Cara sipped her champagne and watched Jack.

“I found a deck of cards,” she said as she took the bottle over and poured him another drink. “Why don’t we play a hand or two of poker?”

His gaze swung toward her.

“I know you’re used to winning,” she said, “but you’ve never played me. I’ll try not to embarrass you though.”

Jack couldn’t resist a challenge. “What are the stakes?” he asked, and her heart soared. She’d intrigued him enough to shake him from his brooding.

“If I win, you take me to some awful touristy thing that I’d love, but you hate.”

He almost grinned, she was certain. “And if I win?”

Cara shrugged. “We go somewhere you want instead.”

“Doesn’t sound like much incentive,” he said, taking a sip of the champagne.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze slipping over her body. Any second and he would know the effect he was having on her.

“I have a better idea,” he said as his eyes met hers again.

“What’s that?”

“We play for the clothes on our backs. Or we don’t play at all.”

BAD BLOOD

A powerful dynasty, where secrets and scandal never sleep!

THE DYNASTY Eight siblings, blessed with wealth, but denied the one thing they wanted—a father’s love.

A family destroyed by one man’s thirst for power.

THE SECRETS Haunted by their past and driven to succeed, the Wolfes scattered to the far corners of the globe.

But secrets never sleep and scandal is starting to stir …

THE POWER Now the Wolfe brothers are back, stronger than ever, but hiding hearts as hard as granite.

It’s said that even the blackest of souls can be healed by the purest of love…

But can the dynasty rise again?

ALL ABOUT THE AUTHOR…

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead she married a military man, and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com.

BAD BLOOD

Heartless Rebel

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to Sarah, Caitlin, Abby, Robyn,

Janette, Jennie, and Kate for making this project

so much fun to work on! The only thing that

could have made it more fun was if we’d had a

writers’ retreat somewhere tropical while

we worked. Maybe next time…

CHAPTER ONE

CARA TAYLOR wiped sweaty hands against the tight satin of her skirt, hoping she didn’t leave an imprint. Tonight was the night. The biggest night of her career as a croupier thus far, and she’d just been dealt a blow she wasn’t sure she could recover from.

Bobby wanted her to throw the game. Cara took a deep breath to steady herself. She could do this. She had to do this. The men who would arrive at her table in just a few minutes were some of the wealthiest, most daring men in the world. In many ways, though they made her job possible, she loathed them. They were accustomed to waging millions of dollars on one turn of the cards, and just as accustomed to losing as they were winning. This was child’s play for them.

Did it matter if she was the instrument of their losses tonight? Not one of them would go home poor. Not one of them understood what it was like to lose everything they had, to fight and struggle for survival on a daily basis.

Cara knew. She’d been fighting to save her family since Hurricane Katrina blew through New Orleans over five years ago and devastated their home. And not only their home; Katrina had also blown away the diaphanous veil obscuring her father’s dark secrets. With her father’s betrayal and her mother’s subsequent breakdown, it had been Cara’s responsibility as the oldest to make sure her family was safe and well. It had taken a long time and a lot of work—not to mention putting her own dreams on hold—but she’d gotten them back on their feet.

Tonight, she finally had a chance to put financial worries behind them for good. She would set Mama up with enough money to make sure the house was paid for and the exorbitant insurance premiums covered. Since the hurricane, insurance companies had raised their rates through the roof. And Mama didn’t want to move farther inland.

Though it often frustrated Cara, she also understood it in a perverse way: New Orleans was home. Mama had been born and raised there, and she couldn’t leave it. Nor, it seemed, could Cara’s sister, Evie. She chewed the inside of her lip. If not for Evie staying home to help Mama and their little brother, Remy, Cara wouldn’t be here. And since she was here, she owed it to them all to do everything she could to secure their future.

After tonight, Remy would continue to have the specialized care he needed, which was the most important consideration of all. The bonus Bobby had promised her when she’d agreed to come to Nice for the opening of his new casino would finally enable her to achieve all the goals she’d had when she’d left home.

But first she had to throw this game.

“You understand what you have to do,” an oily voice said from behind her.

Cara turned smoothly, hoping her distress didn’t show on her face. “Of course.”

Bobby Gold winked as he tapped her on the ass. Cara did her best not to flinch. She’d never liked Bobby, but he was the king of the casinos in Vegas—and abroad, as this new multi-billion-dollar facility located in an old French palace in the center of Nice proved.

When she’d begun working as a croupier, it had been for one of Bobby’s rivals. It hadn’t taken long for Bobby to find her and offer her a job. She’d refused at first—but money, and her desperate need for it, had eventually won out. And, other than the occasional leering pass from the man, she’d had no reason to regret her decision.

Until now.

Bobby’s gold tooth caught the light as he smiled.

She’d never been sure if it was an affectation, or if the man really needed a gold tooth. Nevertheless, it disgusted her.

“Keep the players happy, Cara. Use those beautiful breasts of yours to distract them as much as possible. And keep an eye on the man I point out to you. When the stakes get high enough, he’ll give you the signal.”

Cara’s face burned, but whether from Bobby’s casual suggestion she use her breasts to distract the players or from the idea of cheating—of going against her entire moral compass—she wasn’t quite sure. She suspected it was a bit of both. Cheating wasn’t in her lexicon, especially after the devastation her father had caused. Adultery was a different kind of cheating, but the results were the same. It was simply wrong.

And she wasn’t a cheater, period.

Cara slid a nervous hand down her skirt once more. She wanted to pull her shirt closed a bit more, but she wouldn’t do so while Bobby leered at her. Usually, her uniform consisted of a long skirt and a high white-collared shirt with a bow tie.

Tonight, Bobby had given her a new uniform. Short, tight black satin mini, and deep-V crimson silk blouse. The bow tie was still a part of the uniform, only now it was around her bare throat.

Just get through tonight, Cara, and you can go back home and never see Bobby Gold again.

A pang of wistfulness shot through her at the thought of leaving Nice before she’d even gotten to explore it. She’d put her dreams of adventure on hold after Katrina’s devastation, and now that she’d finally gotten to go somewhere wonderful, she was about to leave again.

“I’ll do what I can, boss,” she said.

Bobby’s face grew hard, his gaze cold and cruel. She’d seen that look before. A shiver washed over her at the thought of all Bobby was capable of.

