Читать книгу The Heartless Rebel - Lynn Harris Raye - Страница 9

IT WAS nearly two in the morning when they reached the outskirts of Lyon. Cara found a hotel off the expressway and pulled the car into a parking slot. It had taken her a few minutes back in Nice to figure out how to drive Jack’s sports car, but once she had, the silver beast was a dream. She knew without asking that it was the most expensive car she’d ever been in, much less driven.

Jack dozed in the passenger seat and she took a moment to study him. Bobby’s thugs had beaten him up pretty badly, though they’d hardly touched his face. If he hadn’t groaned from time to time, she’d have thought he felt perfectly fine. As it was, she had no idea how badly he was hurt. He said he was only bruised, but she wasn’t certain. And it was that uncertainty that had kept her behind the wheel for the past four hours. The farther they got from Bobby, the better.

And then she could talk Jack into going to a hospital.

The skin under his left eye was purpling, but even bruised, he was still devastatingly handsome.

Her pulse kicked up, and she chided herself for reacting to him. Jack Wolfe might be pretty to look at, but he was arrogant and irresponsible—and she had no time for men like that in her life, no matter how his flirtation earlier had made her want to melt in his arms.

She was here because it had seemed the best course to keep driving—especially since he’d been in no shape to do so—but now that they’d arrived in Lyon, she was determined to part ways with the enigmatic Jack Wolfe. Once she got him to a doctor, of course.

The thought of leaving discomfited her, but she shoved it down deep. Why on earth should she care if she ever saw this man again?

“Jack,” she said softly.

Surprisingly, he came instantly awake. “Where are we?”

“Lyon. I’m too tired to keep driving. I thought we could get a couple of rooms for the night. If you can loan me the money, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

It was disconcerting to be here without her purse or passport, but those things had been left behind in the casino when they’d fled. She simply hadn’t had time to retrieve them.

“One room,” he said.

“I said I’d pay you back.”

“It’s safer. If Bobby really is looking for us, it’s better to be together.”

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t argue with that logic. But when she went inside to make the arrangements, she asked for a twin-bedded room. The clerk gave her a key and she returned to fetch Jack. He was taller than she was, and far heavier, but somehow they managed to make it to the room with him leaning against her for support.

The contact sizzled into her. She was conscious of his raw heat, conscious of every single inch of his body where it touched hers. He made her heart pound with his nearness.

“Sorry,” he said, his mouth against her hair as he leaned into her while she fitted the key to the door. “You smell delicious,” he added.

“Thanks, but compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about, I assure you. As much as I might like to have sex with you tonight, I believe the contact would kill me.”

The word sex, said with that wonderful accent of his, caressed across her senses and lit a flame inside her belly.

Cara swung the door open. There was only one bed. She hesitated. She could go back down to the clerk and tell him he’d made a mistake, but then she’d have to leave Jack here before returning and helping him to another room. But she couldn’t do that to him, not when he was like this.

With a sigh, she guided him over to the bed and sat him down on it. It wasn’t a very big bed. She would simply have to sleep on the floor.

“A hot bath would probably do you good,” she said, frowning at him as he winced.

One corner of his mouth crooked in a grin. “Do you plan to help me wash, then?”

The heat of a blush rippled over her skin. Oh, yes. “No.”

“Too bad.”

“I’ll run the bath for you.”

His expression was a mixture of devilishness and gravity. “I’m not going to be able to get into it without help.”

Cara’s insides went hot and liquid all at once. She hadn’t thought of that, but of course he was right. She wanted to refuse, and yet she couldn’t. If it would help him to feel better at all, she had to get him into the tub.

“Fine.”

He’d already loosened his bow tie earlier and undid the first few studs of his shirt. Cara resolutely slipped the jacket from his shoulders, her heart thudding at his nearness and heat. She had to stand so close to him, her thighs touching his as she stood between his legs. She was conscious of the deep V of her blouse, conscious of his eyes on the slope of her breast. Her skin tingled, her insides tightening.

“You really do smell wonderful,” he said.

“It’s just soap.” She felt self-conscious standing so close to him, felt as if her skin was too tight, as if she would splinter apart if she let this be anything more than a routine task she had to perform.

“Wonderful soap.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Jack Wolfe,” she said as she undid his studs. “But I’ve heard it all, believe me.”

She pulled his shirttails from his trousers. Slipping the shirt off, she tried not to react to the sight of his bare shoulders. They were muscled, not too much, but lean and hard and strong. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had the body of an athlete, but it was a bit disconcerting to find that what was underneath the clothes was every bit as enticing as the man in the tuxedo had been.

