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!”
“You do that. By now half the staff are probably in the hall, just waiting to hear you go nuts so they can watch the men in white coats come and take you away.”
He reached for her. She slapped at his hand. He cursed, grabbed her anyway, wrapped the silk tie around her wrist, wrapped it around his and made the kind of knot a Boy Scout would have admired. She was still sputtering when he pushed her back on the bed and lay down beside her.
“You can’t do this!”
“Shut up.”
“I will not! I am not going to sleep with—”
She gasped as he leaned over her. His eyes had gone from green to black. “You’re right. You’re not going to sleep with me. You’re going to sleep next to me.”
“Words,” she said, and tried to figure out why his mocking laugh changed her fear to anger, why his closeness was changing her anger to something else.
“Trust me, kid. There’s a big difference between sleeping with a man and sleeping next to him.”
“I am not a kid.”
“What you are,” Jake said, “is a pain in the—”
To hell with it.
He reached past her, shut off the bedside light and lay back against the pillows.
“I hate you!”
“Yeah. You already told me that.”
“I despise you!”
Jake yawned. “Sticks and stones,” he said, and then he was silent.
He was asleep.
Catarina lay staring at the shadowy ceiling. This couldn’t be happening. She was in a man’s bed. She was sleeping with a man and, yes, she knew what that meant. Knew what the books said that meant, anyway. What a couple of the girls had said that meant, when they returned from weekends home.
Images danced in her mind. Heat rose in her face. She would not think of such things. They were sinful. Besides, she hated Jake Ramirez. Hated, hated, hated him!
He was the enemy.
He was also the unknown.
Catarina swallowed dryly.
If she moved, even a little, her body would brush Jake’s. Not that she wanted that to happen, but if it did…if it did, so what? He was asleep. He was harmless.
And if she touched him she might learn things that would be helpful. Things she should learn about men. She knew, of course, about the basic male-female anatomical differences. She was naïve, but that didn’t mean she was stupid.
But there were other things—things she didn’t know.
Jake’s body didn’t just look different than hers, it felt different. When she’d slugged him, when he’d dragged her in here with him…He was all hard muscle. Was that because he’d been tense and angry? Or would he feel that way if she touched him when he was relaxed, too?
Hadn’t some historian said you had to know the enemy to conquer him?
Slowly, carefully, Catarina turned onto her side. Edged up on her elbow. Looked down at the man lying beside her.
“Senhor?” she whispered. “Jake?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. The slow rise and fall of his chest assured her that he really was asleep.
He was a beautiful man.
Was that a strange word to use? Perhaps, but no other word fit. Jake was gorgeous. Dark, thick hair. Long, sooty lashes. She knew girls who’d cheerfully kill for lashes like that. A straight nose, that full, lush mouth and strong chin…
Michelangelo couldn’t have done better.
Catarina leaned closer. Inhaled. Drew in the combined scents of soap, water and man. It was sexy. Incredibly sexy…and it was time to move away. Lie back on her side of the bed. Try and get some sleep.
But first, first…
She caught her lip between her teeth. Lowered her hand until it hovered above Jake’s chest. Lowered it again until her palm just brushed his shirt. The shirt was cotton. Thin. The fabric was almost transparent. She could see the outline of his pectoral muscles, his ridged abdomen.
She didn’t need to touch him after all. The shirt gave her all the answers she needed.
She touched him anyway. Laid her palm flat against his chest. Felt the heat of him, the strength, the strong beat of his heart.
Her heart was beating hard, too. It was racing. She leaned closer. Closer still. Until her lips were a whisper from Jake’s. Closed her eyes, traced the outline of that hard, masculine mouth with the tip of her finger. Left her finger there, lying lightly across his lips.
His beautiful lips.
What if he woke? Found her doing this? It could be dangerous. He could lose control. Men did, didn’t they? The sisters had said so.
He might grasp her shoulders, roll her beneath him. Tear open her nightgown, clasp her wrists high above her head, hold her captive while he kissed her. Rubbed that sexy stubble on his jaw lightly against her throat.
Her breasts.
Her nipples.
Her nipples, tighten
ing even as she closed her eyes and imagined it happening. God. Oh, God. Oh…
Jake’s mouth twitched under her hand. Heart pounding, Catarina pulled away, as far as the length of silk would permit. She fell back against the pillows and lay still.
