The Heartless Rebel. Lynn Harris Raye
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“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