The Disobedient Virgin

Her eyes, still bright with tears, now also glittered with defiance.

“I’m not going with you, senhor.”

“You most certainly are. And, though I’m sure you can quote me something appropriately pithy about the benefits of formal address, I’m tired of hearing you call me senhor and even more tired of hearing the twist you put on the word. My name is Jake.”

“Mother Elisabete said it was Joaquim.”

“It’s Jake,” he said sharply. “And that’s how you’ll address me.”

“Fine. I don’t care one way or the other.”

The message was clear. She didn’t care because she had no intention of letting him take her north.

Jake swung away, ran his hands through his hair and paced across the room. How did a man keep a woman from running off? Someday, when this nightmare was over, he was pretty sure he’d look back and laugh at the question. He’d never had to worry about a woman running away from him.

Until tonight.

There was no lock on the outside of either bedroom door. What could he do? Put her in her room, shut the door, lie down in front of it and block it with his body? Sleeping on the floor wasn’t a problem. He was tired enough to sleep on a bed of nails. And that was the problem. Once he fell asleep, a herd of elephants could probably tiptoe over him and he’d never stir.

He could think of only one method, but before he resorted to it he’d be a gentleman and give Catarina the chance to be a lady.

“They seem to have taught you a lot of things in that convent,” he said. “Did they also teach you the importance of honor?”

Catarina, standing a few feet away, dry-eyed now, but with her arms folded and a look on her face that suggested she was trapped in a small place with a monster, raised her eyebrows.

“Of course,” she said. “Honor is everything.”

“And giving your word to someone? Is that a matter of honor?”

She was wary now; he could see it in the sudden tilt of her head. “Certainly.”

Jake nodded. “I’m happy to hear it, because I’m asking you to give me your word that you won’t try and sneak out of this room tonight.”

“Fine. I give you my word that I won’t try and sneak out of this room tonight.”

“In that case, I’m going to bed. So are you. And you’re going to remember that giving your word is a matter of—” Jake narrowed his eyes. He’d almost tumbled into her trap.

Catarina squealed as he clamped his hand around her wrist.

“What are you doing?”

A stupid question. What he was doing was dragging her to his bedroom.

“Stop it! Senhor!” She dug in her heels, grabbed the doorjamb. “Jake! You cannot—”

“You’re good,” he said, “damned good.” Her hand slid from the jamb as he tugged her into his room and elbowed the door closed. “But not quite good enough.”

“You asked me to give you my word I wouldn’t try and escape, and I did!”

Still hanging on to her, Jake marched to the luggage rack, opened the suitcase he’d never unpacked, rummaged through it and took out a silk tie. “Sit down.”

“No! Are you crazy?”

He put a hand in the middle of her chest and shoved. Catarina fell back against the bed pillows, eyes wild, breasts heaving.

“‘I give you my word,”’ he mimicked, his voice a high-pitched mockery of hers, “‘that I won’t try and sneak out of this room tonight.’ Try,” he repeated coldly, putting emphasis on the word. “That’s what you vowed, that you wouldn’t try to escape, not that you wouldn’t do it.”

Her heart hammered in her ears. “I’ll scream. So help me, I’ll bring everyone in this hotel running!”