Was he awake?
He didn’t move. Neither did she. After a minute, after an eternity, she turned her head and stared at him.
He was still asleep.
She let out a long, shaky breath. What had possessed her? Had she lost her mind?
She was tired. That was what it was. She was exhausted. That was the only reason she wanted—she wanted—
Catarina squeezed her eyes shut. And tumbled into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
HOW long could a man pretend to be asleep before he lost his mind?
Jake forced himself to lie still until Catarina’s slow, soft breathing told him she was sleeping. Then he untied their wrists, rolled off the bed and damned near staggered out the door.
Was she crazy?
Being naïve was one thing, but a woman who bent over a sleeping man so that her hair fell around him like a silk curtain, who came so near that he could draw the feminine scent of her deep into his lungs, wasn’t naïve, she was out of her mind.
Jake groaned, sank down in a chair and buried his head in his hands.
She’d touched his face. His chest. He’d figured his heart would leap out right then, but he’d hung on until she began tracing his mouth with her finger, and he’d imagined what it would be like to part his lips, draw that finger into his mouth…
He sat up and stared blindly at the sitting room wall.
Someday he’d have to look up the guy who’d given him and his roommates a quick course in meditation his first year at college.
Hey, Bill, he’d say, thanks for saving my butt one night in Rio.
And to think he’d almost laughed aside the offer, then fallen in with everybody else because the guy had sworn it was the reason he’d scored a bunch of As first semester.
Jake had come up with a mixed bag of grades, but tonight—tonight, without those half-forgotten mental exercises, his pulse-rate would have quadrupled and he’d have come off the bed at the speed of sound, tumbled Catarina beneath him, stripped off her clothes and buried himself deep inside her.
And that would only have been the start.
Jake shot to his feet, went to the minibar, took out a doll-sized bottle of brandy and drank down the contents.
He was in trouble. Deep trouble. His only out was to get back to New York, find a husband for Catarina as fast as he could, then wave goodbye as she turned into another man’s problem.
Another man’s pleasure.
A muscle knotted in his jaw.
“Damn you, Enrique,” Jake muttered. He went back to the minibar, took out another toy bottle of brandy and drained it dry.
Then he lay down on a sofa that was too short, too narrow, too much like the rack in a dungeon he deserved, and did his best to get some sleep.
Catarina awakened to the sound of rain.
Remarkable, she thought drowsily, that it would rain in Rio this time of year.
Her eyes flew open. But not half as remarkable as the fact that she’d spent the night in bed with a man.
She shot up against the pillows before she realized she was alone. No Jake, just an empty space beside her. The only reminder of the night was the brightly colored length of silk he’d used to bind her to him. It lay draped over the headboard like an exotic snake.
That…and the memory of how she’d touched him while he slept. But why waste time thinking about those moments? A little temporary insanity after the day she’d endured was understandable.
What she did have to think about was escape. Jake could not take her to the States. She would not permit it.
Where was he, anyway? Probably on the other side of the closed door, waiting for her in the sitting room.
Her dress and leather satchel were on a chair. Courtesy of her captor, no doubt. Catarina grabbed both, went into the bathroom, locked the door and got fresh undergarments and her toothbrush from the satchel.
Moments later, she stepped back into the room.
She was still alone, but she knew better than to hope that Jake was gone. She knew precious little about him, but she’d have bet her life he wasn’t a man to walk away from something he saw as his responsibility—though how she’d become that was beyond her.
Okay. Catarina took a deep breath. He was waiting in the next room—unless she’d gotten lucky. Maybe he was in the second bedroom. Maybe he’d stepped out. Gone down for breakfast, to get a newspaper, to do whatever a man like him did in the morning.
Maybe now was her chance to get away.
If she could slip out of the suite, make it to the lobby, then to the front doors…Yes, but how? Jake had spread a story that she was a crazy woman. A quick look in the mirror assured her that his story was believable.
She was an unholy mess.
She wouldn’t have thought her dress, which was functional if not pretty, could look any worse than the day she’d put in the final stitches. It did. The dress was a mass of wrinkles.
And her hair looked like a demented bird’s idea of a nest. She was an awful sight. Compared to the women Jake Ramirez normally slept with, she was probably…
Heat rose in her face.
