The Disobedient Virgin - The Ramirez Brides 03

by Sandra Marton

  “What responsibility?”

  “I’m supposed to introduce a girl to society. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I’m supposed to introduce her to Brazilian society.”

  “Here? In New York?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam frowned. Or would have frowned except for the Botox. Botox, at her age? He shouldn’t have been surprised. When Sam frowned, when most of the women he knew frowned, they only managed to turn their eyebrows into caterpillars scaling their foreheads at a forty-five-degree angle.

  Cat would never do that to herself. He knew it as surely as he knew she’d never spend half the time Sam had spent putting on her makeup tonight…

  “Jake?”

  He blinked again. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “I asked you how old this child is.”

  “She’s—” Whoa. Shaky ground. Why had he thought this would be something to discuss with Samantha? “You know what?” he said briskly. “Let’s not bother talking about her. How about dessert? I know you’re always counting calories, but—”

  “How old is this child, Jake?”

  “She’s not exactly a child.”

  Sam’s luminous eyes narrowed. “A teenager?”

  Jake shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  “Then how old is she, exactly?”

  “She’s, uh, she’s just past her twenty-first birthday.”

  Could a woman’s eyes narrow more than that? Could she see out of them, if they did?

  “She’s a woman?”

  “Yeah. More or less.”

  “More or less,” Samantha said coolly. “And what does she look like?”

  He knew what she meant. But that didn’t make it mandatory to answer as if he did.

  “Oh, I don’t know. She’s five-eight, maybe five-nine—”

  “What does she look like, Jake?” Sam’s voice took on a sharp intensity. “Is she attractive?”

  Why in hell had he thought this conversation would be helpful? “I guess.”

  “You guess.” Sam reached for her wineglass. “And where have you stashed her?”

  Where was the waiter? It had to be getting late. To hell with dessert. Jake wanted the check. He wanted fresh air. He wanted to slice out his tongue.

  “If you mean,” he said cautiously, “where is Cat staying—”

  “Cat?” Sam said, her voice as frigid as her slitted eyes.

  “Catarina. She’s, uh, she’s staying at my place.”

  Silence. A long silence. After which Jake could have sworn he saw Samantha unsheath her claws.

  “How charming. You have a woman living with you, and here you are having dinner with me.”

  “She isn’t ‘living’ with me.”

  “No wonder I’ve spent the past hour talking to myself!”

  “Take it easy, Sam.”

  “I should take it easy while you sit there, fixated on this—this—?”

  “Sam.” Jake’s tone turned as cool as hers. “Watch what you say.”

  Samantha pushed back her chair. “I want to leave.”

  “We haven’t finished our—”

  “But we have. We’ve finished everything.” Her mouth twisted. “To think of the time I wasted with you.”

  “Hey—”

  “Wasted,” she said bitterly, “with a man whose idea of decency is to pretend he’s committed to one woman while he moves his—his paramour into his house.”

  Which charge should he answer first? Jake leaned forward. “She’s not my paramour. And I never made any commitments, Sam. You know that.”

  “If you’re thinking of turning this into a ménage à trois, forget about it, hotshot!”

  “A ménage à…” Jake glowered at Samantha. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Samantha got to her feet. “Do us both a favor. Go home to your little Brazilian. It’s obviously where you really want to be.”

  She strode past him toward the door. Jake pulled several bills from his wallet and dropped them on the table, then hurried after her. On the sidewalk, he caught her arm and turned her toward him.

  “Just for the record, Catarina isn’t my lover,” he said quietly. “You know I’d never have asked you out tonight if she were.”

  The anger faded from Sam’s eyes. “I know. It’s just…She’s a lucky girl, your housemate.”

  “Damn it, she’s not—”

  A taxi swooped to the curb. Sam broke free, ran to it and got in. Jake had just enough time to go after her and hand the driver a bill before the cab swung into traffic. He watched until it turned the corner. Then he took his cell phone from his pocket, started to punch in his driver’s number, but changed his mind.

