But before she could bring him to completion, he pushed her away.
“Inside you,” he said, standing and lifting her onto his desk. Another moment and she was clinging to him as he thrust into her body.
Everything about the way they made love was intense. Cara’s head fell back as pleasure and emotion overwhelmed her. Was that her voice moaning and pleading for more? It shocked her, and yet she shouldn’t be surprised. She loved what they did to each other, loved the way he made her feel, and she’d missed this last night much more than she’d have thought possible.
They exploded together, gasping and grinding into each other for that last little bit of bliss, before collapsing on the desk in a boneless heap.
Sometime later, they made their way into the bedroom and made love again, slowly this time, with more control and more focus on making the pleasure last as long as possible.
Cara fell asleep in his arms, her body temporarily sated of her craving for him. When she awoke, he was gone. She sat up, disappointed. Had he gone back to his computer? They’d never spoken a word, other than those of hunger and need and pleasure.
And speaking of hunger, she smelled something cooking. Cara got out of bed and slipped into her robe.
Jack was at the stove. The smells of oil and garlic and tomatoes wafted up from the pan he was tending. He tossed in a handful of mushrooms and stirred. She took a moment to watch him, to marvel at the sight of an unbelievably sexy man moving around a kitchen like he knew what he was doing.
“It smells good,” she said.
He turned. “I thought you might be hungry.”
She leaned against the center island and watched him work. “I’m starved. What are you making?”
“It’s just pasta with a few fresh ingredients.”
“Wow, I’d have thought you had someone do your cooking for you.”
He didn’t turn back to her as he shook his head. “Not usually, no. I don’t like the intrusion of having someone around.”
Her heart flipped at that statement. Was she an intrusion, too? Or, if not now, would she soon become one?
He finished the sauce and drained the pasta, then plated the food and set it on the bar. Cara climbed on the bar stool and twirled her fork in the pasta.
“It’s good,” she said after she’d had the first bite.
He was watching her eat, and she dipped her head again, embarrassed. Odd, considering how they had no secrets when it came to making love. He’d certainly seen more unguarded expressions on her face, had heard her make intimate noises in the throes of passion.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.
Cara looked up. “What’s there to be sorry about?”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
She dropped her fork and reached for his hand. “No, Jack, don’t apologize for that. I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”
“I don’t usually talk about it. In fact, I think you’re only the second person to ever hear me say it.”
Her heart quickened. “I’m glad you felt like you could tell me.”
He blew out a breath and looked away. “It’s so ugly, Cara. Everything that happened, everything I felt—”
He shook his head and she lifted his hand to her mouth, kissed his knuckles. “It’s not your fault.”
He leaned forward and caressed her cheek. She wanted to turn into the caress, wanted to stay like this forever. Her heart was so full of everything she was beginning to feel for this man. Surely he could see it in her eyes. She thought she should pull away, should guard herself better.
But she couldn’t.
“I know that. Now.” He squeezed her hand and then picked up his fork again. “It took a long time, but I know I wasn’t to blame for William’s rages. I escaped the brunt of them most of the time. The others …”
Her heart felt as if someone had wrapped it in chains. She was bound to him tighter and tighter with every word.
He shrugged, yet she knew he didn’t feel at all carefree about what he said. “I could tell. I knew when he was going to explode. He rarely took it out on me because I didn’t push his buttons. I never could understand why the others couldn’t see it. I tried to warn them. It never worked. And then Annabelle …”
Cara shuddered at the thought that Annabelle’s scars had been caused by her own father. The woman she’d met had been so lovely, so cool and collected. So reserved, hiding behind her hair and her camera. What must she feel every day of her life if her brother felt so much pain simply at the thought of it?
“He beat her because she was beautiful, because she’d dared to want to grow up. She got dressed up and snuck out to a party. When William saw her in her heels and lipstick, he went berserk.” He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t there. It was all over by the time I’d arrived. Nathaniel and Sebastian tried to stop him, but they were too young, too small. Jacob arrived and hit him.”
It was so telling to her that he called his father by his first name. She’d been confused for just a moment, but then she’d understood. William. Not Dad. Not Daddy. Not Father.
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 fi
rst 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.
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