THEY spent another full day in Paris before setting out for London on a private plane only a few hours before the wedding. Cara had never flown in such luxury before. The plane was furnished in blue and cream, its plush chairs overstuffed and comfortable. There was plenty of legroom, a table in front of her that didn’t require anyone to fold down a tray and a sleek chrome bar where a uniformed attendant was stacking drinks in a refrigerator.
She’d hoped to take the train so she could experience the Chunnel, but Jack had informed her that her lack of a passport would be a problem. They were flying because, presumably, Jack knew people. At least she hoped he did, because she’d hate to be sent back to France when he’d gone to so much trouble.
“How does one go about renting a private plane?” she asked. The engines spooled up as they began to taxi down the runway.
“I own it,” he said.
Cara could only stare at him. He owned a plane? A plane? She glanced around the interior. It seemed even more lush and rich than it had only moments ago. My God.
Jack picked up a copy of a British newspaper and flipped it open. Cara turned to look out the window while the plane gathered speed, shooting down the runway before lifting into the air in a stomach-dropping ascent. She glanced at Jack, but he didn’t seem in the least perturbed. She hadn’t flown often, and the experience was still both exhilarating and frightening every time.
As the plane climbed, she watched the countryside below. It was so beautiful, and vastly different than her home in Louisiana. Here, there were vineyards, cows, verdant fields and stone villages in abundance. At home, there would be swamps, a lot of flat wetlands, sand and pine trees.
A flight attendant came over and asked if she would like a drink. When the woman returned with a glass of iced water, Cara thanked her, hoping she didn’t look as unsophisticated as she felt.
Real glass on an airplane instead of plastic. A man who owned an airplane. Wealth and luxury like she’d never imagined she would ever personally experience. She’d seen plenty of luxury in the casinos, but she’d never expected to be on the other end of the luxury. Enjoying it as if she were entitled to it.
She felt like a fraud.
“Want the paper?” Jack asked.
Cara jerked her attention toward him. He’d finished the paper. The sections lay neatly folded on the table between them. She shook her head. “No, thanks.” A moment later, she asked, “Do you think you might tell me a little bit about who will be at this wedding?”
“Scared, Cara?” The skin under his eye was black and blue, but he was still so handsome in his dark Italian suit. She ran a hand over the turquoise jersey dress she’d chosen for the wedding, marveling at the weight and texture of the fabric. At least she wouldn’t look as if she didn’t belong.
When she’d emerged in the dress this morning, Jack’s eyes had gleamed hotly as his gaze slid over her body. She loved the way he looked at her, and yet it frightened her, too. Because she was coming to expect that little electric jolt, to need it, and she knew it wouldn’t last. What happened when they were through with this wedding?
She would have to go, would have to break away from this pull between them, if she hoped to survive with her heart intact.
“A little bit,” she admitted. “But I think I’ll feel more awkward than anything.”
Jack’s expression said he didn’t understand why she should. “There’s not much to tell. Nathaniel is marrying a woman he met while doing his last play, I believe.”
“Is he an actor? Or maybe a playwright?”
Jack’s brows drew together as he studied her. “You’ve never heard of Nathaniel Wolfe? You are quite sheltered, aren’t you?”
Cara suddenly couldn’t breathe. Nathaniel Wolfe? Jack’s brother was the award-winning actor? She was going to his wedding?
The panic she’d been holding in unwound in her belly. Oh, God, they’d see right through her! There’d be paparazzi, gossip columnists, movie people—and they’d all know she didn’t belong. She couldn’t possibly go to a celebrity wedding.
Cara gave herself a firm mental shake before she did something asinine like hyperventilate. Why on earth would any of those people care about her? They wouldn’t. It was she who cared, she who was afraid. No one would even notice her.
Jack watched her, one eyebrow arched. As if he were waiting for her to implode. She refused to give him the satisfaction. She could handle this, she really could.
“I know who he is. I just didn’t realize he was your brother,” she said coolly. And now that she knew, she could see the family resemblance. Jack was older, she thought, but just as devastatingly handsome. More so, in her opinion. She didn’t follow celebrity news at all, but she knew there’d been some sort of scandal about Nathaniel Wolfe, something to do with his father’s death at the hands of a brother and sordid details about his mother trying to drown him when he was a baby.
