Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  It was his turn to laugh. “Not a chance, Cara.”

  “How do you know?” she challenged.

  He glanced at her before concentrating on the road again. “Because you didn’t leave me at Bobby’s mercy. Because you sacrificed your job for me.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” she interjected. “At least, not the job part.”

  “No, you couldn’t cheat because it’s not who you are. But I still feel responsible. Bobby’s guy probably would have won without me there. He was the best player, besides me.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “What happened happened. There’s no sense crying over it now.”

  She was strong, this woman. He admired that about her.

  “How did you end up in Nice, anyway?”

  She leaned back on the seat, her head lolling to one side. “Bobby took only his best employees, and he promised us all a huge bonus. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’ve never been to Europe before,” she added in a soft voice.

  “And is it everything you thought it would be?”

  “I really don’t know.” She sighed, a soft sound that whispered over his senses and made him wonder if she would sigh like that in bed. “I’ve been working nonstop for the opening, so I never had a chance to explore. Bobby rented an apartment block to house us in and sent a van every day to pick us up. All I saw of Nice was from a car window.”

  “Didn’t you ever have a day off?”

  “No. I’ve only been in France for two weeks, and we worked every day.”

  “Then maybe you need to do a little sightseeing.” The wedding was in two days, so he had plenty of time to get there. Besides, if he were in Paris, there would be no chance that Jacob would track him down before the wedding. “Tonight I’ll take you to a great café I know for dinner, and then perhaps a cruise on the Seine.”

  Her face lit up as she turned to him. “I’d love that. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, ever since I read Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast in high school.”

  “I like seeing you smile,” he said. She dropped her chin, hiding her eyes from him. He wondered what he would see there, wanted very much to see it, but she kept her gaze lowered.

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” she said after a few moments of silence. “But I like you. I’m learning to trust you, Jack, and I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  Something squeezed tight inside his chest. Because he always disappointed the women in his life. He meant well, but he inevitably got bored. Once he’d played anything long enough—cards, stocks, women—it was time to move on to the next challenge. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t left broken hearts in his wake. Wasn’t stupid enough to think that Cara was different somehow. She had his attention now, but how long would it last?

  “I like you, too,” he said. And then, because he did like her, because he thought she was charming and naive and too trusting, he told her the truth. “But don’t trust me, Cara. Don’t ever trust me.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Don’t trust me.

  Cara stood at the window of the room she’d been given in Jack’s apartment and stared at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Below, boats moved along the Seine, and cars zipped down the streets while the sidewalks were crowded with Parisians going about their daily business. It was a beautiful city, so vibrant and alive, and she was giddy with the thought she was actually here.

  But the way Jack had told her not to trust him kept popping into her mind like an annoying mosquito. She couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t forget how he’d said the words—so bleak and raw that it made her soul ache.

  She hadn’t known what to say then, had been embarrassed she’d said anything at all. It wasn’t like her to open up to anyone, and especially not to someone like Jack Wolfe. She hardly knew him, and yet they’d been through so much together— and he’d seemed so honorable—that she felt she could maybe learn to trust him.

  That he’d told her not to had shocked her into speechlessness, and they’d finished the drive in relative silence. At least until they reached Paris and she couldn’t keep her awe to herself. Jack had once more become the solicitous, attentive host and he’d pointed out the sights as they drove. She’d gasped and closed her eyes more than once the closer they’d gotten into the center of town, certain that his lovely car was about to crash into another of the crazy drivers who frequented the streets.

  But it never happened. Cars passed one another with only a hairbreadth between them, but somehow everyone made it unscathed. Jack had driven up to a grand building on a side street and touched a button in the car. A garage door cranked upward and he zipped the car inside.

  It wasn’t until they’d entered his apartment that the truth had hit her: Jack Wolfe was extremely wealthy. The apartment was glorious, with high ceilings and original architecture—plaster friezes, ornate moldings and polished wooden floors that gleamed with the richness of age and frequent care.

  The furniture was modern—sleek leather couches and chairs—and the views were spectacular. She could see so much of the famous city from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows running the length of the room that it took her breath away.

  Jack had shown her to this room to freshen up. In the bathroom, she’d found all the toiletries she could need, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and a fluffy white robe. In spite of her morning shower, she’d taken another, washing her hair and blow-drying it so it hung smooth and sleek down her back.

  A knock at the door startled her. Heart pounding, she moved toward the entry.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve had some things sent up for you.”

  Cara pulled the door open. Jack stood there, so tall and handsome that he took her breath away. His eye was black, but it didn’t detract from his male beauty. He looked more relaxed now, and more dangerous.

  Jack Wolfe was not the sort of man she needed to get involved with. She no longer believed he was simply a gambler—oh, he was definitely a gambler, but that wasn’t the only thing he did—but she was certain he was bad for her. He was, she realized, a daredevil. She had little to base it on, other than the way he’d behaved at the card table and later when he’d come looking for her. He’d faced Bobby with contempt, and he’d fought hard against the men who’d punched him, never once begging for mercy.

