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“Yes?”
Cat’s pulse was hammering; her bones felt liquid. How could she tell him the rest now, with her body aching for something she didn’t really understand?
“About—about the husband you’ll find me. The one who’ll agree to a divorce.”
Jake swung around and faced her. “Cat, I just told you. A man with enough money to agree not to touch yours—”
“—won’t see any reason to go into a temporary marriage.”
“Exactly.”
“Am I pretty, Jake?”
His mouth twisted. “Catarina—”
“Just tell me the truth, okay?” She slid from the stool and walked toward him. “Am I pretty?”
“You know you are,” he said, in a voice rough as gravel.
“And—and I’m untouched. I’m a virgin.”
Did she think he didn’t know that? It was all that had kept him from taking her a minute ago, from stripping her naked, cupping her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“What’s your point?”
“My point,” she said slowly, “is that the man I marry will be my legal husband. For a day, a week, a month I’ll be his wife. And…”
“And?”
“And,” she said, forgetting her plan to be subtle. How could she be subtle with Jake looking at her like that? “And I’ll give him the only gift he can’t buy.” She swallowed, forced moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. “I’ll give him my virginity—and you’re going to teach me how to do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT response could a man make to a woman who had said something so outrageous?
Almost two weeks later, Jake sat at his desk in his office, still clueless. He had a million things to do—phone calls to make, appointments to keep, a stack of letters waiting for his signature—but how could he concentrate on any of them?
All he could think about was what Cat had asked him that night.
He picked up a pencil, tapped it mindlessly against the edge of the desk as he recalled how he’d stared at her, tongue-tied for the first time in his life.
“Jake?” she’d said, as calmly as if she were talking about the weather. “Did you hear me? Will you teach me about sex? Or is that going to be a problem?”
A problem?
Snap!
The pencil broke in half. Jake reached for another, began tapping again.
The question had been bad enough. The brilliance of how he’d dealt with it had been even worse. He’d firmed his jaw, narrowed his eyes, pointed his finger straight at her…
And told her to go to her room.
He groaned at the memory.
Go to her room. As if she were a child instead of a woman. When the fact was, Cat was every bit a woman. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could feel her straddling him again, her body molding itself to his, her nipples sweet against his tongue while she made those little sounds that could surely drive a man insane.
Tap, tap, tap.