“Make sure that you do, Cara. I’d hate to have to punish you.”

Before she could answer, he turned away and strode toward the bar. Cara let out a long breath. She turned back to the table as the black velvet curtain to the private entrance parted. A tall blond man strode into the room and went straight for the bar. She could hear his accent as he ordered. German. Count von Hofstein, then.

As the minutes trickled by, several more men entered the luxurious room that Bobby had set aside for this very special game. A fat sheikh, who wore a headdress with his three-piece suit and sported a huge ruby ring on the index finger of his left hand. An African man, tall and handsome with luminous ebony skin, came in and took a seat at the table. One by one, the seats filled.

The men were quiet, contemplating the game perhaps.

When there was only one chair left, the curtain parted again and another man entered. Cara’s pulse kicked up. He was tall, lean and impeccably dressed in a bespoke tuxedo. His hair was dark—black or brown—and his eyes were the most piercing shade of silver she’d ever seen. His jaw was strong, handsome, his lips almost cruel in their sensuality. Everything about him screamed money.

And everything about his demeanor said he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

Cara shivered as a chill prickled down her spine. She’d never had quite this reaction to the sight of a man before. She’d moved with her ex to Las Vegas, but she hadn’t done so because her heart had fluttered when James had entered a room.

This man’s expression, so cold and distant, grew even chillier as he looked at her. She quickly glanced away, cursing herself for staring.

Great. He probably thought she was one of those women working in a casino in order to snag a rich husband. She’d had more than one man assume she was looking for a good time, but she’d quickly set the record straight whenever any of them assumed she was up for sale along with the poker chips.

A touch on her arm startled her, and she jumped, her heart slamming into her ribs. Bobby pulled her away from the table. Cara folded her arms over her breasts, hating the way Bobby looked down her shirt, and hating that he knew it bothered her by the way he grinned at her.

“Don’t get any ideas of being noble, Cara,” he said. “That bonus I promised you will go a long way toward helping your sweet mama, so make sure you remember it.” He leaned in close, ran a fat hand down her arm. “The man with the red tie is Brubaker. When it’s time, pass the play to him. He’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yes, boss,” she said, hoping her revulsion didn’t show.

Cara returned to the table and took out her deck of cards. After announcing the rules of the game, she shuffled. Then she passed the deck to the player on her right, who also shuffled. After a series of shuffles and cutting the deck, Cara dealt the cards.

The man with the silver eyes was directly across from her. He picked up his cards. There was no flash of emotion, no indication whether he was pleased or irritated, before he set them back down. During her time in Vegas, she’d seen her share of card sharks and amateurs. She’d always been able to tell what a player thought of his hand by the telltale little signs she’d observed at countless tables.

But this man was unreadable.

Until he looked up and caught her gaze. His eyes bored into hers, and her pulse skittered wildly. For the first time tonight, she was glad she wasn’t wearing a high collar. Because she’d have been sweating beneath this man’s gaze if she had been.

His mind did not appear to be on the cards lying in front of him. Slowly, his gaze slipped over her, lingering on her breasts, before sliding back up. His regard didn’t repulse her the way Bobby’s had. No, if anything, her skin tingled with awareness and heat.

Cara dropped her eyes to the green baize of the table. She had to concentrate on this game, had to be prepared to perform her task when the time came. She didn’t have the leisure to gape at gorgeous men.

Gorgeous, useless men …

Jack Wolfe thumbed the cards he held and waited for someone to call. He hadn’t spent time at a card table lately, but when he’d heard Bobby Gold was opening a casino right here in Nice, where Jack had been spending a great deal of time for his business lately, he’d been unable to resist.

He and Bobby didn’t know each other well, but they went back a long way—and not a moment of it was pleasant. Bobby never missed an opportunity to spew his rhetoric about lazy, inbred British aristocrats and their inability to manage their money. Jack knew it was a dig at his long-dead father, and though he couldn’t care less what manner of disparaging things anyone said about that sorry excuse for a human being, Jack couldn’t turn down the chance to beat Bobby at his own game.

Jack didn’t frequent casinos—the stock market was far more challenging—but tonight was a special case. He’d once gone head-to-head with Bobby in a game of chance. It hadn’t even been serious, just a random event set up by one of Jack’s friends who’d been telling Bobby that Jack was a whiz with cards. Bobby, as a new casino owner at the time, had been unable to resist. And when he’d repeatedly lost everything, he’d grown angry.

Yes, Bobby Gold was a mean brute of a man. Jack didn’t need the money, but he would certainly enjoy watching Gold’s fat face turn purple when he won the jackpot. He’d thought Gold might try to keep him out of the game, but the man merely nodded at him. It made Jack wonder what Gold had up his sleeve.

Cards weren’t a challenge at all, not any longer. It had been years since Jack had enjoyed a game, but he’d never lost the ability to read those around him. And he never would. Reading people was second nature to him. Growing up, he’d needed to be able to tell what someone—his father—was about to do based on the twitch of a muscle, the tick of an eyelid or the jerk of the lips. Then, it had been a survival skill. That it was also a skill which translated to the card table was something he’d found out much later.

These days he preferred the high stakes of stock trading, the rush when he made a killer deal and the satisfaction of doing it all again just a short while later. The sums were much greater, the thrill much more intense. And the need to read people, still very necessary, was relegated to determining the behavior of the pack.

Jack looked up at the croupier again and lifted an eyebrow when she glanced away nervously. The instant he’d walked behind the curtain and seen her standing there, in her little top and even littler skirt, he’d felt like the evening would be much more interesting than he’d originally anticipated.

He’d watched with interest when Gold had taken her away for a word. Her body language was defensive and her face closed off, though he’d thought he’d seen a flicker of unease in the way she’d swept her long hair off her shoulder. When Bobby leaned in and ran a hand down her arm, Jack had to stifle the urge to leap across the table and punch the man in the face.

As the hand finished and the sexy croupier called the first break in play, the men got up from the table and filtered to various corners of the luxuriously appointed room. Some whipped out cell phones while others chatted quietly.

Jack didn’t move. He stretched out his long legs beneath the table and took a sip of his drink. Mineral water with a twist of lime while he was playing. He didn’t drink alcohol when he needed his senses to be sharp.

