Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  “A gift from Nava Jewelers,” he replied. “An engagement gift for you.”

  “You—you bought me a gift?” She froze half a room away from him, unable to make her feet move any farther.

  “It would be expected,” he told her.

  “When did you have time to—”

  “I telephoned them this morning and placed a specific order.” He held out the large jeweler’s case.”

  Move feet, damn you, move! Taking slow, deliberate steps, she made her way across the room and when she neared him, she held out her hands and accepted the gift. When she opened the case, she noted that there were three smaller cases nestled inside, one obviously a ring box. Her heart did a nervous pitter-patter. Several years ago, she had sworn to herself that if she ever did find a man she wanted to marry, she would tell him that if he wore a wedding band, she would, but that she did not want a fancy engagement ring. She’d been engaged once, had worn her fiancé’s one-carat diamond solitary for several months before coming to her senses and breaking things off with the man her mother had chosen for her.

  J.J. flipped open the lid on the ring box. Her mouth gaped as she gasped silently. Oh, my God! The center jewel was an oval-cut amethyst, at least four carats, and was surrounded by small half-carat diamonds. A ring that size should have been gaudy and ostentatious . But it wasn’t. It was exquisite, like a ring belonging to a princess.

  “Miguel, this is…”

  “You don’t like it?”

  She glanced up at him. “No, I mean yes, of course, I like it. It’s exquisite.”

  “It will be expected,” he told her by way of an explanation.

  “Yes, certainly. I understand.”

  “Here, let me help you.” He reached out and removed the ring from its velvet bed. While she held the large case in her right hand, he took her left hand, held it up and slipped the ring on her third finger. “Ah, a perfect fit. And the perfect ring for you. If only there was a touch more blue in the gem, it would match your beautiful eyes.”

  Oh, please, don’t say something like that to me. She might not be a silly, gullible woman, easily influenced by flattery, but she was discovering that she wasn’t completely immune to Miguel’s Latin charm.

  “That’s a good line,” she told him. “Very convincing. It’s something you must tell people when they aah and ooh over the ring.”

  “Yes, you are correct. If I repeat that line, everyone will be convinced that I adore you.” He snapped open the lids on the other two boxes within the jeweler’s case. “The necklace and earrings are an engagement present. Everyone will expect to see you wearing them tonight and for every special occasion from now until our wedding.”

  The earrings and necklace were diamonds. Breathtakingly beautiful diamonds, the settings simple and classic.

  “I am told that diamonds, like pearls, go with anything a woman chooses to wear,” he said.

  “Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what my mother always said. A woman can wear pearls or diamonds with a designer gown or with a pair of blue jeans.”

  “Later, when you are dressed for the evening—” His eyes raked over her silk robe, lingering on her pebble-hard nipples “—if you need my help with the catch on the necklace, let me know.” His gaze locked with hers.

  A tingling sensation spiraled out from her central core and radiated through her body. No wonder the man was such a successful politician. He possessed an overabundance of charisma.

  “I…yes, thank you.”

  They stood there and stared at each other for what seemed like endless minutes. Finally Miguel broke the silence.

  “Ramona has unpacked and put away your things satisfactorily?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, thank you.”

  “Will you require a maid to help you prepare for this evening?”

  “Huh?”

  He smiled, apparently amused with her puzzlement.

  “An unnecessary question, I’m sure. I cannot imagine you would want someone to assist you in dressing.”

  “Oh, no. You’re right about that.” She chuckled softly. “Even my mother doesn’t have a lady’s maid.”

  “Most of the younger women in Mocorito do not use lady’s maids, either, only the older ladies, such as my father’s wife and her kind.”

  J.J. caught just a hint of resentment in his voice, a subtle trace of ridicule. “You’re not old-fashioned about everything, are you?”

  He eyed her questioningly. “You consider me old-fashioned?” He shook his head. “The people of Mocorito think of me as a very modern man, even a liberal to some degree.”

