The Disobedient Virgin

She gave him a look that Medusa might have used to turn men to stone. Except she didn’t look like Medusa this morning; she looked more like a woman trying not to show the depth of her terror.

Jake sighed.

“Catarina.” He hesitated. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“Your brilliance astounds me.”

Not even her sarcasm could hide what he saw in her eyes.

“I just want you to know that I’ll try my best to do the right thing for you.”

Her mouth trembled. “Will you?”

He nodded. “You behave yourself and I’ll—I’ll make this whole thing as painless as possible. Deal?”

She stared at his outstretched hand as if it might transmit bubonic plague. Just when he thought he’d been a fool to offer a flag of truce, she put her hand in his.

For all her bravado, her skin was icy.

“Deal,” she said, and Jake wondered, if only for a minute, what she’d do if he changed their handshake into a kiss.

The flight to New York seemed interminable.

Catarina didn’t mind. It gave her time to think.

Did Jake mean what he said about doing the right thing? She’d seen a sudden compassion in his eyes when he’d spoken.

Maybe he wouldn’t marry her off.

No. He would. But he’d try and find a decent man for her. That would be his version of “the right thing.”

That meant her version of “the right thing” had to be learning all she could about men.

And sex.

Jake didn’t know it—wouldn’t know it—but she’d decided to go along with things. She really didn’t have a choice. Her guardian wasn’t going to give an inch, and escape, she had to admit, wasn’t a possibility.

Catarina shot Jake a quick look. He was sitting beside her, seat tilted, long legs outstretched. His head was back, his eyes closed, his hands loosely folded in his lap. He looked like a big, lazy cat—except she knew that was deceptive. The same as a cat, he could spring in a heartbeat.

Catarina turned her face to the window. He was right. She had to move on. Make the best of what had happened.

And that kiss had given her an idea.

She knew Jake had kissed her to show her that she was defenseless against him. That he was strong and she was weak, that he was male and she was female, and that she didn’t know the first thing about how such relationships worked.

He was right on all counts, especially the last.

She didn’t know the first thing about the intricate dance between men and women—not even after hushed late-night conversations in the dorm when one of the girls had returned from a weekend at home.

The topic was almost always sex.

He did what? she or one of the others would say in horror. And you let him?

Why would a woman let a man do…? Well, why would she?

That kiss had provided some vague idea. Once she’d let herself sink into the moment, let Jake’s lips shape hers, his body heat hers, she’d had an inkling of why the girl telling the story would laugh and say, yes, of course she’d let the boy do this and that and the other thing.

Sex was incredibly powerful.