The Disobedient Virgin

Cat batted her lashes. She’d gone from innocent virgin to tempting vixen in a heartbeat, and he was crazy about both of them.

“Yeah. I do.” He bent his head and gave her a lingering kiss. “And, if you’re a very good girl, I’ll show them to you.”

“How about if I’m very bad?” she said, and her cheeks turned such a shade of crimson that he began to laugh.

“Oh,” she whispered, hiding her face against his shoulder, “what would Sister Angelica say?”

“I know what I’d say,” Jake replied.

He bent down, put his mouth to her ear and whispered something. She looked properly shocked. She also looked properly delighted.

Jake grinned, plucked her off her feet, ignored her shrieks as he tossed her over his shoulder, and trotted out of the park, across a still-unplowed Fifth Avenue

, past the bemused doorman and up to his apartment, where her supposed outrage ended.

“Cat,” he whispered, “my sweet kitten.”

Hours later, as he lay with her sleeping in his arms, Jake wondered how in God’s name he was ever going to give her up.

And then he thought, with sudden clarity, I don’t have to give her up.

What he had to give up was his right to the names of his brothers.

Suddenly that didn’t seem half as important as what he’d already found, right here in his arms.

He felt a surge of joy so powerful it made him grin…and then his grin faded.

He knew what he wanted, but the choice had to be Cat’s.

For all he knew, her inheritance—the freedom and the independence it represented—meant more to her than he did.

Cat woke alone.

Jake was gone. So was the storm. The snow had stopped falling and the city must have been plowed, because she could hear the sounds of night-time traffic.

Life was returning to normal. Why was the thought so depressing?

She pushed aside the blankets and sat up. Her clothing was everywhere. Bits and pieces lay on the floor—they hadn’t made it all the way to the bed before Jake began undressing her.

Before they began undressing each other.

She’d been as eager to strip him naked as he’d been to strip her. She loved feeling his skin against hers, loved seeing his strong male body, loved…loved—

Cat swallowed hard and got to her feet. The robe Jake had bundled her into early this morning, after he’d bathed her, was draped across the back of a chair. She put it on, rolled up the sleeves, tied the sash securely at her waist and started down the hall to her rooms.

“Supper’s almost ready.”

She spun around. Jake stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue sweater; his jaw was shadowed with stubble, his hair was wet from, she supposed, a shower, and he looked so beautiful he made her heartbeat stumble.

“Oh,” she said foolishly. “That’s—that’s nice.”

“Scrambled eggs and toast. Anna called a little while ago. She can’t get in. The storm—”

“Of course.” Why was he looking at her that way? Why wasn’t he smiling? She was a mess, she knew, her hair all tangled, no makeup, wearing this silly robe…“Great. Just—just let me take five minutes for a shower, okay?”

“Five minutes,” he said—and then he muttered something, bounded up the stairs and caught her in his arms and kissed her until she melted against him. “Five minutes,” he repeated gruffly, and by the time her pulse returned to normal he was down the steps and out of sight.

Cat showered quickly, left her hair loose to air dry, pulled on jeans and a cashmere sweater and went down to the kitchen. Jake was just scooping mounds of scrambled eggs onto two plates. A platter of bacon, two mugs of coffee, napkins, silverware and a small wicker basket of toast were already on the counter.