  “You—a liberal?” J.J. laughed out loud.

  “And what do you find so amusing about that?”

  “In America you would be considered an old-fashioned, conservative, male chauvinist. But surely you know that since you went to college at Harvard.”

  “But we are not in America, my dear J.J. We are in Mocorito and only in the past twenty years have women been allowed to vote. And only the younger generation of women have been allowed the freedom of choosing their husbands, although some, such as my half-sister, are trapped by the old traditions imposed on them by their parents and grandparents. One of the things I want to change, when I am president, is women’s rights.”

  J.J.’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You’re kidding me?”

  “I assure you that I am not.”

  She stared at him, searching his face for the truth. Why should he lie to her? “I thought you didn’t approve of aggressive, pushy women? Aren’t you the man who is passing me off as his fiancée because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he has a female bodyguard? Aren’t I suppose to be demure and ladylike at all times?”

  “This is like asking me if I am a man. Yes, I prefer my women gentle and accommodating and I would like a wife who would allow me to, as you Americans say, wear the pants in the family. Men, like countries, do not change overnight. We change gradually. Mocorito will never be like America, but we can be a country where our women have equal rights. Who knows, perhaps one day my daughter or granddaughter will be president of Mocorito.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Miguel Ramirez?” she asked jokingly.

  Before she realized what he intended to do, he reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. A non-threatening gesture. A gentle touch, yet all the more seductive because of the gentleness. He brought his hand down the side of her neck and held it there. Her pulse throbbed against his fingertips.

  “I suspect that I do not know you any better than you do me, señorita.” He held her captive with his hypnotic gaze. “We have preconceived ideas of who the other is and in reality, we are strangers who do not know what is in each other’s heart.”

  She couldn’t speak, but managed to nod agreement with what he’d said.

  Miguel removed his hand, but kept his gaze locked with hers. “If you have a little black dress in your wardrobe, wear that tonight…with the diamonds I gave you.”

  He turned and walked toward the bathroom.

  “Miguel,” she called after him.

  He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You do realize that there is a good chance that something else could be planned for tonight, another incident in the same vein as the blown tire and the snakes at the luncheon.”

  “Yes, of course. But I am unafraid. I have a bodyguard to protect me.”

  With that said, he went into the bathroom and shut the door. Momentarily dazed, J.J. stood there, uncertain whether she should laugh or tell him to go to hell.

  Why was it that she had such conflicting emotions where this man was concerned? One minute she found herself as susceptible to his charm as any other woman and the next minute she wanted to kick his butt for being such a…a man! What was it about Miguel that affected her so strongly? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known her share of swaggering males with egos the size of Texas. She’d been a soldier’s daughter and had learned fir
sthand what being a he-man was all about, learned from the master himself—Rudd Blair. And from the age of twelve, when she’d blossomed into a bosomy girl who had inherited her mother’s beauty, but none of her Southern-belle femininity, she’d been fighting off male advances. To her mother’s dismay, J.J. had spent more time trying to earn her father’s approval by acting like one of the guys than she had in learning the art of being a femme fatale.

  No matter how attracted she was to Miguel, she was not going to give in to her baser instincts. She had managed to stay in charge of every relationship in her life—except the one with her father—and there was no way in hell she would allow this South American Romeo to seduce her.

  Even if you want to be seduced? an inner voice asked.

  After answering his cell phone, Dom Shea walked outside into the center courtyard of Miguel’s home. The lush, tropical garden surrounded him as he sat on the stone bench several feet away from the house.

  “Are you alone?” Vic Noble asked. “Can you talk?”

  “I’m alone, but even if one of the servants overhears my end of the conversation, they won’t know what I was saying. None of them speak English.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I asked Ramirez. He should know.”

  “He should, but…Does he know that his good friend, Dr. Juan Esteban, has been having secret rendezvous with his half-sister, Seina Fernandez?”