The croupier straightened the chips with quick movements. Jack found himself mesmerized by the elegance of her long-fingered hands, the way she seemed to caress the chips before letting them go. He imagined those hands on his body and was instantly glad he’d decided to remain seated.

A waiter stopped at the table, round tray held in one hand, towel over his arm. “Would you like something from the bar, sir?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said. “How about you?” he directed to the croupier.

The girl looked up then, her green eyes wide. She truly was extraordinary, from the long dark hair flowing down her back to the high round breasts beneath her obscenely suggestive shirt to the longest damn legs he’d ever seen. What would those legs feel like wrapped around him later tonight?

“N-no, thanks,” she said, her voice throaty and musical—and surprisingly shy, he thought. She’d had no such problems when she was calling the play or rapping out the rules to disgruntled players. It intrigued him, fired his blood.

“I don’t bite,” he said lightly.

She glanced down again, then back up, her gaze fixing determinedly on him. A tiger, this one. “Whether you do or not isn’t the issue, monsieur. I’m not allowed to accept drinks from the guests while on duty.”

“Then perhaps when you are off duty.”

He didn’t think she was aware that she’d bit her full lower lip. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll be off duty then,” Jack pressed.

“I don’t know you,” she replied. “But I’m certain by your presence at this table that we don’t have anything in common—”

“How can you say that? I play cards, you deal cards. Much in common, I would think.”

Her lovely throat worked as she swallowed. There was frost in her voice. “That’s not what I was talking about and you know it. Unlike the money on this table, I’m not up for grabs.”

Jack laughed. She had spirit, this woman. He liked that. He held out his hand. “Jack Wolfe.”

He didn’t think she would accept, but she gave his hand a quick squeeze before snatching hers back. His palm tingled where they’d touched.

“Cara Taylor.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cara Taylor. Very nice.”

She didn’t answer him, but a red flush crept up the creamy skin of her neck. Before he could say anything else, the players filtered back to the table, taking their seats and tucking away phones and PDAs.

Once they were settled, Cara dealt a new hand. Jack loved the way her fingers moved, loved the way she seemed so in control and calm when overseeing the game. It contrasted with the tartness of her tongue and that shy vulnerability she’d displayed when he’d been flirting with her. She was an enigma, this woman, and one he intended to explore in great detail later tonight.

He had no doubt she would succumb to his charm. Women always did.

That was part of the beauty of being a Wolfe, even if he despised the name and the man who’d given it to him. Jack knew how to be charming when necessary, and how to be utterly cool at all times. Nothing fazed him.

The play moved quickly, the pot piling up in the center with each hand as the men at the table grew bold. The sleek African drummed his fingers on the table almost silently. It was a nervous habit, and one Jack translated to mean he had good cards but not good enough.

All the better, then.

At that moment, Count von Hofstein’s upper lip ticked up, oh so briefly, in the barest hint of a smile as he glanced down at his hand again. Jack felt a rush of contempt for the man. He was so easy to read, so arrogant and sure.

“Vun-hundret tousand euros,” the count pronounced, his accent thick with excitement.

The other men at the table folded, a collective groan rippling over them. The African hesitated a moment longer than the rest, but he, too, threw his cards down. Jack tossed in his chips. “I’ll see that and raise you another hundred.”

The count’s eyes narrowed, but he flung the chips into the center. “Call.”

A wave of adrenaline flooded his veins. Jack loved this moment, loved when he unfolded the cards and revealed the winning hand. It was a rush like no other, a torrent of feeling that buoyed him and took away the anger and pain of his past, however briefly.

There was no way he could lose. Unlike the count, he wasn’t swayed by arrogance. The count’s hand simply wasn’t good enough, which the man would have known if he’d been paying attention to the play.

Jack glanced at Cara, saw the knowing smile on her face and wondered how she’d figured it out. Perhaps there was a mathematical mind behind all that beauty, after all.

Jack laid the cards on the table. The count deflated. Cara’s eyes sparkled. “A straight flush,” she pronounced. “The gentleman wins.”

It had been over an hour since the game began. Cara kept the cards moving, kept the men at the table. The African decided he’d had enough and left, but the rest of the men didn’t seem eager to go anywhere. Brubaker, Bobby’s ringer, chewed on a cocktail straw, the corners of his mouth tipping into a slimy grin whenever she made eye contact.

The jackpot was climbing to enormous sums. Each hand made the men bolder, the wagers more ridiculous. Jack Wolfe tossed chips into the pot like they were a child’s marbles, the gesture careless and unconcerned. He had a nice pile of chips built up beside him, however. She hadn’t figured out his angle, but he was very good with the cards.

She’d known professional card sharks in Vegas, but could a man throwing around this much money truly be nothing more than a professional gambler? The thought sickened her, and yet she knew it was possible. He might be wagering for a boss, playing for the profit he would make when he won. It seemed like quite a risk for anyone to take in bankrolling this man, yet since he was good enough, she supposed the possibility of rewards outweighed the risk.

For a while, she’d thought he was counting cards. But he wasn’t. He was just that smart at figuring out which cards were left. He folded when his hand wasn’t good enough, though he’d also bluffed his way into the win a few times, as well. He seemed not to care, which translated to a high tolerance for risk, she supposed.

He caught her eye, winked. Liquid heat flowed through her even while she chided herself on reacting to him. She had an inner magnet that attracted her to men who were no good for her. When James had taken off with their rent money, and all the money she’d been saving for Mama, she’d sworn never again to get duped by a pretty face and a charming smile.

Jack Wolfe had both—as well as an extra dose of magnetism she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But he was the kind of man who drifted from casino to casino, playing cards, living off his winnings, sleeping with the sort of women who frequented casinos looking for rich men.

Someone cleared his throat, and she realized the hand had ended.

“Gentlemen, let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” she said, her skin feeling warm with embarrassment at getting caught daydreaming.

She moved away from the table, intending to slip into the back for a while and breathe without Jack Wolfe affecting her senses.

“Want company?”

Cara drew up short as he stepped into view. Mercy, he was a handsome man. Tall, dark, with the kind of brooding good looks that could grace a feature film. In fact, he reminded her of someone. An actor she couldn’t quite think of at the moment. She hadn’t watched a movie in so long that it was no wonder she couldn’t come up with a name. That’s what working twelve hours a day did for you.