Cara shivered. My God, Jack had grown up in that family?
“Nathaniel is my half brother,” Jack said. “We had different mothers. Sebastian, another half brother, will likely be there, as well. Alex won’t be there, but his twin—Annabelle—will. The three of us have the same mother.”
“So you have four siblings.” She couldn’t remember how many Wolfes there were from the news reports. They’d never featured Jack, or surely she would have remembered that.
She realized he was in no hurry to respond. He flicked a spot on his trousers, studying it as if he’d found a blemish. When he looked up again, his eyes were startlingly blank.
“There are eight of us. Rafael is also my half brother, as are the two oldest, Jacob and Lucas.”
“Wow, eight of you, then.” Jacob. That was the brother who’d accidentally killed their father. As soon as he’d said the name, she’d remembered reading it. Her heart squeezed for the man sitting across from her. He was so stoic, so controlled. She wanted to hug him, but knew he wouldn’t welcome the contact.
He gave a curt nod. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Clear he’d already said more than he wanted to say. And she had no wish to keep probing his wounds. Oh, Jack…
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“That about sums it up,” he said dispassionately, as if they were talking about the weather or game scores. “Except for Annabelle. Her face is scarred, though she hides it quite well. You probably won’t even notice, but in case you do…”
Cara drew herself up. “I would never be so crass as to ask her what happened!”
He sighed. “Of course not. Forgive me.”
The bubble of her indignation popped. He was under a lot of stress, and she should have let it go without comment. “No, I should apologize. I’m sorry for snapping. For all you know about me, I might just be that rude. But I’m not, you can rest assured.”
He nodded once, and then they lapsed into silence again. The closer they got to their destination, the more withdrawn Jack became. Cara could feel the tension in the air like a huge coil spring being compressed tighter and tighter and tighter. It was as if the miles piled up on his shoulders, their weight pressing him deeper and deeper into the ground.
She wished she could remember more of the details about his family, but she’d hardly paid attention to the fuss. It was all very recent, she remembered, but she’d been so busy working and then coming to Nice to open the new casino. She barely had time to check her email, much less read celebrity gossip rags.
By the time they arrived in London—after their plane was delayed in the air because of a problem on the ground— Cara was worried that Jack really would come unsprung. She wouldn’t have called him a carefree person by any stretch, but his demeanor now, compared with yesterday, was night and day. This Jack was dark, closed in, and she ached for him. Wanted so desperately to reach out to him.
And yet there was nothing she could do. Whatever demons awaited him, she could only go along for the ride. She would not abandon him now, not when he might need a friend.
After they emerged from the private airport they’d flown into, a limo was waiting to take them to the Grand Wolfe Hotel. Cara was no longer surprised at anything she learned about Jack and his family. Finding out he had a brother rich enough to own a hotel in central London was par for the course these days. Just like finding out that Jack was rich enough to own a plane.
Cara shook her head. She’d been so wrong about him it was laughable. She’d always prided herself on reading people, especially as she worked the casinos, but Jack Wolfe was not as he first appeared. He had the sharp eye and fearless demeanor of a professional gambler, and yet he was so much more than a card shark.
After the delayed flight, they got caught in heavy traffic on the ride to the hotel. Jack didn’t seem to notice. He stared out the window, his expression distant. More than once, she almost suggested they go back to the airport and return to Paris. He’d been happy there; they’d been happy together.
Now, he was so remote. A complete stranger to her. It felt…odd.
Tentatively, she reached for his hand where it rested on his thigh. Just to show him she understood, that she was here. Her skin sizzled, as always, when her body made contact with his. He turned his hand over, opening it, and then their palms were touching, fingers entwining. It wasn’t much, just a simple contact between two people who barely knew each other.
And yet it felt like everything, like their souls entwined with their fingers. Cara turned her head away, the cars and sidewalks of London blurring as she blinked back tears. She would not cry over something as simple as a touch. She would not allow it to mean more than it did.