She hadn’t slept with him, she’d slept beside him. Anyway, why did she give a damn about the women he knew? They probably fought over the right to get his attention. Well, she had his attention and she wished to heaven she didn’t—and if she stood around here much longer she’d be the victim of his attention all over again.
Her shoes were beside the bed. Better not to put them on. She could tiptoe past the other bedroom, assuming Jake was in it. Catarina scooped up the shoes, pressed her ear to the door and listened. Not a sound. Nothing but the swoosh swoosh of her pulse. Slowly she closed her hand around the knob, turned it, held her breath as she swung the door open…
And saw Jake, sitting in an armchair, watching her. He had an open newspaper in his lap, a steaming cup of coffee next to him, and a polite smile on his face.
“Good morning.” His gaze traveled to the shoes hanging from her fingers. “Going somewhere?”
She was disappointed, but not intimidated. There’d always been someone watching you at school; if you got caught doing what you weren’t supposed to do, you simply lied your way out of it. With a white lie, of course. White lies were not only acceptable, they were necessities when you lived inside the gates of the convent…
When a man appeared out of the blue and tried to ruin your life.
“Yes,” she said, her smile as polite as his. “I wanted to get my toothbrush. I left it in the other bathroom.”
“And you’re walking barefoot so as not to disturb me? How thoughtful…Or do you always travel on tiptoe?”
She felt her face heat but she kept her eyes steady on his. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Jake nodded at the shoes in her hand. “Perhaps the custom here is different. Back in the States, shoes are generally worn on the feet, not the hands.”
“My feet hurt.”
“Of course.” Another polite smile. “Well, you can put on a pair of more comfortable shoes after you brush your teeth.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. I—I—”
“Would you like some coffee? There’s a second cup.”
She would, desperately, but accepting anything from him would be a sign of defeat.
“No,” she said, and then, though it killed her, she added, “Thank you.”
Jake folded the paper. “I was just about to wake you.”
An image of herself in bed flashed before her, Jake bending over her, softly saying her name, reaching down to cup her face and lift it to his…
How long did temporary insanity last?
“How nice for us both that it wasn’t necessary,” she said, marching past him to the bedroom.
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Catarina slammed the door after her, hard enough to rattle Jake’s teeth. Great, he thought, tossing the paper aside. Just great. Another day, another confrontation. What else was new?
What had happened last night. That was new.
Lying there when she’d decided to go on her little journey of discovery. Not moving a muscle when she bent over him, touched him…
Even remembering made him hard as stone, but there was no point to it.
He’d find someone who’d be right for Catarina. A good guy. A young one—she deserved that. Somebody she’d want to be with. Somebody who’d teach her the endless things she didn’t know about men and life and sex…
The things he’d ached to teach her last night.
“Damn it all,” Jake snarled, and stalked across the room. “Catarina!” He slammed his fist against the bedroom door and bellowed her name again. “Catarina! Get a move on!”
He’d already jammed the inside lock. The hotel could bill him for it. They could bill him for the whole door if he got any angrier and kicked it down. Where was she? What took so long? They were on the top floor, but for all he knew she was crazy enough—desperate enough—to try and jimmy open the win—
The door swung open.
“There’s no need to make so much noise.”
She sounded calm, but he saw that she hadn’t put on her shoes.
“You’re not ready.”
Catarina’s face was a blank. “Ready for what?”
“Look, it’s barely seven in the morning. That makes it a little early for riddles. Maybe things start early in your school, but—”
“It isn’t my school. Actually, it hasn’t been for a long time. I should have left there three years ago.”
Jake dug his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back a little on his heels.
“Strange. I could have sworn I collected you there just yesterday.”
“You ‘collected’ me,” she said, “because my guardian wouldn’t let me leave.”
“You’ve got that wrong. It was your parents’ will that wouldn’t let you leave.”
“Put it any way you like. I was kept there, enrolled in useless courses—”
“Sewing,” he said, with a little smile.
An arrogant smile, but she wasn’t going to let him rattle her. She’d considered her options carefully and reached a simple conclusion. If you behaved like a supplicant, you were treated like one. The only chance she had of getting Jake Ramirez to listen to reason was to stop pleading for understanding and start demanding it.
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