“Guests aren’t allowed in the staff areas,” she told him.

“Then don’t go into the staff area,” he replied, the corners of that sardonic mouth turning up in a heart-pounding grin.

What would his mouth feel like on hers? Would those lips be as hard and demanding as she thought? Or would they be gentle, thorough and absolutely addictive?

Her vote went for absolutely addictive no matter what. Not only that, but she could listen to him talk for hours. There was something about a British accent that turned her into a puddle. It sounded so enchanting, as if every British person lived a life of glamour and knew exactly what to do in every social situation. Beside him, she felt small, insignificant. Unpolished.

Cara pushed a strand of hair over her shoulder, willing away the heat, the achiness, this man inspired. “You shouldn’t be talking with me, Mr. Wolfe. I have a job to do, and you’re a guest.”

“But I like talking to you, Cara.”

“Only because you think you can score,” she said, trying to infuse her tone with acid. It didn’t quite work because his smile didn’t waver.

“Ah, so now we come to the truth.” He set his drink aside, shaking his head at the waiter who hovered. The waiter disappeared. “Call me Jack.”

“I’d rather not.” Oh, but she would. Repeatedly. She imagined saying his name while they were entwined. The room would be dark, the atmosphere sizzling. She closed her eyes as a bead of sweat dripped between her breasts. Why was she thinking these things? She never did this, never wanted a man she’d only just met. Never wanted to sink into a hot, dark bed with him.

“I think you would,” he said, his voice a deep, sensual purr. “You feel this thing between us, too. You want to know more.”

Cara swallowed. “You’re mistaken, Jack. I want to finish this game, and I want to go home and get out of this outfit.” Her words trailed off as the look on his face grew more intense.

“And I want to get you out of that delightful outfit.”

Her heart was pounding, thrumming, making her dizzy. “At least you’re honest.”

“But you aren’t.” His smile mocked her.

“I admit I find you attractive,” she defended, heat enveloping her. Whether it was the heat of embarrassment or the sexual heat of being near this man, she wasn’t quite sure. “But I don’t know you, and I’m not in the habit of going home with men I don’t know.”

That was the honest truth, though she was beginning to wonder if she didn’t need to let her hair down a little bit. She’d been so uptight since coming to Nice. And now, with the task she faced before this night was through, tension roiled inside her. Maybe a night with Jack Wolfe could relieve the tightness beneath her skin.

So long as he didn’t figure out that she was the one responsible for him losing.

“Then perhaps we should get to know each other,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she replied, surprising herself in the process. Was she really considering this? Or was she letting the flattery of a man like him flirting with her go to her head? Or maybe she didn’t know what to say, so she said the first thing that popped into her mind.

No matter what, however, she wasn’t leaving with Jack Wolfe. Because as soon as this game was over, she was taking her money and going home to New Orleans. Her conscience pricked her, but what choice did she have?

For Mama, Evie and Remy, she told herself. I’m doing it for them.

He took a step toward her, his big body radiating heat and sexuality. She wanted to melt against him, wanted to let the big strong man rescue her. Except that’s not what Cara Taylor did. She took care of herself, and she didn’t need rescuing. Not ever.

“I look forward to it,” he replied smoothly, his silver eyes darkening as his gaze slipped down her body. It was a blatantly sexual look—and she loved it.

What she didn’t know was why. “It’s time to return to the table,” she said quickly, sidestepping him before he could touch her. Because if he touched her, she was afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to do what she needed.

She caught Bobby’s gaze as she made her way back to the table. His brows were drawn down, his face twisted into a cruel sneer. Her heart thumped for a different reason now. If she didn’t do Bobby Gold’s bidding, there was no telling what he’d do to her. Money would be the least of her worries.

CHAPTER TWO

IF NOT for Cara, Jack would have gotten bored a long time ago. The cards were too easy, too inconsequential. If he lost, he’d make it back on the stock market. But he wouldn’t lose. He never lost. People thought he had the good luck gene in spades, but the truth was he’d learned to rely on his skill with probability and numbers because he had to. Once his father had died, once his brother Jacob had abandoned them—and then Lucas shortly after—the responsibility to take care of his younger brothers and sister had fallen to Jack.

He’d needed to use every resource he had in order to make money, but it wasn’t enough. He could take care of his family’s finances, but he couldn’t heal the open wounds that refused to close. They’d all, every one of them, suffered at the hands of William Wolfe. He’d tried to fix it, but nothing would ever make it right. Annabelle, sweet Annabelle, would carry the scars of what William had done to her for the rest of her life.

Jack shook off the memories of his sister’s scarred face and focused hard on the game. This was no time to get lost in thoughts of the past. Fifteen million euros in casino chips were piled in the middle of the table. The sheikh was sweating profusely and Count von Hofstein’s brows had drawn into a permanent frown.

Even Cara looked pensive. She was biting her lip again, that luscious lip he longed to suck between his own. Her fingers, so certain and sure as she did her job, were trembling. One of the men at the table, an insignificant man with a red tie he’d recently loosened, seemed to glare at her as if he were trying to impart a telepathic message.

She looked up then, directly at Jack, and his gut clenched. She seemed … uncertain. Her expressive eyes were wide and her creamy skin appeared to have lost a shade of color, making her appear pale and fragile.

“Sir?” she said.

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. And that it was his turn.

“Call,” he replied, tossing his chips into the pile. Because he was tired of sitting here, because he wanted to get out of the dark, cloying atmosphere of this room and back into the fresh air. Because he wanted to talk Cara Taylor into getting into his car and going for a drive along the coast. He still had a few days before he had to be in London for Nathaniel’s wedding. Spending it in bed with a vibrant woman like Cara seemed a perfect plan.

The man in the red tie, the only player who hadn’t folded this round, laid his cards on the table with a smirk. “A full house, Mr. Wolfe,” he said. “Queens and kings.”

Jack only sighed. “That’s excellent.” And then he flipped his cards over one by one. Ten. Ten. Ten.

The man’s brow glistened.

Jack flipped over the two of hearts and the man sucked in his breath triumphantly, his fingers reaching automatically for the pile.

“Not quite,” Jack said as he turned over the last card. The man’s jaw dropped.