  A cold drizzle was coming down. He turned up his coat collar, dug his hands into his pockets and started walking slowly uptown.

  Enough was enough.

  Sam had it wrong. He owed her an apology for not being tuned in tonight, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to be with her.

  He hadn’t been fixated on Cat, or that flash of pain in her eyes when he’d told her he was going out. He hadn’t spent the evening wondering what she was doing, if she was thinking about him…

  Hell.

  He’d done this all wrong. Catarina Mendes didn’t belong in his home. Tomorrow he’d move her out. Arrange for her to live in a hotel. Contact an agency and hire a companion to keep her company.

  Tonight—tonight, he thought, his pace quickening, he’d have a serious talk with her. The Embassy party was only a few days away. She and he had to make some plans. Plans that made sense.

  His job was to find her a suitable Brazilian husband. He’d do his best to find one. He’d do better than that. He’d find at least two candidates. She could pick the one she preferred. Then he could put this nonsense behind him, contact Enrique’s attorney and tell him he’d sure as hell better tell him who his brothers were.

  That, only that, was what mattered.

  By the time Jake reached his apartment building he was almost smiling.

  What was it the poet had said about the best-laid plans?

  Jake tossed his keys on the marble-topped table near the door and found himself in the center of a tornado. He could hear voices upstairs, the sound of things hitting the floor, and there was an open empty shoebox lying in the foyer that looked like a coffin for some small alien being.

  “Anna?”

  No reply. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

  “Cat?”

  Nothing. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins. He dropped his coat on a chair and took the steps two at a time.

  “Cat!” he roared. “Cat—”

  Anna popped out of the guest suite, wringing her hands.

  “Oh, Ramirez, thank goodness!”

  “What’s happened? Where’s Catarina? Is she—?”

  Slam! Anna spun toward the bedroom; Jake shoved her behind him and bolted through the door to face the unknown.

  To face…

  Cat.

  She was in the dressing room. She spun toward him, her cheeks bright pink, her hair in her eyes and her arms filled with shoes and purses and God only knew what else. Even as he blinked and tried to figure out what was happening, a couple of shoes tumbled from the stack and bounced against the parquet floor.

  Those must have been the sounds he’d heard downstairs.

  “Cat?” Jake took a careful step forward. “What’s going on?”

  “ Mendes is going out,” Anna said. “I told her not to, that you wouldn’t want her to, but she said—”

  “She said?” Cat said hotly. “I said that I didn’t need your permission!”

  “She doesn’t know the city,” Anna said urgently. “I tried to tell her that, Ramirez, but—”

  “Go out?” Jake took another step into the bedroom. It looked as if it had been torn apart. Dresses and little silk things he didn’t want to look at too closely littered the bed; jewelry spilled from open boxes on the dresser. “Go where?”

  “Someone phoned,
sir. I was making dinner and—”

  “And,” Cat said, blowing her hair out of her eyes, “I picked up the phone.” She gave Jake a chilly smile. “I thought it might be you, but it wasn’t. It was a man named Lucas.”

  Jake felt his stomach drop. He turned to Anna and gave her what he hoped was a smile.

  “Thank you, Anna. You can go home now.”

  “I can stay a little longer, Ramirez, if—”

  “Home,” he said firmly. He took out his wallet and pressed some bills into her hand. “Tell the doorman to call you a taxi.”

  Anna nodded. Jake waited until he heard the sound of the front door shutting. Then he cleared his throat and turned back to Catarina.

  “What did Lucas say?”

  “He asked to speak with you. I said you weren’t home and he said—evidently he thought I was Anna—he said there was a party tonight, something last-minute, and if you wanted to come and bring along your Brazilian charity case—”

  Oh, hell.

  “Cat. It isn’t the way it sounds.”

  “—bring along the lady you were trying to fix up so you could get her off your shoulders—”

  “Back,” Jake said absently. “Cat. Damn it, I swear I never said—”

  “I am going to this party, Jake.”

