Heartless Rebel (19 page)

 
          
She
was not weak. She would never be weak. The sooner she got control of her life
back and got out of here, the better.

 
          
Jack
spent the afternoon on the computer. The markets in New York had just opened;
it was exactly what he needed to lose himself for a while.

 
          
He
bought and sold thousands of shares, knowing just when to begin and end each
transaction. The thrill of the chase was always exhilarating, always got his
blood pumping and his adrenaline firing along all his synapses.

 
          
But
it was different this time. Different because he couldn’t completely stop
thinking about the woman in the other room. She’d accused him of shutting her
out, of shutting everyone out.

 
          
He’d
wanted to deny it, and yet he couldn’t. Because relationships were
unpredictable at best. If you couldn’t count on the people you shared DNA with
to be there for you, how could you ever rely on another person? Knowing that
had saved him a lot of angst over the years.

 
          
Jack
clicked another button. His game was still sharp, and he made money as always,
but he wanted to stop, wanted to go and haul Cara against him. Wanted to strip
her naked and lose himself in her delightful body again.

 
          
It
was odd, this feeling. He was a highly sexual man, and he enjoyed making love
to the women he dated—but he’d never quite been this obsessed with one. It was
a shock to want her again so badly within moments of finding his release in her
body. Sex was a pleasurable pursuit, but it wasn’t an addiction.

 
          
Until
Cara.

 
          
He
was getting hard just thinking about her. He shoved thoughts of her aside
ruthlessly, clicked on a “Buy” button. The transaction went through, but
instead of feeling the elation he usually felt, he was frustrated.

 
          
Frustrated
because he wanted to be with Cara. Wanted those legs wrapped around him while
he thrust into her beautiful body. But more than that, he wanted to talk to
her. He’d enjoyed talking to her before they’d lost control with each other,
and he found that he wanted to talk to her almost as much as he wanted to make
love to her.

 
          
He
liked
her.

 
          
Jack
focused on the computer screen. She only cared about her money, and about
leaving, so why was he thinking of her so much? There was nothing between them
except great sex. And he could enjoy that for the next few days with
her—assuming she was still speaking to him. He clicked a “Sell” button, his
blood humming with anticipation as he watched the money pile up in his account.

 
          
By
the time he finished his transactions, it was after eight o’clock. Jack shoved
back from the computer. He’d forced himself to concentrate, and he’d made
money, but this restless hunger gnawing beneath the surface had grown stronger
with the passing hours.

 
          
He
found Cara on the balcony off the living room. Below, the city stretched out in
a never-ending carpet of light and sound. Car horns and screeching tires
filtered up from far below. Cara leaned against the railing, cradling a
wineglass in one hand. She took a sip and returned her attention to the sights.

 
          
She
still wore the sea-green sleeveless dress she’d had on earlier, but she’d taken
off the heels she’d been wearing. She had one bare foot propped on the railing,
the other flat on the polished stone of the balcony.

 
          
“Are
you hungry?” he asked.

 
          
She
spun around, her hand over her heart. “My word, Jack Wolfe, you scared the
living daylights out of me.”

 
          
He
loved her accent, especially when she got a little flustered. It was Southern,
but there was a hint of something else, as well. The Cajun in her, he supposed.
He’d listened to her speaking French in Paris and marveled at the sensual way
she said the words, the thickness of them on her tongue. It was different,
earthier, than the French he was used to. It called up thoughts of dark, sultry
nights. Silk sheets, sweat and incense. He wanted to know her, wanted to know
what had made her into this infuriatingly sexy and independent woman. He
wanted, he acknowledged to himself, to own her… body and soul.

 
          
“What
were you thinking about so intently?” As if he didn’t know. He didn’t regret
walking away from her earlier, but he regretted not telling her he wanted her
to stay because he liked being with her.

 
          
She
tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear. “A lot, actually.”

 
          
He
moved onto the balcony to join her, took the glass from her. She willingly
handed it over and he took a sip before giving it back. He refused to think
about the intimacy of the gesture, the ease with which he could get used to
this.

 
          
“Like
what?” he pressed.

 
          
She
sighed. “Home. Mama. You.”

 
          
You
. That gratified him. “What about
me?”

 
          
Her
eyes were warm and smooth, like green onyx. She studied him carefully. He got
the impression she was trying to decide how to answer. He wasn’t sure if that
was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was too late to take back the question.

 
          
“I
was thinking that I hardly know you. And that I wish I could’ve applied the
brakes to this thing between us and backed up a few steps before last night.”

 
          
“Fast
can be good. Sometimes you have to live life on the edge, Cara.”