Count von Hofstein groaned. “Mein lieber Gott.”

Cara Taylor looked at the last card and smiled. But the corners of her mouth wavered as she did so. “Four of a kind. The gentleman wins.”

Jack stood. He didn’t feel satisfaction or triumph. He simply felt done.

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I’m going to cash out.”

Cara’s fingers definitely trembled as she gathered the cards. Red Tie glared at her furiously before turning to look over his shoulder. A prickle of awareness tingled through Jack. This wasn’t good, and yet it was too late to change the outcome. Dammit, he’d known Bobby Gold was up to something.

As if in confirmation of the fact, Bobby stepped from behind a door at the other end of the room. He stopped to talk with one of the bouncers. A few seconds later, the man made his way toward the table. The other players were getting up to stretch their legs, but Jack didn’t miss the look on Cara’s face when the man stopped beside her and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

Beefy fingers spanned Cara’s upper arm as she turned and walked toward the back of the room with him. Another croupier stepped from the wings—a blonde with fake breasts and a spray tan—and took out a fresh deck.

“Gentlemen,” she cooed. “Surely you aren’t finished yet. Mr. Gold would like to spot each of you fifty thousand euros as his gift to remain in the game.”

Jack’s intuition kicked him in the gut as Cara disappeared behind the door Bobby had just exited. He knew what fear looked like, knew the kind of terror an abusive man inspired. He’d witnessed it often enough growing up. Cara Taylor was scared about something.

And he couldn’t leave without finding out what it was. He’d been unable to protect his siblings from William Wolfe’s wrath, but he’d be damned if he’d let Cara get hurt tonight.

Cara’s cheek stung where Bobby had backhanded her. Blood trickled down her lip from where his ring sliced her. She sat on a small chair in a windowless room and cursed herself for her inability to do what he’d wanted.

But as she’d stood there, looking at the pile of chips in the center of the table, she’d known she couldn’t cheat. Mama would be ashamed of her. She would be ashamed of herself. The only thing she had was her integrity. To allow someone else to take that away?

Unthinkable.

And yet she now wished she’d done just that. Because Bobby was furious. He’d hit her and screamed at her and locked her up in here. She didn’t know what came next, but she was certain it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

She dropped her head into her hands and sat there, waiting. Bobby was ruthless, but she didn’t think her life was in danger. And once he got over his anger, he might let her return to the tables. She was very good at what she did, and Bobby knew it. But she wasn’t willing to compromise her integrity. She simply couldn’t. If they knew where they each stood on the issue, then she could keep working and Bobby would never put her in a position like this again.

Dream on, Cara.

It was impossible and she knew it, but she couldn’t help holding out a small hope everything would work out. If not, then she’d head home and start again. Starting over was nothing new for her. She’d find a way to make it work.

The door opened and her head snapped up. She expected Bobby—and she was ready to try and make him see reason—but the man who entered made her stomach drop to her toes. She shot to her feet, her heart thudding.

“What are you doing here? Get out before Bobby finds you!”

She felt Jack’s gaze on her skin like a hot brand. His jaw hardened as he took in the welt on her cheek, the blood on her lip.

“I’m not afraid of Bobby Gold. Is he the one who hit you?”

Damn the man! He was going to ruin everything. All she needed was for Bobby to find her with a professional card shark—then he’d never believe she’d simply been doing her job honestly.

“I don’t care if you’re afraid of him or not! I can handle myself, and I want you gone before he finds you here!”

“Did he hit you?” Jack demanded.

Angry heat flowed through her. He simply didn’t get it. “That’s none of your business. Now go away.”

“I can’t do that, Cara,” he said, his expression darker and more ruthless than any she’d ever seen on Bobby’s face. It made her shiver and she took a step back instinctively.

“Just go, Jack. I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

“I hardly think so—”

The door opened again, and Cara’s heart sank. Two of Bobby’s hired goons hulked into the room, followed by the man himself. If Bobby was surprised to find Jack Wolfe, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed pleased.

“Well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t Jack Wolfe. You must like our little Cara, hmm?” He reached out and ran a finger down her bare arm. Cara flinched. “She is quite lovely. I can understand why you’d be tempted.”

“You’re nothing but scum, Bobby,” Jack said. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be anything more.”

Bobby’s expression grew positively evil. “I’m sad to say you won’t be leaving here with my fifteen million in hand,” he said. “It’s really too bad you had to cheat. Met the lovely Cara and bribed her to cooperate, did you? “

“Bobby, that’s not true!” Cara exclaimed. “I never saw him before tonight—”

Bobby’s hand shot out and twisted in her hair. “Shut up,” he growled before he slapped her again. The blow stung, but he hadn’t cut her this time.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Bobby shoved her down on the chair. Her hair covered her face and she dragged it back. But not before she heard a scuffle and a punch.

When she could see again, the two bodyguards were holding Jack between them as he jerked hard against them. Blood dripped from one of the guard’s noses and Jack’s knuckles were scraped.

“You will regret this, Gold,” he growled.

“No,” Bobby said, his voice full of menace, “you will.”

Jack sucked in a torturous breath. His rib cage felt like an elephant had sat on it. He wanted to open his eyes, but it hurt to do so. Where was he? He didn’t remember anything beyond the moment when Bobby’s thugs had started to beat him. He’d fought back, but two against one were never good odds.

He was in a vehicle now, moving. He had to open his eyes, in spite of the pain, and see if he could figure out where they were going.

It was dark, but he could see the road in front of them and a flash of silver hood in the streetlights. He was sitting in the passenger seat, and the dashboard looked vaguely familiar. The throaty purr of the engine was familiar, as well.

He turned his head on the seat back. Cara Taylor’s profile was the first thing he saw. She looked determined. His gaze followed her arms until he realized her hands were on a steering wheel. She was driving. They were driving. Somewhere.

“How.?” he asked.

Her head whipped sideways, back to the road again. “I told you to leave when you had the chance,” she said from between clenched teeth. “I could have fixed it. None of this would have happened.”

His laugh was rusty. God, he felt like he’d gotten into a fight with a freight train. “You weren’t fixing anything, sweetheart. You cost Gold a lot of money.”

