Heartless Rebel

by Lynn Raye Harris

  She turned the words over in her head. Daddy. That was the word that stood out. It still made her ache just to think it. It was a kid’s word, but she’d barely been more than a kid when her father had left.

  “I don’t think it’s wrong to feel the way you do, Jack. But he’s dead—” she couldn’t say father when he wouldn’t “—and the how no longer matters.”

  “I feel like I should have done something more for the others. If I’d been the one to kill him, then Jacob wouldn’t have …”

  “Wouldn’t have what?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

  He shook his head, more to himself than to her. “He wouldn’t have left,” he said. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

  She wanted him to keep talking. He was on the edge of something she wanted to hear, but he said nothing more. And she wouldn’t push him any further tonight. He’d already said so much, far more than she’d have expected.

  When they finished eating, she cleaned the dishes while he made espresso. They drank it at the table on the balcony, along with an aperitif, and then went to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was domestic and peaceful—but Cara didn’t fool herself. This was the calm before the storm. And when the storm came, the pain would follow. It always did.

  Jack slept fitfully. Beside him, Cara was warm and soft and soundly asleep. But he kept running over the past. He hadn’t thought this deeply about it in years, and now he couldn’t stop. He kept seeing Jacob’s face in the bar. What could Jacob possibly want to say after all these years? Did he expect to just waltz back into everyone’s lives and be forgiven for abandoning them?

  The others might not have a problem with that, but Jack did. If Jacob had run away once before, what was to stop him from doing so again? Jack wasn’t willing to take that chance. Wasn’t willing to care again, when caring would lead to disappointment.

  Cara snuggled closer to him in her sleep. She was so sensual, so amazing, and he wanted her with a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d wanted women before, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this level of desire. There was something strong and elemental between them, something that made sex a necessity rather than just a logical conclusion to their attraction. But he knew better than to allow it to mean more than it did. It was just sex. Hot, passionate, no-holds-barred sex.

  As if thinking the words conjured the deed, Cara’s hand slipped over his body with a deliberation that said she was no longer asleep. Though he wanted to roll her beneath him and thrust into her body, he waited to see what she would do. She caressed his chest, his abdomen, his hip, his bare buttock, her lips pressing to the hollow of his throat as she nuzzled against him. Though he’d had her only a few hours ago, he was hard and ready for her again.

  Without a word, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, taking him deep within her. She rode him slowly, deliberately, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Until he gripped her hips and drove up inside her again and again until she cried out with the force of her release. Her body gripped him, milked him with tiny shudders, and he let go with a harsh cry.

  They stayed entwined for the longest time. Jack started to doze, but then she broke the quiet stillness of the night when she said, “I want to tell you something.”

  Jack yawned. “I’m listening.”

  She pushed away from him and sat up. The air wafting over his body cooled him and he wanted her against him again. But he resisted reaching for her because it was clear she needed to do this her way.

  He could see her outline in the dark, and though he couldn’t see the features of her body, he imagined them. The high, pert nipples. Her narrow waist tapered down to flared hips, and the place between her legs—that wonderful place he adored—would still be sensitive to the touch. If he were to slide his fingers into that wetness, she would shudder and moan.

  “Jack.”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “You aren’t listening.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Because your hand is on my breast.”

  He would have laughed if he didn’t sense she was being serious, so he pulled his hand away with a sigh. “Sorry. Continue.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About your, um, father and Jacob—”

  “Cara—”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “No, listen. Please.”

  Her hand fell away and he didn’t say a word.

  “I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, Jack. And I don’t want to make it sound like I’m trying to compare my experience to yours. But I want to tell you the truth about my family.”

  He’d begun to think she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Each time he’d asked, she’d deflected the conversation without telling him anything substantial—other than the hurricane and the deadbeat boyfriend. Perhaps she was embarrassed that she came from humble roots, or perhaps there were even darker things in her past than in his. Whatever the reason, he’d decided she intended to remain silent about it.

  She pulled in a deep breath as if she were gathering her courage, let it out in a rush. “I told you that my mama lost her house when Katrina hit. But I didn’t tell you that my dad left us shortly after. I thought they had the perfect marriage, but it turns out that my father had another family we didn’t know about. He’d been having an affair for years with a woman in another town. They had a daughter together.” She laughed, the sound breaking off. “I have a sister I didn’t find out about until six years ago. I’ve never even met her.”

  “Do you want to?” he asked.

  She seemed surprised if the way she hesitated were any indication. “I don’t know. It’s not her fault, and yet …” She twisted the sheets in her hands. He waited for her to get to it in her own time. “I have another sister … Evie. And a little brother. Remy. He’s the sweetest thing alive, but he’s, um …”

  She let out a harsh breath, full of anger and tears he sensed she hadn’t let fall yet. “Remy was starved of oxygen at birth and he suffered mental difficulties because of it. He’s eighteen now, but he has the mental capacity of a six-year-old.”

