But he clamped down on the ferocious need, because her need was different. Because she would despise him now, after what he’d said. He hadn’t said the words exactly, but she understood.
I hated him. I’m glad he’s dead.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Sorry for what? That he’s dead or that I’m glad?”
She withdrew her hand, sighed. “Sorry that you feel that way. Because you must have your reasons, and so I’m sorry for them, whatever they are.”
The traffic zipped by on the street, hardly slowing. He was used to it, used to the idea that the world continued spinning without care while you felt as if it had left you behind somehow. He wanted it to stop, wanted to get back on board. But it never did. It never had.
“You aren’t shocked?” he asked.
Her eyes were so liquid, so warm and sad all at once. She shook her head. “No.”
Something flooded him, some feeling of relief and anger and pain all combined. Why? “You’re an odd woman, Cara Taylor.”
One corner of her mouth lifted in a soft smile. “You just told me I was an amusing woman. Which one is it?”
He couldn’t help but shake his head at the wonder of her. “Both, I think.” And then he reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back before turning it over and kissing her palm.
He heard the intake of her breath, that slight catch that said she was as aroused as he was by the contact. “Jack.”
“I want you, Cara.”
She bit her lip, her skin flushing a delicate pink. It was such a sweet, innocent reaction—and it fired his blood, made him harder than the marble tabletop.
“I’m not ready for this,” she said. “So much has happened in the past twenty-four hours—”
“You need time.” His body ached for hers, and yet he knew that he shouldn’t push her. It wasn’t fair to push her. Perhaps, if last night had been normal, they’d have fallen into bed together and it would all be over. He’d be on his way to England, and she’d be getting ready to go to the casino. “I understand.”
“Do you really? Because I get the impression you’re very accustomed to getting what you want when you want it.”
He kissed her warm skin again, then let her hand go. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
She pushed a strand of her long, silky brunette hair over her shoulder. The sweater the boutique had sent up looked amazing on her. It brought out the green in her eyes, the cream of her skin. The woman at the boutique had asked what Cara’s coloring was. He hadn’t realized the results would be quite so spectacular when he’d described her eyes and hair.
“I like you, Jack. But I’m not sure sleeping with you is a good idea. This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”
A thought occurred to him then. Something he’d not thought of before because she seemed so earthy, so sensual, even while she had that edge of innocence.
“Are you still a virgin?”
She bit her lip, looked away. “No, I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I’m in the habit of falling into bed with strange men.” When she swung her gaze to him again, she looked fierce, determined. “I don’t need to be a virgin to want to exercise caution.”
“And here I thought I was irresistible,” he drawled, more to make her laugh than anything. He didn’t know why he liked making her laugh, why he laughed when he was with her. He wasn’t the laughing kind, not usually.
“Incorrigible, maybe,” she said.
Yes, he was definitely that. Hopeless. Irredeemable. Most definitely irredeemable. “This isn’t over, Cara.”
“I didn’t think it was. I’d be stupid to think so.”
“Then you must realize the truth.” Because there was no denying it, no possibility of denying it when the electricity snapped between them so strongly that the air was saturated with it.
“What truth is that, Jack?”
“That you want me, every bit as much as I want you. And we will end up in bed together, sooner or later.”
Cara studied Jack as he stood on the deck of the boat they’d boarded to cruise the Seine. He looked comfortable, at ease, and yet she sensed the undercurrent flowing through him. He was a complex man. He was both very approachable and extremely distant. She had the feeling that if she spent years with him, she might never really know him.
And that saddened her most of all. Because she wanted to know him, wanted to understand how he could hate the man who’d fathered him. She didn’t hate her own father, but she was bitterly, terribly angry with him. She knew how those feelings could take root deep inside and never leave you.
She didn’t doubt Jack had reasons, good reasons, for the way he felt. But it worried her to imagine what they might be.
It was growing dark now, but the night lights of Paris were incredible against the blue-black sky. She tried to enjoy the sights, the Notre Dame Cathedral, the famous stone bridges, the people who walked beside the river, engrossed in conversation or, in some cases, kissing.
But it was difficult with Jack standing so close, with the remnants of their conversation so fresh in her mind. She wanted to go into his arms, wanted to stand in his embrace while the city slid by. She pulled her sweater tighter around her. April in Paris was colder than she’d realized.
Jack turned to look at her, as if he were somehow attuned to her distress. Without a word, he put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Your ribs,” she said.
“This side is fine. It’s the other side that’s bruised. Touch me there, I might scream like a little girl.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m not the one laughing, am I?”
“Jack.”
He grinned and turned to look at the sights again. She thought he must be somewhat bored, since he had a home here and had surely done this before. It was such a touristy thing to do.
It warmed her, the knowledge he would do such a thing for her. It was getting late—perhaps he’d prefer to be home, soaking his battered body in the tub again. But he was here, and she was having a marvelous time.