  “Hmm…Interesting. If he knows, he hasn’t mentioned it to me or to J.J.”

  “He should be told,” Vic said. “It’s possible that the half-sister is using Dr. Esteban to gain inside information. Or it’s possible that the good doctor is a traitor.”

  “Have you checked out Emilio Lopez and Roberto Aznar? On the surface, each man seems to be devoted to Ramirez, but—”

  “Lopez has been Ramirez’s best friend since they were boys and now they’re family. I’ve found out nothing, at least not yet, that would implicate either Lopez or Aznar. But my sources tell me that the Federalists know J.J. is Miguel’s bodyguard.”

  “That means there is a traitor in Ramirez’s camp,” Dom replied. “Someone close.”

  “Find out if he or Lopez or Aznar has told anyone else about J.J.’s true identity. If they haven’t, then either there’s a leak on our end—meaning the CIA—or one of Ramirez’s best friends has sold him out.”

  “What does Will Pierce think?”

  “I haven’t made contract with Pierce since we arrived in Mocorito. We’re supposed to meet up tomorrow. But I already know what he’ll say. He’ll assure me that none of his people have leaked the info because our government sending Dundee agents into Mocorito was top-secret and on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

  “Have you come up with anything on the shooter? Any names? Any links to the Federalists?

  “I have a few names and I’ll be checking them out, one by one. But so far, that’s it. My guess is any ties between the shooter and the Federalist Party are invisible. Proving a connection will more than likely be impossible.”

  “We had a couple of odd incidents today.” Dom explained about the blown tire and the snakes.

  “Kid stuff. Especially the snakes. That was more of a prank than anything else. What’s your take on it?”

  “I’m holding off judgment until after we see how tonight’s dinner party at Anton Casimiro’s penthouse goes. J.J. and I will be on alert, but not knowing for sure what sort of game our opponents are playing puts us at a disadvantage.”

  “Are you going to the party?”

  “Yes, Ramirez invited me.”

  “Y’all won’t know whether to expect a potentially dangerous attack or another prank of some sort.”

  “The only thing we can do is make sure Ramirez is safe.”

  “Yep, that’s your job.” Vic chuckled. “How’s our J.J. handling playing the dutiful, subservient fiancée?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’s taken to it like a duck to water.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Hey, Ramirez is good-looking, charming, rich and powerful. That’s a combination that any woman would find hard to resist.”

  “J.J. isn’t just any woman,” Vic reminded him. “Her hobby seems to be cutting men down to size, even guys like Ramirez.”

  “I’d say in this case, the odds are fifty-fifty as to who will wind up cutting the other down to size.”

  J.J. surprised him. He had been certain when he’d asked her to wear a little black dress this evening, she would deliberately choose the exact opposite. If he’d bet on her actions, he would have lost.

  She stood at the top of the stairs looking like a beautiful princess. His princess. No, not a princess, a first lady. El presidente’s lady. He and Dom Shea watched her as she descended the stairs, her Dundee partner apparently as entranced by her as Miguel was.

  Luscious red lipstick stained her full, pouty lips, making her creamy skin appear even lighter than it was. Her dress was black, a classic style, with a rounded neckline that showed just a hint of décolletage and a hem that stopped an inch below her knees and showed off her shapely calves encased in black silk stockings. The dress fit her as if it had been molded to her body, yet was not skintight. She had brushed her short, curly hair behind her ears to show off the diamond earrings. The delicate diamond necklace sparkled around her slender neck.

  It was at that moment that Miguel knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. Jennifer was truly beauty personified. He wanted her with a desperate passion.

  And he would have her!

  “Good evening.” She glanced from Dom to Miguel, then as if sensing the desire raging inside him, she turned her gaze back on her fellow Dundee agent.

  “What did you do, rob a jewelry store?” Dom stared at her diamonds.

  She touched the shimmering necklace. “I’m wearing engagement gifts from my fiancée.” She wiggled her ring finger in front of him.