  He reached for her hand, squeezed it. She didn’t pull away. “This is why you work so hard,” he said, his heart pinching for her. It made so much sense now. Why she was so focused, so independent. Why she’d been so worried about money and why she’d taken a job with Bobby Gold.

  She nodded. “Yes. Remy’s therapy is subsidized by the state, but only to a point. He needs specialized care. And he’s very sensitive to changes. The loss of the house devastated him because he couldn’t understand why everything was different. We worked hard to get it back to normal as quickly as we could. Of course, by the time we’d done so, he was used to the trailer we’d been living in.”

  He knew what came next, what she hadn’t yet said. “It must have been difficult for him when your father left.”

  “Oh, God, you have no idea.” She rubbed a hand across her brow. “I haven’t spoken to my father in six years, Jack. And watching you with your brother, it began to bother me. What if he wanted to talk to me? What would I do? Would I push him away? Or would I listen? I’m furious with him, and yet I wonder what he might say if I gave him the chance. Not that he wants to say anything,” she added. “But if he did …”

  He knew what she was trying to say. And he was caught between sympathy for her and the pain of old wounds.

  “You think I should have let Jacob speak,” he said. Anger roiled beneath the surface, but it was the old anger, not anything new. He wasn’t angry with her, didn’t feel the need to lash out and defend his actions.

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Jack. But maybe if you talked to him, you’d know whether it was right to go on being angry or whether it was time to let it go. Maybe you could move forward.”

  “It was a long time ago. What makes you think I haven’t moved on?” Jack demanded. “I don’t spend my days thinking about this.”

  “No, I know you don’t
. But just like what happened with my family still bothers me, I think you’re still stuck with what happened to yours. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have gotten so angry.”

  Jack blew out a harsh breath. He’d gone entire months—years even—without thinking much about the past. Until Jacob returned. Now, he had to think about it—and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “I’m not sure I can do it, Cara. Jacob was all we had. He was our father figure, much more so than William ever was. And when he was gone, it left a gaping hole in our lives. Lucas tried to fill it, but he failed, as well. I couldn’t fail. I had no choice.”

  “It wasn’t fair that you had to step into Jacob’s and Lucas’s shoes,” she said. “It must have been hard for you. But you did it. You succeeded where your brothers didn’t. But what if Jacob needs you now the way you once needed him?”

  He hadn’t thought of that. But then he also didn’t care. Let Jacob need him—need all of them—if that’s what it was. Let him fool the rest of them with his remorse and his return to Wolfe Manor. He couldn’t fool Jack.

  “Sometimes the past belongs in the past,” he said roughly. “Sometimes it’s better that way.”

  She lay down again with a sigh and put her head on his shoulder. She smelled warm and sweet and sensual. Like flowers and sex.

  “You’re probably right,” she said. “I just wanted to say it.”

  He ran his fingers up her arm. Her skin was so soft, like silk. He liked being here with her like this. The night was dark, conducive to secrets, and he found himself wanting to explain why he felt the way he did.

  “I was seventeen when I had to be the head of the household. I had to figure out how to make sure we were okay, how to balance the books and keep everything running smoothly. I also had to deal with the emotional fallout of the younger ones.”

  “It’s a lot of responsibility,” she murmured.

  “I didn’t get to do what I wanted, Cara. Everything I did was for them. When I left school, I took a job in London and commuted from our home in Oxfordshire. I never even went to university. I worked. I didn’t play, I didn’t party, and I didn’t do anything typical for my age.”

  Her hand curled into a fist on his chest. “You think he robbed you of that.”

  “Yes.” And yet it was more than that. He’d admired Jacob, had wanted to be like him—but when he’d realized that Jacob wasn’t as strong as he’d always believed, a part of Jack had feared that he would fail, as well. If Jacob couldn’t do it, how could he?

  But he had. He’d succeeded where Jacob and

  Lucas had failed. The cost had been enormous, however. In some ways, he was still paying it.

  “Maybe you need to tell him how you feel,” Cara said. “Tell him why you’re so angry.”

  As if that would do any good. If Jacob had cared—if Lucas had cared—they wouldn’t have stuck Jack with the responsibility in the first place. They knew why he was angry. They knew why he couldn’t forgive and forget.

  “Did you ever do that?” he asked. “Did you ever tell your father how you feel about what he did?”

  He could feel her head moving as she shook it. “No. But I’ve never had the chance. You do, Jack.”

  He sighed. “It won’t change what happened. Will you get those years back that you worked so hard to help your mother rebuild her house? Will you get back the dreams you gave up when your father abandoned your family?”

  “No,” she said softly. And then he felt something hot and wet hit his skin.

  He reached for her, pulled her into the cradle of his arms. “I’m sorry, Cara. I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing away her tears.

  And then he made her forget everything but him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FOR the next two weeks Cara shoved aside her doubts and fears about the future. She decided to live each day to the fullest. She didn’t ask about her passport and Jack didn’t offer. She’d managed to get her bank card canceled and a new one issued and mailed to her at the London address, so she would soon have access to her own money. That was a relief, at least.