  But she knew she was correct, that she’d surmised the truth.

  He thrived on challenge and adrenaline. He got a rush from danger. He was the worst kind of man in the world for any woman, but especially for her. She wanted someone who was dependable, who was stable and responsible. She wanted what she’d never had.

  But why was she thinking any of these thoughts? She barely knew this man, and she certainly wasn’t planning to fall in love with him.

  “Can I come in?”

  Cara swallowed as she pulled the door wider. Heat blossomed in her belly, between her thighs, crept along her skin in a crimson wave. “Of course.”

  He passed inside, carrying bags from a boutique, and set them on the antique table at the end of the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s enough to go out shopping and to dinner.”

  Embarrassed, she went over and peeked inside one of the bags.

  “If you don’t like it, I’ll have something else sent up. I had to guess at your size.”

  “I’m sure you did fine,” she replied politely.

  “Technically, it wasn’t me. I simply made a phone call and described you to the shopgirls.” His mouth crooked in a smile. A devilish smile. “Aren’t you going to look?”

  “I am looking.”

  “No, you’re peeking past the tissue. Take them out, see what you think. There’s time to send it all back if it’s not right.”

  She withdrew a jewel green sweater set made of the finest tightly knit silk and a pair of cream slacks from one of the bags.

  “The color suits you,” he said as her heart beat harder. “Matches your eyes.”

  “Thank you.” The sweater set was gorgeous, e
xpensive, and she adored the color. It was the kind of thing she’d have bought for herself, if she’d had the money to do so. Most of her clothes came from big-box stores, huge chains that thrived on quantity not quality. It was what she could afford, and she’d never once felt as if she looked cheap—until now. “Everything is beautiful,” she told him with a hard knot in her throat.

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  In the next bag, she found a box with a pair of strappy kitten heels. “The size is absolutely perfect.”

  “I saw the bottom of your shoe when you had your leg tucked beneath you in the car.”

  “No wonder we nearly ran into that yellow van,” she teased. Because she didn’t know what else to do. This moment was so intimate, so private and personal, and she felt out of sorts in a way. He wasn’t her lover, yet he’d bought clothes for her.

  It’s a job, Cara, she reminded herself. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing, being here with him like this. It was different than any job she’d had before, true, but it was still a job. And she had no suitable clothes for the wedding. This was simply part of the process. She tried to ignore the fact she was in a bathrobe, and that she had nothing on underneath.

  “Look in the pink bag,” he said, eyes glinting silvery hot.

  Cara’s fingers touched silk. She pulled out a delicate white bra and thong—and shoved them back inside again as Jack laughed. She was so far in over her head that it wasn’t funny. Had she really thought she was going to keep this about business between them?

  “So modest. I like that about you,” he said.

  Cara straightened her spine as she stared at him. It was hard to be quelling when you were in a bathrobe. “I’m not in the habit of showing my underwear to men I hardly know. It’s not polite.”

  He laughed again as he took a step toward her. “Can you really say we hardly know each other after last night?”

  Heat enveloped her, wrapped her in its web, made her long for another look at his naked body. She’d tried not to look, but she hadn’t succeeded. And she couldn’t forget what she’d seen. The long, strong legs. The lean hips, the jutting sex. The flat abdomen and muscled torso. He’d had a tan line, she remembered, a boundary line where she could run her tongue and see if it drove him as insane as she imagined it would. Stop.

  “Once again, Cara, there’s an invitation in your eyes.”

  “You think too highly of yourself—”

  He closed the distance between them much quicker than she’d have expected for someone still recovering from a brutal beating. And then he was threading a hand in her hair, tilting her head back, his mouth coming down on hers—lightly, sweetly, because of the cut on her lip. It stung, and yet it was also heaven.

  Sensation crashed through her, tightening her nipples, stretching her skin, leaving a fiery imprint in its wake. The kiss was nothing, and yet it was everything. They were sharing breath, sharing heat and scent and touch.

  He slipped his other arm around her, pulled her close enough that she felt the hard hot heat of him through the woven cotton of her robe. His tongue traced the line of her lips, the touch sensual and overwhelming, and she opened her mouth to let him inside because she suddenly couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  When their tongues met, she couldn’t stifle the moan that emanated from her throat. He was so cautious, so gentle, and yet she wanted more, wanted him to unleash the fire. But he remained gentle with her, his tongue stroking against hers so deliciously, not overtly demanding and yet so compelling at the same time.

  It was an intimate caress, this sensual slide of tongues together, and she shivered with the lus-ciousness of it.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulled his mouth tighter to hers. The contact stung, and yet she wanted it, needed it somehow. The kiss deepened, and her insides liquefied. Her body ached with need. It had been so long since she’d been with a man. Yet that wasn’t what caused the ache.

