Heartless Rebel by Lynn Raye Harris Page B

life, giving orders and making plans—which was what he’d
been doing since he’d walked in and sat down at her table last night.
                 “I’m
not naive, Jack. Wanting more out of life and relationships is not naive. I’m a
big girl, I know what I want.”
                 He
inclined his head. “No, maybe it’s not naive to know what you want out of life.
If only more people did. But, Cara, wanting more out of me is very naive.”
                 “I
didn’t say anything about you, did I?” she threw at him. “Honestly, your
arrogance is unbelievable sometimes.”
                 She
didn’t wait for him to reply. She strode up the gangway, tears pricking at the
backs of her eyes as a shiver of premonition skimmed up her spine. Because,
damn her, she did want more from him. She wanted there to be something else
besides this incredible heat and pull of attraction between them. She wanted
there to be the possibility of a relationship at the very least. Even if it
didn’t work out, she wanted to know he would take her seriously for more than
the time it took to get her into bed.
                 Honest
to God, she should just leave. She should tell him the deal was off. But where
would she go? She couldn’t go back to Nice, and she couldn’t leave Europe
without her passport.
                 Cara
shook her head angrily. For now, she would stay. She had no choice but to stay.
                 And
she would remember that Jack Wolfe was off-limits, no matter how her silly
heart wanted the possibility of more. He was hiding behind walls that were
stacked to the sky and thicker than the duckweed that choked the bayous back
home. The rare glimpses she’d gotten behind those walls were carefully
controlled constructs that he trotted out for the sake of appearances.
                 No,
the real Jack was buried too deep to ever break free. She didn’t really know
him—and she probably never would.
     

  CHAPTER SEVEN

 
                 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