Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love. Beverly Barton

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 firsthand 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