  Since that night when they’d spoken of their families and their pain, they’d not talked about it again. But in every other way, they’d grown closer. Jack took her to the opera, the theater, to dinner and for long drives in the country. He cooked her breakfast, surprised her with flowers and made love to her so thoroughly that she marveled she’d ever lived without him.

  He knew what turned her on, knew how to drive her insane and knew what made her scream with pleasure. This need she had for him was an obsession. All he had to do was look at her—and she slipped her clothes from her body and shamelessly seduced him. They made love in the bathtub, against the wall, on the floor, in the car, on his desk and, on one memorable occasion, on the balcony in the middle of the night with all of London spread out below.

  She was utterly shameless when it came to loving Jack. Because, yes, she’d finally had to admit to herself that she’d taken the plunge—that she’d fallen head over heels for Jack Wolfe. She should have left that first day, but she’d stayed. And now it was too late, because her heart was irrevocably lost.

  She hadn’t told him how she felt because she had the feeling they were living in a magic bubble—and if she spoke the words, the bubble would burst and reality would crash down on her once more.

  He made love to her like he couldn’t live without her, and yet he’d never spoken a word of tender feelings for her. He’d praised her body, praised her skill in bed and in the kitchen when she’d made him a pot of Mama’s gumbo, told her she was beautiful and sexy and exciting—but he’d never said a thing that made her think his heart was engaged.

  For Jack, it was all about the physical. Sometimes they spent the entire day in bed, reading, talking and laughing between bouts of lovemaking. On days like that, they never dressed. They slept and ate and lost themselves in each other.

  It was glorious and blissful, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to know she wasn’t alone in this emotional need for him. She wanted his heart. If she knew she had his heart, then everything would be okay.

  Keep telling yourself that, Cara.

  “We’ve been invited to a cocktail party.”

  Cara turned at the sound of his voice. Her heart squeezed, like it always did, whenever he entered a room. Or, in this case, the balcony. The bruising under his eye was almost completely gone now. He was without doubt the most incredibly handsome male she’d ever seen—with or without a black eye.

  “That sounds nice,” she replied, smiling as best she could with her thoughts in turmoil. She searched his face for some hint of feeling, but he was carefully controlled as always.

  Would she never break through his barriers? Was it a waste of time to try?

  “Rupert is an old business partner of mine,” he said, picking up her glass and taking a drink of iced water. “We don’t need to stay long.”

  “Fine,” she replied. She’d lost the ability to form sentences as she wrestled with her thoughts.

  He set the glass down. “Is something wrong, Cara?”

  She shrugged, smiled. “Of course not.”

  He frowned. “We don’t have to go at all, if you don’t want.”

  She sighed, wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture. “I don’t mind going, Jack.”

  He looked at her a moment more, then came over and kissed her. “Good. I’ll let him know we’re coming. I have a few more things to take care of and then I’m yours for the rest of the evening.”

  If only he really was hers, she thought, when he went back inside. But he wasn’t. And she didn’t really think he ever would be.

  The people in Rupert Blasdell’s town house glittered. They literally glittered. Cara had never seen so many jewels in her life—and she’d seen some pretty gorgeous ones on women in the casino. Her own neck was bare. In her ears, she wore the same small silver hoops she’d been wearing when she’d first met Jack. She’d splurged on a silve
r bangle watch a few weeks back and she’d put that on, as well. It hadn’t been expensive, and she felt the lack of its pedigree keenly tonight.

  Which wasn’t like her at all, really. She’d never cared about designer names before.

  Still, she’d thought she looked pretty good in her pale pink silk sheath, sky-high designer shoes and silver jewelry. Until she’d arrived on the steps of this Mayfair home and seen the jewels pouring from the limos, Bentleys and Rolls Royces.

  Jack seemed oblivious. She’d gone inside on his arm, holding her head high, but they’d ended up separated after he’d gotten her another glass of champagne. Now she stood in the middle of a packed room and sipped her champagne more out of nervousness than because she was thirsty.

  He’d said it was a cocktail party, not a gala event for the richest people in all of London. She wouldn’t be surprised if the queen showed up next. Yes, she and Jack had attended a few events together over the past week, but nothing had been this, well, fancy. Even the opera, to which he’d worn a tuxedo and she’d donned a long gown, had seemed like a down-home crawfish boil compared to this.

  The crowd parted and she caught sight of Jack talking to a man and a woman. She thought they were a couple until the woman put her hand on Jack’s arm. Her fingers caressed him possessively, sliding down his forearm. He pressed the back of her hand to his mouth as she leaned in and said something Cara imagined only he could hear. The man didn’t bat an eyelash at her behavior, so clearly they weren’t together.

  Cara squashed the jealousy that flared to life inside her. Jack was with her. Not only that, but there were physical limits to what a man could do.

  Even a man as sensual as Jack. And she was confident she kept him far too busy in bed for him to consider straying elsewhere. For now.

  And that was the rub, wasn’t it? He wanted her now. He was with her now. No idea what tomorrow would bring. No idea how much longer it would last. His heart wasn’t engaged.