Heartless Rebel (6 page)

 
          
“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?

 
          
When
she returned to the bedroom, Jack had managed to stand on his own. He’d undone
his belt and zipper, but his pants hung low on his hips, revealing smooth skin
and a dark arrow of hair pointing the way to his groin. Cara swallowed as her
heart picked up speed again.

 
          
God,
she was acting like a timid virgin. She had to stop this nonsense, had to help
him into the tub before she could lie on the bed and turn on the television. It
was late, but she was too keyed up to sleep just now. A bit of mindless
television was usually just what the doctor ordered when insomnia hit.

 
          
“Do
you need help?” she asked, praying he would say no. His shirt was one thing,
but his pants?

 
          
For
once, he looked apologetic instead of devilish. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take
them off. Bending is hell at the moment.”

 
          
Cara
thought of something her friend LeeAnn had once said. LeeAnn had gone to
nursing school and now worked in the ICU, taking care of critical patients.
According to LeeAnn, you got used to seeing naked men after a while. It was
just a job, no matter how good-looking the man.

 
          
Cara
squared her shoulders. Yes, this was a job, a mission of mercy. Jack Wolfe was
attractive, but this wasn’t about attraction. This was about helping a patient
into the bath.

 
          
Except
that, even in this state, he seemed too big, too virile and male, to be a
patient. He was stiff and sore, but he wasn’t incapacitated.

 
          
Determinedly,
she pushed his trousers down his hips until all that was left were a pair of
boxers.

 
          
“I
should warn you,” he said when she hooked her fingers into the waistband. Cara
looked up, met his silver gaze head-on. His eyes were both cool and hot and she
wondered how he did that, how he managed to seem so in control and on the edge
all at once. “I’m not unaffected by a beautiful woman removing my clothes, even
in this state.”

 
          
Cara
licked suddenly dry lips. Her throat felt like sand. Jack’s eyes darkened as he
followed the movement of her tongue.

 
          
“I’ll
keep it in mind,” she managed huskily.

 
          
And
then she was bending and sliding his boxers down his muscled thighs until she
could let them fall at his feet. Resolutely, she focused on his face as she
stood again. She would not look down, would not look at that part of him she
was suddenly dying to see.

 
          
“Seeing
down your shirt just now didn’t help,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”

 
          
“You’re
not in any shape to flirt with me,” she said firmly, “so you really should
stop.”

 
          
“Can’t
help it.”

 
          
Nor
could she help it when her gaze dropped, in spite of her resolution not to
look. Cara’s breath caught, held, until she felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen.
He was beautiful. And he was definitely aroused.

 
          
“Like
what you see?”

 
          
“It
doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re in no shape to do anything about it, as
you’ve already noted.”

 
          
“I’m
not.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “But you are.”

 
          
Cara’s
ears burned. Not because he shocked her, but because a part of her wanted to do
it. She wanted him at her mercy, wanted to tame and control and possess. All
she had to do was drop to her knees, take him in her mouth and—

 
          
“Forget
it. I’m not some kind of good-time girl, Jack Wolfe. We’re here because you
couldn’t leave well enough alone, not because I can’t resist your charm.”

 
          
“Too
bad.”

 
          
“Come
on,” she said as she slipped an arm around his waist—sweet heaven, his
bare
waist. “Let’s get you into the
bath. The warm water will help.”

 
          
Somehow
she got him into the bathroom and into the tub, though she got soaked in the
process. He stretched out his legs—they were still bent since the tub was
shorter than he was—and groaned.

 
          
“God
this hurts.”

 
          
Her
heart squeezed in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

 
          
“Don’t
worry. You can make it up to me later.”

 
          
Later.
As if she would still be here. Cara shook her head. No, she wasn’t staying. She
wasn’t succumbing to the need to be near this man.

 
          
Need? Was it already that bad?

 
          
No.
Because she’d let herself be fooled once—at least for a short time—by her
feelings for James, and she knew better now. She didn’t need a man. She liked
men, enjoyed good sex, but she didn’t
need
a man. And definitely not
this
man.

 
          
“You
never quit, do you?” she said, grabbing a towel so she could go into the
bedroom and remove her wet clothes.

 
          
“Sweetheart,
if I were dead I’d still want to have sex with you.”

 
          
“Charming.”
But her pulse was pounding, fluttering.

 
          
“I’ll
be in the other room. Yell if you need me.”

 
          
Cara
changed out of her wet clothes and hung them on a chair to dry. Then she
wrapped the towel around her body and climbed onto the bed, scooting back
against the pillows as she turned on the television. But instead of finding
anything she wanted to watch, her gaze kept straying to Jack’s cell phone on
the bedside table.

 
          
It
was early evening in Louisiana …

 
          
“Jack?”

 
          
“Yes?”

 
          
She
picked up the phone and went to the bathroom door. “Can I make a call to the
States on your phone? I’ll pay you.”

 
          
He
didn’t even look at her. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed. He lifted
two fingers where they rested on the edge of the tub. “Go ahead.”

 
          
“Thanks.”
She turned away, then stopped. “Do you need anything?”

 
          
“Nothing
you’re willing to provide,” he said on a long drawl.

 
          
She
shook her head as she went back to the bed and climbed onto it. Twenty seconds
later, Mama’s voice came on the other end of the line. A flood of wistfulness
washed over Cara. Oddly enough, tears pricked her. She pressed her eyelids to
keep them from falling.

 
          
“Hey,
Mama.”

 
          
The
conversation didn’t last long, but it helped her feel better in the end. Remy
was doing well. The money Cara had sent recently would pay for his therapy
through the end of next month. Evie had just gotten a job as a secretary in a
law firm downtown, and the insurance was paid up for the next two months. The
ground beneath her family’s feet was firm, if not quite solid yet.

 
          
When
the call ended, she laid the phone on the table and closed her eyes. They were
doing well. Not great, but well. She could have used the money that Bobby had
been about to pay her, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Besides, that had
been dirty money, and Mama wouldn’t have approved of dirty money. Cara would
just have to find a new job, work harder and make damn sure her family stayed
on firmer ground.

 
          
She
roused herself and went to check on Jack. He looked up when she came in. The
skin under his eye looked worse, but there was no swelling.

 
          
“How
do you feel?” she asked.

 
          
“Stiff.
I’m ready to get out of here.”

 
          
He
pushed himself upright until she could get an arm around him and help him to
stand. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around him, then handed him another one
to dry his torso with. The towel she wore kept slipping as they walked toward
the bed. She prayed it would hold until she got him into bed when she could
tighten it again.