  It was him. Jack Wolfe. He was exasperating and exciting and dangerous and tender. She couldn’t figure him out, but she knew there was something potent between them, something that would likely consume them both if they gave in to it.

  And she couldn’t afford that kind of annihilation, not now. She had to keep her head, had to keep her heart intact. She had to do the job she’d agreed to do and then she needed to find work. Maybe she’d even find something in London. Even if it were only temporary, at least she would get to have the adventure she’d always wanted.

  Everything was going well at home, and with the money she was about to send, there would be nothing left to worry over. She could finally see the world on her terms.

  Jack’s hand slipped to the curve of her buttock, cupped her, and a shiver of desire shot straight to her core. His mouth grew bolder, more insistent, and she clung to him, enjoying the heady feel of his body against hers.

  She trailed a hand down his arm, over his chest. But when his hands went to the belt at her waist, she stilled. What was she doing? How could she allow this? He was paying her to go to London with him, to attend a wedding, and she was about to let him make love to her? Did he think it was his right? Or was he simply acting according to the moment?

  Because she didn’t know, she somehow found the strength to push him away. “No, Jack. I can’t,” she said, aware that she didn’t sound very certain of herself.

  If he pushed the point, she was afraid she would succumb to his charm. Because he was handsome and glorious and she was strangely susceptible to him.

  He gripped her upper arms, squeezed only a moment and then set her back a step. His chest rose and fell almost as quickly as hers did.

  “I guess we know now, don’t we?”

  She looked up, met his gaze, her heart flipping at the intensity of those glittering silver eyes. “Know what?”

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, ghosted his fingers along her jaw, let them trail down her neck. He stopped at the thrumming pulse point in her throat, smiled. It was a weary smile, a disappointed smile.

  “That we could be very good for each other.”

  Cara tucked her hands into her folded arms, shivered. “Only in bed, Jack. And that’s not enough, I’m afraid.”

  His head tilted as he studied her. She felt self-conscious, silly. Like a girl, not a woman. A skittish virgin. She wasn’t the kind of woman who slept around, but she’d had her share of lovers. He made her feel like she had no experience whatsoever.

  “You’re looking for happy ever after, Cara?”

  Her ears burned with embarrassment. It was so contrary to everything she’d ever experienced, and yet it was the truth. She needed to believe in true love, even if she’d never seen it. That he’d seen to the heart of the matter should surprise her, and yet it didn’t. “Isn’t everyone?”

  “What if it doesn’t exist?”

  She worried about that, too. Because hadn’t she thought that Mama and Daddy were happy?

  Hadn’t she thought they had a wonderful, loving marriage? Until Daddy betrayed them all and left Mama brokenhearted and alone.

  In spite of all that had happened to damage her faith in men and relationships, she stubbornly clung to the hope she needed. There had to be more to life than simply existing. There just had to be. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take, I suppose.”

  He looked at her as if he pitied her. “Seems lonely.”

  Cara turned away. It was too much, too close to home. “Thank you for the clothes, Jack,” she said, fingering the green sweater set.

  He let out an exasperated breath, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “I’ll leave you to dress, then. When you’re ready, we’ll go out.”

  And then he was gone, the door closing behind him, and she was alone. Cara sank onto the edge of the bed, trembling with adrenaline and thwarted desire.

  She was in so much trouble here. She had to be careful, had to watch herself. Or she’d end up doing something she would most certainly regret later. Jack Wolfe was a player, a man w
ho loved women and fast cars and dangerous pursuits. He wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in her any longer than it took to win the chase. He would bed her and be done with her.

  And she was afraid she couldn’t bear it if he no longer looked at her the way he did now.

  “Stupid, Cara,” she whispered. Then she got up and began to dress.

  Paris was indeed a feast for the senses. Cara sat at the table on the patio of the small café where Jack had taken her for dinner and gaped at the sophisticated Parisians as they passed by. The table was small, intimate, tucked into a corner of the patio that no one else occupied. The linens were crisp and white, and the food smelled delicious. Cara had worried for a moment that she would feel uncomfortable in this chic city but everyone had been so friendly.

  She felt so different in the clothes Jack had bought her, as if she were sophisticated and cultured, and she’d delighted in their reception at the café. The maître d’, who’d treated her with absolute courtesy, seemed very happy to see Jack, as if he were a regular customer.

  Which, she realized, he must be since he had an apartment nearby. Did he often bring his dates here? The thought was unwelcome. Not because she wanted to be the only woman he’d ever brought to this café, but because it was her experience of Paris—and she didn’t want to imagine anyone else sharing her memory.

  “Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” Jack asked once they had been seated. “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you trust me to order, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He ordered in rapid French and the first course arrived shortly after. Cara couldn’t wait to take a bite of the delicate foie gras. She spread it on a cracker and popped it into her mouth.

  “Oh, God,” she said, closing her eyes as she chewed. “That’s amazing.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  When the waiter returned, she asked him to pass her compliments to the chef.

  “I didn’t realize you spoke French,” Jack said once the waiter was gone again.