It was touch. Warmth, companionship, light. Cara squeezed his hand gently. She didn’t expect acknowledgment, didn’t expect anything from him. But when he squeezed back, she knew she’d gotten through his shield, if only a tiny bit. It was a start.
Jack glanced at his watch as they arrived at the Grande Wolfe. He’d feared they would be late the instant they’d gotten delayed in the air. He’d planned his arrival to leave no time for socializing with his family. He’d made allowances for traffic, of course, but he’d not counted on the plane being late.
But he was here now and he had to get this over with. Had to go next door to the church for the ceremony, had to smile, had to be happy for Nathaniel—which he genuinely was—and had to hope Jacob avoided him. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with his brother.
Everyone else seemed glad—or at least resigned—that Jacob was back, glad that he’d returned to restore the broken-down manor where they’d grown up. But Jack couldn’t care less about Wolfe Manor. Let it be torn down, let the past stay buried where it belonged.
Jacob hadn’t cared about the place when he’d left them so many years ago, so why now? It was a ruse, quite simply, because Jacob didn’t have staying power. Let the rest of them fall for Jacob’s act, but Jack was not about to do so. If someone burned him once, they never got the chance to do so again.
Cara emerged from the limo and smiled up at him, and his world felt as if it were shifting somehow. It was the effect of what awaited him, he knew, and yet he was glad she was here with him.
A bellhop came to collect their luggage, and Jack took one last fortifying breath before grasping Cara’s hand and walking next door to the church. The ceremony had probably already started, but they could sneak into the back and watch from there. Then they would escape with the first exodus and head for the hotel.
But the church was empty, except for a few ladies cleaning up. Jack blinked at the scene before him. A profusion of white roses decorated the pews and altar, their scent almost cloying. He pivoted and led Cara back outside.
She didn’t speak as they headed into the depths of the hotel. He found the ballroom where the reception was being held easily enough, having stayed at Sebastian’s hotel from time to time over the years, but the crowd was a bit lighter than he would have expected.
The room had been draped in white organza, and once more the scent of roses filled the air. A few people danced to the elegant sounds of the band, but the tables were only about half-full.
Jack spotted Annabelle almost immediately. She had her camera out, taking photos. She looked as coolly elegant as she always did. She glanced over, made eye contact with him. And then she was making her way toward them, her camera held like a shield in front of her body.
“You’re late, Jack,” she said as she walked up. Her gaze flicked over his face, but he knew she wouldn’t comment on the bruise beneath his eye.
He gave her a brief hug. Annabelle didn’t like to be touched, really, but he always felt so damn sorry for her that he wanted her to know he cared. She returned the hug as well as she was able before stepping back into her own space.
“There was a problem at the airport,” he said. “Where are Nathanial and Katie?”
“They’ve left for their honeymoon already. You missed everything.” Her voice was remarkably devoid of censure, but that was Annabelle. Cool and collected to the last.
Jack wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He’d known the timing was tight, but he hadn’t thought they would miss everything once they were delayed. He’d thought to see at least a bit of the ceremony. Then a quick stop at the reception, and he’d be gone again before too much time had passed. He’d intended to congratulate the happy couple, to speak to Annabelle and Sebastian at least, and then to retire to his suite for the night. He hadn’t wanted to insult Sebastian by refusing to stay in the hotel overnight, but as soon as he was able, he was taking Cara to his London home and leaving the Grand Wolfe behind.
He introduced Cara to Annabelle. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Annabelle said she needed to go and pack up her equipment.
“Did everyone come?” he asked her.
If she knew what he meant, she didn’t let on. “Everyone but Alex. Oh, and Rafael came alone.”
Jack shrugged. “Leila is probably working.”
“Perhaps. But he didn’t seem very happy.”
They talked for a few moments more, and then Annabelle was gone.
Cara was biting her lip again. He knew she must be disappointed that they’d missed the wedding as she worried that plump lower lip between her teeth. He wanted her to stop, and he wanted to bite it for her. A shot of pure lust rocketed through his body at the thought of doing just that. Maybe it was a good thing they had a hotel room after all.