It hadn’t taken him more than a few moments to realize why she’d been pulled from the game, or why Red Tie had been glaring at her. He was Bobby’s ringer, and she had been supposed to make sure he won the pot. That he hadn’t figured the truth out sooner, he blamed solely on himself. Perhaps he was as arrogant as the count in his own way. He’d let himself be distracted by lascivious thoughts of Cara. Yes, he’d concentrated on the cards and the reactions of the players, but hadn’t let his mind cast wider. If he had, he’d have understood the tension between her and Red Tie sooner.

She glanced at him again. “What makes you think that?”

“Because I know Bobby Gold.”

“I figured that,” she spat. “You could hardly do what you do without winding up in his casinos from time to time.”

Jack shifted, stifling a groan at the sharp pain in his side. “And what is it you think I do?”

She snorted. “You’re a gambler, Jack.”

He would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so damn much. “How did you get us out of there?”

“Once they knocked you unconscious, Bobby left, but he promised they’d be coming back to finish the job, which I didn’t think sounded like an option I wanted to stick around for.”

“We’re in my car,” he said. He recognized the smell, the growl of the engine, the feel of the leather hugging his body.

“I got it from the valet. One of the waiters helped me get you out and put you in the car. I said you were drunk and that I had to drive you home.”

He had to hand it to her for thinking of it. Because if they’d stayed in that room, he wasn’t too sure that Bobby wouldn’t have done a bit more permanent damage.

“And where are we going now?”

“I need to get you to a hospital. But first I thought it best we get out of Nice. Bobby knows people.”

“I know people, too.” Hell, he had his own security firm. One call to them, and Bobby Gold would be singing soprano for the next month.

“As soon as we get to the next town, we’ll find a doctor.”

Jack winced again. “I don’t need a doctor. My ribs are bruised, not broken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me. I’ve seen enough injuries to know what is what.” Thanks to his father. He’d rarely received the brunt of William’s anger, because he could sense when his father was about to explode like a powder keg, but he’d seen the results of his siblings’ beatings enough to know which injuries required a visit to the hospital.

“Fine, you don’t have broken ribs. But you could have a concussion.”

“Doubt it. But if I do, the cure for that is painkillers and rest.”

Cara let out a long-suffering sigh. “Is there anything you don’t know, Jack Wolfe?”

“I’m sure there are one or two things.”

She didn’t laugh. “If you’d just stayed out of it! I could have talked Bobby into forgiving me, could have kept my job and made everything right again.”

“You are incredibly naive, Cara. You cost the man fifteen million euros. Do you really believe he would forget that? “

Her fingers tightened on the wheel. “Once I explained—”

“Explained what? That you aren’t a cheat?”

“Yes,” she said tightly. “Because I’m not. It’s no good now, though, because he believes I planned this with you. Especially since I’ve helped you get away.”

“Why were you working for a man like Gold, anyway?”

She snorted. “Are you telling me that I should have been a card shark instead?”

“Not at all. But you have a talent for numbers, Cara. Surely there are other things you could do.”

“Like what?”

“You could find a job in finance—”

“I don’t have a college degree. Besides, who are you to talk? Why did you decide to become a gambler? “

He figured he should disabuse her of the notion—but it was far too much fun to let her think he was a professional gambler. He was accustomed to women fawning over him for his money, his family name and his face. To have one angry with him because she believed he was an unscrupulous gambler? It was novel.

“Because I like taking chances.” It was true enough. He got a rush out of playing stocks. Sometimes he didn’t sleep for days as he moved between the international markets. Making money was easy. It made sense, unlike everything else in his life. He could control money. He couldn’t control the things that had happened to him, or the emotional scars his family bore.

“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I liked dealing cards. There’s no risk in it for me.”

“Apparently, there is.”

Her jaw tightened. “Tonight was a first.”

“It would not have been the last, should you have complied.”

She glanced at the gauges. “We’re going to need gas soon and I don’t have any money.”

So she didn’t want to admit she’d been in over her head. Fine. “I’ll take care of it.”

She was silent for a few moments. “Were you playing for someone tonight?”

“No.”

“Then you lost a lot of money by coming to look for me. You must regret that impulse.”

“It’s only money.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “Of course. Because there’s no one depending on you for the food on their table or the roof over their head, I suppose.”

His employees would no doubt disagree with that statement. “No, because people are more important than money. You were in trouble.”

“I really didn’t need rescuing, Jack. You gave up fifteen million for nothing.”

“If you weren’t in trouble, why are we speeding out of town? “

Before she could acknowledge the truth of that statement, they hit a bump and Jack groaned. Dear God, it felt like there was an alien trying to burst out of his abdomen.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” she said worriedly.

Jack swallowed the pain. “No. Because Gold probably is looking for us, and it would take too long for my men to arrive. Keep driving.”

Bobby Gold had the fifteen mil, but he was the kind of man who couldn’t stand to be made a fool of. He’d want Cara Taylor back so he could make her pay for her disobedience. Getting as far from Nice as possible wasn’t a bad idea.

Since there were no flights this late, and his private plane was in a hangar in London, they had no choice but to drive. Even if he called his pilot, it would be several hours yet before the plane would arrive.

He’d originally planned a leisurely drive across France on his way to Nathaniel’s wedding, anyway. He could have flown, but he knew he needed the time to think. This would be the first time in nearly twenty years that all the Wolfes would be gathered under the same roof—and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He especially wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Jacob again.

Jacob, who’d betrayed them all when he’d left them without any explanation. Jack had looked up to Jacob, admired him—until the night Jacob had abandoned them.

“You’re in no shape to spend the night in a car,” Cara said. “A hospital—”

“Just do it,” Jack ordered.

He expected an argument, but she flexed her hands on the steering wheel and didn’t say anything for several seconds.

“Fine. Where do you want to go?”

Not where he wanted to go. Where he had to go. “England.”

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS nearly two in the morning when they reached the outskirts of Lyon. Cara found a hotel off the expressway and pulled the car into a parking slot. It had taken her a few minutes back in Nice to figure out how to drive Jack’s sports car, but once she had, the silver beast was a dream. She knew without asking that it was the most expensive car she’d ever been in, much less driven.

Jack dozed in the passenger seat and she took a moment to study him. Bobby’s thugs had beaten him up pretty badly, though they’d hardly touched his face. If he hadn’t groaned from time to time, she’d have thought he felt perfectly fine. As it was, she had no idea how badly he was hurt. He said he was only bruised, but she wasn’t certain. And it was that uncertainty that had kept her behind the wheel for the past four hours. The farther they got from Bobby, the better.

