Heartless Rebel by Lynn Raye Harris

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.
                 Twenty
minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He opened it and took a package
from a young man wearing jeans and a faded rock band T-shirt.
                 Cara
ran the towel over her freshly washed hair as she watched him open the package
and take out a couple of bottles. She’d put her clothes back on, though they
were still slightly damp. It was uncomfortable, but that couldn’t be helped.
She had to leave, and she had nothing else to wear.
                 Except
she had no cash to go anywhere. How would she get back to Nice when she had no
money, no credit cards and no ATM card? She had to ask