Focus, Cara.

Pulling the undershirt from his waistband, she lifted it very carefully over his head. Cara had to bite her lip at the broad expanse of bare, toned chest. He was tanned, with the kind of defined pecs and abs that made her giddy—but there was some light bruising over his rib cage where Bobby’s thugs had hit him. It would darken over the next few days.

“If I felt better, I might take the way you’re looking at me as an invitation.”

Cara’s gaze snapped up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking at your bruises,” she said, though she imagined the blush blooming across her cheeks gave away the lie.

He looked down. “It could be worse.”

Her chest felt tight. He’d gotten those bruises because of her. Because he’d gone after Bobby when Bobby had hit her. Even if it had been unnecessary, even if she hadn’t needed his help, she had to acknowledge that he’d gotten hurt because he’d tried to help. It made her angry and sad at the same time.

“I don’t see how it could be worse.”

“Trust me, it could.”

“Are you accustomed to getting beaten up, then?” She was trying to inject a bit of humor into the conversation, but his expression said that she’d failed miserably. His jaw looked as if it had been carved out of granite. His eyes were flat, bleak. She sensed she’d stumbled into quicksand. “Don’t answer that—”

He lifted a hand, traced his fingers over her bottom lip. Her heart raced like the powerful engine in his car, but she didn’t move to stop him.

She couldn’t. His touch felt too good, too raw and honest.

“Are you afraid for me, Cara? Afraid of what I might tell you?”

“I—” She didn’t know what to say. Her heart was a painful knot in her chest. She sensed they’d crossed some sort of demarcation line, that there would be no going back now. Ever. “I should run the bath,” she blurted.

Because standing here while this man touched her wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. He evoked sensations she’d never experienced, sensations she wanted desperately to explore. But he was all wrong for her. This was wrong.

He was a gambler, a card shark—he wasn’t the sort of man a girl could rely on. And she didn’t need a man in her life, anyway. It never turned out well. She needed to go, needed to run the bath—and she needed to get away from him as soon as possible, before her silly heart decided she liked his touch, his attention. Before she decided she wanted more.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his fingers ghosting over the split in her lip.

“A little.”

“Was this the first time?”

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. “Bobby never hit me before, no. I didn’t like him much, but the pay was good and the bonus he promised to those of us who came to Nice was even better.”

“But you didn’t get the money.”

Cara sighed. “No. I don’t suppose I ever will now.”

Mama and Remy would be fine, though. Cara would find another job and keep sending money home just like always. And Evie was still there, working and helping Mama with Remy. A tiny voice in Cara’s head asked when she would get to do what she wanted in life—but she shoved it aside angrily. She would do what needed to be done. Always. Daddy might have abandoned the family, but Cara never would.

She stepped back, out of Jack’s reach. His hand dropped. He looked like a beautiful dark angel, his torso bare and bruised. He was delicious, tempting, and she was appalled that she thought so. Appalled that if he weren’t hurt, she could picture herself pushing him back against the pillows, her mouth on his, their limbs tangling. She could picture the moment when he entered her body, the way she would shudder beneath him, her body rippling in one long, ecstatic wave.

“You’re a cruel woman, Cara Taylor,” Jack said, pulling her from her tangled thoughts.

“How can that possibly be?” she said softly. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? I could have left you for Bobby to finish off.”

“I almost wish you had. It would be easier than watching you look at me like I’m an ice cream cone. Do you want to lick me, Cara? “

Oh, God.

There was nothing to do but brazen it out. “You’re very handsome,” she said as coolly as she could, “but you already know that. I can enjoy the view, but that doesn’t mean I want to do anything about it.”

His laugh was raspy. “I’d like to enjoy the view, as well. How about you take some things off for me? Doesn’t seem fair you get to ogle and I don’t.”

If she turned any redder, she’d burst into flame. “No one ever said life was fair.”

The heat and humor in his eyes banked for a moment. For some reason, it bothered her. He was mercurial, Jack Wolfe. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what kind of memories had the power to dim the heat in those remarkable eyes.

The thought it might be a woman did not comfort her.

No, it made her prickly. And that made no sense at all.

“Why don’t you go run that bath?” he finally said when they’d been staring at each other for several moments without speaking.

She felt like she should say something, but instead she went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she manage to string two coherent sentences together when he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her? She’d fielded plenty of come-ons from drunken gamblers during her time working in the casino—she knew what to say, how to deflate their ambition while also keeping them at the table. So why couldn’t she find that skill with this man?

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 adventure 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.