  “No. I mean, not tonight. There’s an Embassy function next week, and—”

  ‘I—am—going,” Cat said coldly. “I’ll find myself a husband without your help, and I’ll be off your shoulders once and for all.”

  “It’s back,” Jake said again. “And you’re not on it. I never said—”

  “Get out of my room, please. I want to finish getting dressed.”

  Finish? She was wearing a robe. She hadn’t started dressing. But he decided not to risk things by pointing that out.

  “I don’t want you to go to this party, Catarina. You’re not ready for it.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “And why is that, pray tell?”

  Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Why, indeed? Hadn’t he come home prepared to tell her it was time things got moving? She had the clothes; Lucas had the contacts. But—but—

  “I am going, and that’s final.”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Fine. You want to go to this party? We’ll go together.”

  “I’d rather go alone.”

  “You’ll have to get past me to do it.”

  Catarina opened her mouth to protest, but when she looked into Jake’s eyes she changed her mind.

  He looked as if he meant it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A TASTE of freedom was a wonderful thing.

  Catarina had spent years wondering what it was like to dress up, go out, dance and laugh and flirt—oh, yes, flirt. Nothing she’d imagined was as thrilling as the reality.

  Jake had muttered that the little club all the way downtown was noisy and overcrowded. He was wrong. It was filled with life and pulsed with excitement. She loved it on sight. The DJ, the music, the strobe lights, the drinks—especially something called a caipirinha that looked like lemonade—well, limeade—and tasted like paradise and made you feel good, good, good.

  Wonderful, all of it.

  She was happy to see that the dress she’d bought with Belle was just right. Jake didn’t like it. It was too short, too low, too everything. But he was wrong. She fit right in.

  All the men who saw her liked it. She could tell by the way they looked at her. It made her feel good. Who cared what Jake thought when so many admiring glances came her way? He hadn’t even asked her to dance with him.

  Would it kill him to do something so simple?

  Never mind. She didn’t need Jake. The men here were—what was that American word? Hot. That was it. They were hot. One especially. Lucas Estero. Tall, dark and yum-yum. Lucas was gorgeous. Maybe not as gorgeous as Jake, but gorgeous enough.

  Lucas had seemed shocked to meet her.

  “This is Catarina?” he’d said to Jake.

  “It is,” Cat had replied, before Jake could answer.

  Lucas’s lips had curved in a smile. “Ramirez,” he’d said softly, “you sly fox.” Then he’d taken her hand, brought it to his mouth, told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—in Portuguese, of course—and she hadn’t spoken another word to Jake since.

  Jake had pulled out a chair at a table, where he still sat, arms folded, mouth set, eyes fixed on her, watching.

  Let him watch. Let him notice that Lucas didn’t seem to think she was a silly child. Lucas hadn’t left her side. He introduced her to people, but he kept his arm around her waist in a way she hadn’t quite liked at first, because it seemed too personal. But as the night wore on, and she danced and laughed and drank those deliciously sweet concoctions in tall, chilled glasses while Jake just sat there and glowered, Lucas’s encircling arm felt more and more as if it belonged right where it was.

  She didn’t need Jake to pay attention to her. She had Lucas. Tall, good-looking and single Lucas.

  She’d asked him that right away.

  Lucas had grinned and touched his index finger to the tip of her nose. “Querida,” he’d said, “of course I am single. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  The marrying kind, she’d thought. But fortunately she hadn’t said it out loud. It was too soon to tell Lucas what she needed, and too soon to know if he was the right man for the job. Even if he wasn’t, there were lots of men here tonight, virtually all of them Brazilian, young and good-looking. Not as good-looking as Jake, of course, but—

  But who cared?

  She certainly didn’t.

  Jake had nothing to do with her or her life except to find her a proper husband. He’d made it clear that was the only role he wanted. She’d asked him to teach her about men and sex and had he done it?