“I’m sorry you missed meeting Nathaniel,” he said. Because he was certain, though she’d not said anything, that she’d been looking forward to meeting his famous brother. Who wouldn’t want to meet a movie star?
“I’m not,” she said softly, her eyes more green than gold as she gazed up at him. “But I am sorry you didn’t see your brother get married.”
Jack shrugged it off. He’d wanted to be here for Nathaniel, but he had no one to blame but himself. If he’d flown in earlier—or yesterday, like everyone else—there’d have been no problem. “I’ll see him again soon enough. He’s far more interested in his new wife than in his family, anyway. As it should be.”
“I’m glad I got to meet your sister. She’s very pretty. And very serious.”
“She wasn’t always so serious,” he said before he could stop himself.
If Cara wondered at that statement, she didn’t allow her curiosity to show.
“So now what?” she asked, her pretty mouth curving in a soft smile. God, he loved her smiles. And he loved that she understood when he didn’t want to talk about something. How could he tell her about the ugliness that had taken Annabelle’s sweet innocence away forever?
Jack’s eyes skimmed over her. The jeweled turquoise of her dress was magnificent. The fabric hugged her curves, displayed her assets to perfection. She had long legs, beautiful and toned, and he couldn’t help but imagine them wrapped around him. He wanted them wrapped around him in the worst way.
Now that the tension of being here for the wedding was leaching away, a different kind of tension was taking its place. He wanted this woman, wanted to sweep her up and take her to the room where he would slowly reveal every inch of her delightful body. And then he would make love to her for hours, exploring her, learning her taste and texture, finding out what made her sigh with delight and scream with pleasure.
His body was stone. Pure, hard marble.
And yet he knew he couldn’t rush this, knew he wasn’t quite in the right state of mind just yet.
“How about a drink in the bar?” he said. “We can’t have got all dressed up for nothing.”
“That sounds good.”
They made their way back toward the sleek bar on the other side of the lobby. Heads turned as they passed, and he knew it was because of the gorgeous brunette at his side. They’d just found a table and sat down when Jack saw Jacob watching him from across the bar.
White-hot fury exploded inside him with a force he was unprepared for. The first time he’d seen Jacob’s face in how many years? Nearly twenty goddamn years. Jacob was older—they all were—but his face was still so familiar. It was a shock on so many levels to see Jacob, and yet anger was by far the dominant emotion churning through Jack.
“Jack, what’s wrong?” Worry laced Cara’s voice, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Jacob to answer her.
Jacob looked so cool, so unflappable. So goddamn smug.
Hatred boiled inside his gut, his brain, hatred that threatened to rip him apart at the seams it was so strong. And more. He didn’t want to acknowledge the more, but he knew what it was. Disappointment, betrayal, rage, fear. Love.
It was the love that was worst of all. Knowing the love was dead and gone and there was nothing left but emptiness where a brotherly bond should have been.
He stood abruptly. “I changed my mind. Let’s get a drink in our room,” he said, holding his hand out to Cara.
Her brows drew together as she studied him. Then she sighed and unfolded those impossibly long legs.
Jack looked over to the bar again, but Jacob was gone. Cara was on her feet when the crowd parted and he caught sight of Jacob. His older brother was coming straight for him, his strides purposeful.
Jack’s first instinct was to meet Jacob with a fist to the face. But he wouldn’t do it. He was better than that, and he wouldn’t allow Jacob to see how affected he truly was. “Jack—”
“Get the hell away from me, Jacob,” he burst out. “I don’t want to talk to you. The time for talking was when you decided it would be easier to abandon us than stick with us and do your duty. I have nothing to say to you.”
Jacob looked almost serene as he endured Jack’s tirade—which only made Jack angrier. Then Jacob held up his hands, as if to put a stop to the torrent of words.
“I understand this is a shock,” Jacob said, “but I can see that now isn’t the time. I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down.”
Jack took a step toward his brother, violence radiating through every cell, every nerve ending. “When I’ve calmed down? I’m not the one who ran away when I couldn’t take the pressure! You can have nothing to say to me, Jacob. Nothing I want to hear.”