After they’d finished dinner, he’d taken her shopping. She’d been so embarrassed, so unsure, but he’d told her it was okay, told her to let the shopgirls help her. He’d offered to leave if it made her more comfortable, but she’d told him no. She’d felt as if she would be hopelessly lost if he weren’t there. Her French was passable, but it was quite different from the French spoken here. The accents she’d grown up with, the lovely thick rolling of the tongue, the inclusion of Creole and other immigrant languages in the vocabulary, made communication a little more difficult when precision was required.
And she wanted to be precise when it came to her clothing.
“I don’t want to spend more than two thousand,” she’d told him, her pulse thrumming. It was a huge sum to spend on clothes, and yet she’d thought a smaller number wouldn’t work in the kinds of boutiques they’d been in.
He’d given her that devilish grin. “Let me worry about that.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. Take it from what you’re paying me already. I insist.”
“Then we’ll do it your way,” he’d said without argument.
The boxes and bags had added up after she’d tried on several outfits. She’d grown suspicious then, insisted she didn’t need so much for a wedding, but he’d overridden her protests.
“We’ll do an accounting later, when I pay you,” he said. And then he’d arranged for everything to be taken back to his place and brought her on board this boat.
She tilted her head up to look at his handsome profile. “This is nice, Jack. Thank you.”
His warm body was comforting. She wanted to press even closer, but she dared not. For two reasons. One, she wasn’t sure he was telling the complete truth about his ribs, and two, it was dangerous to want to be close to him. Dangerous for her peace of mind, for her willpower.
He’d said they would
end up in bed together sooner or later. She knew he was probably right, and yet she was determined to fight it as long as possible. Because she knew it wouldn’t be completely casual for her. He was a typical man, of course. He wanted into her panties. Once he’d gotten there, his desire for her would abate. She’d no longer be interesting, amusing or any of the other things he thought she was at the moment.
She’d just be another notch on his bedpost.
And the more time she spent with him, the less she could be satisfied with a casual encounter.
Really, Cara?
It was insane, and yet she knew it was the truth. Jack Wolfe was wrong for her—and yet she wanted him to be right. There was far more to him than she’d thought just yesterday—was it really only yesterday?—when he’d flirted with her at the casino.
But he was way out of her league. He was rich, amazingly so, and she was just a poor girl from New Orleans. She wasn’t the kind of woman he’d truly be interested in. It bothered her, that feeling of not being good enough. Rationally, she knew she was a good person, a person worthy of love and tenderness.
But life had been so hard the past few years. Reality had crashed down when Katrina blew it to pieces over top of her. Until then, Mama and Daddy had sheltered her and Remy and Evie, provided for them, and made life seem so full of possibilities.
She’d been planning to go to college, to work her way through community college first and then apply to Tulane. Until Katrina had stolen her house and family away. Daddy had walked out, and nothing was ever the same again.
How could he have done it? How could he have lied for so long and left them once the truth was out? He’d chosen his other family over them, and she could never forgive him for it. She hadn’t spoken a word to him in almost six years. Didn’t expect she ever would again.
She stole another glance at Jack. Was he trustworthy? Or was he the sort of man who could turn his back on everything and everyone he’d known? She just didn’t know if she could ever trust any man again. Daddy, James, Bobby—they’d all promised her things, and they’d all broken those promises. Jack would break his promises, too, if she were to allow him into her life any more deeply than he already was.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, turning his head to look down into her eyes.
She shrugged. “I was just thinking about how wonderful it is to be here, to see things I’ve only ever read about.”
One dark eyebrow arched. “Is that all?”
“Have you ever been married?” she blurted, surprising herself as much as him. Now where had that come from?
“No.” His voice grew chilly when he said it, as if in warning. Careful where you tread, little girl.
“Why not?” She wanted to know. She wasn’t sure what knowing the answer would tell her about him, but maybe it would tell her something.
“Why the questions, Cara?”
“I’m trying to get to know you. You’re rich, successful, and it seems as if you would have been married with a family by now.”
His nostrils flared as he turned his head to look out over the dark water. “I guess I didn’t want the responsibility.”
Of all the answers he could have given, that was somehow the worst. He didn’t want the responsibility. Because being a rich playboy was easier. He didn’t need to care about anyone but himself. He could change women the way he changed clothes. He could drive fancy cars, stay out all night and get beaten up trying to rescue damsels in distress—even if the damsel preferred to rescue herself. He wasn’t the kind of man who would ever be happy tied down. He was exactly as she’d thought: unreliable for more than the moment, however long the moment lasted.
“What about you, Cara? Have you ever been married?”
The question startled her, probably because she hadn’t expected him to turn it back on her. But she could answer honestly. “No, not yet.”
“Never been close?”
She shook her head. “There’s been no one that important.”
“That surprises me,” he said. “What about the boyfriend you went to Vegas with? He must have been important if you were willing to leave home for him.”
