Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love. Beverly Barton

need her. Didn’t want her. Could do just fine without her.

      Liar!

      In an act of childish defiance, Miguel lifted the liquor bottle and filled the glass to the rim, then he saluted her with the glass and took another hefty swig.

      She whirled around and marched over to the chaise lounge, placed the pillow at the top, then lay down and pulled the cotton blanket up to her neck.

      Ignore her, he told himself. She has dismissed you completely.

      With the glass held tightly in his slightly unsteady hand, Miguel opened the French doors and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The breeze was cooler than usual, a hint of rain in the air. A million and one thoughts raced through his mind, swirling about, tormenting him, driving him mad. He threw the glass over the balcony. Whiskey flew in every direction, some splattering on his naked chest. The glass hit the rocks below and shattered into pieces.

      Miguel clutched the wrought-iron railing, then closed his eyes and prayed. He asked for guidance, for the ability to choose the correct path. And he begged for an hour or two of relief. If only he could stop thinking, stop worrying, stop caring so damn much.

      He felt her presence behind him before he heard her soft footsteps or smelled the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. Why could she not leave him alone? Did she not know that her presence alone was driving him mad?

      Her small hand touched his back. He tensed, every muscle in his body going stiff. As stiff as his sex.

      “Miguel?”

      He turned and faced her, but before she could say or do anything, he grabbed her, yanked her into his arms and kissed her. His mouth took hers with a hungry passion, the taste of her far sweeter than he had imagined. She neither fought him nor cooperated, but let him ravage her mouth as he ran his hands over her lush body. Then just as he ended the kiss and started to lift his head, she moaned softly and her mouth responded, kissing him back. Eager and greedy. Wild with need.

       Chapter 9

      J.J.’s bones dissolved into liquid and her body heated to the boiling point as she and Miguel shared a kiss to end all kisses. Fourth of July fireworks. Hurricane waves crashing against the shore. The thunder of her own heartbeat deafened her as electrical shock waves heated her blood. She couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t meld her body to his as tightly as she longed to do. Only the intimate joining of lovemaking could come close to uniting them in the way she needed to be part of him.

      She had been in love once…or thought she had been. And she’d had great sex…or thought she had. But nothing J.J. had ever experienced came anywhere close to what she was feeling now. She had never known what real, honest-to-goodness yearning was until this very moment. Yearning so powerful that it obliterated everything else, reducing her to a purely emotional creature.

      As she kept kissing him, tasting him, devouring him as he was her, she rubbed her hands over his shoulders and back, longing for the feel of his naked flesh beneath her fingertips. Rational thought was slipping away fast. If she didn’t hang on, didn’t force herself immediately to think about what she was doing, she would be lost.

      But I want him, an inner voice pleaded. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.

      She couldn’t give herself to him. She could not surrender to the weakness overwhelming her. This wasn’t love. This was lust. Primitive animal magnetism, drawing two young, healthy primates together.

      All right, so this was nothing more than uncontrollable passion. What was wrong with that? Just because she’d never had sex with a man she didn’t care for deeply, why couldn’t this be the first time?

      J.J. pulled away, ending the ravaging kiss, but Miguel moaned and sought her mouth again, his hands cupping her hips and holding her mound against his erection. Her damp femininity throbbed. Wanting. Needing.

      “No, please,” she spoke the words against his demanding mouth. “We can’t. I can’t.”

      He kissed her again before easing his lips to her jaw and then down her neck, ending up by burrowing his head against her shoulder. When the tip of his tongue flicked repeatedly against her collarbone, she sighed.

      “No, Miguel, this isn’t fair.”

      Either not hearing her or completely ignoring her protest, he lowered his head to her left breast. Her entire body tensed with anticipation. His mouth covered the areola through the satin material of her pajama top and sucked until her nipple tightened into a pebble-hard point. While he suckled her greedily, she cupped the back of his head and held him in place at her breast. Spirals of desire spread out from her breasts and connected with the core of her body.

      As the last coherent thought floated through her mind—put a stop to this now while you still can—Miguel dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed a damp path from her breast, over her midriff and across her navel. He paused, slid her pajama bottoms down a couple of inches, stuck his tongue into her navel and laved the small, deep indentation.

      J.J. unraveled completely when his big hands grasped her hips and eased her pajamas farther down her hips.

      Oh, mercy, mercy. She wanted this. Oh, how she wanted it. But she couldn’t let him do it. Could she?

      “Miguel?” his name was nothing more than a pleading whisper.

      “Yes, querida?” His hands paused in their task.

      “We can’t do this. You know we can’t. We met only yesterday. We’re strangers. This is all wrong. You know it is.” There, she had been sensible and called a halt to this madness.

      He nuzzled her mound through the thin satin barrier. “If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right?”

      “Because we’re acting and reacting from an adrenaline rush,” she told him, as she caressed the back of his head. “Danger, fear, intense emotions all combined to heighten our senses. Wanting sex to diffuse tension is the most natural thing in the world.”

      “I agree.” He kissed her mound. She trembled. “The sex would be good. It would be very good for both of us.”

      “I don’t doubt that for a minute, but—”

      He made his way up her body, inch by inch, his hot breath searing her through the satin and his big hands working their way up and over her buttocks. When he rose to his full height, he looked down at her, his golden eyes smoldering.

      “You are not a virgin?” he asked.

      “No, but that doesn’t mean—”

      “You have been with other men, why not with me?”

      “I don’t love you. I don’t even know you.”

      He cradled her buttocks with his palms and pressed her firmly against his pulsating sex. “What better way to become acquainted than to make love? I promise that you will not be disappointed. I have been told I am an excellent lover.”

      “Ah—! What a macho, male, he-man thing to say.” His words had been like a bucket of cold water dumped on her head. She shoved against his chest until he released her. “Just when I was beginning to like you, you have to go and be a…a…a man!”

      Miguel chuckled. “Sí, señorita, I am indeed a man. A man who very much wants to make love to you.”

      “You want sex,” she told him, avoiding eye contact. “Any woman would do.”

      Frowning, his gaze narrowed as he glared at her. “You do not truly believe that, do you? If sex with any woman was all I wanted, there are dozens of women I could have. I could pick up the telephone and make a call and any one of them would come to me now, in the middle of the night. But I do not want any of those women. I want you.”

      J.J. stiffened her spine. She believed him. About the dozens of willing women and about him wanting only her. “I’m your bodyguard.