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“No.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Why, indeed? Hadn’t he come home prepared to tell her it was time things got moving? She had the clothes; Lucas had the contacts. But—but—
“I am going, and that’s final.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Fine. You want to go to this party? We’ll go together.”
“I’d rather go alone.”
“You’ll have to get past me to do it.”
Catarina opened her mouth to protest, but when she looked into Jake’s eyes she changed her mind.
He looked as if he meant it.
CHAPTER NINE
A TASTE of freedom was a wonderful thing.
Catarina had spent years wondering what it was like to dress up, go out, dance and laugh and flirt—oh, yes, flirt. Nothing she’d imagined was as thrilling as the reality.
Jake had muttered that the little club all the way downtown was noisy and overcrowded. He was wrong. It was filled with life and pulsed with excitement. She loved it on sight. The DJ, the music, the strobe lights, the drinks—especially something called a caipirinha that looked like lemonade—well, limeade—and tasted like paradise and made you feel good, good, good.
Wonderful, all of it.
She was happy to see that the dress she’d bought with Belle was just right. Jake didn’t like it. It was too short, too low, too everything. But he was wrong. She fit right in.
All the men who saw her liked it. She could tell by the way they looked at her. It made her feel good. Who cared what Jake thought when so many admiring glances came her way? He hadn’t even asked her to dance with him.
Would it kill him to do something so simple?
Never mind. She didn’t need Jake. The men here were—what was that American word? Hot. That was it. They were hot. One especially. Lucas Estero. Tall, dark and yum-yum. Lucas was gorgeous. Maybe not as gorgeous as Jake, but gorgeous enough.
Lucas had seemed shocked to meet her.
“This is Catarina?” he’d said to Jake.
“It is,” Cat had replied, before Jake could answer.
Lucas’s lips had curved in a smile. “Ramirez,” he’d said softly, “you sly fox.” Then he’d taken her hand, brought it to his mouth, told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—in Portuguese, of course—and she hadn’t spoken another word to Jake since.
Jake had pulled out a chair at a table, where he still sat, arms folded, mouth set, eyes fixed on her, watching.
Let him watch. Let him notice that Lucas didn’t seem to think she was a silly child. Lucas hadn’t left her side. He introduced her to people, but he kept his arm around her waist in a way she hadn’t quite liked at first, because it seemed too personal. But as the night wore on, and she danced and laughed and drank those deliciously sweet concoctions in tall, chilled glasses while Jake just sat there and glowered, Lucas’s encircling arm felt more and more as if it belonged right where it was.
She didn’t need Jake to pay attention to her. She had Lucas. Tall, good-looking and single Lucas.
She’d asked him that right away.
Lucas had grinned and touched his index finger to the tip of her nose. “Querida,” he’d said, “of course I am single. What kind of man do you think I am?”
The marrying kind, she’d thought. But fortunately she hadn’t said it out loud. It was too soon to tell Lucas what she needed, and too soon to know if he was the right man for the job. Even if he wasn’t, there were lots of men here tonight, virtually all of them Brazilian, young and good-looking. Not as good-looking as Jake, of course, but—
But who cared?
She certainly didn’t.