“Maybe I thought so at first,” she said, staring out over the dark water. “But I realized he wasn’t.”
“When he ran off with the showgirl?”
“No, when I realized he was just an excuse.”
“An excuse?”
How could she tell him how desperately she’d wanted to escape Louisiana without it sounding bad? Without it sounding like she’d abandoned her family because she felt hemmed in by responsibility?
Did it even matter? Why did she care what he thought? She hadn’t abandoned them at all. She’d actually made things better by going somewhere that she could make more money. Because she had, her family was doing better than ever. They were no longer desperate to make ends meet.
“He was the excuse I needed to leave,” she said coolly. “I needed the shove out the door, and he provided it.”
“Ah,” he said. “And yet you still believe in happy ever afters.”
She refused to be embarrassed over it. “I think it’s possible, yes. Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Cara resisted the urge to snort. Of course he wouldn’t believe in love that lasted forever. Jack lived in the moment. And yet she felt like challenging him on it.
“What about this wedding we’re going to? Don’t you believe they’ll be happy together?”
“I hope so. Nathaniel deserves happiness.”
Interestingly, she was incensed for Nathaniel, whoever he was. “Does Nathaniel know you don’t give him very good odds of being happy with his new wife?”
Jack’s expression was wry. “I doubt he cares. He’s always done what he wanted. My opinion doesn’t matter much.”
“Sensible man,” she said. “How long have you known him?”
“All my life. He’s my brother.”
Her heart skipped a beat. He was taking her to a family wedding? She’d thought it was just a wedding, not a family function. It had seemed so much easier when it had been simply a wedding.
“What’s the matter?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.
Cara swallowed. “I didn’t realize I’d be meeting your family. That seems much more personal than a business arrangement.”
“It’s not. We’re not a very close family.”
Something in his tone made her heart ache. She wasn’t close to her father, not anymore, but she couldn’t imagine life without Mama and Remy and Evie. It was true she wanted adventure, true she wanted to explore and do her own thing, but to not have them to go home to? To not have that safe haven that would always be there, especially now that she’d done so much to secure it for them?
It was unthinkable.
“I see this surprises you,” he said. “And yet, here you are, thousands of miles from home.”
“I left for many reasons, but we’re still very close.”
His gaze roamed her face. “Yes, I believe that. There’s a light in your eyes whenever you mention them. And you’ve clearly worked very hard to provide for them.”
“I love them,” she said. And then, because she couldn’t stop herself, she asked, “Aren’t you ever lonely, Jack?”
His expression was tired, bleak. She saw the wounded warrior now, the man behind the mask—or were there more masks, more layers of obfuscation? It wouldn’t surprise her if there were.
“I’ve been alone too long to be lonely,” he said.
“That’s ridiculous. How can you say that?”
He traced the line of her jaw with two fingers. “You’re very naive, Cara. We don’t all need the company of others to make our lives complete.”
She bristled. “I choose to think of myself as optimistic. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for the best. Nothing wrong with wanting to share my life with someone.”
The boat thudded against the rubber bumpers of the dock, signaling that the ride was ove
r. Jack stepped back, took her hand in his as if she were a child.
“Wait,” she said when he tried to lead her toward the gangway. He gave her that look she was getting to know so well, the one that said he was annoyed but tolerating her. Well, nothing said she had to stand for it. She wasn’t letting him barrel through her life, giving orders and making plans—which was what he’d been doing since he’d walked in and sat down at her table last night.
“I’m not naive, Jack. Wanting more out of life and relationships is not naive. I’m a big girl, I know what I want.”
He inclined his head. “No, maybe it’s not naive to know what you want out of life. If only more people did. But, Cara, wanting more out of me is very naive.”
“I didn’t say anything about you, did I?” she threw at him. “Honestly, your arrogance is unbelievable sometimes.”
She didn’t wait for him to reply. She strode up the gangway, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes as a shiver of premonition skimmed up her spine. Because, damn her, she did want more from him. She wanted there to be something else besides this incredible heat and pull of attraction between them. She wanted there to be the possibility of a relationship at the very least. Even if it didn’t work out, she wanted to know he would take her seriously for more than the time it took to get her into bed.
Honest to God, she should just leave. She should tell him the deal was off. But where would she go? She couldn’t go back to Nice, and she couldn’t leave Europe without her passport.
Cara shook her head angrily. For now, she would stay. She had no choice but to stay.
And she would remember that Jack Wolfe was off-limits, no matter how her silly heart wanted the possibility of more. He was hiding behind walls that were stacked to the sky and thicker than the duckweed that choked the bayous back home. The rare glimpses she’d gotten behind those walls were carefully controlled constructs that he trotted out for the sake of appearances.
No, the real Jack was buried too deep to ever break free. She didn’t really know him—and she probably never would.
Heartless Rebel Page 7