  Dom let out a long, low whistle. “Aren’t you a lucky girl.”

  “I’m pretending to be.”

  Miguel cleared his throat. The easy camaraderie between Dom Shea and Jennifer bothered him. Admit the truth, he thought to himself. You are jealous of Dom. Of any man who is her friend.

  Ignoring Miguel completely, J.J. asked Dom in English, “I assume you’re carrying a weapon, right? The gun Miguel provided for me is in my handbag.”

  “You are both expecting something unpleasant to happen tonight?” Miguel asked, also in English.

  “Possibly,” Dom replied.

  “Probably,” J.J. added.

  “I will be among friends and supporters. I doubt Anton will have invited anyone who would attempt—”

  “You were surrounded by admirers at the Ebano Country Club today and yet somehow, someway, a dozen snakes were released in the dining room and created havoc,” J.J. quickly reminded him.

  “Then you expect another silly prank?” Miguel asked.

  “We don’t know what to expect,” Dom said.

  “Before we leave, let me remind you that if anything does happen, I’m your bodyguard,” J.J. told him. “It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand. But as a man, it is simply my nature automatically to protect a woman.”

  “Don’t think of me as a woman,” she told him. “Think of me only as your protector.”

  “I will try, Señorita Blair, but it will not be easy.”

  When J.J. caught a glimpse, in her peripheral vision, of Dom grinning, she cast him a don’t-you-dare-laugh glare.

  “Shall we go?” J.J. slipped her arm through Miguel’s.

  Dom followed them outside to the limousine. Carlos stood by the open door, waiting for them. J.J. steeled her nerves as she slid into the limo. She didn’t know which concerned her most—her irrational attraction to Miguel or not knowing what might happen at tonight’s dinner party.

  Anton Casimiro’s penthouse apartment in downtown Nava was
large and lavishly decorated with the best money could buy. Tonight, the crowd gathered here were all avid supporters of Miguel Ramirez, many devout Nationalists and others simply new converts to the party because of their admiration for the beguiling Ramirez.

  How Diego had managed to acquire an invitation for her tonight, Gala did not know. And she dared not ask. She was here on an assignment, one Diego expected her to carry out without fail. All she knew was that she had an accomplice who would actually do the deed, but she carried the means of accomplishing that deed in her purse.

  “You will carry this purse tonight.” Diego had handed her the designer, one-of-a-kind, cobalt-blue leather handbag, etched with a floral design in burgundy thread. “You will leave your purse wherever the other ladies leave their bags. After that, you are free to enjoy yourself. Flirt with Ramirez. If you can draw him away from his fiancée, all the better. It would be amusing if you could place him in a compromising situation.”

  “That should not pose a problem. He was very attentive when I met him at the country club today.”

  “Be careful not to give yourself away.” Diego had grasped her chin and clamped his fingers harshly into her cheeks. “Ramirez is no fool. If he smells a trap, he will run. Or he will turn on you.”

  She knew what she had to do. She had already left her purse with the other ladies’purses and was now free to search for amusement. If she could not seduce Miguel, then she would turn her attention to someone in his group of close confidantes. Emilio Lopez perhaps. With his wife fat as a cow at present, he should be easily seduced. If not, there was always Roberto Aznar. There was a smoldering sensuality about the man that intrigued her.

  As she made her way through the crowd milling about drinking and nibbling on hors d’ oeuvres, she heard someone shout, “He’s here.”

  Standing on tiptoe for a better view of the foyer, Gala Hernandez frowned the moment she saw the way Miguel’s fiancée clung to his arm, her gaze glued to him with rapt attention. Miguel looking at her adoringly. Jennifer Blair might be beautiful, but how talented was she in the bedroom? Gala did not know any man who could resist the promise of oral sex. As soon as she could get near enough to Miguel, she knew exactly what she would whisper in his ear.