Heartless Rebel (12 page)

 
          
“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?”