d be sitting here in nothing but a bra.
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