  No. He had not.

  He’d come close, that one time when they were in the kitchen. Oh, God, so close! And it had been—it had been wonderful. The things she’d felt when he’d cupped her breasts, kissed them…

  How could she have known it would be like that when a man and woman made love?

  But then Jake had suddenly shoved her away, as if what they’d done was distasteful. He’d apologized for touching her when what she’d wanted was for him to go on touching her, go on kissing her, go on and on and never stop.

  He’d hardly spoken to her since that night.

  All he’d done was make it clear she was a burden that he wanted to get rid of. That was why he’d sent her shopping with his assistant, why he’d phoned his friend Lucas, why he’d made it a point to let her know he was involved with a woman…

  “Querida? Are you okay?”

  Catarina blinked. Lucas was looking down at her the way Jake never did, as if she were the center of his world.

  “I’m fine,” she said brightly. “Just—just maybe a little thirsty.”

  He grinned. “You like those caipirinhas, hmm? Didn’t I tell you that you would?”

  An hour ago she’d asked him what a caipirinha was. Lucas had slapped his hand over his heart.

  “I’m shocked! A carioca who doesn’t know what a caipirinha is?” Then he’d smiled and said once she tasted the drink she’d figure it out for herself.

  She had. She’d tasted two, and they were quite obviously made from lime juice, sugar and ice.

  Lucas kissed her hand. “Wait right here while I go to the bar.”

  Cat waited. While she did, she glanced over at Jake again. What was wrong with him? Didn’t he know how to have fun? Couldn’t he feel the beat of the music?

  Couldn’t he see what Lucas saw? What her mirror confirmed? That she looked beautiful and sophisticated in her new dress of crimson silk? Her new spiky heels?

  Didn’t he want to tell Lucas to step aside, that he was the one who had the right to laugh with her, whisper to her, dance with—?

  “Here you are, querida. Drink up.”

  She smiled up at Lucas, took the chilled gl
ass he held toward her and drained it dry. She could almost feel the sugar course through her blood.

  “Mmm. Delicious. Can I have another?”

  “In a minute,” Lucas said.

  He took her empty glass and plunked it on a table. Then he led her onto the dance floor for a samba. She knew as little about the samba as she knew about caipirinhas and tried to tell him that, but he pressed his hand lightly in the small of her back and began to move. So did she. Before she knew it Lucas was grinning and she was laughing and everything was wonderful.

  Let Jake sit there and glare. Let him watch. Watch this, she thought, and threw her arms around Lucas’s neck.

  “I love this dance!”

  Lucas pulled her closer. “You dance as if you were born with the music of our people in your blood,” he said, and gave her a little smile that made her breath catch.

  The samba gave way to something slower and more sensual.

  “A tango,” Lucas said, drawing her tight against him. “Not Brazilian, but close enough.”

  “I don’t know how to—”

  “Relax. Feel how I move, querida, and your body will tell you the rest.”

  She could feel him, all right. His chest. His thighs. And could that possibly be his—his—?

  “It’s all right,” Lucas murmured, his mouth at her ear. “Just let go and feel the rhythm.”

  He turned them in a slow circle. She had to twist her head to see if Jake was…Yes. He was. Still watching. Still stone-faced.

  Why? He should have been delighted Lucas had invited them here tonight, that he seemed to have taken an interest in her.

  The sooner Jake got her out of his life, the better. He’d made that absolutely clear.

  Maybe he was in a bad mood because he’d quarreled with the woman he’d taken to dinner. Otherwise why would he have come home so early?

  She didn’t like thinking about that. About Jake with a woman. Not that she’d been foolish enough to think there weren’t women in his life, but, really, couldn’t he put them aside until he was no longer involved with her?

  Not that he was exactly involved with her.

  Not that he wanted to be involved with her.

  He probably had all the sex he could handle with the woman he’d taken out tonight.

  “Querida,” Lucas whispered, “relax.”