 
          
“I’m
not much good at living life on the edge.”

 
          
Jack
shrugged. “Actually, I’d say you’re quite good at it.”

 
          
She
shook her head adamantly. “No, really, I’m not. This …
whatever
this is with us … has skipped a lot of steps for me.”

 
          
He
could tell that she was genuinely stressed by it, but it was too late for
regrets. He had no intention of stepping back now. He needed her too much.

 
          
Needed?
It was a strong word, and not
one he typically used, but he couldn’t think of a better one at the moment. And
he had every intention of pressing his advantage. Because she wanted him, no
matter what she said about this thing between them going nowhere.

 
          
Besides,
to bed was somewhere—and that’s where he intended to take her.

 
          
“What
do you suggest?” he asked, taking the glass from her and sipping again.

 
          
She
watched him drink. He wondered if she knew the hunger that was in her eyes, the
answering hunger she called up in him.

 
          
And
yet he knew she wasn’t about to suggest they take this into the bedroom. He got
the impression she was fighting herself very hard not to give in to her
physical urges. He would let her do so, for now. But she would be his tonight,
and every night so long as they were together.

 
          
He
pushed aside thoughts of her passport, thoughts of her walking out of his life.
It didn’t bother him, not really. He simply wasn’t ready for this to end quite
yet. And he didn’t think she was, either, no matter what she’d said earlier.

 
          
She
licked her lips, and his body turned to stone. “I think we should talk.”

 
          
“Fine,”
he replied.

 
          
He
expected the usual female chatter about feelings and plans for the future. He
hadn’t handled it well earlier, when he was still feeling raw and exposed, but
he could do it. He knew enough about this kind of talk to navigate it fairly
well. She would want to know about his childhood—he wouldn’t tell her the truth
of that, but he did have a prepared answer he usually gave. She’d want to know
about his past loves, his goals and dreams and plans.

 
          
He
knew what to say in response to those things. He’d done it before, many times.
And when she was satisfied, he’d ask her the same questions. He was even
looking forward to the answers.

 
          
But
what she said was not at all what he expected to hear.

 
          
“Then
tell me what happened yesterday in the bar.”

 
          
JACK’S
gaze, which had been so full of heat and sexual promise that she’d had a hard
time concentrating on what she wanted to say, had gone utterly cold.

 
          
But
she didn’t regret asking, dammit. In spite of what had happened earlier, she
wanted to know where she stood with him. She’d had enough time to cool off and
think. He’d pushed her away because he didn’t want to let anyone in. And though
it might be the smart thing to just wash her hands of him entirely, she
couldn’t quite do it yet.

 
          
But
this was the line in the sand. If he brushed her off, then she knew exactly
what he thought of her. Of them.

 
          
He
took another long draft of her wine, then handed the glass back to her. “It’s a
long story.”

 
          
“I
have time.”

 
          
“Here’s
the condensed version,” he said, his words sounding as if he’d bitten them off.
“Jacob left home when we needed him most. Lucas had to step up and be man of
the house. But he couldn’t handle it, either, so he left, too. And then there
was me. I didn’t run away.”

 
          
Cara’s
heart was hammering inside her breastbone. She hadn’t expected this much from
him, she really hadn’t. She’d been prepared to walk away, knowing she’d done
her best. But he’d just thrown her a curveball.

 
          
“I’m
sorry,” she said softly. It wasn’t the whole story, she was certain, and yet
she could feel his pain as if it were her own. She knew about taking on
responsibility that you didn’t think you were ready for. About unfairness and
duty.

 
          
“I
was seventeen,” he said bitterly. “And I had to take care of four younger
siblings the best I could. It was Jacob’s duty to be there for us. But he
couldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle the pressure.”

 
          
“But
you could.”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“You
might not believe this, Jack, but I understand the way you feel. Katrina
changed a lot of things in my life. It’s not the same thing, I know, but I do
understand the feeling of being trapped by doing what’s right.”

 
          
His
eyes gleamed with anger and bitterness. “You can never understand what I’ve
been through, Cara. Be grateful for that.”

 
          
“I’ve
had to sacrifice things—”

 
          
“That’s
not what I’m talking about.”

 
          
“All
right. Then tell me.”

 
          
“I—”
He shoved a hand through his hair.

 
          
“Dammit.”

 
          
She
reached for his hand, squeezed. “It’s okay, Jack.”

 
          
“It’s
ugly. You have no idea …”

 
          
Cara
bit her lip. She wanted to know, and she didn’t. The anguish on his face
disconcerted her, made her search for something less difficult to talk about.
“What do you think your brother wanted to say to you?”