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“I don’t want to go home. I’m having fun.”
“She’s having fun,” Lucas said. “And I can see that you aren’t. Go home, Jake. I’ll take care of Catarina.”
“Yeah,” Jake said coldly, “I’ll bet you will.” He wrapped a hand around Catarina’s wrist. “She’s leaving, Estero, and so am I.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Cat said angrily. “I am not leaving. Lucas doesn’t think I should go home yet. Isn’t that right, Lucas?”
“Lucas’s opinion doesn’t mean a damn,” Jake growled. “If I say you’re leaving, you’re leaving.”
“I am not!” Cat dug in her heels. “Lucas, tell this man he doesn’t run my life.”
“You heard the lady,” Lucas said, but Jake could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“Did I ever get around to telling you why Cat’s in New York with me, Estero?” Jake’s smile glittered. He leaned in, as if he were about to share a great secret. “She’s husband-hunting.”
Cat’s breath hissed through her teeth. “Jake! This is not the time to—”
“The lady you’ve been teaching the tango can teach you a thing or two, pal. I mean, you’d never know she’s here to snare a husband, would you?”
“Jake!”
“The guy’s qualifications have to be only that he’s Brazilian, breathing and rich. Well, and single, of course. Right, Cat?”
Lucas had a funny look on his face. “Is this true?”
He spoke to Catarina, but it was Jake who answered.
“Absolutely true. And you, my man, are eminently qualified in all categories.”
Cat felt the sting of angry tears in her eyes. Why was Jake doing this to her? She’d been having fun for the first time in longer than she could remember. Lucas, the music, the delicious whatever-they-were-drinks sliding so easily down her throat…
She looked at Lucas. “It’s not the way he makes it sound. I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
“She asked if I was single,” Lucas said to Jake. He shuddered, like a spaniel coming in from the rain. “But she never said—”
“No,” Jake said, “I’m sure she didn’t.”
Cat swept her gaze from one man to the other. She hated them both, but Jake most of all. Hated him, hated him, hated—
“Time to say goodnight, Catarina.”
She jerked against his hand. He tightened his grip until she gasped.
“You son of a bitch!”
“Such language,” Jake said with an icy smile. “What would Mother Elisabete think?”
“Let go!” Cat demanded, banging her fist against his back as he dragged her to the door. “Damn you, Jake Ramirez!”
People laughed, stepped aside, let him pass through, hauling her in his wake. He paused beside the table he’d occupied, picked up her coat and his, then resumed his march through the club to the street.
The rain had turned to snow. Another time Catarina might have turned her face up to its cool bite. She’d never seen snow before, except in an old movie, but for now her rage was all-consuming.
Jake stopped, swung her toward him. “Put your coat on.”
“I don’t take orders from you!”
“Put the coat on,” he growled.
