She glanced at him again. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I know Bobby Gold.”
“I figured that,” she spat. “You could hardly do what you do without winding up in his casinos from time to time.”
Jack shifted, stifling a groan at the sharp pain in his side. “And what is it you think I do?”
She snorted. “You’re a gambler, Jack.”
He would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so damn much. “How did you get us out of there?”
“Once they knocked you unconscious, Bobby left, but he promised they’d be coming back to finish the job, which I didn’t think sounded like an option I wanted to stick around for.”
“We’re in my car,” he said. He recognized the smell, the growl of the engine, the feel of the leather hugging his body.
“I got it from the valet. One of the waiters helped me get you out and put you in the car. I said you were drunk and that I had to drive you home.”
He had to hand it to her for thinking of it. Because if they’d stayed in that room, he wasn’t too sure that Bobby wouldn’t have done a bit more permanent damage.
“And where are we going now?”
“I need to get you to a hospital. But first I thought it best we get out of Nice. Bobby knows people.”
“I know people, too.” Hell, he had his own security firm. One call to them, and Bobby Gold would be singing soprano for the next month.
“As soon as we get to the next town, we’ll find a doctor.”
Jack winced again. “I don’t need a doctor. My ribs are bruised, not broken.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me. I’ve seen enough injuries to know what is what.” Thanks to his father. He’d rarely received the brunt of William’s anger, because he could sense when his father was about to explode like a powder keg, but he’d seen the results of his siblings’ beatings enough to know which injuries required a visit to the hospital.
“Fine, you don’t have broken ribs. But you could have a concussion.”
“Doubt it. But if I do, the cure for that is painkillers and rest.”
Cara let out a long-suffering sigh. “Is there anything you don’t know, Jack Wolfe?”
“I’m sure there are one or two things.”
She didn’t laugh. “If you’d just stayed out of it! I could have talked Bobby into forgiving me, could have kept my job and made everything right again.”
“You are incredibly naive, Cara. You cost the man fifteen million euros. Do you really believe he would forget that?”
Her fingers tightened on the wheel. “Once I explained—”
“Explained what? That you aren’t a cheat?”
“Yes,” she said tightly. “Because I’m not. It’s no good now, though, because he believes I planned this with you. Especially since I’ve helped you get away.”
“Why were you working for a man like Gold, anyway?”
She snorted. “Are you telling me that I should have been a card shark instead?”
“Not at all. But you have a talent for numbers, Cara. Surely there are other things you could do.”
“Like what?”
“You could find a job in finance—”
“I don’t have a college degree. Besides, who are you to talk? Why did you decide to become a gambler?”
He figured he should disabuse her of the notion—but it was far too much fun to let her think he was a professional gambler. He was accustomed to women fawning over him for his money, his family name and his face. To have one angry with him because she believed he was an unscrupulous gambler? It was novel.
“Because I like taking chances.” It was true enough. He got a rush out of playing stocks. Sometimes he didn’t sleep for days as he moved between the international markets. Making money was easy. It made sense, unlike everything else in his life. He could control money. He couldn’t control the things that had happened to him, or the emotional scars his family bore.
“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I liked dealing cards. There’s no risk in it for me.”
“Apparently, there is.”
Her jaw tightened. “Tonight was a first.”
“It would not have been the last, should you have complied.”
She glanced at the gauges. “We’re going to need gas soon and I don’t have any money.”
So she didn’t want to admit she’d been in over her head. Fine. “I’ll take care of it.”
She was silent for a few moments. “Were you playing for someone tonight?”
“No.”
“Then you lost a lot of money by coming to look for me. You must regret that impulse.”
“It’s only money.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “Of course. Because there’s no one depending on you for the food on their table or the roof over their head, I suppose.”
His employees would no doubt disagree with that statement. “No, because people are more important than money. You were in trouble.”
“I really didn’t need rescuing, Jack. You gave up fifteen million for nothing.”
“If you weren’t in trouble, why are we speeding out of town?”
Before she could acknowledge the truth of that statement, they hit a bump and Jack groaned. Dear God, it felt like there was an alien trying to burst out of his abdomen.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” she said worriedly.
Jack swallowed the pain. “No. Because Gold probably is looking for us, and it would take too long for my men to arrive. Keep driving.”
Bobby Gold had the fifteen mil, but he was the kind of man who couldn’t stand to be made a fool of. He’d want Cara Taylor back so he could make her pay for her disobedience. Getting as far from Nice as possible wasn’t a bad idea.
Since there were no flights this late, and his private plane was in a hangar in London, they had no choice but to drive. Even if he called his pilot, it would be several hours yet before the plane would arrive.
He’d originally planned a leisurely drive across France on his way to Nathaniel’s wedding, anyway. He could have flown, but he knew he needed the time to think. This would be the first time in nearly twenty years that all the Wolfes would be gathered under the same roof—and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He especially wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Jacob again.
Jacob, who’d betrayed them all when he’d left them without any explanation. Jack had looked up to Jacob, admired him—until the night Jacob had abandoned them.
“You’re in no shape to spend the night in a car,” Cara said. “A hospital—”
“Just do it,” Jack ordered.
He expected an argument, but she flexed her hands on the steering wheel and didn’t say anything for several seconds.
“Fine. Where do you want to go?”
Not where he wanted to go. Where he had to go. “England.”
CHAPTER THREE
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 mig
ht 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?
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