The Disobedient Virgin

“Captor” was the right word for this man, who obviously had no heart, no conscience, no sense of human decency. She’d been wrong, saying he could be led around. Nobody would lead him anywhere he didn’t want to go, this Joaquim Ramirez or Jake Ramirez, whatever he called himself.

He was macho. Muito macho.

On top of that, he was beautiful.

Maybe that was the wrong word to describe a man, but she couldn’t think of another that came close. She’d stolen a long look at him from beneath her lashes when they were in Mother Elisabete’s office. Just for a moment, before they’d told her who he was and what he was going to do with her, she’d conjured up a fantasy about a black-haired, green-eyed knight come to save her from the dragon.

What a shock to find out that the knight was the dragon.

Now she wondered what other things she would learn about him. He’d taken her to Rio. To this

hotel, glittering with lights and almost smelling of sin. Wicked places both, or so other girls had whispered late at night, after the lights were out.

They’d whispered other things, too.

What would happen to her once she and Joaquim Ramirez were alone?

From the corner of her eye, she saw the parking valet dart toward the reception desk. Catarina looked over at the clerk behind it just as the valet stepped close and whispered in his ear. The clerk darted a look at her, then looked away.

Coward, Catarina thought, but she had to admit her captor’s story was more convincing than her own.

Suddenly, Ramirez was beside her. He curled his hand around her elbow. She jumped at the touch and his fingers bit into her skin.

“Behave yourself,” he said softly.

The elevator bank was straight ahead. Guests were stepping from one of the cars. Women wearing tiny dresses, little more than an arrangement of scarves. High heels that made their hips swing when they walked. Was that why they clutched the arms of the men who escorted them? Why they draped themselves over them, hip to hip, thigh to thigh?

They stared at her. Catarina stared back. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Those dresses, so low at the bodice, so high at the hem, made her blush.

Her undergarments were less revealing.

Whispers, little smiles of amusement, raised eyebrows. She felt her face heat. She knew how she looked. No make-up—cosmetics weren’t permitted at the convent school. No artfully styled hair. That wasn’t permitted, either. And this dress, this mud-colored thing she’d made in sewing class…

She could almost hear the buzz. What was she doing with a man whose looks put all these other men’s looks to shame?

It was a good question.

The elevator starter greeted her captor by name. The doors whisked open; Ramirez drew her into the car and they rose to the top floor in silence. Once there, he marched her down the carpeted corridor toward a pair of double doors at the end.

“It isn’t necessary to drag me.”

To her horror, her voice trembled. She turned the tremor into a cough.

She had to walk quickly to keep up with his long stride. At school, she’d been one of the tallest girls. She’d towered over the few men who passed through the gates but she barely came up to her captor’s shoulder. She had to look up to see his face and she didn’t like that. It made her feel overpowered.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said.” A dip of the key-card and the doors swung open. Catarina didn’t move and he put his hand in the small of her back and propelled her into the room. Once the door was closed, locked and bolted, he switched on the lights. A chandelier that looked almost as big as her convent bedroom blazed to life.

They were in a sitting room so lush it made her breath catch. Flowers spilled from vases on all the tables; the wall of windows revealed Rio wearing a queen’s ransom in a necklace of light.

“Okay,” Ramirez said, “let’s get a few things straight.”

He stood in the center of the room, arms folded, eyebrows knotted in a dark scowl. Catarina blinked and focused on him. He looked huge and almost overwhelmingly male.

Don’t let anyone ever know that you’re scared. It was a philosophy that had served her well during the first awful months following the deaths of her parents, but her bravado was fast crumbling under the toll of the endless day.

“You’ve already gotten a few things straight,” she said, trying for sarcasm and not at all sure she’d achieved it. “You’re in charge and I’m expected to obey.”