The Disobedient Virgin

Rebelliousness glittered in her eyes. He cursed, drew the coat around her, snatched it before it could hit the pavement when she flung it off, and cursed again.

“If you get pneumonia and end up in my life for an extra few weeks, so help me I’ll—”

“You’ll what? You’re stuck with me, Ramirez, the same as I’m stuck with you.”

She was right, damn it, even if he didn’t want to hear it. And where the hell was Dario? He’d phoned his driver before he’d started across that snakepit of a dance floor—phoned him as soon as he saw what Lucas was up to.

Hell, he’d known what Lucas was up to sooner than that, but he’d figured, okay, this was Catarina’s show, she was the one on a husband-hunt. Let her do things her own way.

But there was only so much a man could take of watching such a piss-poor seduction.

Lucas, with that slippery smile. Lucas, pouring drinks that tasted harmless but had the kick of a mule down Cat’s throat. Lucas, supposedly teaching her to dance just so he could get her into his arms, his hands all over her, touching her, caressing her.

Lucas, just waiting for the chance to get Cat alone so he could undress her, feel the heat of her flesh against his, feather his thumbs across her nipples until she cried out.

Lucas had no right to do any of that because Cat belonged to—she belonged to—

“ Ramirez?”

Jake jerked his head around. His car was at the curb; Dario stood on the pavement next to the open passenger door, his face a polite blank, as if seeing his boss wrestling a woman into submission was an everyday occurrence.

Jake started toward the car. Cat didn’t.

“Walk,” he said grimly.

“I told you, I don’t take orders from—”

Her protest ended in a shriek as Jake picked her up, carried her to the car and unceremoniously dumped her inside. Then he got in beside her, folded his arms over his chest and shut his ears to the names she called him all the way home.

One good thing about having a penthouse high up in a fancy building on Fifth Avenue

.

You were guaranteed a terrific view, no matter what the season.

Even winter.

At twenty minutes past two in the morning, wearing a pair of old sweats, Jake stood on the terrace that wrapped around his apartment. A mug of coffee steamed between his hands; his breath was a plume of smoke in the cold air. The snow, mantling the park in pristine white, had stopped.

It was a beautiful sight. At least, he supposed it was.

He was still too angry, too upset, too everything to keep his mind on anything as mundane as the weather.

He’d made a load of mistakes tonight—starting with losing his temper when he’d come home and found Catarina getting ready to go out, and ending with a repeat performance when he’d realized Lucas was coming on to her.

Coming on

to her? Jake snorted. Lucas had been all over her, the miserable son of a bitch. And instead of taking him by his collar, hauling him outside and teaching him a lesson about how to treat a woman, a young and innocent woman, he’d let it all out on Cat.

He’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Taking her to that club, handing her over to Lucas, had been pretty much like putting a lamb in a cage with a hungry lion.

What in hell had he been thinking?

Jake took a sip of coffee.

He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. Coming home, finding her all excited at the prospect of meeting a man, had ticked him off. What was her rush? He’d said he’d find her a husband, hadn’t he? Instead she’d decided to start the search on her own. And he’d thought, okay, she wanted to play in the big league? Let her see how far she could get without him to take care of her.

Pretty far, as it had turned out. Lucas had taken one look and wanted what he saw.