And then she could talk Jack into going to a hospital.

The skin under his left eye was purpling, but even bruised, he was still devastatingly handsome.

Her pulse kicked up, and she chided herself for reacting to him. Jack Wolfe might be pretty to look at, but he was arrogant and irresponsible—and she had no time for men like that in her life, no matter how his flirtation earlier had made her want to melt in his arms.

She was here because it had seemed the best course to keep driving—especially since he’d been in no shape to do so—but now that they’d arrived in Lyon, she was determined to part ways with the enigmatic Jack Wolfe. Once she got him to a doctor, of course.

The thought of leaving discomfited her, but she shoved it down deep. Why on earth should she care if she ever saw this man again?

“Jack,” she said softly.

Surprisingly, he came instantly awake. “Where are we?”

“Lyon. I’m too tired to keep driving. I thought we could get a couple of rooms for the night. If you can loan me the money, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

It was disconcerting to be here without her purse or passport, but those things had been left behind in the casino when they’d fled. She simply hadn’t had time to retrieve them.

“One room,” he said.

“I said I’d pay you back.”

“It’s safer. If Bobby really is looking for us, it’s better to be together.”

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t argue with that logic. But when she went inside to make the arrangements, she asked for a twin-bedded room. The clerk gave her a key and she returned to fetch Jack. He was taller than she was, and far heavier, but somehow they managed to make it to the room with him leaning against her for support.

The contact sizzled into her. She was conscious of his raw heat, conscious of every single inch of his body where it touched hers. He made her heart pound with his nearness.

“Sorry,” he said, his mouth against her hair as he leaned into her while she fitted the key to the door. “You smell delicious,” he added.

“Thanks, but compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about, I assure you. As much as I might like to have sex with you tonight, I believe the contact would kill me.”

The word sex, said with that wonderful accent of his, caressed across her senses and lit a flame inside her belly.

Cara swung the door open. There was only one bed. She hesitated. She could go back down to the clerk and tell him he’d made a mistake, but then she’d have to leave Jack here before returning and helping him to another room. But she couldn’t do that to him, not when he was like this.

With a sigh, she guided him over to the bed and sat him down on it. It wasn’t a very big bed. She would simply have to sleep on the floor.

“A hot bath would probably do you good,” she said, frowning at him as he winced.

One corner of his mouth crooked in a grin. “Do you plan to help me wash, then?”

The heat of a blush rippled over her skin. Oh, yes. “No.”

“Too bad.”

“I’ll run the bath for you.”

His expression was a mixture of devilishness and gravity. “I’m not going to be able to get into it without help.”

Cara’s insides went hot and liquid all at once. She hadn’t thought of that, but of course he was right. She wanted to refuse, and yet she couldn’t. If it would help him to feel better at all, she had to get him into the tub.

“Fine.”

He’d already loosened his bow tie earlier and undid the first few studs of his shirt. Cara resolutely slipped the jacket from his shoulders, her heart thudding at his nearness and heat. She had to stand so close to him, her thighs touching his as she stood between his legs. She was conscious of the deep V of her blouse, conscious of his eyes on the slope of her breast. Her skin tingled, her insides tightening.

“You really do smell wonderful,” he said.

“It’s just soap.” She felt self-conscious standing so close to him, felt as if her skin was too tight, as if she would splinter apart if she let this be anything more than a routine task she had to perform.

“Wonderful soap.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Jack Wolfe,” she said as she undid his studs. “But I’ve heard it all, believe me.”

She pulled his shirttails from his trousers. Slipping the shirt off, she tried not to react to the sight of his bare shoulders. They were muscled, not too much, but lean and hard and strong. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had the body of an athlete, but it was a bit disconcerting to find that what was underneath the clothes was every bit as enticing as the man in the tuxedo had been.

Focus, Cara.

Pulling the undershirt from his waistband, she lifted it very carefully over his head. Cara had to bite her lip at the broad expanse of bare, toned chest. He was tanned, with the kind of defined pecs and abs that made her giddy—but there was some light bruising over his rib cage where Bobby’s thugs had hit him. It would darken over the next few days.

“If I felt better, I might take the way you’re looking at me as an invitation.”

Cara’s gaze snapped up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking at your bruises,” she said, though she imagined the blush blooming across her cheeks gave away the lie.

He looked down. “It could be worse.”

Her chest felt tight. He’d gotten those bruises because of her. Because he’d gone after Bobby when Bobby had hit her. Even if it had been unnecessary, even if she hadn’t needed his help, she had to acknowledge that he’d gotten hurt because he’d tried to help. It made her angry and sad at the same time.

“I don’t see how it could be worse.”

“Trust me, it could.”

“Are you accustomed to getting beaten up, then?” She was trying to inject a bit of humor into the conversation, but his expression said that she’d failed miserably. His jaw looked as if it had been carved out of granite. His eyes were flat, bleak. She sensed she’d stumbled into quicksand. “Don’t answer that—”

He lifted a hand, traced his fingers over her bottom lip. Her heart raced like the powerful engine in his car, but she didn’t move to stop him.

She couldn’t. His touch felt too good, too raw and honest.

“Are you afraid for me, Cara? Afraid of what I might tell you?”

“I—” She didn’t know what to say. Her heart was a painful knot in her chest. She sensed they’d crossed some sort of demarcation line, that there would be no going back now. Ever. “I should run the bath,” she blurted.

Because standing here while this man touched her wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. He evoked sensations she’d never experienced, sensations she wanted desperately to explore. But he was all wrong for her. This was wrong.

He was a gambler, a card shark—he wasn’t the sort of man a girl could rely on. And she didn’t need a man in her life, anyway. It never turned out well. She needed to go, needed to run the bath—and she needed to get away from him as soon as possible, before her silly heart decided she liked his touch, his attention. Before she decided she wanted more.

“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.

“Why are you still here?” Jack asked.

The question startled her. “Because you’re too stubborn to go to a doctor.”

“If I did, would you leave?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Yes,” she said, though the word wanted to stick in her throat.

“A good reason not to go, then.”

