The Heartless Rebel. Lynn Harris Raye

      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