Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love. Beverly Barton

and their bodies moved slowly and rhythmically under the starry, tropical sky, it was all J.J. could do to keep her wits about her. This was like a scene from some old forties movie—an American heiress being wooed by a South American playboy. Only Miguel wasn’t actually a playboy and although she would someday inherit several Ashford millions, she wasn’t a true heiress, not in the traditional sense.

      When one tune ended, another began almost immediately, which probably explained why Miguel didn’t release her. The moment the music started again, a bluesy rendition of “You Don’t Know What Love Is,” he reached down and tilted her chin with his crooked index finger. Standing there in his arms, she looked up at him.

      Be still my heart.

      When had she ever been this foolish? Not even as a teenager had she fallen so hard and so fast for a guy.

      “After this dance, we can go through the buffet line,” he told her. “I would rather take you home early, but since I…we are the guests of honor, we can hardly be one of the first couples to leave, can we?”

      She managed to nod her head, temporarily rendered mute by the surge of passion heating her from the inside out. She had to put a stop to her raging hormones and do it ASAP. This guy was good. Damn good. He knew just what to say and do to seduce a woman, to make her feel as if she was special. But she knew better. She meant nothing to Miguel. For goodness sake, she was his bodyguard. Letting herself fall under his spell could prove dangerous for both of them.

      All he wants is for you to be his latest conquest. One more notch on his bedpost. Once he’s had you—

      What the hell was she thinking? No way was she going to give in to temptation.

      “Why don’t we cut this dance short?” J.J. suggested. “I really am starving and that boiled shrimp looked delicious.”

      He eased her out of his arms, but grabbed her hand when she started to walk away. She paused and fell into step beside him as they left the balcony.

      “You may have my share of the shrimp and cocktail sauce,” Miguel told her. “I do not like shrimp. I made myself sick on shrimp as a teenager and have avoided eating it ever since.”

      “I did that with popcorn when I was a kid and I was twenty before I could stand the smell of the stuff.”

      Miguel squeezed her hand as they entered the buffet line of half a dozen people. “You realize that we are sharing confidences, stories of our childhoods.” He smiled. “It is what lovers do to become better acquainted.”

      “We are—” She’d been about to say, “we are not lovers,” but he squeezed her hand really hard, warning her to be careful what she said. “We are becoming better acquainted every minute we’re together.”

      Miguel lifted a plate and handed it to J.J., then picked up one for himself. The people ahead of them in line offered to let them prepare their plates first, but she and Miguel declined simultaneously.

      Then, just as J.J. reached out to the platter of boiled shrimp, someone called out loudly, “Do not eat anything else! Five people have become very sick in the past few minutes.”

      J.J. froze to the spot for a half second, then she stood on tiptoe so that she could discern the identity of the speaker. Dr. Juan Esteban made his way through the shocked crowd, coming directly toward them. She scanned the room, searching for Dom. Standing head and shoulders above three-fourths of the men and women there, he was easy to spot. Her gaze locked with Dom’s and a silent understanding passed between them. What if someone poisoned the food?

      “I have called for an ambulance,” Dr. Esteban told Miguel. “Five people have become deathly sick—vomiting and diarrhea—in the past few minutes. One of the ladies has fainted.”

      “Could it be food poisoning?” Miguel asked.

      “That would be my first guess. Have you eaten anything? You or Señorita Blair?”

      “No, we haven’t eaten a bite.” J.J. put her plate down on the buffet table, then grabbed Miguel’s plate and put it atop hers.

      “I must go with those who are sick to the hospital. There could be others,” Juan said. “In case there are, I will send another ambulance to be on standby.”

      “What is wrong?” Anton Casimiro approached them, a concerned frown wrinkling his forehead and creasing his plump cheeks.

      “We fear food poisoning,” Miguel said. “Several people have become violently ill.”

      “That cannot be!” Anton’s round face turned beet-red. “I have used these caterers before and never has anything like this happened.”

      “It isn’t your fault,” Miguel assured his friend.

      “It is probably only one dish,” Juan said. “Otherwise everyone who has eaten would be ill and everyone is not.”

      “All the food should be left right where it is,” J.J. told them. “Each dish will have to be analyzed to find out which one was either spoiled or tampered with on purpose.”

      Anton’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you suggesting someone deliberately poisoned a specific dish? Whatever would make you think such a thing, señorita?”

      “Jennifer is a great fan of murder-mystery novels,” Miguel hurried to explain.

      “Murder?” Anton gasped.

      Off in the distance the sound of sirens shrilled loud and clear.

      “The ambulance should arrive any moment.” Juan turned and rushed back into the bedroom to see about his patients.

      “I believe it might be a good idea to explain to everyone what has happened,” Dom Shea said as he came up beside Miguel. “If we could figure out which dish is the culprit, we could narrow down those who might yet become ill.”

      “I will make an announcement,” Anton said. “This is my home, my party…”

      While Anton spoke to his guests, Dom asked Miguel, “Do you have a favorite food?”

      “What?”

      “Did your host ask about a favorite food he could provide for you tonight?”

      “No.” Miguel shook his head.

      “Would he or the caterers, or anyone for that matter, know you would be sure to eat one thing in particular tonight?”

      “I can think of nothing. I enjoy a wide variety of food, but there is nothing on the buffet table tonight that is a particular favorite.”

      “But there is something that is not a favorite,” J.J. said. “How many people know you hate shrimp and won’t touch a bite of it?”

      “What?” Miguel and Dom asked.

      “If you were not the target—”

      Dom cursed under his breath. “It makes sense, after the other two incidents today.”

      “What are you talking about? How does not poisoning me, but poisoning others make sense?” By the time the words were out of his mouth, realization dawned on Miguel. “Mother of God! They are striking out at my friends and supporters, at the very people I would do anything to protect.”

      “They’re showing you how vulnerable your people are,” Dom said.

      “If you won’t withdraw from the presidential race out of fear for your own life, then perhaps you will do it to protect others,” J.J. told Miguel.

      “Before we run with this theory and know for sure that’s what’s going on, we need to have the shrimp and the cocktail sauce tested,” Dom said. “Tonight, if possible. I’ll make a phone call and have someone come and pick up the remaining shrimp and sauce.”

      Miguel nodded. “I should go to the hospital and check on those who were stricken. If any one of them were to die…To put myself in danger is one thing,