Jacob’s lips compressed, but then he nodded and turned away. Jack watched his brother’s retreating back. Anger whipped through him, followed by frustration and even that old, childish sense of abandonment. Jacob had been the closest thing he’d had to a father figure.
“Jack? Are you ready?”
He felt Cara’s hand on his arm, the comforting weight of it, the solidity of her body beside him. People in the bar had turned to look at them, but they turned away now that the drama was finished.
“Jack?”
She was looking up at him with a mixture of concern and tenderness. He put his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve. Any other time, he’d want to be alone. This time, strangely, he did not.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They were sharing a suite, Cara realized, but she didn’t protest. The suite was luxurious, with a giant king-size bed and a couch in the living area for her to sleep on. She could have insisted on her own room now that he no longer needed her help for anything, but she couldn’t leave him, not like this. She wasn’t exactly certain what had happened in the bar, but the effect on Jack had been extraordinary.
He’d lost his temper, something she’d not seen him do even when threatened by Bobby and his men. He’d punched one of Bobby’s guys, yes, but he’d been in control the whole time. The Jack she knew never lost control. But he had just now—spectacularly. She’d thought he was going to launch himself at Jacob. She didn’t know anything about what had happened between them, but clearly it weighed heavily on Jack’s mind. Had done so for years.
Jack stood by the window, hands thrust into his pockets. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the bar.
“Do you want me to order drinks from room service?” she asked. It wasn’t that she wanted a drink, but she needed to say something, needed to fill the oppressive silence and see if she could get him talking again.
Anything to get him talking.
He glanced over at her. “Sure.”
“What do you want?” She flipped through the menu, pretending a casualness she didn’t feel. If she seemed normal, maybe he’d relax. Maybe he’d even open up to her. It wasn’t likely, she acknowledged, but it was worth a try.
“Order a bottle of champagne,” he said. “Or whatever you prefer.”
“Champagne is fine.” Cara picked up the phone and dialed room service. She’d never ordered room service in her life, had certainly never stayed in a hotel of this magnificence. The walls were papered in pale blue silk. The chandelier in the center of the suite was an ornate Venetian glass concoction shaped to look like flowers budding from a vase. The glass was multihued, beautiful beyond description.
There was a watered-silk chesterfield sofa flanked by two modern leather chairs sitting on the biggest oriental carpet she’d ever seen. Sleek glass-topped tables rounded out the living area. Huge silk panels hung on the windows, held back by ornate tassels.
It was without doubt the most luxurious hotel room she’d ever been inside. While she waited for the champagne to arrive, Cara drifted over to the antique desk. She recognized the style as French because she’d seen furniture like this back in New Orleans. It was polished walnut, inlaid with flowers and scrolls. Cara sank into the upholstered chair and opened the drawers one by one, just for something to do.
A deck of cards lay in the center drawer. She took them out and flipped open the box. The backs had London landmarks on them. Quickly, she shuffled, loving the feel of the cards in her hands. She was good at what she did, dammit. It wasn’t fair that she’d had to leave the way she had, that she might never work in a casino again. Because Bobby had reach, that was a certainty. Not only would he never hire her again, he might also have her blacklisted in every casino she ever tried to work in.
A knock sounded on the door and she got up to answer. A man wheeled in a trolley with a champagne bucket and two glasses. Deftly, he opened the champagne and poured some in each glass. Jack came over and handed the man some cash, and then he was gone.
Cara sipped her champagne and watched Jack. He took his glass over to the window and downed it.
“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. And she was going to challenge him if that’s what it took. She didn’t know if she could really beat him, but he didn’t need to know she wasn’t confident. She was good at cards, no doubt about it. And she was damn good at bluffing.
“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.”
“For instance?”
“I don’t know.” She cast about wildly, thinking of the sort of nutty things they’d had in Las Vegas, before making up something suitable for London. “A Jack the Ripper ghost walk. Or a Henry VIII turkey-leg banquet.”
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. Her skin warmed, her nipples tightening beneath the fabric of her dress. 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.”