The Disobedient Virgin

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—”