The Heartless Rebel. Lynn Raye Harris

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.