“Jack—”

“But where would you go?” he interrupted. “Where is home?”

He lay on the bed and she pulled the covers up. “New Orleans,” she told him.

“A grand city.”

“You’ve been to the casino there, no doubt,” she said a bit crisply.

“I have. But why aren’t you working there? It’s far safer than working for a man like Bobby Gold.”

Cara shrugged. She didn’t want him to know the truth. That she felt like she’d never make anything of herself if she stayed in Louisiana, that she wanted adventure and romance, and that she wanted to travel to far-flung places. It sounded childish when she said it. And yet those were the longings of her heart. She wanted to escape. She’d always wanted to escape.

Guilt stabbed into her. She had no right to feel that way.

“I thought there was more money to be made in Vegas.” She picked up a pillow and clutched it to her chest. “Why don’t you go to sleep now? It’ll do you good.”

He tipped his head at the pillow. “Planning to suffocate me in my sleep? “

“It’s a thought,” she said. “But no. I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

He caught her wrist in a broad hand before she could turn away. “There’s no need for that, Cara. It’ll be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This bed is big enough for two.”

She wasn’t sure this room was big enough for two when he was the other person sharing it with her. He encroached on her space simply by breathing. Made her jumpy and achy all at once.

“I’d hate to bump into your ribs in the night,” she said. The words were hardly more than a whisper.

“I appreciate your concern. But I don’t think that’s the reason.”

“Of course it is,” she said.

“Get in the bed, Cara. You can put the pillow between us if it makes you feel better. To protect my ribs,” he added.

Was that sarcasm she heard in his voice?

But she was tempted. Because the floor would be hard, and because she was so tired and achy already that she just wanted to sleep in a soft bed.

Tomorrow, everything would look better, especially if she slept well. Her head would be clear and she could think of what to do next. Of how to get home when her passport and all her money was back in Nice.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you touch me anywhere inappropriate, I’ll black your other eye.”

Jack only laughed.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack slept fitfully. The injuries woke him from time to time, but it was the proximity of the warm woman next to him and the dreams he sunk into whenever he fell asleep that kept bringing him back to the surface. He wanted to reach for her, pull her into the curve of his body and just hold her. Because he wanted to be close to someone.

The dreams hadn’t bothered him in years, but tonight they were back in force. His father was a chameleon, making them all laugh and building a fabulous tree house for them one moment, only to explode the next. The screaming and rage rained down on him, on his brothers and sister, like fire from above. The tree house was destroyed as the sobs of his younger siblings rent the air.

But Jack had never cried when his father raged.

Unlike the others, he’d always known when William was on the verge of cracking and he’d mostly avoided his father’s wrath. But he’d ached for his siblings, for the ones who seemed to draw William’s attention most of all. Tonight, it seemed as if he was destined to relive those memories every time he closed his eyes.

And he figured he knew why. Nathaniel’s wedding … the trip home. In a couple of days, he would probably come face-to-face with Jacob again. Jacob, who he’d looked up to and admired. Who he’d wanted to be exactly like when he was growing up.

Until Jacob had betrayed them. Until he’d left and they’d had to learn how to live without him there to guide them. He’d loved Jacob, but Jacob hadn’t loved him—them—enough to stay.

Though it hurt like hell, he pushed himself up and swung his legs from the bed. If one of Bobby’s men hadn’t delivered a blow that had knocked him unconscious, he’d hate to think of the sort of shape he’d be in now. Because they would have kept punching until they did more damage than just a few bruised ribs.

“What are you doing?” Cara cried, scrambling up beside him.

“Looking for something to drink.”

“I’ll get it. You stay there.”

He hated being dependent, hated that she’d had to help him undress when it wasn’t for pleasure. But he let her get up and go to the minifridge. When she bent down and opened it up, the interior light shone on her bare legs, on the curves of her bottom beneath the towel she still wore. His body reacted, in spite of the aches and pains.

“There’s water, juice, soda—”

“Water’s fine.”

She twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to him. He took it and drank, his eyes skimming her lush body in the meager light peeking between the closed curtains.

“How do you feel now?” she asked.

“Like I’ve been run over by a train.”

“I need to leave,” she blurted. “My passport and money are still in Nice, and I can’t go home without them.”

Something inside him twisted at the thought of her leaving. “It’s too dangerous, Cara. You need to stay away from Gold.”

Her golden-green eyes sparked with temper. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I can’t leave Europe without my passport. What am I supposed to do, hide from Bobby forever? If I take some friends with me, he won’t bother me.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh, though it hurt to do so. “Stay away from Nice, and stay away from Bobby.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Did she realize, he wondered, that the towel inched up and revealed a hint of what lay beneath? His body turned to stone. He didn’t even care that it hurt.

“I’m not your property, Jack. You can’t tell me what to do.”

God but she exasperated him. Was she that obtuse or did she just delight in contradicting him? “I’m trying to protect you.”

If anything, that statement only made her angrier. “Protect me? My God, if you hadn’t come barreling in like the Lone Ranger, it’d all be over with and I’d be on my way home again. I don’t need your help, Jack. In fact, I’d be better off without it!”

Anger flashed through him. He’d taken a bloody beating for her, and she still insisted she’d have been fine. “Right. Because when Bobby’s boys needed a punching bag, they’d have just had to do without because you’re a woman.”

“God!” She shoved both hands through her hair, whipping it off her shoulders and then letting it fall again, a silken waterfall down her back. “They hit you because you hit them. I’ve never seen Bobby abuse any of the girls. He was angry with me and he slapped me. But that’s the extent of it. Or would have been if you hadn’t shown up.”

Jack reached for the watch he’d left on the bedside table—9:00 a.m. He was done arguing with her because it was pointless. She was determined to do her own thing—and maybe she was right.

Maybe Bobby’s anger would have faded a bit since he’d gotten the jackpot after all.

Some people were determined to keep flying into the fire, even when they knew they would get singed. Jack knew better, had always known better. And he had little patience with those who did not.

“Fine, then. You go back to Nice. I’m going to London.”

She didn’t think he would be able to do it, but Jack managed to dress on his own. Then he made a call on his mobile. She heard him ask for a Dr. Drake, so at least he was finally planning to get checked out. The knowledge relieved her, made her not worry quite so much about what he would do when she was gone.

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