AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That thought, at least, made him smile.
A few days ago he’d told Cat he was taking her to work with him so he could send her on a shopping trip with his personal assistant. Cat had responded with a glare. She was still angry because he hadn’t agreed to enroll her in his personal version of Sex 101, but he’d ignored her sullen attitude.
It had been time to replace the South American version of Little Orphan Annie with a woman ready to face the challenges of New York.
Jake sat down again, tilted back his chair and folded his hands over his flat belly.
His P.A. had hardly blinked when he’d introduced Catarina as the daughter of a Brazilian acquaintance—the definition had worked with Lucas, so why not with Belle? He’d said he wanted Belle to take her to Saks or Henri Bendel and clothe her from head to toe.
Cat had stood in the center of the room, arms folded, eyes shooting sparks, but she hadn’t argued. Maybe she’d finally realized that the things she kept pulling from her bottomless satchel weren’t going to make it in Manhattan.
“Not Saks,” Belle had said after she’d looked Cat over. “Not Bendel. Lauren, maybe. Calvin Klein.”
“Whatever,” Jake had replied impatiently. “I want the works. Clothes, shoes, makeup, jewelry—”
“A haircut?”
“No haircut.”
There must have been something in the way he’d said it, because Belle had looked at him, brows raised as high as they’d go. He’d cleared his throat and mumbled a few words about Brazilian culture and long hair. A pathetic lie, but all he’d been able to come up with to get himself off the hook.
The truth was, he couldn’t handle the idea of all that long, glorious hair ending up on the floor in some trendy salon when what he dreamed of each night was Cat lying beneath him in his bed, her mouth pliant under his, her hair streaming over his pillow as he made love to her…
“Hell,” Jake said, and rose from his chair again.
Belle had done her job well. Cat had gone from beautiful to spectacular. When he’d entered the penthouse that night she’d greeted him at the door wearing jeans that fit her like a second skin, a sweater the same shade of coffee-brown as her eyes, spiky heels that had brought the top of her head almost level with his chin, and if her hair hadn’t been cut then somebody had done something to it that had made the curls less wild and twice as sexy.
The sulky, imposed-upon expression had gone. For a change, Cat had been smiling.
“How do I look?” she’d asked, twirling before him.
Good enough to eat, he’d thought. Good enough to take in his arms and carry to bed.
“You look okay,” he’d said briskly, and wondered if the lie was enough to make his nose grow. “You know, Catarina, I think I’ll pass on supper. These reports…”
“I made our supper,” she’d called as he started toward the stairs.
He’d turned and looked at her. “What about Anna?”
“I told her I wanted to cook tonight.” She’d taken a deep breath. He’d seen that she’d worked up her courage for this. “It’s Brazilian. Come and see.”
That was when he’d noticed an unfamiliar scent in the air. She’d rattled off the name of something unpronounceable and looked at him with such hope in her eyes that he hadn’t had the heart to refuse.
So he’d followed her to the kitchen, where she’d dipped a wooden spoon into a pot, held it out, said, “No, wait,” and then brought the spoon to her own mouth, so she could purse her lips and gently blow on the steaming contents.
Watching her blow on that spoon had almost driven him to his knees.
“Now taste it,” she’d said, and he’d wanted to—God, he’d wanted to…
Somehow, he’d gotten himself under control. Drag
ged his gaze from Cat’s mouth to the spoon, let her slide it between his lips, fought the swift tightening of his body when she parted her own lips and poked out the tip of her tongue in unknowing parody of him. But not even his hottest fantasy had been enough to keep him from reacting to the taste of whatever it was she’d cooked.
“What is that?” he’d gasped.
“You didn’t like it?”
“No! I, ah, I loved it. It’s just—it’s different,” he’d said, and then he’d mumbled his lie about having work to do and fled.
